Great Light, Mover of all that is moving and at rest, be my Journey and my far Destination, be my Want and my Fulfilling, be my Sowing and my Reaping, be my glad Song and my stark Silence. Be my Sword and my strong Shield, be my Lantern and my dark Night, be my everlasting Strength and my piteous Weakness. Be my Greeting and my parting Prayer, be my bright Vision and my Blindness, be my Joy and my sharp Grief, be my sad Death and my sure Resurrection!
Yes, Charis loved Ganieda, a circumstance from which I derived unexpected pleasure. It was joy itself to see them together, fussing over the preparations before the wedding, knowing that I was the object of devotion in their warm womanly hearts, and the living link between them. May such love increase!
They were, both of them, Faery Queens, tall of stature and elegant in every detail, perfection in movement, harmony made flesh, beauty embodied. To see them together was to catch breath and pray thanks to the Gifting God.
Men speak foolishly of the beauty that slays, though I believe such a thing may exist. But there is also a beauty that heals, that restores and revives all who behold it. This is the beauty Charis and Ganieda possessed. And it greatly cheered Custennin and Maelwys to see it; those two kings glowed like men aflame with their good fortune.
I tell you the truth, there was never a more joyous company gathered beneath one roof than gathered beneath the roof of Maelwys' hall that wedding day.
O Wolf, it was a fine and happy day.
And it was a fine and enchanting night. My body was made for hers, and hers for mine. The delight of our lovemaking could have cheered whole nations, I believe. Even now the smell of clean rushes and new fleece, of beeswax candles and baking barley cakes makes my blood run bold in my veins.
We slipped unnoticed from the feast – or perhaps by common consent the celebrants chose not to attend to our leaving – and flew to the courtyard, where Pelleas had my horse saddled and ready. I took the reins from him and swung myself into the saddle, and reached down for Ganieda, and settled her before me in the saddle, and, with my arms around her, I caught up the bundle Pelleas offered and clattered from the courtyard.
No one gave chase, as is the usual custom: pretending that the woman has been carried off by a rival clansman and so must be saved and avenged. It is a harmless game, but such pretence had no place in our wedding. There was about our marriage such an air of Tightness and honour that merely to suggest otherwise would have made vulgar a sacred thing.
The moon shone fair among a scattering of silver-gilt clouds. We rode to a nearby shepherd's bothy which had been prepared the day before. It was a single-roomed hut of thick wattle-and-mud walls and a roof of deep thatch – little more than a hearth and bed place. Maelwys' serving women had done a good job of turning the rude room into a warm and inviting chamber for a young couple's first night. It had been swept, and swept again, the hearthstone scoured, the walls washed with lime. Fresh rushes had been cut, and fragrant heather for the bed, which was piled high with new fleeces and a coverlet of soft otter fur. Candles had been set, the hearth prepared, and bouquets of spring flowers bunched and placed around the room.
As it was a warm night, we lit a small fire in the hearth – only enough to cook the barley bannocks which Ganieda would serve to me for our ritual first meal together. In the glimmering firelight, the shepherd's bothy could have been a palace, and the clay bowl in which Ganieda mixed the water and barley meal a chalice of gold. Ganieda might have been the enchantress of the wood, and I the wandering hero entrapped by my love for her.
I sat cross-legged on the bed and watched her deft movements. When the hearthstone was hot enough, she shaped the little cakes and placed them on the stone. We did not speak all the while, it was as if we were no longer ourselves alone; no, we were all the young people who had ever loved and married, joining life to life, the latest in a living chain stretching back countless eons to that first hearth, that first coupling. There were no words for this moment.
The barley cakes cooked quickly, and Ganieda placed them gingerly in the gathered hem of her mantle and brought them to me. I took one, broke it, and fed her with half even as I ate half myself. She chewed solemnly and then turned to lift the cup she had poured out while the bannocks were baking.
I held the cup to her lips while she drank, then drained the warm, sweet wine hi a single gulp. Then the cup clattered to the floor and her arms were around my neck and her lips were on mine and I was tumbling backwards onto the bed, Ganieda's body full upon me, the scent of her silky skin filling my head.
