by Mary Stewart
"What's the matter?" Even her voice sounded blind. Her hands still moved over the space of air where I had been.
"I'm sorry, Keri. I'm sorry."
"What do you mean? What's happened?" She turned her head in its fallen flurry of gold. Her eyes were narrow and cloudy. She reached for me. "Oh, if that's all, come here. It's all right, I'll show you, just come here."
"No." I tried to put her aside gently, but I was shaking. "No, Keri. Leave me. No."
"What's the matter?" Her eyes opened suddenly wide. She pushed herself up on her elbow. "Why, I do believe you've never done it before. Have you? Have you?"
I didn't speak.
She gave a laugh that seemed meant to sound gay, but came shrilly. She rolled over again and stretched out her hands. "Well, never mind, you can learn, can't you? You're a man, after all. At least, I thought you were..." Then, suddenly in a fury of impatience: "Oh, for God's sake. Hurry, can't you? I tell you, it'll be all right."
I caught her wrists and held them. "Keri, I'm sorry. I can't explain, but this is...I must not, that's all I know. No, listen, give me a minute."
"Let me go!"
I loosened her and she pulled away and sat up. Her eyes were angry. There were flowers caught in her hair.
I said: "This isn't because of you, Keri, don't think that. It has nothing to do with you--"
"Not good enough for you, is that it? Because my mother was a whore?"
"Was she? I didn't even know." I felt suddenly immensely tired. I said carefully: "I told you this was nothing to do with you. You are very beautiful, Keri, and the first moment I saw you I felt -- you must know what I felt. But this is nothing to do with feeling. It is between me and -- it is something to do with my -- " I stopped. It was no use. Her eyes watched me, bright and blank, then she turned aside with a little flouncing movement and began to tidy her dress. Instead of "power," I finished: " -- something to do with my magic."
"Magic." Her lip was thrust out like a hurt child's. She knotted her girdle tight with a sharp little tug, and began to gather up the fallen bluebells, repeating spitefully: "Magic. Do you think I believe in your silly magic? Did you really think I even had the toothache, that time?"
"I don't know," I said wearily. I got to my feet.
"Well, maybe you don't have to be a man to be a magician. You ought to have gone into that monastery after all."
"Perhaps." A flower was tangled in her hair and she put a hand up to pull it out. The fine floss glinted in the sun like gossamer. My eye caught the blue mark of a bruise on her wrist. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?"
She neither answered nor looked up, and I turned away. "Well, goodbye, Keri." I had gone perhaps six steps when her voice stopped me. "Prince --" I turned. "So you do answer to it?" she said. "I'm surprised. Son of the High King, you say you are, and you don't even leave me a piece of silver to pay for my gown?"
I must have stood staring like a sleepwalker. She tossed the gold hair back over her shoulder and laughed up at me. Like a blind man fumbling, I felt in the purse at my belt and came out with a coin. It was gold. I took a step back towards her to give it to her. She leaned forward, still laughing, her hands out, cupped like a beggar's. The torn gown hung loose from the lovely throat. I flung the coin down and ran away from her, up through the wood.
Her laughter followed me till I was over the ridge and down in the next valley and had flung myself on my belly beside the stream and drowned the feel and the scent of her in the rush of the mountain water that smelled of snow.
9
In June Ambrosius came to Caerleon, and sent for me. I rode up alone, arriving one evening well past supper-time, when the lamps had been lit and the camp was quiet. The King was still working; I saw the spill of light from headquarters, and the glimmer on the dragon standard outside. While I was still some way off I heard the clash of a salute, and a tall figure came out whom I recognized as Uther.
He crossed the way to a door opposite the King's, but with his foot on the bottom step saw me, stopped, and came back.
"Merlin. So you got here. You took your time, didn't you?"
"The summons was hasty. If I am to go abroad, there are things I have to do."
He stood still. "Who said you were to go abroad?"
"People talk of nothing else. It's Ireland, isn't it? They say Pascentius has made some dangerous allies over there, and that Ambrosius wants them destroyed quickly. But why me?"
