Merlin

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  To Maelwys he said, “Lord and King, as your hand is bound, is it your wish to bind your life to the son of your wife?”

  “That is my wish.”

  “Will you honor him with sonship, bestowing him with lands and possessions?”

  “That I will do gladly.”

  Turning solemnly to me Blaise said, “Myrddin ap Taliesin, will you accept this man to be your guardian and your guide?”

  It was happening so fast. “Blaise, I—”

  “Answer now.”

  “As he has accepted me, so I will accept him.” I gripped Maelwys’ hand and he gripped mine.

  Blaise drew his knife and nicked our wrists so that our blood mingled. “So be it,” he said, untied the thong and released us. Then, indicating the pile of swords at my feet, he said, “Will you also accept the fealty of these men who have sworn loyalty to you with their lives?”

  “Likewise, I accept the honor and fealty of these brave men. I give my life as pledge to them.”

  A shout went up from the people, and the warriors leapt forward and grabbed up their swords and began beating them against their shields, making a terrible din. “Myrddin! Myrddin! Myrddin!” they cried, my name a chant on their lips.

  Then I was lifted up and carried into Maelwys’ hall on the shoulders of my men. As I crossed the threshold, I saw my mother standing just inside the door. Charis had seen all that had taken place, and her face glowed with love for me. She stepped toward me and raised her hands, and I saw she held a sword across her palms: the Fisher King’s sword.

  I took up the sword and lifted it high. The men around me redoubled their acclaim, shouting and cheering and calling my name. And I sang with joy, until the timbers rang with the sound.

  For this was the day I won my kingdom.

  BOOK

  TWO

  FOREST

  LORD

  1

  Black is the hand of heaven, blue and black, and filled with frozen stars.

  And stars and stars and

  stars…and stars.

  Who are you, lord?

  What is your name? Why do you look at me so?

  Have you never seen a man disemboweled?

  Have you never seen a living corpse?

  Black is the day. Black is the night.

  And black the hand that covers me.

  Deep in Celyddon’s black heart I hide.

  In a forest pool I glimpse the face

  beneath the antlered helm,

  and I stare.

  I stare until the stars stream overhead.

  The red moon screams.

  The birds and wild creatures take flight at my

  coming.

  The trees taunt me.

  The flowers of the high meadows turn their faces

  from me.

  The crooked glens echo sharp accusation.

  The racing waters mock me…

  Rain and wind, blast and blow, snow and sun.

  Bright fire of the sun.

  Silver moon glow.

  Silver water from the soul of the mountain.

  Sing, fair stars of heaven!

  Lift your voices, Children of the Living God!

  Sharp as spearpoints are your shining songs.

  Life and death are they to me.

  Ave! Ave, Imperator!

  Listen to the bleak wind howl through your empty

  halls.

  Listen, High One! Hear the bones of the brave

  rattle in nameless graves.

  King Eagle, attend your offspring;

  lift your hand and sustain them

  with the crumbs of your

  banquet hall.

  They hunger for justice; they weep.

  Only the King of Eagles can ease their craving.

  Rivers flow and waters rise.

  See fast ships fly over the sea.

  Away, away…always away.

  Take flight, my soul, away.

  What is it that remains when life is gone?

  How much of a man endures?

  Like a beast among beasts I go.

  Naked,

  feeding only on the roots of the field,

  drinking only rain,

  I am a man no more.

  Broken rocks bruise my flesh, cold winds wrack

  my sorry bones.

  I am undone!

  I am as one cast out from the hearth of my

  kinsmen.

  I am as one living in the shadowlands.

  I am as the dead.

  Shall I sing the seasons?

  Shall I sing the ages of our Earth,

  the days of men past and yet to come?

  Shall I sing fair Broceliande?

  Shall I sing drowned Llyonesse?

  Pwyll, bring the Hero’s Cup!

  Mathonwy, bring my harp!

  Taliesin, wrap your bright cloak around my

  shoulders!

  Lleu, gather your people into your bright hall!

  For I shall sing the Kingdom of Summer!

  * * *

  Mad Merlin…mad…you are mad Merlin…mad…

  2

  Oh, Wolf, happy Wolf, monarch of the green-clad hills, you are my only friend. Speak to me now. Give me the benefit of your wise counsel. Be my advocate and my protector.

  Nothing to say, wise friend? What is that? A story?

  If it pleases you, Hill Lord. I take up my harp. Hear, O People of Dust. Harken well to the tale I shall tell:

  In elder days, when the dew of creation was still fresh on the earth, Great Manawydan ap Llyr was lord and king over seven cantrefs of Dyfed, and this is the way of it.

  Now Manawydan was brother to Bran the Blessed, who himself was king of the Island of the Mighty, holding all kings and kinglets beneath him, even as he held all lands as his own. But Bran had journeyed to the Otherworld and tarried long, so Manawydan took the kingship in his brother’s place, as was his right so to do. And there was not a better king in all the world than Manawydan, and no better place for a kingdom than the wild hills of Dyfed, for these were the fairest lands in all the world.

