by M. K. Hume
‘Be silent, Flavia,’ Myrddion cut in roughly, his voice thick with emotion. He applied Captus’s knife to the task of dismembering a quail.
‘You really mustn’t tease the poor boy,’ Aspar replied carelessly.
‘Ask him about his gifts, then, and how few times he’s been proved wrong,’ she persisted.
Aspar turned to face Myrddion with a polite expression of vague interest. One eyebrow rose as he continued to tear at the meat on the point of his knife with his remarkably well-shaped teeth.
‘It’s nothing, Aspar, merely an ailment I’ve suffered since infancy.’
‘What ailment, Myrddion? God’s teeth, I had no interest in her words until you seemed so unwilling to share your little secret. I’m sure my dove will inform me if you don’t tell me yourself.’
‘He has visions,’ Flavia snapped. Her face was momentarily ugly and old, as if her baser self stripped away her youth. ‘My father hated him because he saw through to Aetius’s heart and foretold the manner of his death.’
Aspar scoffed. ‘Impossible! No man can see through the veil of time, least of all an itinerant healer with neither wealth nor status.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Flavia protested. ‘I was in the palace at the time and the servants who were there told me word for word. Myrddion predicted the deaths of my father, King Merovech of the Salian Franks and King Theodoric of the Visigoths. They all died, exactly as he predicted.’
‘I don’t believe in the Sight. It’s a trick used by charlatans to frighten the gullible – and silly women.’
Myrddion remained silent.
Yusuf’s uncle looked at him with a strange expression and his dark eyes glowed in the torchlight. His hawk’s eyes and long, narrow face remained impassive and watchful, yet they were sharp with curiosity.
‘I have always found that those people who persist in cherishing hopes that the future can be opened to them are those who are unable to face the present.’ Aspar’s voice was laced with amusement and contempt. ‘For them, anything is better than today, Myrddion, and I believe that sentiment and hope are for fools.’
‘I agree – my words are only for fools. I’ve come to learn that only the highest of aspirations are of lasting value.’
Aspar stopped smiling. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Some men appear to be born to serve, while others are born to take. You are one kind, while I am the other.’
Myrddion rubbed his forehead where a sharp, tense knot of pain had formed. He feared another terrible episode like the one that had made him so ill in Rome, so he dreaded this foolish game of cat and mouse. It exposed his emotions and exacerbated his pain, a vicious circle of tension and agony.
Flavia stared at the healer, hoping that this sudden change in behaviour would spark the onset of another fit. She had never seen one before, so she could not know the implications.
‘Don’t wish to know what the future will bring, Flavia, for you do not truly wish to hear your fate. No one does. The last time the fit came over me, I foretold the demise of Rome – and its imminent onset.’
‘I don’t care about Rome,’ Flavia sniped.
‘What, then, are a few hundred thousand people?’ the healer retorted sardonically. Pulchria’s face appeared before him. Somehow, the Roman landlady and former whore seemed so much more decent than this aristocratic young woman who lazed on her eating couch before him.
The room shuddered before his glowing eyes. ‘What’s wrong, Myrddion?’ El Kabir’s voice seemed to come from far away, and the young man struggled to hold himself back from the brink of unconsciousness. Even so, his voice began to build in his head, as if he were an onlooker and some demon really did inhabit his inner self.
No, he thought blankly. No. No. No. Never again! Please, Mother Ceridwen, save me from this curse. Don’t let me betray myself in front of this terrible man.
But, as on so many occasions in the past, the wave within his skull could not be stopped, no matter how he tried. But this time he would be forced to listen to what his stranger’s voice had to say.
‘Woman, you will grow old before your time. That is all you need to know! Be silent!’
Myrddion’s voice was so guttural that all the humour was wiped from Aspar’s face.
‘Prince of the desert, friend. Your descendants will own this city and all its wealth will, one day, come to your people. But many centuries will pass before the Christian god is cast out of Hagia Sofia, and the Children of the Prophet who is to come will answer the call to prayer in the great echoing vaults. Under the magical Dome of the Lord, the sons of Ishmael will triumph.’
