Merlin's Last Days

by Greg Krehbiel

  Arthur walked to where Guinevere sat and kneeled next to her. He was such a large man that even on one knee he towered over the seated queen. He smiled at her kindly, and spoke in a gentle voice.

  “Someone else needs to know this, Guinevere,” he said. “Who else would you choose, besides my most trusted knight and my most trusted counselor?”

  “You’re right, I suppose,” she said. “It’s ….”

  “I know, my dear,” Arthur said kindly. “We all have to die to our pride, don’t we?”

  She smiled at him, and he rose to speak.

  “You know that we are nearing the end of our hopes,” he said. “The Saxons are massing, but we have the strength to defeat them. And then the road to Rome is clear. But I fear there is some devilment afoot, and our secret counsels may not be safe.”

  He walked over to Guinevere and took her hand.

  “I trust the three of you with my life, and I have no question at all of your loyalty. Not my knight, who we fostered in this very castle, and who has become a brother to me. Not my counselor, who has brought me through so many perils. And not,” he said, turning to Guinevere, “the love of my life, who shares more than my bed.”

  He squeezed her hand and she smiled at him, but there was fear in her eyes.

  “Last night the queen told me a tale that sent a shiver down my spine, and seemed to darken the room, even as she spoke it. I ask her now to be brave and tell her story.”

  Merlin had seemed distracted, or tired, until now. He looked up with an eager eye and watched the queen minutely, as if he could read things from the twitch of a finger, or the blink of an eye.

  Meurig sat quietly, uneasy about hearing the pillow talk of his lord and lady.

  “It’s been going on for some days now,” she said. “At first I only noticed when Arthur and I were … in private, and I suppose that distracted me. The thing is … I could sense other thoughts in my mind.”

  “What kind of thoughts?” Merlin asked eagerly. He stepped closer and looked at Guinevere severely. For a moment she thought he was angry at her.

  “That’s why I didn’t think much of it. They were … thoughts of desire for Arthur. Of course I feel the same desire, but … these were strange. They didn’t feel like my thoughts. I can’t explain why.”

  “You must try,” Merlin insisted. “All may depend on it.”

  He turned away and muttered to himself.

  “All my plans and I’ve never thought of this,” he chided himself, and he paced about the room. Then he turned about and stared at the queen intensely.

  “The thoughts became like another voice in my head,” the queen continued. “Like … like another soul were taking possession of me.”

  “Pardon me for even thinking such a thing, my lady,” Meurig said softly, “but have you gone to the bishop? We all know that Satan opposes the work of Camelot.”

  “That was her first inclination, Meurig, but I prevented her,” Arthur replied. “Something about this makes me think it’s more in Merlin’s area than the bishop’s. What do you think, Merlin?”

  The wizard had walked over to the fireplace, and despite the warmth of the summer day, he stoked the fire and stared into the flames, looking for inspiration.

  “The bishop will be of no use,” Merlin said, “unless, perhaps, he were present while the queen had one of these fits. In that case he might be able to cast the spirit out. But it would only return at a later time.”

  “So you believe it to be an evil spirit?” Meurig asked.

  “Evil, certainly, and ‘spirit’ is the best word available, I suppose,” Merlin said.

  He began pacing again, and rubbing his hands.

  “What are we to do, Merlin?” Arthur asked. “Shall the queen retreat to a nunnery for a time? Perhaps the holy presence in the tabernacle could keep this spirit away.”

  Merlin paced ever more rapidly until Arthur started to pace himself, shaking his head and clenching his hands. Guinevere and Meurig sat still, downcast and afraid.

  “No,” Merlin said at last, stopping and looking at the king. “This may be an opportunity.”

  “Merlin, I have grown to trust your strange ways, but this is hard to hear. What opportunity do we have if the queen is possessed of an evil spirit?”

  Merlin stopped pacing and looked confused, but then he laughed suddenly. He looked at the other faces in the room and laughed again. He walked towards Guinevere and took her hand very gently.

  “Pardon me, lady,” he said softly. “An ‘evil spirit,’ surely, but not that type.”

  Then he turned to Arthur and said, “You must pardon me also, Arthur, and remember that I think of things as a druid. This is more the work of a magician than of the Prince of Darkness. I’m sorry if I frightened you needlessly.”

  Arthur brooded for a long moment, then spoke in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t know if I am comforted, Merlin. The devil is a foe that we fear, but we also know that he’s been vanquished, and there are remedies at hand. But if there is a sorcerer who can enter the minds of my household, ….”

  “Sorceress, most likely,” Merlin said. “But it is time, Arthur. There can be no secrets between us any longer.”

  He turned to the others. “You’ll have to excuse us for a while. The king and I need to go for a walk. But there is more we will need to discuss. Call your maids, my queen, and await us here.”

