Merlin pc-2

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  'Poor, poor Annubi. Even now I do not have it in me to despise or hate him.'

  'Annubi is Morgian's creature now. His misery is complete.'

  'He was once my friend, you know. But our world changed and he could not. It is sad.' She raised her eyes from the dying embers on the hearth and smiled weakly. 'Now you know it all, my son.'

  She stood and kissed my cheek, resting her hand lightly on my shoulder. 'I am going to my bed. Do not sit up too long.'

  She turned to go.

  'Mother?' I called after her. Thank you for telling me.' She nodded and moved off, saying, 'It was never meant to be a secret, Hawk.'

  THIRTEEN

  I will say nothing of the journey north to Goddeu, except that it was opposite in most respects from the journey south the winter before. Such is the difference in travelling from one season to another. Avallach sent men with us, as did Maelwys. Both men were anxious to secure the friendship with a powerful ally in the north.

  This is not to say that men in the north were not anxious for the same thing. The mood in the land had changed with the seasons: fear was growing; slowly it was creeping across the wide, empty hills to touch men's hearts and minds. I saw this in the faces of those who watched us pass; I heard it in their voices when they spoke; I tasted it on the wind, which seemed to cry:

  The Eagles are gone! All hope is lost! We are doomed!

  That such a change could take place in so short a time amazed me. The legions were greatly diminished, true, but they were not all gone. We were not abandoned. And our hope had never rested entirely with Rome in any case.

  Always, from the very first, a man trusted the blade in his hand, and the courage of his kinsman. Pax Romana, well and good, but the people looked to their king for protection first, and only after to Rome. The tangible, present king protected his people, not the vague rumour of an emperor who sat on a golden throne hi some far-off land no one knew.

  Had we grown so weak and soft that the shift of a few thousand troops made us faint with fear? If we were doomed, fear is what doomed us, not invasion or threat of invasion by screaming Saecsen hordes and their woad-washed Picti minions. After all, there had been invasions and threats of invasions for many years now and the presence of the Eagles had not prevented either.

  So now the Eagles had flown. What of that? Was Britain no longer a foe to be feared? Could we not look after ourselves?

  I was convinced that we could. If Elphin and Maelwys could raise again their warbands, others could do the same. And that, not the presence or absence of Roman legionaries, was where our future lay. I knew this with a certainty that increased with every Roman mile north.

  Custennin received us in good spirits. He was delighted to see that his investment had borne such a rich return. Gifts were exchanged again and again. Even I received a gold-handled dagger from him for my negligible part in bringing everyone together. The expansive mood was such that he declared a feast for the third night of our stay in order properly to celebrate the new pledges between all our peoples.

  As feasts go, it was an elaborate affair, taking fully two days to prepare. And yet there was something austere about it. It was the same austerity I had noticed on my first visit – as in the small matter of the lack of a bard. I had remarked on it then, but did not know its cause. Now, of course, I did: Custennin, despite his British name, was of Atlantean descent. This meant that the wilder, more passionate expressions of emotion were not to be indulged. It was the same with Avallach.

  Nevertheless, the inclusion of so many Britons in Custen-nin's court meant that austerity and revel achieved an amiable balance. There was food enough, and the smoky-tasting heather beer of the Hill Folk by the barrel – how he had come by that, I cannot say, unless someone had learned from one of the fhains how to brew it – so that the festivities were indeed vivid.

  I seem to remember singing a great deal, loudly, and not always with my harp. Although it is doubtful anyone noticed any lapse on my part.

  Except Ganieda.

  Everywhere I turned… Ganieda. Watching me, her dark eyes shining, waiting and watching, silent, keeping her own counsel. In truth, since our frosty reunion, she had not spoken three words to me in as many days.

  I had expected a warm welcome from her when I returned. Not a shower of kisses, certainly – but a smile, a welcome cup, something. Instead, as I stood awkwardly just inside the doorway of her father's hall, fresh from the trail, she merely looked at me, neither smiling nor frowning, but as one judging the value of a pelt offered for trade.

