by C. M. Gray
'Cunobelin!' The cry went up as warriors moved cautiously to the edge of the cliff and peered over.
Gerlois dropped his spear and sank to the ground. A moment later someone was trying to pull him up, trying to lead him away. 'Oh spirits, I killed …' Panic returned and began to overwhelm him, he looked up into the face of the warrior who was desperately trying to drag him away. 'I killed him; I killed Cunobelin.'
'Yes, Lord, and if we do not leave you may well have killed us all.'
Chapter 13
The Oaken Log
Warriors sat about their fires in restrained silence. There was no drinking or feasting this evening. There were no wrestling bouts nor games of dice being played. One of their greatest champions had fallen, and there was not a man nor a woman present who did not bitterly feel the loss. When the great doors crashed back to shiver the timbers of the hall and Uath the Stranger entered, he stopped and glanced about him. A puzzled expression crossed his face, he hugged the great axe to his body and rasped his thumb across its blade. Slowly, he walked on to the fire across from which Uther sat with his closest warriors. Uath turned a full circle and stared at the silent gathering, his big cold face finally becoming a grin until his laughter bellowed out loud, the sound of it booming throughout the hall sending motes of dust to dance down from the roof and float in the air.
'So… now two of your bravest and best have failed in their promises with me, great warriors of Britain. Their honour and courage turned to piss and whimpers when the time came to lay their heads upon the log.'
'Your contract is a bargain for fools, Uath the Stranger.' Uther rose from beside Sir Ector and pushed aside the hands that urged him to remain seated. 'You may keep your bargain, for it is an agreement only for the simple minded. We have seen the manner of your contract, where through some Druid trickery your head is struck yet you return remade and unharmed. Do you think us of so little wit? We are mortal men. Any one of us would die and not return if our head was removed, and so I repeat myself… your contract is for fools.'
'Scared are you, Uther Pendragon? Lily-livered like your champions?' The giant threw back his head and laughed once more. 'You are like a spineless child.' He lowered his head until it was at the same level as Uther. 'A spineless, gutless child… and a coward, like your men and all these cowardly warriors who watch us now, yet say nothing.'
Uther felt a rage build within him as angry calls and hissing filled the room. Seeing the axe in the giant's hands, he snatched it, wrenching it from the other's grasp. He was vaguely aware of Sir Ector rising and shouting 'Nooooo!' Then without waiting for the giant to set his head upon the block, Uther swung with all his might and the blade whistled as it sliced through the air, severing the giant's head from his neck in one explosive strike. The head leapt, spinning from the shoulders up towards the rafters above, spraying blood about the hall as it turned. Beneath it, the body slowly buckled and collapsed to the floor with a crash, just as the head hit the stones with a dull crack.
He was aware of hot blood as it splashed across him, yet cared nothing for it as he stepped after the rolling head and smashed it repeatedly with the flat of the axe until it was nothing more than a bloody mess. He stood there, breathing heavily amid an awed silence as his vision swam. A moment later, he turned as the body of Uath the Stranger slowly pushed itself up and stood. Uther staggered back and then watched dispassionately as the giant scooped up the remains of its head in its arms, and then walked slowly from the hall.
The following day was spent preparing weapons. Grim expressions spoke of dissatisfaction with the way they had been treated by their hosts that were far louder than any voices of complaint. The sound of stones rasping against metal as blades were honed and tempers were given an edge, rang loud and continuously about the hall. The Druids had now included their King in their games, which meant that every man and woman there was preparing for war, to die alongside him should the giant take his head. It was never mentioned to leave and walk the hills. There were no games nor contests to test their strengths, nor was there drinking, gaming or feasting. The mood was as sombre as the time before battle when every warrior communed with their innermost thoughts and prepared their path to the gates of the Shadowland. This was the place where their journey would begin should they die and seek to pass the gates into the Shadowland. They would follow their King should he fall, but the giant, Uath the Stranger would also die and then, quite possibly, all and every Druid and native of Erin that could be hunted down, for that would be the way of it.
