“Why?”
“I dunno. Wait, what’s this — ” Peredur reached down and ripped a parchment off of the timber that supported the doorway. After reading for a moment, he handed it to Merlin.
Merlin took it, and as he read the words, his hands began to shake.
It was the parchment from that flouncing louse of an envoy. The man who wanted everyone to muster at Glevum in support of Vortigern and southern Britain’s defense against the Saxenow invasion.
Peredur edged his horse up to Merlin’s. “Do ya think?”
“I’m certain.”
“No — !”
“Artorius was confused when he asked if he could go. He thought there was only one muster, and now I know why. The boys must have left early for the adventure of getting ahead, and now they have half a day’s head start.”
“He’s headed south?”
“Yes. Right to Vortigern, the man who killed his father.”
After talking with old Brice to verify that the boys hadn’t gone north through his gate, Merlin and Peredur went to Ector to tell him of their suspicion.
“I’ll be bedraggled,” Ector said, his voice rising in anger. “I should have thrown that envoy on the dung heap after all and burnt every last parchment!”
“May Peredur and I . . . May we have leave to search for Artorius?”
“What? Not accompany me to battle?”
“That is correct, my lord. Artorius will join Vortigern in the south unless we — ”
The chieftain looked annoyed. “Well — well . . . I suppose. But bring him back as soon as you can. We need to make a man out of that boy.”
Peredur rode off to talk to his wife and Merlin rode hard to tell Natalenya.
Entering their home, he found her scrubbing the oatmeal pot.
“Merlin!” But her joy faded when she saw the graveness of his face. She set the wet rag down. “What’s wrong?”
“Artorius . . . he’s gone south.”
“South? But the Picti are — ”
“Read this.”
Natalenya took the parchment and scanned its contents. “You really think he — ”
Merlin nodded. “Yes, the foolhardy boy has gone the wrong way, and I need to catch him before Vortigern does.”
“But he won’t be recognized. Vortigern doesn’t know him.”
“He looks a lot like his father. If Vortigern even suspects . . .”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I have no idea. They’re on good horses, and unless we pick up their exact trail, we might not find him until he gets to Glevum.”
“That’s almost all the way to Kernow.” Natalenya paused, then a new light came into her eyes. “Can we come along? The children and I? Please . . . I’d do nearly anything to see my mother.”
“We’ll be riding hard, and the trail could be dangerous. Are you worried about your mother? Now that she’s an abbess you have nothing to fear for her anymore. Your father — ”
“We could sail, and even bring the horses. What if we sailed? Aunt Eira hired a boat last summer and went all the way to Penfro.”
“I won’t find Artorius that way . . . at least not until too late.”
Natalenya sighed.
“I’d better go. We’re taking the mountain pass.”
“Wait, then,” she said, tears in her eyes. A knife lay on the hearth, and she picked it up. Gripping the ragged edge of her skirt, Natalenya cut off a small square.
“What’re you doing?”
“Take this,” she said, handing him the cloth. “Whenever you hold it, know that we’ll be praying for you. Promise me you’ll keep it with you always.”
“I promise.”
“And I’ll . . . I’ll wear this skirt until you come back safely, and whenever I see the missing edge, I’ll think of you and pray.”
Peredur called and banged on the door.
Merlin kissed a tear on Natalenya’s cheek, hugged his little family, and left.
Darkness came that evening like the shadow of a hawk — swooping down over the high mountains until its black claws caught Natalenya by surprise. One moment she was sewing her skirt’s wounded edge at the window and the next thing she knew, it was too dark to see.
Taliesin looked up from where he was practicing his small harp and Tinga paused at her own sewing project. The hearth fire had fallen to embers, so Natalenya shoveled them together and threw on a log to keep the night chill away. Then, lighting a rush lamp, she set it on the hearth between them and continued to sew.
Needle in. Needle out. Thread taut. Again and again. Needle in. Needle out. Thread taut. Little stitches, each one representing another day until she could see her love again. Each stitch representing another tear held back. Each stitch —
“Ouch!”
A drop of blood fell from her thumb and stained her skirt.
Tinga threw her needle to swinging and picked at a knot. “Mammu, did the badgers stab ya?”
“No, the bad guys didn’t stab me. I’ll be quite all right.” As she sucked on the wound, Taliesin set his harp down.
“Pick it up again, Tal. You’re not finished yet.”
“Listen.”
Natalenya fell silent for a moment. “There’s nothing — ”
“A horse . . . a horse is screaming!”
In the far distance, a horse neighed wildly.
“Nothing to worry about. If it’s a wolf, the horse tenders will get it.”
“What if ith not?” Tinga said, pulling her dolly closer to her side.
“Tell me, what else could it be? Let’s go through the rhyme of creatures your father taught us — ”
But another horse neighed in terror, this one in the field adjoining their house.
Natalenya pulled Tinga down until she knelt, motioned for Taliesin to get down, and slid along the wall next to the barred window. In spite of the iron bars, the presence of danger so close made her heart thud in her ears. With her back to the cold stones, she turned her head and peeked out the corner of the window. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but she saw dark shapes slipping toward their house while ignoring the horses, which galloped into the far reaches of the field.