  The feeling was so strong in me, I made a joke of it, holding my arms out and turning round slowly. 'What will you give for this handsome hide, lady?'

  Apparently, she did not appreciate the jest. 'Handsome indeed! Why on earth would any noble-born lady be interested in a hide as dirty and smelly as the one I see before me?' she replied coolly.

  I must admit that my time in the saddle had exacted a price. I was not the freshest flower to bloom in the forest. A bath in the lake would put matters right, I thought, but the exchange began our reunion uncomfortably. And I thought that perhaps I had been mistaken about how it was between us; or that Ganieda had second thoughts about me. She had, after all, had plenty of time to change her mind.

  To make matters worse, it was late on the fourth day before I finally found another chance to speak to her alone – had she been avoiding me? – and that left only two days before we were due to depart once more. I felt the time fleeing away, so cornered her in the kitchen behind the great hall.

  'If I have said something to offend you,' I told her directly, 'I am sorry. Only tell me and I will make it right.'

  She appeared pensive, her mouth pulled into a pretty pout, her brows wrinkled. However, her voice was cold and clear as ice. 'Surely, you flatter yourself, wolf boy. How could you possibly offend me?'

  That is for you to say. I can think of nothing I have done.'

  'What you do makes no difference to me.' She turned and started away.

  'Ganieda!' She froze at her name. 'Why are you doing this?'

  Her back was towards me and she did not turn round to answer. 'You seem to imagine that there was something between us.'

  'It was not all my imagining, surely.'

  'Was it not?' She turned to look at me over her shoulder.

  'It was not.' At the moment, I was less certain than I sounded by far.

  'Then that is your mistake.' Still, she turned towards me once more.

  'Perhaps you are right,' I conceded. 'Are you not the dauntless maid who hunted Twrch Trwyth, Lord Boar of Gelyddon, and killed him with a single thrust? Are you not the lady of this great house? Is not your name a delight on the tongue, and your voice a joy to the ear? If not, then I am indeed mistaken.'

  This made her smile. 'Your tongue wags well, wolf boy.'

  'That is no answer.'

  'Very well, the answer is yes. I am the one of whom you speak.'

  ‘Then I have made no mistake.' I stepped towards her. 'What is wrong, Ganieda? Why this coldness at our meeting?'

  She crossed her arms and turned away again. 'Your people are in the south, and my place is here. It is as simple as that and nothing can change it.'

  'Your logic is unassailable, lady,' I replied.

  That spun her round. Her eyes snapped angrily. 'Do not think" to make me out a fool!'

  ‘Then why are you behaving so foolishly?'

  Her face contorted in a frown. 'You have said it, and you are right. It is foolish to want something that you cannot have and know you cannot have, and yet go on wanting.'

  I could not imagine her lacking anything she wanted – not for long, anyway. 'What do you want that you cannot have, Ganieda?'

  'Are you blind as well as stupid?' she asked. The words were harsh, but her voice was soft.

  'What is it? Only tell me and I will get it for you if I can,' I promised.

  'You, Myrddin.'

  I could only blink in confusion.

&nb
sp; She lowered her eyes and clasped her hands nervously. 'You asked and now I have told… It is you that I want, Myrddin. More than anything I have ever wanted.'

  Silence grew to the point of breaking. I reached out to her, but could not touch her and my hand fell away.

  'Ganieda,' my voice sounded painfully coarse in my ears, 'Ganieda, do you not know that you have me already? From the moment I saw you astride the grey stallion, plunging through the stream in a spray of diamonds and the sun dancing in your hair – from that very moment I was yours.'

  I thought this would make her happy and, indeed, she smiled. But the smile faded and the sorrowful frown returned. 'Your words are kind… '

  'More, they are true.'

  She shook her head; the light glinted on the slim silver tore at her throat. 'No,' she sighed.

  I stepped closer and took her hand. 'What is wrong, Ganieda?'

  'I have already said: your place is in the south, and mine is here with my people. There is nothing to be done about that.'

  Already she was thinking further ahead than I. 'Perhaps nothing need be done about it – for now. And later, who knows?'

