by Chris Tookey
“There’s no need to worry about Merlin,” said the Queen. “I can handle him.”
“But…” Wyrd’s brow furrowed as he tried to think the scheme through. “Doesn’t that mean I would be the hostage, and I would be the one to be executed were Atlantis to default on its payments to King Vortigern?”
“As we surely will,” said Artorus, “just as soon as I can get an army together and have a pop at him!”
“Oh, I see,” said Wyrd. “So, in effect, you’re asking me to lay down my life for Atlantis.”
“Of course,” said Princess Melisande. “But not straight away. First, you will escort me to the High King’s stronghold at Tintagel. That will take several days. And the first payment won’t become due until this year’s harvest. That’s a couple of weeks away.”
“So… what you’re saying is… that I have a couple of weeks to live,” said Wyrd, slowly.
“Exactly!” cried Melisande.
“So, that’s decided,” said Queen Elinor. “I shall have the maids look out some suitable clothing for you, from Artie’s cast-offs. They may need minor adjustments, but I am sure you’ll look very well in them.”
Wyrd looked so very forlorn that Melisande went across and placed one hand upon his chest.
“Oh Uther,” she said, “I am so proud of you. Greater love has no man like this, that he lay down his life for his country.”
“Is that love?” asked Wyrd, with a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “You must know more about love than I, Princess.”
“Oh Uther, you must know that all of us have to give up our private inclinations for the good of the state. I am heartbroken, but to please my parents I must marry Prince Catigern.”
“Ah well,” said Wyrd, “I have never been much of a one for politics, but I suppose it cannot be helped. You must marry a prince you have never met and become a High Queen, while I must be thrown into a dungeon and have my head chopped off.”
“Oh Uther,” she said softly, “I am so happy that you understand how much I am sacrificing.”
***
That night at the banquet, Wyrd – in his new, princely garb – was walking to his usual seat at the end of the top table, when the Queen intercepted him. She led him to a seat at the right hand of Merlin, who – as guest of honour – was sitting to the right of the Queen.
“Ah,” said Merlin, stretching out his hand to Wyrd. “You must be Prince Artorus!”
Wyrd looked into the old wizard’s eyes and saw them twinkling.
“Yes,” said Wyrd, sitting beside Merlin and muttering under his breath, “So, you’re not going to give me away?”
“Of course not,” murmured Merlin. “Queen Elinor is a most persuasive woman, and I think it a very good idea for you to leave this castle.”
“Why?” said Wyrd. “To go off and be executed by King Vortigern?”
“Fear not,” whispered Merlin. “There is much that can happen before then. And besides, only a few hours ago weren’t you secretly engaged to Princess Melisande and within but two or three months of being executed as an assassin?”
“How did you know that?” asked Wyrd.
But Merlin had already turned to Queen Elinor and was in earnest discussion about arrangements for the princess’s wedding to Prince Catigern.
“Tell me, Merlin,” said the Queen, “what is this Catigern like?”
“Extraordinarily warlike,” said Merlin. “Dark, bearded, carries a big axe.”
“As to age… would you say he is in his early twenties?”
“No,” said Merlin, “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Thirties?”
“Late thirties,” said Merlin. “Or thereabouts.”
“Does that mean… forty?”
“Yes.”
“Yet he has never married?”
“Oh, he has married,” said Merlin. “Several times.”
“And what happened?”
“They died,” said Merlin, “when they failed to produce issue.”
“Died?” asked Melisande, faintly. She was sitting opposite Merlin and had been listening to the conversation.
“It’s a tradition in the High King’s family,” said Merlin, “that wives who prove incapable of conceiving within one year are, er, disposed of.”
“Disposed of?” asked Melisande.
“They are placed in a small boat without any oars and pushed out to sea.”
“So, they die of exposure.”
“Oh no,” said Merlin, feeding on a huge leg of lamb. “First they set fire to the boat.”
“You mean they’re burnt alive?” asked Melisande, who seemed to have lost her appetite.
“Precisely,” said Merlin.
“And how many brides has Catigern had?” inquired Queen Elinor.
“I believe it’s nineteen,” replied Merlin.
“Excuse me,” whispered Melisande, “I’m not feeling very well.”
Beatrice spluttered with laughter as her sister left the table. The Queen turned to chastise Princess Beatrice for her table manners.
Wyrd took the opportunity to address Merlin.
“Do you think it’s just bad luck?” asked Wyrd.
“What is?” asked Merlin.
“That all Catigern’s wives have been unable to conceive.”
Merlin considered.
“Not really,” said the wizard.
“Then what do you think the matter is?”
“I think it might,” said Merlin, “have little to do with the wives and a good deal to do with Catigern.”
“Oh,” said Wyrd, “you mean he prefers boys?”
“My understanding is,” said Merlin, leaning towards him conspiratorially, “that he prefers reindeer.”
“Ah,” said Wyrd. “Poor Melisande.”
“She’s a very pretty girl,” said Merlin. “Perhaps she’ll win him over to the female sex. Or she could try wearing antlers.”