‘I don’t understand, master healer,’ el Kabir murmured. ‘Why should we desire to cast out Christianity?’
‘In centuries to come, my people and your people will be at war for ownership of the city of Jerusalem. Woe will come . . . and sadness . . . and the dreadful darkness.’
Without realising that he had moved, Myrddion rose and faced his father. From a great distance, he considered the death of any hope that he would find answers from this man, or a trace of the affection that his secret heart had yearned to see in Aspar’s eyes.
Then he relinquished everything but pain and loss. ‘You, Aspar, will live for many years. You will remain in power and will feast on the terror that you inflict on others. At your end, you will face the assassin’s knife and you will be remembered for what you were not, rather than what you were. You never ruled and you never sat upon the eastern throne, but nor did your children. You were, ultimately, terrified at the thought of serving, for only great men can throw themselves away for the needs of the people. You do not have the soul to serve.’
‘If you’ve said the worst you can of me, why should I fear your prophecy? If you speak the truth, then I will live long, die old and quickly, and be remembered. I thank you, Myrddion. I will permit you to be the one who serves, if you should so wish.’
‘Be silent! You have given me my name, Merlinus, for the bird you’ll never possess. When you are only scraps of information in scrolls that no scholar will ever read, every child in empires far larger than this one will know my name. And they will rejoice in their knowledge of the feats that have been achieved by me and mine. So it is without regret that I renounce you, and every root and branch of your family. I renounce your blood as trivial, an accident that the gods have sent me to repudiate. I have learned everything of you that I need to know . . . and what I have learned is not worth the knowing.’
Myrddion reached into his leather pouch and his blind fingers found the amber ring. Without further thought, and in the thrall of his words, the young man plucked it forth and threw it at his father’s face.
‘And, if you should doubt me, remember my words when Rome burns, and the Roman Church owns its heart and soul.’
Then, with Ali el Kabir at his back, Myrddion turned on his heel and strode out of Aspar’s great palace. They passed the statues that smiled on eternity with carved faces, and hurried out into the perfumed night with the sound of Flavia’s keening wails shivering the air in their wake. As the night embraced him, Myrddion didn’t realise that he was weeping for his lost youth.
The inn was silent when Myrddion arrived at its door, while Ali el Kabir attempted to keep pace with the Briton’s long legs.
‘I shall come to see Yusuf in the morning, friend,’ Myrddion said softly as they said their farewells. ‘Don’t be alarmed by my fits. I have been afflicted with them for many years. But you and your nephew will live well in the lands of your people. I wish you fortune with your horses and your hawks. I will smile often when I think of my friend in the warm south when the rain squalls fall chill on my face in Cymru.’
Ali el Kabir embraced the young healer and patted the sides of his beardless face.
‘I cannot hope to understand what you said in Aspar’s palace, or why you said it, but Aspar will now hate you for your words. I saw his face as you left and I knew that you had insulted the core of his vanity. We had plan
ned to leave for Antiochia and Sidon tomorrow, but Yusuf will not be able to travel for many days yet. I will place my ship, the Sea Shepherd, at your disposal and I will give you a scroll for the captain to acquaint him with my wishes. Just send the vessel back to us in one piece! But go, young man – as quickly as possible. Aspar will lick his pride clean for a night or two, but then he will demand redress from you.’
Myrddion said everything that could be put into words of thanks and embraced el Kabir with gratitude. ‘I hope our people never hate each other as I have foretold, for I could never see you as an enemy, my friend.’
‘If it is the will of God, we will meet in Paradise, and, perhaps, we will weep for the greed and ambition that will rend this world apart in future times, my friend. There is nothing we can do but try to follow righteous paths.’
‘Your sons are fortunate to have such a father,’ Myrddion whispered, embracing him, and then he ran to rouse his friends.
‘It’s a good thing that Rhedyn and Brangaine refused to unpack,’ Cadoc decided wryly when he heard the news that they would be fleeing Constantinople in the dawn. ‘It’s a pretty city, but it can never be home.’