  She came into my arms. 'Why do I love you?' she whispered. 'I never wanted to.'

  'It is possible to search for love and find it. More often, I think, love finds us when we are not even searching,' I told her, wincing a little at the presumption of my words. What did I know of such things? 'Love has found us, Ganieda, we cannot turn it away.'

  With Ganieda nestled in my arms, the clean-washed scent of her hair filling my nostrils, the living warmth of her against me, the softness of her skin under my hand – these things made me want to believe what I said, and I did. With all my heart I believed it.

  We kissed then and with the touching of our lips I knew that she believed it, too.

  'Well,' Ganieda sighed, 'this has solved nothing.'

  'No. Nothing,' I agreed.

  But what did that matter?

  Needless to say, when the time came for us to return to Dyfed, I hesitated, hoping to hold off the time of leaving indefinitely. This I actually managed to do for a few days, and they were happy days. Ganieda and I rode in the forest and walked along the lake, we played chess before the fire, I sang to her and played my harp, we talked late into the night so that dawn found us groggy and yawning, but unwilling to pan. In short, we did all the things lovers do and it did not greatly matter whether we did anything at all as long as we were together.

  I see her now: her dark hair braided with silver thread entwined; her blue eyes glinting beneath long, dark lashes; the soft, bird's egg blue of her tunic; the swell of her breasts beneath the thin summer fabric; her long, strong legs; the golden bracelets on her sun-browned arms…

  She is the essence of female to me: bright mystery, clothed in beauty.

  Sadly, I could not hold off the day of leaving for ever. I had at last to return to Dyfed. Still, I put the best face on this that I could devise.

  So, while the others readied the horses, Ganieda and I walked hand in hand along the pebbled shingle of the lake. The clear water lapped at the stones under our feet while out on the lake swallows darted and dived, skimming the surface with the tips of their wings.

  'When I return, it will be for you, my soul; it will be to take you from your father's hearth to my own. We will Be married.'

  If I thought this would cheer her, I was mistaken. 'Let us be married at once. Then you would not have to leave at all. We could stay together always.'

  'Ganieda, you know I have no hearth of my own. Before we can be married, I have to make a place for you, and to do that I must first make a place for myself.'

  She understood this, for she was noble through and through. She smiled unexpectedly. 'Go then, wolf boy. Make yourself a king, then come and claim your queen. I will be here waiting.'

  She leaned close and kissed me. That is so that you will remember who it is that waits for you.' She kissed me again. That is to spur you to your task.' Then, putting her hands on either side of my head, she pressed her lips to mine in a long, passionate kiss. 'And that is to hasten your return.'

  'Lady,' I replied when I could breathe once more, 'if you kiss me again I will not be able to leave.'

  'Away with you then, my love. Go this very instant, for I would have you return all the sooner.'

  'It may take time, Ganieda,' I warned her. Hoping to make our parting easier, I pulled the gold band from my arm. I held it up. This was given me by Vrisa, my Hill Folk sister, so that if ever I found a wife, I could claim her. With this, I claim you, Ganieda.' I slipped the ring of gold onto her wrist. 'And when I return I will make good my claim.'

  She smiled, encircling my neck with her arms, drawing me close. 'I live for that day, my love.'

  I hugged her tightly to me. 'Take me with you,' she whispered.

  'Oh, yes. At once,' I answered. 'We can live in a wooded bower on walnuts and gooseberries.'

  Her laughter was full and free. 'I detest gooseberries!'

  Taking my arm she spun me around and pushed me towards the path leading back up the hill. 'I will not live on nuts and berries in a mud hut with you, Myrddin Wylt. So, you get on that sorry horse of yours and ride away at once. And do not come back until you have won me a kingdom!'

  Ah, Ganieda, I would have won the world for you if you had asked!

  It was high summer when we rode into Maridunum. Beltane had come and gone while we were on the road. We had seen the hilltop fires bright under the stars, and had heard the mysterious cries of the Hill Folk drifting on the midnight wind. But there was no midsummer fire for us, nor did we think it wise to join in the celebration at one of the nearby settlements. More and more, Christian folk kept away from the old customs as the paths of the new ways and the old diverged.