Uther spent his day in silent contemplation. Seated at the low table set by the biggest fire, he stared into the dancing flames; his eyes lost to the hot coals as he prepared himself to meet the Stranger. In his heart, in his soul, he did not believe that he would lose his head. He still held Excalibur. He had always known that he would somehow pass the sword on or that Merlyn would demand he relinquish it; he simply couldn't die like this. He wasn't afraid to die. However, this wasn't the time; he knew that. But still, the thought of kneeling down and placing his neck upon that sticky log of oak, regardless of his disbelief in the outcome being his death, was not an easy one to envisage. He now knew what Gerlois had gone through, the thoughts and the doubts… and the fear that he could feel trying to rise up from where it shivered in his belly in its attempt to overcome him. Yet stay he must, and face this Druid game he must, there was no possible thought of doing anything else, and so he watched his warriors prepare to die in full knowledge of their intent, for he knew it would not happen.
At the appointed time, the doors crashed back and every warrior silently rose from where they had been sitting and waiting, and stood to glare and finger their blades and spears as the giant, once more whole without any scar nor cut to suggest its head had so recently been separated from its body, took its slow walk towards the fire and their King.
Uath the Stranger walked unhurriedly, regarding the watching men and women with interest, noting the blades and spears levelled towards him with dispassionate interest, and then he turned to see if Uther was there and smiled and said in his deep rumbling voice, 'Uther Pendragon, you have not fled.' His big craggy face split into a mocking grin and he hopped and danced the last few steps to stand beside the log. 'Your fear must be eating you from deep inside like a worm devouring an apple. I am quite sure that your bowels are about to empty upon the floor.' He bent down and peered below the table expectantly.
Three old Druids entered and stood beside the doorway and Uath turned and bowed to them, before returning to sneer at Uther.
'Did you think to flee like your so called champions? Did you not wet your britches at the thought of…?'
'Silence.' Uther stood, placed Excalibur upon the table, and walked around by the fire to stare up into the giant's ugly face which towered above him. 'Save your breath and cease your taunting… for you are not real.' He turned and bowed his head to the Druids, finally acknowledging their presence, and then walked around the fire and knelt beside the log. Trembling only slightly, he placed his neck upon the bloody wood and pulled the cloth of his tunic down, exposing his neck so that the axe might find its mark and cut true. He felt the giant move beside him and saw the shadow of the axe as it was heaved up and raised to the top of its swing. There was not a sound in the room, yet the tension was deafening. Holding his breath; Uther Pendragon's nerves tingling in anticipation. Yet with nostrils filled with the stench of the blood staining the floor around him, he did not feel the bite of the axe nor the welcoming embrace of his ancestors. Hesitantly, he turned his head to glance up at the giant.
Uath grinned. 'You need to stretch out your neck a little better if I am to strike cleanly, King Uther. Your neck is so thin and scrawny, like a little bird, that…'
'Hush, Uath the Stranger,' Uther returned his neck to the log and stared at the floor, 'strike me swiftly, as I struck you, and be done with this game. We are warriors gathered here and we thirst. We will drink the Druid's ale this night and take their stones tomorr
ow… finish this game, for my knees are pained crouching here. I would like to return to my seat.'
He heard the giant 'humph' as he lifted the blade. Saw the shadow of the axe rise once more and then, as warriors drew breath around him anticipating the execution of their King, he saw the shadow of the blade fall.
It struck with an almighty crash, shattering the stone upon which Uther knelt, just a hand's width from his face. He felt the breath of it passing to kiss his cheek and for a heartbeat, Uther's mind raced to make sense of what had happened. Then he pushed himself up on shaking legs and turned to confront the giant, yet it was not the giant, Uath the Stranger that stood smiling at him happily, it was Merlyn.