‘No, Constantinople can never be home,’ Myrddion replied with a sob. No matter how he tried, Cadoc couldn’t find the words to comfort his master as the young man wept.
Finn, Cadoc and Myrddion leaned on the rails of el Kabir’s strange ship with its huge triangular sails as it beat its way out into the Propontis. Below decks, the women slept after a night of frantic activity, while Praxiteles fussed over the disposition of his master’s possessions. Without asking questions, they had carried all their worldly goods to the forecourt of the inn, thanked Emilio and his still chattering wife, and started to load the wagons that Ali el Kabir conjured out of nowhere with a flourish of smiles.
Myrddion had sought out Praxiteles, who had been sleeping in the servants’ alcove, and tried to pay him for his services, but the Greek staunchly refused to accept any coin. Eventually, his face very sad, Praxiteles insisted on accompanying them on their travels and all Myrddion’s protestations couldn’t change his mind.
Now, as sunrise gilded the Golden Horn and turned the city into a floating mirage of silver gilt, Myrddion hoped he would never see the Eastern Empire again. Aspar dwelled here, and after the Fall of Rome a wall of tall barbarians would stand between him and Myrddion. This son would never repeat the sins of the father, even if he must travel on his journey through life as solitary and as trapped as Aspar’s merlin.
‘Are we truly going home, master?’ Finn asked hesitantly. ‘Will my son grow up on his own soil?’
‘Your child could well be a daughter, Truthteller,’ Cadoc joked. ‘For all your potions and lotions, you still cannot determine the sex of an unborn child.’
‘I don’t care what sex the babe is, as long as it’s healthy and strong,’ Finn retorted with stern seriousness as the morning sun gilded his face with a rime of light.
‘You’ll be a good father, Finn,’ Myrddion acknowledged with a sad face. ‘Your child may be born on the journey home, but he’ll be a Celt, and that’s everything.’
Cadoc kicked Finn on the shin with his booted foot – hard. Myrddion heard Truthteller wince, but he was too deeply immersed in regret over Flavia, his father and the whole, ill-advised adventure that had absorbed six years of his youth to pay any attention.
‘It will be good to leave these huge skies, for I’ve missed the rains that fall at home,’ he whispered, almost to himself. ‘In Cymru, everything seems softer and gentler, and I think I’ll try to see Branwyn when I return. Perhaps, after all we have experienced, I can even try to heal her.’
Behind his back, Cadoc and Finn exchanged meaningful glances.
‘You’re not to blame, master, for whatever is making you so sad. It’s not that damned Flavia woman, is it?’ Cadoc asked angrily. Any blow to Myrddion was a major wound to Cadoc – and he’d never liked the flame-haired bitch. ‘Sooner or later, a good woman will come into your life and love you. She’ll be one of us rather than a Roman noblewoman who knows nothing of honour and decency. You’ll see, master! Everything will come right once we get home.’
No it won’t, Myrddion thought sadly. I’ll not marry because it hurts too damned much. Better to be alone. I’d not willingly pass on my father’s curse of casual cruelty.
But he couldn’t put a voice to those thoughts. He had pretended to be strong since he was very young, almost before he could remember, and now his pretence had become a second skin that hid his losses from the pity of others.
The city faded into the morning and the dhow, for so the black-bearded captain called it, fled before the wind into the Propontis as it took the healers on the first stage of the long journey back to Britain – and home.
‘I’d like to be called Myrddion Merlinus from this point onwards,’ Myrddion told Cadoc in the early morning, after the hours of silence that had weighed heavily on his heart. ‘Of all the wonders I saw in Constantinople, the one thing that I truly admired was Aspar’s merlin. It remained free, despite its captivity, and it convinced me that every man must learn his true nature.’
‘Of course, master,’ Cadoc replied quietly. ‘You may choose any name you wish. ‘But first you must eat, because I have no doubt that you need sustenance. Great events follow you closely, so we’ll need to keep up your strength.’
Myrddion chuckled softly. His heart might be breaking for a faithless lover and his father might have humiliated him beyond bearing, but Cadoc would continue to baby him, regardless of his age.