  Of course, many of Maelwys' people had become followers of the Christ – especially since Dafyd's coming. But there were some with us who observed the old ways, so to make up for the missed revel, I played the harp and sang.

  And it came to me while I was singing – watching the ring of faces around the night's fire, their eyes glinting like dark sparks, gazing raptly as the song kindled and took light in their souls – it came to me that the way to men's souls was through their hearts, not simply through their minds. As much as a man might be convinced in his mind, as long as his heart remained unchanged all persuasion would fail. The surest way to the heart is through song and story: a single tale of high and noble deeds spoke to men more forcefully than all of blessed Dafyd's homilies.

  I do not know why this should be, but I believe it to be true. I have seen the humble folk crowd into the chapel -in the wood to receive the mass. In all sincerity they kneel before the holy altar, mute, reverent, as they should be, but also uncomprehending.

  Yet I have seen the eyes of their souls awaken when Dafyd reads out, 'Listen, in a far country there lived a king who had two sons… '

  Perhaps it is how we are made; perhaps words of truth reach us best through the heart, and stories and songs are the language of the heart.

  However it is, I sang that night and the men listening heard a song they had never heard before: a song of that same far-off country Dafyd told about. I had begun making songs, although I did not often sing them before others. This night I did and it was welcomed.

  When we finally reached Maridunum, it was market day and the old stone-paved streets were awash with bleating, clucking, squealing livestock and their shouting handlers. We were wearily pushing our way through the confusion when I heard a voice ring out, saying: 'Behold, you Briton men and women! Behold your king!'

  I craned my neck, but with the market swirling round the horse's flanks I could see nothing. I rode on.

  Again the voice proclaimed. 'Sons of Bran and Brut! Listen to your bard. I tell you your king passes by, hail him in all respect.'

  I reined the horse to a halt and turned in the saddle. A way parted through the crowd and a bearded druid stepped into view. He was tall and gaunt, w
ith his blue robe hanging over his shoulder. His mantle was bound at his waist with rawhide and a leather pouch dangled from this crude belt. He held his staff raised as he came forward, and I saw that it was of rowan.

  He approached. The others riding with me also stopped to watch.

  'Who are you, bard?' I asked. 'Why do you call after me the way you do?'

  'For the giving of a name, a name is required.'

  'Here among these people, I am called Myrddin,' I told him.

  'Well spoken, friend,1 he said. 'Myrddin you are, but Wledig you will be.'

  The flesh of my scalp prickled at his words. 'I have given my name,' I told him, 'I will hear yours, unless something prevents you.'

  His brown face wrinkled in a smile. 'Nothing prevents me, but I am not in the habit of giving my name where it is already known.'

  He stepped slowly closer. The men behind me made the sign against evil with their hands, but the druid ignored them; his eyes never left my face. 'Tell me now that you do not know me.'

  'Blaise!'

  I was out of the saddle and into his arms before another word could be spoken. I gripped his shoulders hard, feeling the solid muscle and bone beneath my hands. It really was Blaise in front of me, though I had to touch him to believe it. He was much changed. Older, thinner, tough as a pine knot, his eyes blazing like pitch torches.

  'Blaise, Blaise,' I shook him and pounded him on the back, 'I did not recognize you, forgive me.'

  'Not recognize the teacher of your youth? Teh, Myrddin, are you going soft in the head?'

  'Let us say that a satirizing voice from the market throng was the last thing I expected.'

  Blaise shook his head gravely. 'I was not satirizing you, my lord Myrddin.'

  'And I am no lord, Blaise, as you well know.' His talk made me uncomfortable.

  'No?' He threw back his head and laughed. 'Oh, Myrddin, your innocence is beyond price. Look around you, lad. Who is it that men's eyes follow when he rides by? Who do they speak of behind their hands? What tales are winging through the land?'

  I shrugged in bewilderment. 'If you are talking about me, I am sure you are mistaken. No one takes notice of me.' I said this into virtual silence, for the market had grown very quiet as the crowd watched, catching every word.