"Because it's their central stronghold he wants destroyed. Have you ever heard of Killare?"
"Who hasn't? They say it's a fortress that's never been taken."
"Then they say the truth. There's a mountain in the center of all Ireland, and they say that from the summit of it you can see every coast. And on top of that hill there's a fortress, not of earth and palisades, but of strong stones. That, my dear Merlin, is why you."
"I see. You need engines."
"We need engines. We have to attack Killare. If we can take it, you can reckon that there'll be no trouble there for a few years to come. So I take Tremorinus, and Tremorinus insists on taking you."
"I gather the King isn't going?"
"No. Now I'll say good night; I have business to attend to, or I would ask you in to wait. He's got the camp commandant with him, but I don't imagine they'll be long."
On this, he said a pleasant enough good night, and ran up the steps into his quarters, shouting for his servant before he was well through the door.
Almost immediately, from the King's doorway, came the clash of another salute, and the camp commandant came out. Not seeing me, he paused to speak to one of the sentries, and I stood waiting until he had done.
A movement caught my eye, a furtive stir of shadow where someone came softly down a narrow passage between the buildings opposite, where Uther was housed. The sentries, busy with the commandant, had seen nothing. I drew back out of the torchlight, watching. A slight figure, cloaked and hooded. A girl. She reached the lighted corner and paused there, looking about her. Then, with a gesture that was secret rather than afraid, she pulled the hood closer about her face. It was a gesture I recognized, as I recognized the drift of scent on the air, like honeysuckle, and from under the hood the lock of hair curling, gold in the torchlight.
I stood still. I wondered why she had followed me here, and what she hoped to gain. I do not think it was shame I felt, not now, but there was pain, and I believe there was still desire. I hesitated, then took a step forward and spoke.
"Keri?"
But she paid no attention. She slid out from the shadows and, quickly and lightly, ran up the steps to Uther's door. I heard the sentry challenge, then a murmur, and a soft laugh from the man.
When I drew level with Uther's doorway it was shut. In the light of the torch I saw the smile still on the sentry's face.
Ambrosius was still sitting at his table, his servant hovering behind him in the shadows.
He pushed his papers aside and greeted me. The servant brought wine and poured it, then withdrew and left us alone.
We talked for a while. He told me what news there was since I had left Winchester ; the building that had gone forward, and his plans for the future. Then we spoke of Tremorinus' work at Caerleon, and so came to the talk of war. I asked him for the latest about Pascentius, "for," I said, "we have been waiting weekly to hear that he had landed in the north and was harrying the countryside."
"Not yet. In fact, if my plans come to anything, we may hear nothing more of Pascentius until the spring, and then we shall be more than prepared. If we allow him to come now, he may well prove more dangerous than any enemy I have yet fought."
"I've heard something about this. You mean the Irish news?"
"Yes. The news is bad from Ireland. You know they have a young king there, Gilloman? A young firedrake, they tell me, and eager for war. Well, you may have heard it, the news is that Pascentius is contracted to Gilloman's sister. You see what this could mean? Such an alliance as that might put the north and west
of Britain both at risk together."
"Is Pascentius in Ireland ? We heard he was in Germany, gathering support."
"That is so," he said. "I can't get accurate information about his numbers, but I'd say about twenty thousand men. Nor have I yet heard what he and Gilloman plan to do." He lifted an eyebrow at me, amused. "Relax, boy, I haven't called you here to ask for a prediction. You made yourself quite clear at Kaerconan; I'm content to wait, like you, on your god."
I laughed. "I know. You want me for what you call 'real work.'"
"Indeed. This is it. I am not content to wait here in Britain while Ireland and Germany gather their forces and then come together on both our coasts like a summer storm, and meet in Britain to overwhelm the north. Britain lies between them now, and she can divide them before ever they combine to attack."
"And you'll take Ireland first?"
