Legacy: Arthurian Saga

by Mary Stewart

  "That can be arranged. Now? A man can be ready within the half hour."

  "No. It's not so urgent. If we might talk first, please?"

  He sat down, motioning me to a chair. For the first time a spark of interest showed. "Do you mean that the report concerns Olicana? Am I to know why?"

  "I shall tell you, of course. The King asked me to find out all I could about this place, and also about the ruined fortress in the pass, the one they call Lake Fort. "

  He nodded. "I know it. It's been a wreck for nearly two hundred years. It was destroyed in the Brigantian rebellion, and left to rot. This place suffered the same fate, but Ambrosius had it rebuilt. He had plans for Lake Fort, too, so I have been told. If I had had a mandate, I might have -- " He checked himself. "Ah, well...You came from Bremet? Then you'll know that a couple of miles north of that road there is another fort -- nothing there, only the site -- but I would have thought it equally vital to any strategy involving the Gap. Ambrosius saw it so, they tell me. He saw that the Gap could be a key point of his strategy." There was no perceptible emphasis on the "he," but the inference was clear. Uther had not only forgotten the existence of Olicana and its garrison, he had either ignored or misunderstood the importance of the road through the Pennine Gap. As this young man, in his helpless isolation, had not.

  I said quickly: "And now the new King sees it, too. He wants to refortify the Gap, not only with a view to closing and holding it against penetration from the east, if that becomes necessary, but also to using the pass as a quick line of attack. He has charged me to see what there is to be done. I think you can expect the surveyors up after my reports have been studied. This place is in a state of readiness that I know the King did not expect. He will be pleased."

  I told him something then about Arthur's plans for the formation of the cavalry force. He listened eagerly, his weary boredom forgotten, and the questions he put showed that he knew a great deal about affairs on the eastern seaboard. He assumed, besides, a surprisingly intimate knowledge of Saxon movements and strategy.

  I left that aside for the moment, and began to put my own questions about Olicana's accommodation and supplies. After little more than a minute of it he got to his feet, and, crossing to a chest locked with another of the great padlocks, opened it, and brought out tablets and rolls on which, it transpired, were lists, fully detailed, of all I wanted to know.

  I studied these for a few minutes, then became conscious that he was waiting, watching me, with other lists in his hand.

  "I think," he began, then hesitated. In a moment he made up his mind to continue. "I don't think that King Uther, in the last years, ever quite appreciated what the road through the Gap might mean in the coming struggle. When I was sent here -- when I was young -- I saw it as an outpost only, a place, you might say, to practice on. It was better than Lake Fort then but only just...It took quite a time to get it into working shape...Well, you know what happened, sir. The war moved north and south; King Uther was sick, and the country divided; we seemed to be forgotten. I sent couriers from time to time, with information, but got no acknowledgement. So for my own instruction and, I admit, entertainment, I began to send out men -- not soldiers, but boys from the town mostly, with a taste for adventure -- and gathered information. I am at fault, I know, but..." He stopped.

  "You kept it to yourself?" I prompted him.

  "With no wrong motive," he said hastily. "I did send one courier, with some information I judged to be of value, but heard no more of him or of the papers he carried. So I no longer wanted to commit anything to messengers who might not be received by the King."

  "I can assure you that anything I send to the King has only to reach him safely to get his immediate attention."

  While we had been talking he had been studying me covertly, comparing, I suppose, my shabby appearance with the manner I had made no attempt, with him, to disguise. He said slowly, glancing down at the lists he held: "I have the King's pass and seal, so I am to trust you. Am I to know your name?"

  "If you wish. It is for you only. I have your promise?"

  "Of course," he said, a shade impatiently.

  "Then I am Myrddin Emrys, commonly known as Merlin. As you will gather, I am on a private journey, so I am known as Emrys, a traveling doctor."

  "Sir --"

  "No," I said quickly, "sit down again. I only told you so that you could be sure your information will reach the King's ear, and quickly. May I see it now?"

