Merlin's Mistake

by Robert Newman

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” said Tertius, “but I’m afraid I cannot say.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s quite proper, my lady,” said Sir Guy. “King Pellinore almost never talked about the Beast Glatisant when he was hunting for it. And during the quest for the Holy Grail, most knights would not discuss their mission.”

  “But he’s not a knight. He’s not even a squire! He probably won’t talk about it because it’s too dangerous.”

  “No, my lady, it’s not,” said Tertius. “And that’s not the reason.”

  “Then why …?”

  “Does it have anything to do with learning?” asked Father Bernard, who interested himself in such things.

  “Why, yes, Father,” said Tertius. “As a matter of fact, it does.”

  “Then there can’t possibly be either harm or danger in it,” said Father Bernard, “and I think we should permit the boy his secret.”

  “It’s very clear that you’re all against me,” said the Lady Leolie bitterly. “All of you!”

  “Mother …” said Brian.

  “That’s not true, my lady,” said Sir Guy.

  “It is true,” she said. “But since there is nothing I can do about his going, thanks to you, I don’t suppose it matters. Nothing today has gone the way I thought it would,” she said to Brian. “But it’s still your birthday. And so …”

  She jerked her head at Agnes who brought her a large bundle.

  “Here,” she said, giving him a hooded traveling cloak of gray wool, “this will keep you warm. And this,” giving him a purse, “will see that you do not go hungry.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” said Brian, touched. Then he saw that she was holding something else, a shield with the Caercorbin blazon on it: a red wivern rampant on a white field.

  “You will need this, too,” she said. “Bear it as your father would have had you bear it.”

  “Mother, I will,” he said. And bending down, he kissed her cheek.

  “No sentimentality, please,” she said, flushing slightly. “I have something else for you that I will give you in the morning. I take it that Sir Guy is seeing to it that you are properly armed.”

  “Yes, my lady,” said Sir Guy. “He will be wearing Sir Owaine’s hauberk. The armorer has been working on it all afternoon. As for weapons …”

  Simon came forward with a sword, and Sir Guy took it from him, saying, “If your father were here, he would be giving you this as he would have given you your shield. But since he is not … Do you swear to draw this sword only in a just cause and to use it honorably?”

  “I do.”

  He remained still while Sir Guy buckled it about his waist.

  “Since time is short,” said Sir Guy, “we have dispensed with much of the ceremony. But you understand that, having been given your own weapons, you are now an armiger and may thus take part in combat.”

  “Yes, Sir Guy.”

  Without being aware of it, Brian’s hand had gone to the sword hilt and, noticing this, Sir Guy said, “You may try it if you like.”

  Brian drew the sword from its sheath of Cordovan leather. The hilt was bound with gold wire and fit his hand well; the whole seemed perfectly balanced.

  “It is as beautiful a sword as I have ever seen,” he said.

  “It’s a good blade,” said Sir Guy. “I had it from a Spanish knight whom I overthrew at a tourney in France. May it serve you well.”

  “Thank you, Sir Guy,” said Brian, greatly moved. “I do not know what else I can say except …”

  “Then say nothing. I too will have something else for you in the morning. And now, be off with you.”

  “But …”

  “Do you mean to get an early start?”

  “Yes, Sir Guy.”

  “Then off with you, both of you!”

  Wordlessly, Brian reached for Sir Guy’s hand, pressed it warmly, then he and Tertius left the great hall.

  They did not get as early a start as they had planned. Brian was too excited to sleep, as he had been too excited to eat; and he and Tertius stayed up until late talking. Even after Tertius fell asleep, Brian lay in the dark of the tower room, thinking of all that had happened that day—of his new friend, his new freedom and his new sword—and of what might lie ahead.