Taliesin had found his sword and was biting his lip while he tested it. “Are they wolves?”
She motioned for him to blow out the lamp and reached for Tinga’s hand, only to find the girl gone. Her sewing had been thrown into a heap and the ball of yarn had rolled away. Panic rose in Natalenya’s throat until she spotted a small hand motioning from the secret door that Merlin had built behind their pantry shelf to protect the Harp of Britain.
Natalenya crawled across the floor to Tinga. “What are you doing?”
“Come in, pleathe!”
“The wolves can’t get in — ”
Footsteps could be heard outside the door. Scraping. Sniffing.
Taliesin blew out the lamp and then stepped boldly to the door, his sword ready.
“Mammu!” Tinga whispered.
She looked to the door, which she had barred. Thank God. They were safe.
Then someone knocked loudly on it. Like a person.
Taliesin jumped.
“Open up!” called a gravelly voice.
Natalenya crouched down, slipped into the secret compartment, and stood next to Tinga. It was so tight that Natalenya’s nose was smashed against the wood that made up the back of the shelving. This was silly. It was probably one of the horse tenders who had come to scare the wolves —
Then the person slammed against the door, hard, and the wood groaned.
Taliesin came running, popped into the hiding place, and closed the slim door.
“Mammu,” Taliesin whispered, “your skirt!”
She tried to look down, but there was no room to turn her head. Tugging the cloth, she found that her skirt had gotten stuck in the door. Taliesin opened it a slight crack, she yanked the precious fabric in, and he closed the door once more.
Another blow hit the cr
ennig door, and the wood cracked. Another, and another, and then there was a horrific crash as the wood exploded inward.
Tinga opened her mouth to scream, but Natalenya covered her mouth as a warning just in time. The sound of many feet clomped through the crennig as the intruders ransacked the place, shattering clay dishes, ripping up their straw mattresses, dumping barrels of food, and smashing things against the stone walls.
Then one of them began sniffing at the shelving.
Tinga muffled her mouth into Natalenya’s skirt, her hands shaking.
The sniffing came close to the door, and Taliesin tensed his blade. Natalenya’s heart began to drum painfully in her ears, and she was afraid the sound could be heard outside their hiding place.
Whoever it was — or whatever — it began to growl, low and menacing, and then their hiding place began to shake.
Natalenya closed her eyes and fought to keep her body still and her breathing even. Just a little longer —
A high and nasally voice spoke. “Lookit! Lotsa meat hangin’!”
The one sniffing at their secret door barked and jumped away.
Natalenya let out a breath.
“I gots it!” the nasally one said. “Give it!”
A scuffle ensued with yelling, barking, and yelping. One of them was thrown back into the shelf, and their hiding place shook violently as the pottery on the shelves shattered and fell.
“Stop et!” came the gravelly voice. “Stop et! We be lookin’ fer Arth-Arth-Arthur! Nuthin’ else, hear?”
“But there’s meat,” the nasally voice said, “and we g-gots the rowr-wrong house, huh-huh?”
“He’s been here-ah, she tol’ me so. She’s n-nevar wrong. Ar-Arth-Arthur’s wanted.”
“So, watta now, huh-hu-hah?”
“Nowa the real hu-hunt begins. Getta rawr-ready to run!”
It took Natalenya a long, long time after the strange intruders had gone to allow Taliesin to open the door a crack. The cool, dark air felt good and she breathed deeply of it, listening carefully for any sound. Who had invaded their home? Men with wolves on leashes? She couldn’t make sense of what she had heard.
But everything was silent, and after awhile, she had them step out.
The house was a disaster, with everything ruined, including her favorite kneading bowl, broken into five shards right at her feet. She tried to piece them back together, but it was useless, and she let them drop into the rubble. Some of the smoked meat was missing from where it had hung near the hearth.
How she had thanked God for that smoked meat.
Taliesin ran forward. “My harp!” It had been knocked off the bench, and was marred in one corner.
“Mammu,” Tingada cried out, “ma doll ith broken!” It had been ripped open and the buckwheat hulls spilled on the hearth.
Natalenya stepped over and squatted before her, wiping the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “We can’t stay here tonight. We have to get to Aunt Eira’s house. Can you run?”
They nodded.
“Taliesin, you be our lookout . . .”
The boy nodded, a grim look on his face.
“Let’s go.”
How difficult can it be?” Merlin asked as he and Peredur scanned the mountainside, trying to discover Colvarth’s hidden tomb. “And I was the one who found the cave originally.”
“You know, if we hafta sleep along the trail, I don’t mind. I’d rather not sleep in a tomb, really.”
“There’s nowhere safer.”
“Or drier, considering all the rain we’ve been getting,” Peredur mocked as he kicked the dead grass next to his horse.
“Night’s coming, and I’d rather not — ”
“You’d rather not be attacked by wolves, I know.”
“It’s not funny . . .”
“Yer probably right. Though it seems a bit unlikely they’d be stalkin’ us, if ya ask me.”
Merlin swallowed. “I’m not asking, so keep looking.”
Peredur pointed behind Merlin on the opposite side. “Heyo, what about that?”