  He laid the lists down in front of me. I studied them. More information: plans of fortified settlements, numbers of troops and armaments, troop movements carefully chronicled, supplies, ships...

  I looked up, startled. "But these are plans of Saxon dispositions?"

  He nodded. "Recent, too, sir. I had a stroke of fortune last summer. I was put in touch -- it doesn't matter how -- with a Saxon, a third-generation federate. Like a lot of the old federates, he wants to keep to the old order. These Saxons hold their pledged word sacred, and besides" -- a glimmer of a smile on the grim young mouth -- "they mistrust the incomers. Some of these new adventurers want to displace the wealthy federates just as much as they want to drive out the British."

  "And this information comes from him. Can you trust it?"

  "I think so. The parts I could check I have found to be true. I don't know how good or how recent the King's own information is, but I think you should draw his attention to the section -- here -- about Elesa, and Cerdic Elesing. That means --"

  "Elesa's son. Yes. Elesa being our old friend Eosa?"

  "That's right, Horsa's son. You would know that after he and his kinsman Octa escaped from Uther's prison, Octa died, at Rutupiae, but Eosa made for Germany and drummed up Octa's sons Colgrim and Badulf to make the attack in the north...Well, what you may not have known was that before he died, Octa was claiming the title of 'king' here in Britain. It didn't amount to much more than the chieftainship he had had before, as Hengist's son; neither Colgrim nor Badulf seems to have set much store by it: but now they are dead, too, and, as you see..."

  "Eosa makes the same claim. Yes. With any more success?"

  "It seems so. King of the West Saxons, he calls himself, and his young son Cerdic is known as 'the Aetheling.' They claim descent from some far-back hero or demigod. That's usual, of course, but the point is that his people believe in it. You can see that this gives a new kind of color to the Saxon invasions."

  "It could alter what you were saying about the old-established federates."

  "Indeed. Eosa and Cerdic have that sort of standing, you see. This talk of a 'kingdom'...He's promising stability -- and rights -- to the old federates, and a quick killing to the incomers. He's genuine, too. I mean, he's shown himself to be more than a clever adventurer; he's established the legend of a heroic kingship, he's accepted as a law-giver, and powerful enough to enforce new customs. Changed the grave-customs, even...they don't burn their dead now, I'm told, or even bury them with their arms and grave-goods in the old way. According to Cerdic the Aetheling, it's wasteful." That grim little smile again. "They get their priests to cleanse the dead man's weapons ritually, and then they re-use them. They now believe that a spear once used by a good fighter will make its next owner as good, or better...and a weapon taken from a defeated warrior will fight the harder for being given a second chance. I tell you, a dangerous man. The most dangerous, perhaps, since Hengist himself."

  I was impressed, and said so. "The King shall see this as soon as I can get it to him. It will be brought to his attention straight away, I promise you that. You must know how valuable it is. How soon can you have copies made?"

  "I already have copies. These can go straight away."

  "Good. Now, if you'll allow me, I'll add a word to your report, and put my own report on Lake Fort in with them."

  He brought writing materials and set them in front of me, then made for the door. "I'll arrange for a courier."

  "Thank you. A moment, though --"

  He paused. We had
been speaking in Lathi, but there was something about his use of it that told me he came from the West Country. I said: "They told me in the tavern that your name was Gerontius. Do I hazard a guess that it was once Gereint?"

  He smiled. It took years off him. "It still is, sir."

  "It's a name that Arthur will be glad to know," I said, and turned to my writing.

  He stood still for a moment, then went to the door, opened it, and spoke with someone outside. He came back, and, crossing to a table in the corner, poured wine and set a goblet by me. I heard him draw breath once, as if to speak, but he was silent.

  At last I was finished. He went to the door again, and came back, followed this time by a man, a wiry fellow, looking as if he had just wakened up, but dressed ready for the road. He carried a leather pouch with a strong lock. He was ready to go, he said, putting away the packages Gereint handed to him; he would eat on the way.