  When Brian and Tertius came down in the morning, much later than they had intended, they found that the armorer had still not finished his work on the hauberk. He was an old man, gray as a badger. He had seen to Sir Owaine’s arms before the journey to the Holy Land, and he was not to be hurried, even by Sir Guy. He would not give Brian the hauberk until he had replaced every doubtful link in the chain mail and was completely satisfied with it.

  And so it was nearly noon when Brian and Tertius went out into the courtyard where the Lady Leolie and Sir Guy waited for them. Tertius’ gray palfrey saddled and ready, stood near the entrance to the great hall and next to him, tossing his head impatiently, was—not Mab, the chestnut mare Brian had ridden for years—but Gaillard, Sir Guy’s white charger.

  “What’s this?” asked Brian surprised.

  “I said I had something else for you,” said Sir Guy gruffly. “After all, you can’t go off on a quest riding a twelve-year-old mare.”

  “You’re giving me Gaillard? But you can’t!”

  “Are you telling me what I can do and what I can’t?”

  “No, Sir Guy.”

  “Then be silent!”

  For a moment Brian looked at Sir Guy and Sir Guy looked at him, his single eye proud and fierce. Then, as he had the night before, Brian took his hand.

  “Thank you, Sir Guy,” he said simply. “I will tend him well.”

  “If I did not think you would, I would not be giving him to you. Remember that, if anything, he is overeager. If you should happen to joust again—and I hope you will not—hold him back until the last moment, then give him his head.”

  “I’ll remember,” said Brian.

  He turned now to his mother. She was dressed as she had been the day before, in her good green gown, and, her face, though it was still pale, was composed.

  “I, too, said I had something else for you,” she said. “Here.” And she took off a heavy gold ring and gave it to him.

  “Your ring?”

  “It is not my ring. It is the Caercorbin ring, one of a pair. Your father had one exactly like it. He wore it when he went off to the Holy Land. It is only right that you wear its companion.”

  Brian looked at it, though he did not need to, for he had admired it for as long as he could remember. As his mother said, it was the Caercorbin ring, for it was made in the likeness of a wivern, their blazon, but cunningly wrought so that the winged dragon held his tail in his teeth, thus making a circle.

  Brian glanced at his mother, then slipped it on the little finger of his left hand.

  “Very well, Mother.”

  “God and Saint Michael guard you,” she said. “And,” almost whispering, “come back!”

  “Fear not, Mother,” he said, embracing her, “I will.”

  Then, afraid to trust himself to say more, he swung up onto Gaillard. Simon, standing beside Sir Guy, handed him a lance. Tertius was already in the saddle, and together they moved toward the gatehouse. When they were under the portcullis, Brian turned and looked back. There in the center of the courtyard—exactly as he had seen them in his dream—stood his mother and Sir Guy, watching them go: his mother holding herself tall and straight and with only a faint mistiness in her blue eyes.

  It was too much. Driving his heels into Gaillard, Brian sent him thundering across the drawbridge, the open space beyond and into the leafy shade of the forest. Struggling with his own feelings, he gave the great white horse his head and they galloped along the forest track, Brian holding his lance low to avoid the overhanging branches. Finally, coming to a place where the narrow road curved slightly to the east, he checked Gaillard. A few minutes later Tertius came cantering up.

  “We have a long way to go,
” he said reprovingly, “and we’ll never get there if we start out this way.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” Then, looking closely at Brian, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  They started up the track at an easier pace, riding side by side.

  “By the way, exactly where are we going?” asked Brian.

  “I don’t know.”

  “But we are looking for an enchanter?”

  “Yes. I’d thought of trying Master Blaise. He was Merlin’s teacher. But I understand he’s no longer up in Northumberland. It’s said that he’s now in France.”

  “Shall we go there then?”

  “Perhaps. But there must be other magicians who are closer to home.”

  “I’m sure there are. You were wise not to tell my mother what your quest was. I don’t think she would have liked it.”

  “Neither would Father Bernard. But I didn’t tell an untruth. After all, it does have something to do with learning.”