  Arthur and Merlin descended the stair from the keep in silence, then slipped out one of the side doors. The guard at the gate saw them leaving, but Camelot was at peace, and the outer defenses, a mile from the castle, were well patrolled.

  King and counselor walked in silence among the apple trees. Bees were buzzing all around, and the gardens around Camelot looked sleepy and content.

  “I am not who you think I am, Arthur,” Merlin eventually said.

  “I have never known who you really are, Merlin,” Arthur said. “You are a druid, and dwimmer-crafty, and a fierce warrior at need. And you have been a faithful friend and counselor when you’re not a pain in my ass. But I know that Camelot wouldn’t exist without you, and I know that you will be with me when I take the emperor’s seat.”

  Merlin smiled. “It is my life’s dream, and my only purpose.”

  “Then what is the mystery, old friend?”

  Merlin pulled an apple off the tree and cut it in half with his knife. He gave half to Arthur, and started cutting small slivers off his half. It was juicy and sweet.

  “This body that you see,” he said, gesturing down from his chest with both arms. “This is not Merlin. This is Adwen of Baglan. He was a druid. Not a very good one, actually. And now he’s a farmer. I … borrow his body from time to time.”

  Arthur chewed on his apple and looked at Merlin, not sure if this was a joke, or one of Merlin’s cryptic messages.

  “The real Merlin lives in a foreign land, very far away, and in another time, far in the future. It’s only by my craft that I am able to be with you here.”

  “And what became of Adwen?” Arthur asked after a moment.

  “He is still here,” Merlin said, tapping his head. “It’s as if he’s asleep. When I leave … you know that I leave from time to time … he awakes, and he goes back to his small farm. From his perspective it’s as if he had been on a long drunk.”

  Arthur laughed.

  “And he remembers nothing?”

  Merlin shook his head.

  “I reward him well for his troubles, and he has no complaints. It is an odd thing, this life I lead, but we are on a noble quest, Arthur. We will change the fate of mankind.”

  “Forgive me, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I suppose this is a simple matter for wizards and druids, but I don’t understand what you’re saying. If you – Merlin – are in the future, and if we change the fate of man, what will become of … you?”

  “I’m not entirely certain,” Merlin said seriously. “My best hope is that I will awaken in a better world. But I may just fade away, as a man
who was never to be born. But don’t fear for me, Arthur. Such is the purpose of my life. I have known it since I left my parents’ home. I saw it in a vision, and I have pursued it for many, many years. Far longer than even you have known.”

  “So, have there been others, before Adwen?”

  “Several,” Merlin said. “I was an advisor to Caesar, and I have been in and out among the people of this land ever since, working towards this day.”

  “My head is full of questions, Merlin, but …what of Guinevere? If I hear you correctly, some other wizard is trying to enter her body the way you have possessed Adwen. To what end?”

  “If we are very lucky, Arthur, then it is simple lust. She simply desired to share your bed in the body of your queen.”

  Arthur threw the rest of his apple core on the ground and stomped.

  “You sicken me, Merlin,” he said, angrily. “I have never betrayed Guinevere, nor she me. And you say that some other woman has been sharing our bed in some monstrous fashion.”

  Merlin smiled, and almost laughed.

  “Arthur, this is precisely why I have spent my life to further your kingdom. In the future we are trying to prevent, men would relish such a thing, and even women would crave it. It’s a sick world, where passions rule and men are hardly better than beasts. They spend their time dreaming of adulteries and unspeakable sins.”

  “Merlin,” said Arthur with mild reproach. “I have never had cause to judge you. The matter of your soul is between you and God. But I have never known you to be a chaste man, and yet here you are, sacrificing your future, and perhaps your life, to create a world that … forgive me, Merlin, but the world you want to destroy sounds like a world you are well suited to.”

  Merlin looked at Arthur long and hard for more than a minute. Arthur thought there might be a tear in the corner of his eye when he finally spoke.

  “I am the chief of sinners, Arthur. The son of the devil, as they say. I am a very weak man, and my own soul is surely forfeit. It’s the bargain I made when I had my vision, so many years ago. I would create a better world, but at great cost to myself.”

  “I would counsel you better, Merlin, but that is not my place. You are the counselor. And it will take some time for me to think on these things. But what does it mean for Guinevere? What are we to do? You said we have an opportunity.”

  “Indeed,” Merlin said with a smile. “But it will require some sacrifice from you and your lovely wife. I think our enemies did not expect that Guinevere would sense the sorceress’s presence, or that she would come to you with the truth. She is an honest woman, Arthur, and the women of my time are not honest with their men.”

  “You mean this sorceress is from your time?” he said, interrupting.

  “I believe so,” he said. “But I can train Guinevere to control her thoughts, and we can feed this sorceress only what we want her to hear. If she is after more than a romp with the king of England, then we can stage some strategy sessions and feed the Saxons false information.”