"Gilloman," he said, nodding. "He's young and inexperienced -- and he is also nearer. Uther will sail for Ireland before the month's end." There was a map in front of him. He half turned it so that I could see. "Here. This is Gilloman's stronghold; you'll have heard of it, I don't doubt. It is a mountain fortress called Killare. I have not found a man who has seen it, but I am told it is strongly fortified, and can be defended against any assault. I am told, indeed, that it has never fallen. Now, we can't afford to have Uther sit down in front of it for months, while Pascentius comes in at the back door. Killare must be taken quickly, and it cannot -- they tell me -- be taken by fire."
"Yes?" I had already noticed that there were drawings of mine on the table among the maps and plans.
He said, as if at a tangent: "Tremorinus speaks very highly of you."
"That's good of him." Then, at my own tangent: "I met Uther outside. He told me what you wanted."
"Then will you go with him?"
"I'm at your service, of course. But sir" -- I indicated the drawings -- "I have made no new designs. Everything I have designed has already been built here. And if there is so much hurry --"
"Not that, no. I'm asking for nothing new. The machines we have are good -- and must serve. What we have built is ready now for shipping. I want you for more than this." He paused.
"Killare, Merlin, is more than a stronghold, it is a holy place, the holy place of the Kings of Ireland. They tell me the crest of the hill holds a Dance of stone, a circle such as you knew in Brittany. And on Killare, men say, is the heart of Ireland and the holy place of Gilloman's kingdom. I want you, Merlin, to throw down the holy place, and take the heart out of Ireland."
I was silent.
"I spoke of this to Tremorinus," he said, "and he told me I must send for you. Will you go?"
"I have said I will. Of course."
He smiled, and thanked me, not as if he were High King and I a subject obeying his wish, but as if I were an equal giving him a favor. He talked then for a little longer about Killare, what he had heard of it, and what preparations he thought we should make, and finally leaned back, saying with a smile: "One thing I regret. I'm going to Maridunum, and I should have liked your company, but now there is no time for that. You may charge me with any messages you care to."
"Thank you, but I have none. Even if I had been there, I would hardly have dared to offer you the hospitality of a cave."
"I should like to see it."
"Anyone will tell you the way. But it's hardly fit to receive a King."
I stopped. His face was lit with a laughter that all at once made him look twenty again. I set down my cup. "I am a fool. I had forgotten."
"That you were begotten there? I thought you had. I can find my way to it, never fear."
He spoke then about his own plans. He himself would stay in Caerleon, "for if Pascentius attacks," he told me, "my guess is that he will come down this way" -- his finger traced a line on the map -- "and I can catch him south of Carlisle. Which brings me to the next thing. There was something else I wanted to discuss with you. When you last came through Caerleon on your way to Maridunum in April, I believe you had a talk with Tremorinus?"
I waited.
"About this." He lifted a sheaf of drawings -- not mine -- and handed them across. They were not of the camp, or indeed of any buildings I had seen. There was a church, a great hall, a tower. I studied them for a few minutes in silence. For some reason I felt tired, as if my heart were too heavy for me. The lamp smoked and dimmed and sent shadows dancing over the papers. I pulled myself together, and looked up at my father. "I see. You must be talking about the memorial building?"
He smiled. "I'm Roman enough to want a visible monument."
I tapped the drawings. "And British enough to want it British? Yes, I heard that, too."
"What did Tremorinus tell you?"
"That it was thought some kind of monument to your victories should be erected, and to commemorate your kingship of a united kingdom. I agreed with Tremorinus that to build a triumphal arch here in Britain would be absurd. He did say that some churchmen wanted a big church built -- the bishop of Caerleon, for instance, wanted one here. But surely, sir, this would hardly do? If you build at Caerleon you'll have London and Winchester, not to mention York, thinking it should have been there. Of them all, I suppose, Winchester would be the best. It is your capital."
"No. I've had a thought about this myself. When I traveled up from Winchester, I came through Amesbury..." He leaned forward suddenly. "What's the matter, Merlin? Are you ill?"