  “Not what he would call learning.”

  “No. Though of course chemistry grew out of alchemy. And I suspect that magic isn’t what we think. Or,” suddenly thoughtful, “perhaps that’s the answer. Perhaps that’s exactly what it is.”

  “What what is?”

  “Magic.”

  “Everyone knows what magic is.”

  “Really? What is it, then?”

  “Why, magic. The only question is whether it’s black or white.”

  “And how can you tell the difference?”

  “I suppose it depends on whether it’s good or bad, whether it helps people or hurts them. Merlin was a white magician. He used his magic to help people.”

  “But you believe in both kinds?”

  “Of course.”

  Tertius nodded, still looking thoughtful. And so they rode on, sometimes talking, but often silent. They met no one during the long afternoon, but they had no trouble following the tree-shaded track until the sun was low in the west. Then they came to a place where the road forked, one branch going south and one east.

  “Which way?” asked Brian, reining in Gaillard.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Tertius.

  “It all depends on where you want to go,” said a familiar voice.

  They turned. As before, Long Hugh had appeared out of nowhere and was standing by the side of the track, leaning on his bow.

  “You’re a long way from home,” said Brian.

  “How can that be when the whole forest is my home?”

  “Well, from Caercorbin, then.”

  “For you, perhaps, by road. Not so far for me by forest paths.”

  “We are well-met,” said Tertius. “Where do these roads go?”

  “This one,” said Hugh, pointing to the right, “will take you home to Bedegraine. The other will take you to Meliot.”

  “Then the choice is easy,” said Tertius. “We go straight ahead.”

  “To Meliot?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will not get there before dark when the gates close. I think you had better spend the night with us.”

  “Your camp is near here?” asked Brian.

  “One of our camps.”

  “We would like that, Hugh,” said Brian. “Thank you.”

  “It is not far. You had better lead your horses.”

  Brian and Tertius dismounted and followed him. They had barely left the track when they discovered why he had told them to lead their horses; the undergrowth was so thick and the branches hung so low that a mounted man could not have gone more than a few paces without being swept from the saddle. On they went, turning and twisting to avoid boggy places and patches of briars, until they came out into a stand of oaks.

  As they started through it, a pair of partridges rose to their left and flew fast and low for cover. With almost unbelievable speed, Hugh whipped an arrow from his belt, nocked it, drew and loosed. While it was still in the air, he had drawn and loosed another. Both birds fell, each spitted by a clothyard shaft.

  Brian whistled softly with admiration and Hugh nodded.

  “Fair shooting,” he admitted. “But when your life depends on your bow—for food or defense—you learn to use it.”

  “I can use one,” said Brian. “But I doubt that I could ever learn to shoot like that.”

  “It’s not a gentle’s weapon,” said Hugh. “I misdoubt that I could ever learn to use that spear of yours.”

  He had picked up the two birds and was leading them on. A short distance beyond the oaks, they came to an open glade. A fire burned in its center and set about it were crude but snug shelters roofed with pine boughs. Half a dozen men lounged about the fire on which a haunch of venison was roasting, among them Wat, the stocky outlaw. The man tending the fire had a black eye and, when Wat saw Brian and Tertius looking at him, he nodded.

  “Aye,” he said, “that’s our wandering Hob. I left him his ears but thought a buffet might remind him that we each have our duties.”

  “Next time you try to remind me of anything,” growled Hob, “I’ll use six inches of steel to remind you to keep your hands to yourself.”

  “No more of that,” said Hugh firmly. “When outlaws fall out with one another, their plight is bad indeed.”

  “Well, perhaps I deserved the buffet,” said Hob. “But I don’t like having it talked about. Is this the young wizard who drew fire from the sun for you?”

  “It is,” said Hugh. “So burn the roast, and he’ll scorch your hide.”

  “He doesn’t look so wizardlike to me,” said Hob. “Nor vengeful either.”

