by Mary Stewart
So he had fought with Camlach and Vortimer. It was what I had wanted to know. I said mildly: "I was hardly responsible for the Duke's policy. Nor am I now."
"Hah! It's as well for you. You knew he was in the north with Vortigern?"
"I knew he had left to join him — at Caer'n-ar-Von, was it? Are you going up there yourself?" I put the gentlest of queries into my voice, adding meekly: "I wasn't really in a position to hear much news that mattered."
A chill current of air eddied, loaded with damp, between the pillars. From some broken gutter above us water suddenly spilled over, to splash between us on the flagstones. I saw him gather his cloak round him. "Why are we standing here?" He spoke with a brusque heartiness that ran as false as the arrogance. "Come and exchange news over a flask of wine, eh?"
I hesitated, but only for a moment. It seemed obvious that Dinias had his own reasons for keeping out of the High King's eye; for one thing, if he had managed to live down his association with Camlach, he would surely be with Vortigern's army, not skulking here in this threadbare fashion in an empty palace. For another, now that he knew I was in Maridunum, I preferred to keep him under my eye than leave him now to go and talk to whom he would.
So I accepted with every appearance of flattered pleasure, only insisting that he must join me for supper, if he could tell me where a good meal was to be found, and a warm seat out of the wet...
Almost before the words were out he had me by the arm and was hurrying me across the atrium and out through the street door.
"Fine, fine. There's a place over on the west side, beyond the bridge. The food's good, and they get the kind of clients that mind their own business." He winked. "Not that you'll be wanting to bother with a girl, eh? Though you don't look as if they'd made a clerk of you after all...? Well, no more for now, it doesn't do to look as though you've too much to talk about these days...You either fall foul of the Welsh or you fall foul of Vortigern — and the place is crawling with his spies just now. I don't know who it is they're looking for, but there's a story going about — No, take your trash away." This to a beggar who thrust a tray of rough-cut stones and leather laces in front of us. The man moved back without a word. I saw that he was blind in one eye from a cut; a hideous scar ran right up one cheek, and had flattened the bridge of the nose. It looked as if it had been a sword cut.
I dropped a coin on the tray as we passed, and Dinias shot me a look that was far from friendly. "Times have changed, eh? You must have struck it rich inCornwall. Tell me, what happened that night? Did you mean to set the whole damned place on fire?"
"I'll tell you all about it over supper," I said, and would say no more till we reached the shelter of the tavern, and got a bench in the corner with our backs to the wall. 5
I had been right about Dinias' poverty. Even in the smoky murk of the tavern's crowded room I could see the threadbare state of his clothes, and sense the air half of resentment, half of eagerness, with which he watched while I ordered food and a jug of their best wine. While it was coming I excused myself and had a quick word aside with Cadal.
"I may get some of the facts we want from him. In any case I thought it better to stick to him — I'd rather he came under my eye for the moment. The odds are he'll be drunk enough by moonrise to be harmless, and I'll either get him bedded down safe with a girl, or if he's past it I'll see him home on my way to the nunnery. If I don't look like getting out of here by moonrise, get over yourself to the gate on the towpath to meet my mother. You know our story. Tell her I'm coming, but I fell in with my cousin Dinias and have to get rid of him first. She'll understand. Now get yourself some food."
"Watch your step, I would, Merlin. Your cousin, did you say? Proper daisy he is, and no mistake. He doesn't like you."
I laughed. "You think that's news? It's mutual."
"Oh. Well, as long as you watch it."
"I'll do that."
Dinias' manners were still good enough to make him wait till I had dismissed Cadal and sat down to pour the wine. He had been right about the food; the pie they brought us was stuffed full of beef and oysters in a thick, steaming gravy, and though the bread was made from barley meal it was fresh. The cheese was not, and was excellent. The tavern's other wares seemed to match the food; from time to time one got a glimpse of them as a girl peered giggling in through a curtained door, and some man put his cup down and hurried after her. From the way Dinias' eyes lingered on the curtain even while he ate, I thought I might have little difficulty in getting rid of him safely once I had the information I wanted.