The three Druids walked through the ranks of stunned warriors and silently bowed before Uther.
'Uther Pendragon. The Druid Merlyn has long counselled that you are the leader that our people have long foretold would walk the land for time without end. That you are the man who would prevail when others, the bravest, would or could not stand. Two of your champions stood to meet the challenge of, Uath the Stranger, yet it was only you who was able to live and judge and understand within your rage, that all was not as it seemed. You met the challenge of, Uath the Stranger, and survived. We, the Druids of Erin, salute you and condone your movement of the holy stones.' With that, the three Druids left, leaving Uther glaring at Merlyn.
'Did I ever mention to you, old man, that I hate the games you Druids play?'
'I do remember you mentioning that a few times, Uther,' Merlyn laughed and nodded his head happily, 'yes, you said it a few times, but doesn't it make life far more interesting?'
The next morning was a late start.
As soon as the old Druids had left the hall the evening before, other Druids had entered bearing jugs of mead and ale and platters of venison and boar and the warriors had feasted and celebrated. Uther had felt such a weight lift from his shoulders that he had joined in, accepting both the calls of congratulations and support, as well as horns filled to overflowing with frothing ale and strong, dark mead.
Now, as he stumbled along behind Merlyn, the songs and noise of the celebration still pounding his skull, Uther was again regretting the ill effects of drinking too much, and he wasn't the only one. Beside him strode Sir Ector, who wasn't talking, and behind them strung out downhill along the winding path were his sullen, suffering warriors. At least, it wasn't raining, not yet, anyway. Grey cloud once again covered the sky and when Uther raised his head to squint up towards the peak as it rose above the green cloak of grass and trees, he saw it was almost lost in cloud and looked desolate and cold. A strong wind buffeted them, but Uther barely registered it, he was simply forcing himself to climb and hoping that they would soon arrive at the site of the holy stones. With his breath echoing and rasping in his ears and his head feeling fit to burst, it was all he could do to force himself to put one foot in front of the other, and to avoid the tufts of grass and little hillocks left by countless travellers before him that might otherwise send him stumbling. All he could think of was pushing on, get Merlyn's stones, and leaving, but as with most things to do with Druids, and Merlyn in particular, it wasn't quite as simple as that.
Uther finally reached the top part of the path where Merlyn stood waiting for him, a big excited grin upon the Druid's face. As Uther took the final steps up and looked up at the Druid, with his robes flapping in the wind and wispy beard floating about his head, he had the strangest notion that if Merlyn were a dog, his tail would be wagging from side to side. Finally, with legs shaking slightly from the climb and his breathing still laboured, Uther gazed past Merlyn and stared at the stones. The tribesmen were arriving, gathering behind him, strangely silent as they also took sight of the stones that they were to remove and bring down to the boats.
The wind was gusting hard. Uther could feel it pushing at him as if invisible hands were trying to turn him and send him walking back down, which, if he weren't so exhausted, he might be tempted to do. After finally seeing the stones that he had heard so much about, and for so long, he now realised that this whole ordeal was just another pointless exercise dreamt up by the Druids so they could laugh at them all. He didn't know whether he should also laugh, although he felt he could certainly weep, or possibly have his men hang Merlyn up by the ankles from one of the impossibly large stones they were all staring at and then head back down to the boats. It was tempting, but he was just too tired.
'Merlyn, what by the spirits are we doing here?' Uther pointed at the stones. 'I suppose you thought that we might each sling one of these upon each shoulder, and then run with them back to the boats?' He slumped down onto grass cropped short by the numerous sheep that were ignoring them, aside from an occasional curious glance while chewing mouthfuls of grass. The sheep were grazing around the really big… in fact, impossibly huge was a better description, grey stones, each of which was taller than if a man were to stand upon another's shoulders, and with surely even more of the stone buried beneath the soil.