‘Why do you, Finn, and the women bother with me? I’ve dragged you into wars, to places so vile that I cannot bear to remember them, and then onwards into more pain and danger. Why do you travel with me?’
For a brief second, Cadoc looked thunderstruck and his mouth fell open in surprise. When he closed it, Myrddion heard the little snap as his teeth met. Then he repeated a response that Myrddion had heard before, in an earlier time of pain and death, and the young man’s heart began the healing process.
‘Ye gods, master! Surely you know by now? These things are done in the name of the love that we, at least, have long held for you. And ever will.’
Then Cadoc marched away towards the cabin below decks and Myrddion found that, suddenly, he was very hungry.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
I have always loved to write, but this novel was both the realisation of a dream and the hardest task I’ve ever attempted. Months of research, a very long journey over lands and seas, and hours of sweat and a bucket of tears went into the making of it.
The whole endeavour began when I started to wonder about the lost years of Merlin’s life. What I’m referring to are the years between his attempted sacrifice by Vortigern and his role as Uther Pendragon’s adviser. I looked at both Myrddion figures, namely the Merlin Sylvestris, or the Wild Man, and the Magician. I rejected the Merlin Sylvestris version, described in the Vita Merlini, as unlikely. I just couldn’t visualise my Merlin as a man driven mad by loss. Such a man wouldn’t be capable of guiding the destiny of such strong-willed kings as Uther Pendragon and his son, Arthur.
Once that decision was made, I was presented with a huge problem. Where was Merlin during his middle years, or at least a decade or so of that time? What would a clever, alienated and partially skilled healer be likely to do during this period? The Arthurian legends say nothing of these years, so I had no guiding lights to illuminate my path.
Eventually, after I had finished Book One of this trilogy, I puzzled over what I would do if I were in Merlin’s shoes – and my answer came quickly. The ultimate, long-term goal would be to find his father, but in the short term he would be hungry for knowledge and would want to improve his medical skills.
So, where would he go? The answer to that question came quickly too. He would go to the world of the Middle Sea, literally the Mediterranean, as the source of all learning, but that empire was fragmentary and devouring itself. I knew virtually
nothing about the finer details of that decay, so it was back to the drawing board for M. K. Hume. How fascinating it was to find that King Merovech, who gave his name to the Merovingian kings of France, was also reputed to be a supposed Demon Seed. This research result was surprising, to put it mildly. To trace the extraordinarily brutal and manipulative life of Flavius Aetius was historically fascinating. As I hunted for Flavius Petronius Maximus, Heraclius, Valentinian III and Flavius Ardabur Aspar, what struck me most was that the historical data was more violent and more bizarre than anything I could ever have invented.
And all of these men lived and died in the same period of time. The history of Europe was truly hanging in the balance. Attila the Hun and his murderous horde had the potential to change the face of Europe, so I wasn’t really surprised when I discovered that the Battle of the Catalaunian Plain is numbered among the fifteen most influential battles of all time. That Flavius Aetius won this battle, in one day, was a victory for muscle and desperation over the force of numbers in Attila’s massive army.
Then, after studying the ancient landscape of Rome and the politics that rendered it almost moribund, I tracked down lead poisoning and the terrible toll in human lives that the Roman sweet tooth took. Would a young man like Merlin have made the connection between a distilled grape sweetener and this debilitating illness with its wildly differing symptoms? Possibly, or perhaps not. The Romans never made that leap, but then again, they never gave up their love of blood-soaked games either, even as Christians.
I travelled to Istanbul/Constantinople to see the Golden Horn and Hagia Sofia III. While I didn’t see Hagia Sofia II, which existed in Merlin’s time, I did see the basilica beside it that dated from a far earlier era. The land and the seas are unchanged and I embraced it, loved it and felt the past seep out of the walls and into my hands.
I make no apology for inserting Merlin into these fading days of glory. The Roman Empire saw strangers come and go by the many thousand. He could quite easily have been one of them. I had the opportunity to give him his modern name of Merlinus, or Merlin, and I bade farewell to the Middle Sea with regret.