  Gereint's terse instructions to him showed once more how good his information was. "You'll do best to go by Lindum. The King will have left Caerleon by now, and be heading back toward Linnuis. By the time you reach Lindum you'll get news of him."

  The man nodded briefly, and went. So within a few hours of my reaching Olicana, my report, with how much more, was on its way back. Now I was free to turn my thoughts toward Dunpeldyr and what I would find there.

  But first, to pay Gereint for his service. He poured more wine, and settled, with an eagerness that must have been foreign to him for a long time, to ply me with questions about Arthur's accession at Luguvallium, and the activities since then at Caerleon. He deserved good measure, and I gave it. Only when the midnight rounds were almost due did I get to my own questions.

  "Soon after Luguvallium, did Lot of Lothian ride this way?"

  "Yes, but not through Olicana itself. There's a road -- it's little more than a track now -- that cuts aside from the main road, and leads due east. It's a bad road, and skirts some dangerous bogland, so though it's the quickest way for anyone heading north, it is very little used."

  "But Lot used it, even though he was heading south for York? To avoid being seen in Olicana, do you suppose?"

  "That did not occur to me," said Gereint. "Not, that is, until later...He has a house on that road. He would go there to lodge, rather than come into the town here."

  "His own house? I see. Yes, I saw it from the pass. A snug place, but lonely."

  "As to that," he said, "he uses it very little."

  "But you knew he was there?"

  "I know most things that go on hereabouts." A gesture at the padlocked chest. "Like an old wife at the cottage door, I have little else to do but observe my neighbors."

  "I have reason to be grateful for it. Then you must know who met Lot at his house in the hills?" His eyes held mine for a full ten seconds. Then he smiled. "A certain semi-royal lady. They arrived separately, and they left separately, but they reached York together." His brows lifted. "But how did you know this, sir?"

  "I have my own ways of spying." He said calmly: "So I believe. Well, now all is settled and correct in the sight of God and mankind. The King of Lothian has gone with Arthur from Caerleon into Linnuis, while his new queen waits at Dunpeldyr to bear the child. You knew, of course, about the child?"

  "Yes."

  "They have met here before," said Gereint, with a nod that added plainly, "and now we see the results of that meeting."

  "Have they indeed? Often? And since when?"

  "Since I came here, perhaps three or four times." His tone was not that of one passing on tavern gossip, but merely briskly informative. "Once they were here for as much as a month together, but they kept themselves close. It was a matter of report only; we saw nothing of them." I thought of the bedchamber with its regal crimson and gold. I had been right. Long-time lovers, indeed.

  If only I could believe what I had suggested to Arthur, that the child could, in fact, be Lot's own. At least, from the neutral tone that Gereint had used, that was what most men assumed as yet.

  "And now," he said, "love has had its way, in spite of policy. Is it presumptuous in me to ask if the High

  King is angry?" He had earned an honest answer, so I gave him one. "He was angry, naturally, at the way the marriage was made, but now he sees that it will serve as well as the other. Morgause is his half-sister, so the alliance with King Lot must still hold. And Morgan is free for whatever other marriage may suggest itself."

  "Rheged," he said immediately.

  "Possibly."

  He smiled, and let the subject drop. We talked for a little longer, then I rose to go.

  "Tell me something," I asked him. "Did your information run to a knowledge of Merlin's whereabouts?"

  "No. Two travelers were reported, but there was no hint of who they might be."

  "Or where they were bound?"

  "No, sir."

  I was satisfied. "Need I insist that no one is to know who I am? You will not include this interview in your report."

  "That's understood. Sir --"

  "What is it?"

  "About this report of yours on Tribuit and Lake Fort. You said that surveyors would be coming up. It occurs to me that I could save them a good deal of time if I sent working parties over immediately. They could start on the preliminaries -- clearing, gathering turf and timber, quarrying, digging the ditches...If you would authorize the work?"

  "I? I have no authority."

  "No authority?" He repeated blankly, then began to laugh. "No, I see. I can hardly start quoting Merlin's authority, or people might ask how it came my way. And they might remember a certain humble traveler who peddled herbs and simples...Well, since that same traveler brought me a letter from the High King, my own authority will doubtless suffice."