'Merlyn, have the spirits robbed you of all your senses? How could you imagine we might move just one of these stones, even just a little bit? This is all nonsense, isn't it? A great Druid game that you have played with us?'
Merlyn shook his head in denial, 'Oh come, Uther. You give up on things far too easily. The stones are what they are, and they are… perfect. Let us look at them, come…' He reached down and pulled on Uther's arm trying to raise him. All around them the warriors were in different attitudes of rest, happy to let their King and his Druid discuss the impossible while they napped or drank from skins of weak ale.
Uther pulled his arm away. 'Leave me alone, Merlyn. This is utter nonsense and I want no more part of it. There is no possible way we could bring these stones down to the boats, and even if, with the greatest stretch of my faith in you, I was to think that we might possibly be able to do it, then the boats would sink. Those stones are very, very big.' He lay back on the grass and closed his eyes. 'We will rest here and then return to the hall. At sunrise we leave for the boats and sail for home, we are done here.' He felt rather than saw Merlyn turn and walk away. The Druid was muttering something, but he didn't care what it was, he smiled, the stones were set in a circle, some upright and others were laying horizontally on top. They were ridiculously big, vast grey lumps. Mottled with greens, browns, and livid orange growths of moss and lichens; really quite beautiful. They had obviously been there an eternity and they would surely stay there for another eternity. All that talk about a race of giants, the Fir Bolg putting them there thousands of years ago, was obviously true, if he had ever had a doubt about the legend before, then he didn't have one now.
After a short rest, they left, Uther glanced back and saw that Merlyn was still preoccupied with walking around the stones, muttering and pacing; he looked to be measuring them. Uther shook his head and began the walk back down to the hall; it was relatively pleasant now that most of his stress and the hurt in his head had left him. The sun was trying to shine between the clouds and it was all quite agreeable. It was a relief to be past the excitement and tension of the quest; it would soon be over and he would be happy to return to Britain. He wasn't looking forward to sailing again, his brow creased at the thought of it, but he would chew Merlyn's magical gingiber and no doubt it would soon pass.
Warriors were laughing, probably at Merlyn's idea of taking the stones away. Uther smiled again, what was that crazy old Druid thinking? He may as well have suggested plucking the sun from the sky, it was equally impossible.
It was far easier walking downhill rather than uphill, and Uther's mind was soon wandering on its own amongst the bigger questions that faced him, of continuing to unite his people and turning back the Saxons, one thing was for sure, it was time to leave the Isle of Erin.
It was dark, some time before daybreak, when the warriors, led by Uther made their way out of their lodgings and through the Druid's strange cave. Despite the darkness, many of the Druids were awake. As the warriors came fro
m the hall and began to file out, the Druids turned towards them and began a low chant that reverberated throughout the confines of the cave. Firelight flickered, offering just enough light to make their way through the smoky haze until they emerged into the darkness of the early morning, the chanting still faint and haunting behind them. They carried torches and walked in single file, and by the time they had passed the first growth of woodland and were travelling the path across the lower slopes towards the main forest, a bleak dawn was breaking and they no longer needed burning brands to light their way.
'It is good that we are leaving.' Sir Ector was walking at Uther's side. He was rubbing at his naked arms keeping the early morning chill from his flesh. 'I look forward to setting sail and looking back at this mountain, and then I hope we never have to lay eyes upon it again.'
'I feel the same; this was a waste of time, just a Druid game.' Uther looked across at his old friend. 'It is true that the Gods play with us, but it is the Druids who do their bidding. Even with the test of Uath the Stranger, even after we passed it, after Gerlois was humbled, and poor Cunobelin died, there was still no prize, because it was always unattainable. An impossible dream that we could touch, but we could never grasp. I am sure the Druid bards are already putting the verses together for their next epic, and I am almost sure that Merlyn and his friends spent all of the night laughing and congratulating each other about how clever they were. I wonder what next they have in store for us, for we are truly just the rune bones in their great game of life.'