I waited until he was halfway through his pie before I started asking questions. I hardly liked to wait longer for, from the way he reached for the wine-jug almost — in spite of his hunger — between every mouthful, I was afraid that if I left it too long he would not be clear-headed enough to tell me what I wanted.
Until I was quite sure how the land lay I was not prepared to venture on ground that might be tricky, but, my family being what it was, I could glean a good deal of the information Ambrosius wanted from simply asking questions about my relatives. These he answered readily enough.
To begin with, I had been presumed dead ever since the night of the fire. Cerdic's body had been destroyed, and the whole of that side of the courtyard along with it, and when my pony had found its way home and there was no sign of me, it could only be presumed that I had perished along with Cerdic and vanished the same way. My mother and Camlach had sent men out to search the countryside, but of course found no trace of me. It appeared there had been no suggestion of my having left by sea. The trading ship had not put in to Maridunum, and no one had seen the coracle.
My disappearance — not remarkably — had made very little stir. What my mother had thought about it no one knew, but she had apparently retired into the seclusion of St. Peter's very soon afterwards. Camlach had lost no time in declaring himself King, and for form's sake offered Olwen his protection, but since his own wife had one son and was heavy with another, it was an open secret that Queen Olwen would soon be married off to some harmless and preferably distant chieftain...And so on, and so on.
So much for news of the past, which was none of it news to me or news for Ambrosius. As Dinias finished his meal and leaned back against the wall loosening his belt, relaxed by the food and wine and warmth, I thought it time to steer near more immediate questions of the present. The tavern had filled up now, and there was plenty of noise to cover what we were saying. One or two of the girls had come out from the inner rooms, and there was a good deal of laughter and some horseplay. It was quite dark now outside, and apparently wetter than ever; men came in shaking themselves like dogs and shouting for mulled drinks. The atmosphere was heavy with peat smoke and charcoal from the grills and the smells of hot food and the reek of cheap oil-lamps. I had no fear of recognition: anyone would have had to lean right over our table and peer into my face to see me properly at all.
"Shall I send for more meat?" I asked.
Dinias shook his head, belched, and grinned. "No thanks. That was good. I'm in your debt. Now for your news. You've heard mine. Where have you been these past years?" He reached again for the jug of wine and up-ended it over his empty cup.
"Damned thing's empty. Send for more?"
I hesitated. It appeared he had a poor head for wine, and I didn't want him drunk too soon.
He mistook my hesitation. "Come on, come on, you surely don't grudge me another jug of wine, eh? It isn't every day a rich young relative comes back from Cornwall. What took you there, eh? And what have you been doing all this time? Come on, young Myrddin, let's hear about it, shall we? But first, the wine."
"Well, of course," I said, and gave the order to the pot-boy.
"But don't use my name here, if you don't mind. I'm calling myself Emrys now till I see which way the wind blows."
He accepted this so readily that I realized things were even trickier in Maridunum than I had thought. It seemed it was dangerous to declare oneself at all. Most of
the men in the tavern looked Welsh; there were none I recognized, which was hardly surprising, considering the company I had kept five years ago. But there was a group near the door who, from their fair hair and beards, might have been Saxon. I supposed they were Vortigern's men. We said nothing until the pot-boy had dumped a fresh flask on the table in front of us. My cousin poured it, pushed his plate aside, leaned back and looked at me enquiringly.
"Well, come on, tell me about yourself. What happened that night you left? Who did you go with? You couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen when you went, surely?"
"I fell in with a pair of traders going south," I told him. "I paid my way with one of the brooches that my gr — that the old King gave me. They took me with them as far as Glastonbury. Then I had a bit of luck — fell in with a merchant who was traveling west into Cornwall with glass goods from the Island, and he took me along." I looked down as if avoiding his eye, and twisted the cup between my fingers. "He wanted to set up as a gentleman, and thought it would do him credit to have a boy along who could sing and play the harp, and read and write as well."
"Hmm. Very likely." I had known what he would think of my story, and indeed, his tone held satisfaction, as if his contempt of me had been justified. So much the better. It didn't matter to me what he thought. "Then?" he asked.