  “Saxons?” Arthur said, bewildered. “If the sorceress is from your time, then what is the connection with the Saxons?”

  “It is the last throw of the dice,” Merlin said. “Mordred is about to be revealed. He will lead an alliance of Saxons and Angles and Welsh, with the help of the druids, and you must defeat him. I feel it in my bones that this matter with Guinevere is an attempt to change that battle. To learn of our plans, and give them an advantage. But I will have to explore this on my own. I have other powers you don’t know, and I hope our enemy doesn’t expect. Right now, time is short. We must speak with Guinevere and Meurig.”

  Part Three

  Professor Merrell Anthony awoke in his bed with the worst hangover of his life. It wasn’t from alcohol. He had pushed his time with Arthur, Guinevere and Meurig beyond his strength. Beyond Adwen’s as well. He had made Arthur promise that he would deliver Adwen’s body to his little farmstead, and leave someone to care for him.

  “He will be sick for a few days, but he will recover.”

  “And that means I won’t see you. Merlin, what are we to do if the sorceress returns?”

  “You know what to do. Spend some time with your wife, and give the sorceress a ride she’ll never forget. Just don’t say anything about our strategy with the Saxons.”

  “You make me sick, Merlin,” Arthur said, with true revulsion, but Merlin just laughed.

  “Arthur, you’ll be making love to your own wife.”

  “But it’s not right,” he complained.

  “Try explaining it to the bishop at your next confession, if that makes you feel better. He’ll think you’re mad,” Merlin said, still smiling.

  It was a risk, Merrell knew, but he was sure Guinevere could handle it. She had shown remarkable promise in their first lessons, and he was confident the sorceress was only learning her craft.

  Merrell rolled out of bed to find a bottle of whiskey and three aspirin, and then he noticed that he was alone in the bed. A chill ran down his spine.

  * * *

  “Was it everything you had hoped for?” the crone asked.

  “Oh, and more,” Marianne said. For this meeting she decided to occupy the body of an old woman from the village. The life of an old woman was so much easier. The aches and pains weren’t as bad as the hard work of minding children, and worrying about the advances of a scabby, scaly husband with foul breath.

  “And now, what is it that you want from me?”

  “Information,” the old woman said. “I want you to listen in on Arthur’s counsels and tell me their plans.”

  “Gladly,” Marianne said. “He and Merlin want to create some sort of Christian kingdom. I’m afraid that will destroy all the liberties we’ve won in my time. The Saxons have to defeat him.”

  The crone smiled, then reached out a hand to touch the body Marianne was in. At that moment two things happened very suddenly. Hundreds of images flashed through Marianne’s head, too rapidly for her to process, and the crone took on a troubled look, as if she wasn’t sure of Marianne, or might even be afraid of her.

  They both stared at each other for a moment, wondering what had happened.

  “I’m with you, whoever you are,” Marianne eventually said to the old woman. “If I can stop a 6th century Jerry Falwell from turning the world into some kind of theocracy, I’ll be happy to do it.”

  * * *

  “No, she’s not one of my students,” Merrell said over the phone to campus security. He knew he would commit career suicide by admitting an affair with a student, but … he was drawing near the end, and it didn’t matter any longer. He wouldn’t need this job, but he had to find Marianne.

  “She was staying with me,” Merrell admitted. “And I’m worried about her.”

  “She may have gone home, or she may be visiting friends,” the campus officer said, but Merrell could hear the clack of computer keys as he spoke. The officer was probably filing a report even as they spoke. “What makes you suspect something is wrong?”

  “Look, it’s not going to hurt you to send someone to her dorm, is it? And if something is wrong, do you want to be the one who didn’t check?”

  “Alright, fine. We can look for her car in the campus lots, and we can check her dorm room, but without any evidence of foul play, that’s all we can do.”

  “Okay,” Merrell said. “And you’ll call me when you find out.”

  “That I can’t do,” the officer said. “It’s a violation of student privacy.”

  Merrell had heard enough of the man’s voice to get the sense of him, so he pitched his voice just right.

  “But you will call me when you have the information,” he said.

  “I will call you,” the officer said, and then hung up the phone.

  * * *

  “If I’m ever to take the throne in Rome, we have to have ships and a safe place to land,” Arthur explained to Guinevere. “I’ll only be gone a month or two.”

  “How can you leave me at a time
like this?” Guinevere complained. “I battle with that horrid sorceress every night, and it’s only your love that’s keeping me sane.”

  “But darling, if I’m away, the sorceress will have less cause to trouble you. I would never leave you alone if I felt you were in any danger. And I’ll leave Meurig with you.”

  “You can’t leave Meurig,” she objected. “He’s your body guard, and your best knight.”

  “I can fend for myself,” Arthur said with a smile. “I survived quite a few battles before Meurig was old enough to saddle a horse.”