“Not on that side . . . it’s over here.”
“Nah, really, there’s even a faint path.”
Merlin pushed his lips to the side, considering. “The rock, or the . . . huh, maybe that is it.” Running forward, he found a different angle to view the outcropping and thought it possible. “Let’s try,” he said. Coming back, he took hold of his horse’s reins and led the way up the path.
Twice the path switched back as it climbed the mountain, and then passed behind the outcropping, where the cave appeared, almost out of nowhere.
Merlin let out a sigh of relief. It was even large enough to bring the horses inside.
They made camp for the night on the dirt floor near the entrance, which was broad enough to let light in but narrow enough to defend against intruders.
“I can’t believe,” Merlin said, “that it’s been four years since I’ve been here.”
“You’ve had a family to take care o’ — and a High King to raise.”
“I should’ve taken the time,” he muttered as he lit a torch from his pack using Peredur’s coal box. The light revealed the pitted interior of the cave, which was made of the same brown rock that had formed the mountains. The depth of the cave was unknown to Merlin — he had explored only a portion of it.
He walked to the first bend in the passageway and knelt at the cairn of rocks piled over Colvarth’s grave.
Peredur knelt nearby. “How long has it been since he died?”
“Six . . . no . . . almost seven years, I think. It was right after Tinga was born.”
“I was always a bit envious he spent all that time training ya to be a bard. I could listen to his stories all day. How’d he pick ya?”
“High King Uther knew my father, and . . .” The memories came flooding back of his father’s death at the hands of Mórganthu, the arch druid. Merlin swallowed before continuing. “. . . He gave me to Uther as a servant. I was half-blind at the time, and thought I’d be shoveling dung or some menial task that didn’t require sight, but Colvarth prophesied over me. I can still remember his words like he’d just said them this morning:
Nay, son born of the wild-water . . .
you are not fit for such tasks!
You shall be a bard!
Wisdom shall grace your speech
and angels dance upon your harp.
Though now you see not, Merlin,
yet in the darkness
you shall light the path of Jesu
for all the kings of the world.
And though humble,
yet in God’s strength
you shall uphold your people!”
Merlin had to wipe away a few tears as he reached the end. He’d done so little in all the years since that prophecy — little more than hide in their valley raising warhorses and trying to make the kingdom of Rheged strong enough to hold back Necton and his Pictish war bands. But this attempt to stop the slavery that plagued Britain had failed. Rheged, like always, was too easily satisfied in her own strength and turned an indifferent eye when the Picti slipped through to the weaker southern tribes, pillaging and taking slaves. As long as it wasn’t Rheged slaves, that was all that mattered, it seemed.
And now, when Merlin had finally persuaded that slothful King Urien to take action against the Picti, he was prevented from assisting and had to run the other direction like a hound after three rabbits.
Peredur put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “So he chose ya . . .”
“Yes, he chose me, but it’s a mystery why. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
“That’s not true. You saved all o’ us from slavery, and you saved Arthur from King Atle’s clutches. There is hope for Britain because o’ you, if only — ”
“If only I were brave enough to let Arthur go.”
“That’s not what I meant. All we can do, all we’ve ever been able to do, is to prepare him.”
“For what? He doesn’t even k
now he’s Uther’s son. He doesn’t even know that he’s the heir to the throne. All of Britain thinks him a slave or dead, and it’s been so long that I doubt Britain would accept him as their High King. Every year we held back the truth has just made it harder. He’ll hate me for it.”
Peredur shook his head. “No. Don’t doubt yourself. You had to keep it a secret or Vortigern would’ve — ”
“Vortigern. The very man Arthur’s gone to serve. The man who slew Arthur’s entire family. If that man doesn’t drown in his own vomit someday, I’d like to . . .”
“Every one of ’em died? That’s awful.”
“Natalenya’s mother, Trevenna, sent word that Vortigern had gone to Bosventor and slain Arthur’s sisters in cold blood. That’s when she fled to the new abbey at Dinas Camlin. So now it’s all a mess. Ector is fighting in the north without us and Arthur’s heading south in ignorance.”
Merlin gave a self-mocking laugh. “To be truthful, when we came to the cave just now, I’d hoped to find Colvarth alive. Sitting here eating fish over a campfire, like Jesu did in Scripture. Didn’t you smell the lingering smoke when we came in?”
Peredur sat back, a startled look on his face. “Sure I did, but Colvarth alive? How — ”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I prayed that God had raised him from the dead. When we buried Colvarth here, I hid the Sangraal nearby, wanting God to use it to raise Colvarth. God brought Arthur back to life, didn’t he? Why not Colvarth?”
Here Merlin lifted his voice in frustration, and the sound echoed through the depths of the cave, “Why not? I’m so lost . . . so lost without him.”
“You mean afraid.”
“No, I’m — ”
Peredur cut him off. “Yes, ya are. I’ve seen it. You’re not scared tah ask your uncle, or even Urien, to fight the Picti, but when it comes to you yourself doing something about Vortigern, you freeze all up. Arthur needs to realize he’s the true High King. And that means ya can’t go on hiding in this safe little valley. Ya have to confront Vortigern.”
Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) Page 6