And then there was only the night and our passion and, after, the sweet deep darkness of sleep in one another's arms.
I woke once before morning and heard a light whistle on the breeze. I crept from the bed and looked out of the door to see, outlined in the light of the sinking moon, Gwendolau, astride his horse. He rode at a respectful distance, keeping watch over us through the night.
I slipped back beneath the coverlet and into Ganieda's embrace, and fell asleep once more to the rhythm of my wife's soft breathing in slumber.
TEN
Deep in the black heart of Celyddon, with wolves and stags and grunting boars for company, does Myrddin abide. Is he alive or is he dead? God alone knows.
O happy Wolf, look into the fire and tell us what you see.
Ah, the steel men. Yes, I see them, too. All in steel from helm to heel. Big men, fearless men. Bristling with spears like an ash forest. See the knotted muscles of their arms; see the quick, deadly movements of their strong hands; see the fearless thrust of their jaws. They know that this day's light might be their last, but they are not afraid.
That one! See him? Look at the span of his shoulders, Wolf. See how he sits his saddle – as if he was part of the beast he rides. A magnificent man. Cai, yes, that is his name: a name that kindles fear in the heart of the foeman.
Here is another! See him, Wolf? A champion among champions he is. His cloak is blood red and his shield bears the cross of the Christ. His is a name the harpers will sing for a thousand years: Bedwyr, Bright Avenger.
And those two there! Oh, look – have you ever seen such dread purpose, such grim grace? Sons of Thunder. That one is called Gwalchmai, Hawk of May. The other is Gwalchaved, Hawk of Summer. They are twins, one in heart, one in mind, one in action – as alike as two may be and still be two. There is no matching the swiftness of their blades.
Each of these men is worthy of the rank of king; each is a lord in his own land. Who is there to lead such men? Who can be their Battle Lord? Where is the man to be king over kings?
I do not see him, Wolf. I do not see him for a long time yet.
No, these men do not live now, and not for many long years. Their time is not come. We have time yet to find a chieftain for them, Wolf. And we will… we must.
The day after Taliesin's visit – a day, a year, does it matter? – I saw the hermit as he promised. Squatting before my miserable cave, high up hi the mountain, I saw him coming a long way off. He was climbing, following the trickle of my spring as it wends down into the valley to join one of Celyddon's myriad streams.
He came on foot, and slowly, so that I had time to observe him. His cloak was dun, his feet were shod in high boots, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat on his head to keep off the sun. A strange hermit, I thought, to travel in such array.
As he approached, I saw that his steps were purposeful, deliberate. His was not the aimless gait of a wandering wayfarer; he knew his destination – it was this very cave, and him who lived within. He had come to Hart Fell to find Mad Merlin. Find him, he did.
'I give you good greeting, friend,' he called when he saw me watching him.
I waited until he came closer – there was no use in shouting at him. 'Will you sit? There is water if you thirst.'
He stood a moment, looking round. At last his eyes came to rest on me. They were sky blue, and just as cold and empty as the heaven above him. 'I would not shun a cup of water.'
'The spring is there,' I told him,
indicating where the water ran from the rock. 'I said nothing about a cup.'
He smiled and went to the spring, bent and sucked in a few mouthfuls of water – enough for appearance' sake, I thought, not enough to satisfy real thirst. And yet he had no water-skin with him.
When he sat down again, he removed his hat and I saw hair as yellow as flax – like that of a Saecsen prince. But his speech was good Briton. 'Tell me, friend, what do you up here?' 'I might ask the same of you,' I grunted by way of answer. 'It is no secret,' he said, laughing. 'I have come to find a man.'
'And have you found him?' 'Yes.'
'How fortunate for you.'
He smiled broadly. 'You are the one they call Merlin Ambrosius – Myrddin, the Emrys. Are you not?'
'Who would call me that?'
'Perhaps you are not aware of the things men are saying about you.'
'Perhaps it does not interest me what men say.'