  “But I am hungry,” said Tertius.

  “Ah, that’s something else again,” said Hob. “Tend to your horses, young masters; and by the time you’ve done that, I’ll have as tasty a supper ready for you as was ever eaten in the greenwood.”

  He may have been lacking as a fire watcher, but he was a reliable cook. Brian and Tertius unsaddled their horses, rubbed them down and set them to grazing. When they came back to the fire, the venison was done and served to them with horns of mead. Afterward, as it grew dark and they sat around the glowing logs, they had honeycomb, which one of the outlaws had taken from a wild bee’s tree only that morning.

  Brian waited for Hugh to question him about why he had left Caercorbin and where he was going. But forest men never pry into the affairs of others, wanting no one to pry into theirs. And so the talk was only about the movement of game and why wild boars were so scarce and deer so plentiful and whether Long Hugh and some of the others should go north and take part in a shooting match in which the prize was to be a silver arrow.

  Later, Brian and Tertius stretched out in one of the shelters and, as they looked up at the clear summer sky, Brian said, “When you learn magic will you also learn the stars?”

  “I already know them.”

  “I don’t mean their names and positions. I mean, will you learn to read them?”

  “There are,” said Tertius, “some several dozen so-called methods of divination. For instance, crystallomancy, which is gazing into crystals, pyromancy, which is studying fire, capnomancy, which involves smoke, hydromancy, which involves water, cleromancy, which makes use of dice, alectryomancy, oneiromancy, chiromancy, stichomancy. Shall I go on?”

  “No,” said Brian. “And they are all true?”

  “They are all nonsense.”

  “But if that’s so, then why do people believe in them?”

  “People believe in a great many ridiculous things. That the earth is flat, for instance.”

  Brian lifted himself on one elbow. “You mean it’s not?”

  “No.”

  “But you can see that it is.”

  “Can you?”

  “Of course.” Then, “If it’s not flat, what is it?”

  “Let’s not go into that now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s too complicated.”

  Br
ian looked down at him, frowning. The things that Tertius seemed to know—the things he said with such assurance—may have been the result of a mistake of Merlin’s, but Brian couldn’t help wondering if he himself wasn’t making a mistake, imperiling his immortal soul, by consorting with him. For much of what he said, and some of what he did, was not merely strange, but bordered on the heretical. Tertius returned his glance calmly, and Brian had a feeling that, in a sense, this was a test. That if he accepted this last statement of his that the earth was not flat, he would accept anything Tertius said or did.

  “All right,” he said. “But the stars are different. There are so many of them, each with its own properties and each acting upon us for good or evil. There must be something to the reading of them.”

  While they were arguing about it, they fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Long hugh paused where the trees ended and the ground became more open.

  “The road is just beyond the hedgerow,” he said.

  Brian and Tertius had awakened early that morning, but not as early as their hosts. By the time they had washed in the brook near the camp, all the outlaws except Hugh and Hob had disappeared into the greenwood, some to hunt, some to keep watch for any who might be searching for them. After breakfasting on the partridges that Hugh had shot the day before, they said good-bye to Hob and followed Hugh along narrow and almost invisible trails to the edge of the forest.

  “How far is it to Meliot?” asked Brian.

  “Perhaps three miles,” said Hugh. “But since there are many hereabouts who know me, I will come no further with you.”

  “We thank you for your hospitality,” said Brian.

  “It was a small return for past favors,” said Hugh. “I’m still in your debt. And,” to Tertius, “perhaps in yours, too.”

  “For the fire? That was nothing.”

  “Since we needed it, it was a great deal. But that was not what I meant. When we first met, I told you that the pickings near Caercorbin had been slim. And so, for some time before that, we had been ranging further south.”

  “To Bedegraine?”

  “Thereabouts.”

  “And did you do better there?” asked Tertius, smiling.

  “Much better. The roads are more traveled in those parts, and those who travel them had more to share with us.”