"No. It's a hot night, that's all. A storm coming, I think. Go on. You came through Amesbury."
"You knew it was my birthplace? Well, it seemed to me that to put my monument in such a place could give no cause for complaint -- and there is another reason why it's a good choice." He knitted his brows. "You're like a sheet, boy. Are you sure you're all right?"
"Perfectly. Perhaps a little tired."
"Have you supped? It was thoughtless of me not to ask."
"I ate on the way, thank you. I have had all I needed. Perhaps -- some more wine" I half rose, but before I could get to my feet he was on his, and came round the table with the jug and served me himself. While I drank he stayed where he was, near me, sitting back against the table's edge. I was reminded sharply of how he had stood this way that night in Brittany when I discovered him. I remember that I held it in my mind, and in a short while was able to smile at him.
"I am quite well, sir, indeed I am. Please go on. You were giving me the second reason for putting your monument at Amesbury."
"You probably know that it is not far from there that the British dead lie buried, who were slain by Hengist's treachery. I think it fitting -- and I think there is no man who will argue with this -- that the monument to my victory, to the making of one kingdom under one King, should also be a memorial for these warriors." He paused. "And you might say there is yet a third reason, more powerful than the other two."
I said, not looking at him, but down into the cup of wine, and speaking quietly: "That Amesbury is already the site of the greatest monument in Britain ? Possibly the greatest in the whole West?"
"Ah." It was a syllable of deep satisfaction. "So your mind moves this way, too? You have seen the Giants' Dance?"
"I rode out to it from Amesbury, when I was on my way home from Winchester."
He stood up at that and walked back round the table to his chair. He sat, then leaned forward, resting his hands on the table.
"Then you know how I am thinking. You saw enough when you lived in Brittany to know what the Dance was once. And you have seen what it is now -- a chaos of giant stones in a lonely place where the sun and the winds strike." He added more slowly, watching me: "I have talked of this to Tremorinus. He says that no power of man could raise those stones."
I smiled. "So you sent for me to raise them for you?"
"You know they say it was not men who raised them, but magic."
"Then," I said, "no doubt they will say the same again." His eyes narrowed.
"You are telling me you can do it?"
&
nbsp; "Why not?" He was silent, merely waiting. It was a measure of his faith in me that he did not smile. I said: "Oh, I've heard all the tales they tell, the same tales they told in Less Britain of the standing stones. But the stones were put there by men, sir. And what men put there once, men can put there again."
"Then if I don't possess a magician, at least I possess a competent engineer?"
"That's it."
"How will you do it?"
"As yet, I know less than half of it. But it can be done."
"Then will you do this for me, Merlin?"
"Of course. Have I not said I am here only to serve you as best I can? I will rebuild the Giants' Dance for you, Ambrosius."
"A strong symbol for Britain." He spoke broodingly now, frowning down at his hands. "I shall be buried there, Merlin, when my time comes. What Vortigern wanted to do for his stronghold in darkness, I shall do for mine in the light; I shall have the body of her King buried under the stones, the warrior under the threshold of all Britain."
Someone must have drawn the curtains back from the door. The sentries were out of sight, the camp silent. The stone doorposts and the heavy lintel lying across them framed a blue night burning with stars. All round us the vast shadows reared, giant stones linked like pleached trees where some hands long since bone had cut the signs of the gods of air and earth and water. Someone was speaking quietly; a king's voice; Ambrosius' voice. It had been speaking for some time; vaguely, like echoes in the dark, I heard it.
"...and while the King lies there under the stone the Kingdom shall not fall. For as long and longer than it has stood before, the Dance shall stand again, with the light striking it from the living heaven. And I shall bring back the great stone to lay upon the grave-place, and this shall be the heart of Britain, and from this time on all the kings shall be one King and all the gods one God. And you shall live again in Britain, and forever, for we will make between us a King whose name will stand as long as the Dance stands, and who will be more than a symbol; he will be a shield and a living sword."