He laughed again, as if the sound should win me. But the laughter, like the smile, did not touch his eyes. 'Come now, you must be somewhat curious. They are saying you are a king of the Fair Folk, that you are divine. They say you are a mighty warrior, invincible.'
'Do they say also that I am mad?'
'Are you mad?'
'Yes.'
'No madman would speak so rationally,' he assured me. 'Perhaps you only feign madness.'
'Why would any man feign that which is most hateful to him?'
'To make himself seem mad, I suppose,' the wanderer answered thoughtfully.
'Which would be madness itself, would it not?'
The stranger laughed again and instantly I hated the sound.
'Speak plainly now,' I said, challenging him, 'what do you want of me?'
He met my challenge with his empty smile. 'Just to speak with you a little.'
'You have come a long way for nothing, then. I do not wish to speak to anyone.'
'Perhaps you would not mind listening,' he replied, picking up a stick. He scratched in the dirt for a few moments, then looked up at me suddenly and, finding my eyes on him, said, 'I am not without influence in this world. I could do things for you.'
'Do this for me then, if your influence extends so far: go away.'
'I could do great things for you, Myrddin Emrys. Tell me what you want – anything you desire, Myrddin, I will do it, or see that it is done.'
'I have told you what I desire.'
He moved closer. 'Do you know who I am?'
'Should I?'
'Perhaps not, but I know who you are. I know you, Myrddin. You see, I am an Emrys, too.'
At his words, a slow, inexorable dread crept over me. I felt very old and very weak. He reached out to me and his touch was cold as stone. 'I can help you, Myrddin,' he went on. 'Let me help you.'
'I need no one's help. This place is a palace,' I told him, lifting my hand to my barren surroundings. 'I have all I need.'
'I can give you all you desire.'
'I desire peace,' I snapped. 'Can you give me that?'
'I can give you forgetting – it amounts to the same thing in the end.'
Forgetting… that would be a blessing. The hateful images pursue me, they haunt my waking, they steal my sleep. To forget – ah, but at what price?
'It seems to me that I might forget the good along with the bad,' I told him.
The stranger grinned happily and shrugged. 'Good, bad – what of that? It is all the same in the end.' He leaned still closer. 'I can do more for you. I can give you power, Myrddin. Authority such as you have never dreamed existed. It can be yours.'
'I am content with such power as I have, why should Merlin the Wild need more?'
His answer was quick, and I wondered how many others he had tempted with his vapid promises. Oh, yes, I knew who he was now. My time with Dafyd was never in vain. And, though I was no longer certain of the Guiding Hand, I could see no sense in going over to the enemy.
'Myrddin,' he said, making my name a mockery on his lips, 'it is such a little thing for me to do. I would do it in an instant. Look,' he raised his stick and pointed out across Celyddon's dark folds to the east. 'There is where the sun rises, Myrddin. There is where the heart of the Empire beats.' And I seemed to see, glimmering on the far horizon, the imperial city with its strong walls and palaces. 'As emperor, you would i rule the world. You could destroy the hated Saecsens once and for all. Think of all the suffering you could save. One wave of your hand, Myrddin, that is all it would take.' He held out his hand to me.
'Come with me, Myrddin, together we could make you the greatest emperor this world has ever seen. You would be rich beyond all riches; your name would last for ever.'
'But Myrddin would not,' I told him. 'You would see to that as well. Be gone, I am tired.'
'Are you such an honourable man?' he spat contemptuously. 'Are you so righteous?'
'Words, words. I claim nothing.'
'Myrddin… look at me. Why will you not look at me? We are friends, you and I. Your lord has left you, Myrddin. It is time to find one more trustworthy. Come with me.' His fingers were nearly touching mine now. 'Come, but we must go at once.'
'Why is it that when you speak I hear only the vacant howl of the tomb?'
That made him angry. His face changed and he was formidable. 'You think you are better than I am? I will destroy you, Myrddin.'
'As you destroyed Morgian?'
His eyes gleamed maliciously. 'She is beautiful, is she not?'
'Death wears many faces,' I said, 'but its stench is always the same.'