"Oh, I stayed with him for a few months, and he was pretty generous, he and his friends. I even made a fair amount on the side."
"Harping?" he asked, with a lift of the lip.
"Harping," I said blandly. "Also reading and writing — I did the man's accounts for him. When he came back north he wanted me to stay with him, but I didn't want to come back. Didn't dare," I added, disarmingly frank. "It wasn't hard to find a place in a religious house. Oh, no, I was too young to be anything but a layman. To tell you the truth, I quite enjoyed it; it's a very peaceful life. I've been busy helping them to write out copies of a history of the fall of Troy." His expression made me want to laugh, and I looked down at my cup again. It was good ware, Samian, with a high gloss, and the potter's mark was clear. A.M. Ambrosius made me, I thought suddenly, and smoothed the letters gently with my thumb as I finished for Dinias the account of the five harmless years spent by his bastard cousin. "I worked there until the rumors started coming in from home. I didn't pay much heed to them at first — rumors were always flying. But when we knew that it was true about Camlach's death, and then Vortimer's, I began to wonder what might have happened in Maridunum. I knew I had to see my mother again."
"You're going to stay here?" "I doubt it. I like Cornwall, and I have a home there of a sort." "Then you'll become a priest?" I shrugged. "I hardly know yet. It's what they always meant me for, after all. Whatever the future is there, my place here is gone — if I ever had one. And I'm certainly no warrior."
He grinned at that. "Well, you never were, exactly, were you? And the war here isn't over; it's hardly begun, let me tell you." He leaned across the table confidentially, but the movement knocked his cup so that it rocked, and the wine washed up to the rim. He grabbed and steadied it. "Nearly spilled that, and the wine's nearly out again. Not bad stuff, eh? What about another?"
"If you like. But you were saying — ?"
"Cornwall, now. I've always thought I'd like to go there. What are they saying there about Ambrosius?"
The wine was already talking. He had forgotten to be confidential; his voice was loud, and I saw one or two heads turn in our direction.
He took no notice. "Yes, I imagine you'd hear down there, if there was any news to hear. They say that's where he'll land, eh?"
"Oh," I said easily, "there's talk all the time. There has been for years, you know how it is. He hasn't come yet, so your guess is as good as mine."
"Like a bet on it?" I saw he had reached into the pouch at his waist and brought out a pair of dice, which he tossed idly from hand to hand. "Come on, give you a game?"
"No, thanks. At any rate, not here. Look, Dinias, I'll tell you what, we'll get another flask, or two if you like, and go home and drink them there?"
"Home?" He sneered, loose-lipped. "Where's that? An empty palace?"
He was still talking loudly, and from across the room I noticed someone watching us. Nobody I knew. Two men in dark clothes, one with fringe of black beard, the other thin-faced and red-headed, with a long nose like a fox. Welshmen, by the look of them. They had a flask on a stool in front of them, and cups in their hands, but the flask had been at the same level now for a good half hour. I glanced at Dinias. I judged he had reached the stage now of being disposed either to friendly confidences or a loud quarrel. To insist on leaving now might be to provoke that quarrel, and if we were being watched, and if the crowd near the door were indeed Vortigern's men, it would be better to stay here and talk quietly than to take my cousin out into the street, and perhaps be followed. What, after all, did a mention of Ambrosius' name matter? It would be on every man's lips, and if, as seemed likely, rumors had been flying more thickly than usual of late, everyone, Vortigern's friends and enemies alike, would be discussing them.
Dinias had dropped the dice on the table, and was pushing them here and there with a reasonably steady forefinger. At least they would give us an excuse for a heads-together session in our corner. And dice might take his attention off the wine flask.
I brought out a handful of small coins. "Look, if you really want a game. What can you put on the table?"
As we played I was conscious that Blackbeard and the foxy man were listening. The Saxons near the door seemed harmless enough; most of them were three parts drunk already, and talking too loudly among themselves to pay attention to anyone else. But Blackbeard seemed to be interested.
I threw the dice. Five and four. Too good; I wanted Dinias to win something. I could hardly offer him money to get him behind the curtain with a girl. Meanwhile, to put Blackbeard off the scent...