  "It's had to do so for long enough," I agreed, and took my leave, well satisfied.

  9

  So we journeyed north. Once we had joined the main road north from York, the way they call Dere Street, going was easy, and we made fair speed. Sometimes we lodged in taverns, but, the weather being fine and hot, more often than not we would ride on as long as the light lasted, then made camp in some flowering brake near the road. Then after supper I would make music for myself, and Ulfin would listen, dreaming his own dreams while the fire died to white ash, and the stars came out.

  He was a good companion. We had known one another since we were boys, I with Ambrosius in Brittany, where he gathered the army that was to conquer Vortigern and take Britain, Ulfin as servant -- slave-boy -- to my tutor Belasius. His life had been a hard one with that strange cruel man, but after Belasius' death Uther had taken the boy into his service, and there Ulfin had soon risen to a place of trust. He was now about five-and-thirty years old, brown-haired and grey-eyed, very quiet, and self-contained in the way of men who know they must live their lives out alone, or as the companions of other men. The years as Belasius' catamite had left their mark.

  One evening I made a song, and sang it to the low hills north of Vinovia, where the busy small rivers wind deep in their forested valleys, but the great road strides across the higher land, through leagues of whin and bracken, and over the long heather moorlands where the only trees are pine and alder and groves of silver birch.

  We were camped in one such coppice, where the ground was dry underfoot, and the slender birch boughs hung still in the warm evening, tenting us with silk.

  This was the song. I called it a song of exile, and I have heard versions of it since, elaborated by some famous Saxon singer, but the first was my own: He who is companionless seeks oftentimes the mercy the grace of the creator, God. Sad, sad the faithful man who outlives his lord. He sees the world stand waste as a wall blown on by the wind, as an empty castle, where the snow sifts through the window-frames, drifts on the broken bed and the black hearth-stone.

  Alas, the bright cup! Alas, the hall of feasting! Alas the sword that kept the sheep-fold and the apple-orchard safe from the claw of the wolf! The wolf-slayer is dead. The law-giver, the law-uphol
der is dead, while the sad wolf's self, with the eagle, and the raven, come as kings, instead.

  I was lost in the music, and when at length I laid the last note to rest and looked up, I was taken aback to see two things: one that Ulfin, sitting on the other side of the fire, was listening rapt, with tears on his face; the other, that we had company. Neither Ulfin nor I, enclosed in the music, had noticed the two travelers approaching us over the soft mosses of the moorland way.

  Ulfin saw them in the same moment that I did, and was on his feet, knife ready. But it was obvious that there was no harm in them, and the knife was back in its sheath before I said, "Put up," or the foremost of the intruders smiled, and showed a placating hand.

  "No harm, masters, no harm. I've always been fond of a bit of music, and you've got quite a talent there, you have indeed."

  I thanked him, and, as if the words had been an invitation, he came nearer to the fire and sat, while the boy who was with him thankfully humped the packs off his shoulders and sank down likewise. He stayed in the background, away from the fire, though with the darkness of late evening a cool little breeze had sprung up, making the warmth of the burning logs welcome.

  The newcomer was a smallish man, elderly, with a neat greying beard and unruly brows over myopic brown eyes. His dress was travel-worn but neat, the cloak of good cloth, the sandals and belt of soft-cured leather. Surprisingly, his belt buckle was of gold -- or else thickly gilded -- and worked in an elaborate pattern. His cloak was fastened with a heavy disk brooch, also gilded, with a design beautifully worked, a curling triskele set in filigree within a deeply fluted rim. The boy, whom at first I took to be his grandson, was similarly dressed, but his only jewel was something that looked like a charm worn on a thin chain at his neck. Then he reached forward to unroll the blankets for the night, and as his sleeve slid back I saw on his forearm the puckered scar of an old brand. A slave, then; and from the way he stayed back from the fire's warmth, and silently busied himself unpacking the bags, he was one still. The old man was a man of property.