Wyrd tried not to laugh but only succeeded in choking on his food.
“I’m sorry,” said Wyrd.
“Merlin,” said the Queen, “when is the High King expecting my daughter and Prince Artorus?”
“Tintagel should be no more than three or four days’ ride to the east,” said Merlin. “I would advise you to take no longer than four. The High King is a very impatient man.”
“Impatient?” said Wyrd.
“Perhaps ‘demanding’ is a better word,” said Merlin. “I find Vortigern a challenging employer.”
“In what way?” asked Wyrd.
Merlin pondered for a moment. Wyrd noticed that, as he did so, he gave an involuntary shudder.
“In every way,” said Merlin.
***
Merlin arose so early the next morning that he was gone before anyone could bid him farewell or Wyrd could ask him any more questions he was as yet unwilling to answer.
When Wyrd awoke, he was ushered before King Otto.
“Now, then!” said the King. “I’m sorry that I could not talk to you last night but I was, er, feeling a bit… rough.”
“And how are you this morning?”
“Pretty much back to normal,” said the King, gnawing on a big bone and slobbering slightly. “Now, the point is that this marriage of Melisande to Prince Catigern must go forward, and I gather preparations are in hand for you to leave before the day is out.”
“I believe they are,” said Wyrd.
“I’m sorry that that thing between you and Melisande didn’t work out,” said the King, “and, between you and me, I’ve heard that this Catigern fellow is an awful swine, almost as bad as his father.”
“Catigern’s record with the ladies,” said Wyrd, “does leave a certain amount to be desired.”
“It leaves everything to be desired,” said the King. “In fact,
that’s why I’ve called you in.”
“Sire?”
“You may or may not be aware,” said King Otto, “that over the last few years Melisande has been wearing a… contraption.”
“You mean…?”
“I won’t go into the graphic details,” said the King. “Suffice it to say that as of this morning she is no longer wearing it.”
“I’m sure she will be most grateful. To ride a long distance while wearing—”
“It’s nothing to do with helping her ride,” interrupted the King. “It’s to do with…”
He broke off and stared at Wyrd’s face.
“You don’t have a clue what I’m driving at, do you?”
“No, sire,” said Wyrd, honestly.
“My understanding is that Catigern is not well-endowed in the breeches department. Or rather, that women are not his forte.”
“The nineteen ex-wives would seem to indicate that,” admitted Wyrd.
“Whereas you two have youth and love, and spring is in the air.”
“I’m not quite sure…” began Wyrd.
“Look,” said the King, “in my view, you’re well out of marrying Melisande. She’s good-looking, of course. In that she takes after my side of the family. But between ourselves, she is not particularly bright, and she’ll always be making eyes at some unsuitable idiot or other. No offence intended.”
“None taken, sire.”
“My point is that you and she will be alone, more or less, for the next three days. You know, under the stars. At night. With no one around to see what the two of you are up to. You catch my drift?”
“Yes, sire.”
And, for the first time, Wyrd did.
“Of course, you will have Osprey and a few guards to escort you from here to King Vortigern and make sure you don’t run away. I can’t spare anyone important, but a few bugbears and a lizard-man who survived when that giant sank their ship seem keen to get back to their homes in Dumnonia. I’m arranging for one or two skivvies to go along as well, to make sure the princess is properly fed. However, I know I can rely on you and Melisande to be properly discreet.”
“What makes you think that the princess would still… wish to have me?”
“My dear fellow! It was the princess who suggested this,” said the King, looking only slightly less surprised than if Wyrd had hit him over the head with a haddock. “It’s your job to get her pregnant by the time she reaches Tintagel. It’s pretty clear that Catigern won’t be up to the job.”
“But won’t Catigern know?”
“I imagine that if she gets pregnant and insists that Catigern is the father, they’ll be too busy celebrating to care.”
“So,” said Wyrd, wrinkling his brow, “you want me to father Catigern’s child, then allow myself to be thrown into prison and executed as soon as you refuse to pay Vortigern his protection tax.”
“You’re not as stupid as you look, are you?” exclaimed King Otto. “Good lad! I knew I could depend on you.”
32
Partings
In which Wyrd starts out on a new, though probably not very long, life
Later that day, Wyrd went to Mrs Scraggs’ kitchen to say goodbye to Wenda. He was worried. It wasn’t so much that he feared Wenda would burst into tears; he was more anxious about whether he would.
He realised, with a pain in the pit of his stomach, that all the time he had been at the castle, Wenda had been his only friend. He was on good terms with the other knights and squires. And Melisande… He wasn’t sure what he felt about Melisande. It wasn’t love, or anything like it. Probably. But there was, undeniably, an attraction.
He wondered, not for the first time, if he wasn’t more attracted to Wenda. But he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. She had never acted towards him in any other way than as a friend. Anyway, there was nothing that could be done about that now. He was leaving Castle Otto forever and would certainly never see her again.
When he got to the kitchen, Wenda wasn’t there. Mrs Scraggs was emptying scraps of meat and vegetables into the cauldron. There was usually a hearty soup the day after any banquet, consisting entirely of leftovers.