The heat of his anger leapt up instantly. 'I give you one last chance – in fact, I give you Morgian, my finest creation.' He assumed a soothing aspect as he thought of this new tactic. 'She is yours, Merlin. Do what you like with her. Yes, you will be her master. Take her. You can even kill her if you wish. Destroy her as she destroyed your father.'
Black anger swarmed before my eyes like wasps. My body began to shake. I tasted bile on my tongue. I jumped to my feet. 'You destroyed my father!' I cried, hearing my voice echo in the long valley below. I stood and put two fingers in my mouth and whistled high and long. 'Leave while you can.'
'You cannot send me away,' the creature said. 'I go when and where I will.'
At that moment, the she-wolf came running up the trail, snarling, ears flat to her head, fangs bared.
He laughed. 'Do not think to frighten me away. Nothing on earth can harm me.'
'No? In the name of Jesu the Christ be gone!'
The wolf closed on him. He turned and dodged aside as she leapt, jaws slashing for his throat. Still, he had moved, and was already fleeing back down the mountainside as Wolf gathered herself for a second leap. She would have given chase, but I called her to my side, where, still snarling, I patted her head until the hackles melted into her back and she was calm once more.
So, my first visitor left me without a farewell. I was still trembling when Wolf growled once more, low in her throat, a warning growl. I looked down the defile, thinking to see the stranger returning. And there was someone approaching, but even from a fair distance I could tell it was another.
He was a gaunt stick of a creature, rough featured and hairy, wearing pelts of at least six different beasts. He stumped up the mountainside with the long, regular strides of one used to long journeys afoot, looking neither right nor left, but coming on apace.
And well he might, for a storm had sprung up out of nothing, as it can do in the mountains. Rags of black clouds were flying down the mountainside and I could taste rain on the cooling wind. Mist rolled over the rocks, taking the visitor from my sight.
I waited, comforting the she-wolf at my side. 'Be still, Wolf, we will hear what this one has come to say. Perhaps this guest will be more to our liking.' Although that did not appear likely, because of Taliesin's promise, I was of a mind to see it through.
He came in sight again, stepping from the mist when he drew near, and hailed us in a bold voice. 'Hail, Wild Man of the Wood! I bring you greeti
ngs from the world of men.'
'Sit down, friend, there is water if you thirst.'
'Water will serve where wine is scarce,' he replied. I watched him as he scooped water into his hand and slurped it up noisily. He did not appear a man over-used to holding the guest cup, but what of that? Did I look a king of Dyfed?
'It is thirsty work, climbing this slate mountain of yours, Myrddin.'
'How do you know my name – if it is my name?'
'Oh, I have known you for a very long time. Should a servant not know his master?'
I stared at him. His face was long and horsy; his brows black, his cheeks red from the sun and wind. His hair hung to his shoulders, loose like a woman's. I know I had never seen him before.
'You speak of masters and servants. What makes you think I have anything to do with either?' I asked, and then framed a more pertinent question. 'How did you know where to find me?'
'The one who sent me told me where to find you.' That was all he said, but his words made my heart leap within me.
'Who sent you?'
'A friend.'
'Does this friend have a name?'
'Everyone has a name – as you well know.' He scooped up more water and then wiped his hands on his skin jerkin. 'My name, for instance, is Annwas Adeniawc.'
A most unusual name – it meant Ancient Winged Servant. 'I see no wings, and you are not as ancient as your name implies. And there are indeed many masters in this world, and even more servants.'
'All mortals serve, Myrddin. Immortals also. But I have not come to talk about me – I have come to talk about you.'
'Then you have come for no purpose.' The words were out before I could stop them. Do not send him away, Taliesin had said. I need not have worried, for my visitor took no notice of my rudeness.
'Once loosened, the tongue wags on, does it not?' This was said with great good humour. Annwas apparently enjoyed himself. He glanced around my scree-covered abode, and then turned his eyes to the west, over the vast, rumpled bearskin of Celyddon. 'Men say the light dies in the west,' he remarked casually. 'But if I told you it rises there, would you believe it?'
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