I said, not loudly, but very clearly: "Ambrosius, is it? Well, you know the rumors. I've heard nothing definite about him, only the usual stories that have been going the rounds these ten years. Oh, yes, men say he'll come to Cornwall, or Maridunum, or London, or Avon-mouth — you can take your pick...Your throw." Blackbeard's attention had shifted. I leaned closer to watch Dinias' throw, and lowered my voice. "And if he did come now, what would happen? You'll know this better than I. Would what's left of the West rise for him, or stand loyal to Vortigern?"
"The West would go up in flames. It's done that already, God knows. Double or quits? Flames like the night you left. God, how I laughed! Little bastard sets the place on fire and goes. Why did you? That's mine, double five. Throw you again."
"Right. Why did I go, you mean? I told you, I was afraid of Camlach."
"I didn't mean that. I mean why did you set the place on fire? Don't tell me it was an accident, because I don't believe you."
"It was a funeral pyre. I lit it because they killed my servant."
He stared, the dice for a moment still in his hands. "You fired the King's palace for a slave?"
"Why not? I happened to like my servant better than I liked Camlach."
He gave me a slightly fuddled look, and threw. A two and a four. I scooped back a couple of coins.
"Damn you," said Dinias, "you've no right to win, you've enough already. All right, again. Your servant, indeed! You've a mighty high tone for a bastard playing at being a scribe in a priest's cell."
I grinned. "You're a bastard, too, remember, dear cousin."
"Maybe, but at least I know who my father was." "Keep your voice down, people are listening. All right, throw you again." A pause while the dice rattled. I watched them rather anxiously. So far, they had tended to fall my way. How useful it would be, I thought, if power could be brought to bear on such small things; it would take no effort, and make the way smoother. But I had begun to learn that in fact power made nothing smoother; when it came it was like having a wolf by the throat. Sometimes I had felt like that boy in the old myth who harnessed the horses of
the sun and rode the world like a god until the power burned him to death. I wondered if I would ever feel the flames again.
The dice fell from my very human fingers. A two and a one. No need to have the power if you could have the luck. Dinias gave a grunt of satisfaction and gathered them up, while I slid some coins towards him. The game went on. I lost the next three throws, and the heap beside him grew respectably. He was relaxing. No one was paying us any attention; that had been imagination. It was time, perhaps, for a few more facts.
"Where's the King now?" I asked. "Eh? Oh, aye, the King. He's been gone from here nearly a month. Moved north as soon as the weather slackened and the roads were open."
"To Caer'n-ar-Von, you said — Segontium?"
"Did I? Oh, well, I suppose he calls that his base, but who'd want to be caught in that corner between Y Wyddfa and the sea? No, he's building himself a new stronghold, they say. Did you say you'd get another flask?"
"Here it comes. Help yourself, I've had enough. A stronghold, you said? Where?"
"What? Oh, yes. Good wine, this. I don't rightly know where he's building, somewhere in Snowdon. Told you. Dinas Brenin...they call it...Or would, if he could get it built."
"What's stopping him? Is there still trouble up there? Vortimer's faction still, or something new? They're saying inCornwall that he's got thirty thousand Saxons at his back."
"At his back, on both sides — Saxons everywhere, our King has. But not with him. With Hengist — and Hengist and the King aren't seeing eye to eye. Oh, he's beset, is Vortigern, I can tell you!" Fortunately he was speaking quietly, his words lost in the rattle of dice and the uproar around us. I think he had half forgotten me. He scowled down at the table as he threw. "Look at that. The bloody things are ill-wished. Like King's Fort."
Somewhere the words touched a string of memory to a faint humming, as elusive and untraceable as a bee in the lime trees. I said casually, making my throw: "Ill-wished? How?"
"Hah, that's better. Should be able to beat that. Oh, well, you know these Northmen — if the wind blows colder one morning they say it's a dead spirit passing by. They don't use surveyors in that army, the soothsayers do it all. I heard he'd got the walls built four times to man height, and each time by next morning they'd cracked clear across...How's that?"