“I came to thank you properly for your help in the tournament,” said Wyrd. “Your cow probably saved my life. Not to mention the bats.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” said Mrs Scraggs, gruffly going about her work. “I did it for Wenda.”
“Anyway, thanks,” said Wyrd.
“Don’t mention it,” replied Mrs Scraggs.
“Where is Wenda?” asked Wyrd.
“Gone,” said Mrs Scraggs, picking up a rotten cabbage from the floor and tossing it into the cauldron. “I’m not having her in my kitchen no more.”
“Why not?” said Wyrd.
“She betrayed me,” said Mrs Scraggs. “To that Merlin.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean to,” said Wyrd, fingering the wyrd horn around his neck. “If it’s about my wyrd horn, I expect Wenda thought you’d forgotten you’d taken it.”
“I hadn’t forgotten I’d taken it.”
“You mean you stole it.”
“I didn’t steal it,” said Mrs Scraggs. “I took it for safekeeping.”
“But it was mine,” said Wyrd. “I was given it.”
“I know you were, and more’s the pity,” said Mrs Scraggs.
“Come again?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. You get on out of here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Wyrd.
“Look,” said Mrs Scraggs, “I knew you was trouble as soon as Merlin walked in with you. But it wasn’t until I saw this horn of yours that I realised who you were.”
“Who I am?” asked Wyrd. “What do you mean?”
“My old mother warned me about you,” said Mrs Scraggs. “She drew a picture of that horn of yours, and she told me it would be the death of me.”
“So, why did you help me against the giant?”
“You helped me when we was fighting them goblins,” replied Mrs Scraggs. “Besides, I’ve never liked giants. They kept trying to kill me husband.”
“Wasn’t he called Jack the Giant-Killer?” asked Wyrd.
“He only killed in self-defence,” said Mrs Scraggs. “Or if someone paid him.”
“You know I would never do anything to harm you, Mrs Scraggs,” said Wyrd. “You and I haven’t always got on, but—”
“Spare me the speechifying,” said Mrs Scraggs. “It’s not just me you’ll be the death of. You’ll be the death of all of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve said more than enough,” said the old woman. “But if you take my advice you’ll throw that horn away and never use it.”
“Merlin said I was never to part with it again.”
“And I says different,” said Mrs Scraggs grimly. “It all depends who you trust, don’t it?”
***
Wyrd looked for Wenda, but she was nowhere to be found. So he made for the front of the main castle courtyard, where his expedition was standing, almost ready to go.
It was not a big expedition, but even so there were two carts, one for kitchen supplies and one for other luggage, including a brassbound coffer containing a thousand crowns as a first instalment on King Vortigern’s protection tax. Wyrd looked at it with mixed feelings. It would ensure that his expedition was greeted with civility at Tintagel. But there was little doubt that when the High King discovered it was not only the first but also the last payment by King Otto, his vengeance would be terrible.
Wyrd calculated that with luck he might have about two months to live. However, the chances were that a good deal of that time would be spent as Vortigern’s hostage in one of his darkest dungeons.
Prince Artorus was bidding farewell to his sister, but when he saw Wyrd coming he we
nt over and shook his hand.
“I, er, know that you and I have had our differences over the years,” said Artorus, “but I wanted to say I’m grateful that you’ve agreed to, you know, step in and…”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Wyrd. “It’s much more important for you to live, than me. I’m disposable. Not worth losing any sleep about.”
“I’m glad you see it like that,” said Artorus, obviously relieved. “Good fellow. Eh, Osprey?”
Osprey was waiting nearby on horseback, a strange smile playing on his lips.
“I am confident,” said Osprey, “that, whatever his private inclinations, Sir Uther will honour his obligations to the Atlantean court.”
“And if you don’t,” said Artorus, cuffing Wyrd playfully and rather painfully, “either I’ll kill you or Osprey will cast some dreadful spell on you!”
“I am sure neither course of action will be necessary,” said Osprey with a thin-lipped expression that might have been a smile, had it not looked so menacing.
“For my part,” said Wyrd, “my most immediate concerns are the werewolves in the forest.”
“By Jove, yes!” said Artorus. “I hope you’ve got enough silver spears.”
“We are well armed,” said Osprey. “Sagbut has taken care of that.”
Osprey was referring to the largest bugbear on the expedition, a hulking brute over seven foot tall, who had risen to second-in-command of the castle guard by virtue of colossal size and extreme ruthlessness. Any bugbear slow to obey Sagbut’s commands knew he was in danger of being smashed over the head with a spiked club and thrown over the castle ramparts.
“My information is that no werewolf has been sighted for weeks,” said Osprey, “and the track through the forest is clear. Whether the same can be said for the viaduct into Lyonesse is another matter.”
“We’d better get going,” said Wyrd. “We mustn’t keep the High King waiting.”
“That is certainly true,” said Osprey.
Wyrd and Osprey rode together towards the castle gate.
“Perhaps we should get one thing straight,” said Wyrd, as Osprey’s horse passed him. “Who’s leading this expedition?”