  It came about that Pryderi, prince of Gwynedd, came before Manawydan seeking friendship for their two houses. Manawydan received him gladly and offered a feast. So the two friends feasted and took their ease, engaging in pleasant conversation and delighting in the songs of Manawydan’s skillful bard, Anuin Llaw, and the company of Manawydan’s beautiful queen, Rhiannon, of whom many wondrous tales are told.

  After the first evening’s sitting, Pryderi turned to Manawydan. “I have heard,” said Pryderi to his host, “that the hunting runs of Dyfed are unmatched by any in the world.”

  “Then you must heartily thank the one who told you, for truer words were never spoken.”

  “Perhaps we might hunt together, you and I,” suggested Pryderi.

  “Why, cousin, we could go hunting tomorrow—that is, if nothing prevents you,” replied Manawydan.

  “Indeed, I thought I should grow old in waiting for you to ask,” said Pryderi happily. “As it happens, nothing prevents me. Let us go tomorrow.”

  On that very morrow, the two friends set out with a company of bold companions. They hunted all the day and at last stopped to rest and water their weary horses. While they waited, they climbed a nearby mound and lay down to sleep. As they slept, there came the sound of thunder; very loud thunder it was, so they awoke. And with the thunder came a thick, dark mist—so thick and so dark that no man could see his companion next to him.

  When the mist finally lifted, it was bright everywhere so that they blinked their eyes and put up their hands. When they lowered their hands once more, however, they looked out and saw that everything had changed. No more were there trees or rivers or flocks or dwellings. No animal, no smoke, no fire, no man, nothing save the hills, and those were empty too.

  “Alas, lord!” cried Manawydan. “What has become of our company and the rest of my kingdom? Let us go and find them if we can.”

  They ret
urned to Manawydan’s palace and found only briars and thorns in the place where his sparkling hall had been. In vain they searched the valleys and glens trying to spot a dwelling or settlement, but only a few sickly birds did they see. And they both began to feel mournful for their loss—Manawydan for his wife Rhiannon, who was waiting for him in their chamber, and all his brave company as well; and Pryderi for his companions and the fine gifts Manawydan had given him.

  There was nothing to be done, so they kindled a fire with the briar thickets and slept that night hungry on the cold, hard ground. In the morning they heard the sound of dogs barking as dogs will when the scent of game inflames them.

  “What can that mean?” wondered Pryderi.

  “Why stand here wondering when we can find out?” said Manawydan and leaped up at once to saddle his horse.

  They rode in the direction of the sound and came to a birch copse in a hidden glen. At their approach a score of fine hunting hounds came racing from the copse, shaking violently with fear, their tails low between their haunches. “Unless I miss my guess,” remarked Pryderi upon seeing the dogs, “some enchantment lies upon this little wood.”

  No sooner had he spoken these same words when out of the copse burst a shining white boar. The dogs cowered to see it, but after much urging, took up the trail and ran after it. The men followed until they drew near to where the boar stood at bay against the hounds.

  Upon seeing the men, the white boar broke free and ran off once more. Again the men gave chase and again found the boar at bay against the hounds, and again the boar broke free when they came near.

  Well, they pursued the boar until they came to a great fortress which neither of them had ever seen before, and they marveled to see it. The hounds and the boar ran inside the stronghold, and though the two men listened for the dog’s barking, as long as they stayed they heard not a sound more.

  “Lord,” said Pryderi, “if you will, I shall enter this fortress and seek what has become of the dogs.”

  “Lleu knows that is not a good idea,” replied Manawydan. “Neither you nor I have ever seen this fortress before, and if you ask my counsel, it is this: stay far from this strange place. It may be that whoever has placed the enchantment on the land has caused this fortress to appear.”

  “It may be as you say, but I am loath to give up those fine hounds.” So, Manawydan’s good advice notwithstanding, Pryderi urged his reluctant horse forward and entered the gate of the fortress which was before them.

  Once inside, however, he could see neither man nor beast nor boar nor dogs nor hall nor chamber. What he did discover was a great stand of marble stone. And hanging above the stand by four golden chains, whose ends extended upward so that he could not see any end to them, was a huge bowl of the finest gold he had ever seen, and Pryderi was no stranger to fine gold.

  He approached the marble stand and saw Rhiannon, Manawydan’s wife, standing still as the stone itself, her hand touching the bowl.

  “Lady,” said Pryderi, “what do you here?”

  As she made no answer, and as the bowl was of dazzling beauty, Pryderi thought no ill and came to where she stood and put his hands on the bowl. In the selfsame instant that he touched the bowl, his hands stuck to the bowl and his feet stuck to the stand, and there he stood as one made of stone.

  A while and a while Manawydan waited, but Pryderi did not return, and neither did the dogs. “Well,” he said to himself, “there is nothing to be done but go in after him.” And in he went.

  There he saw, as Pryderi had seen, the magnificent golden bowl hanging by its golden chains. He saw his wife Rhiannon with her hand to the bowl, and Pryderi likewise. “Lady wife,” he said, “friend Pryderi, what do you here?”

  Neither made to answer him, but his words provoked a response nonetheless, for no sooner had he spoken than the sound of a very great thunder echoed through the mysterious fortress, and the mist rose up thick and dark. When it cleared, Rhiannon, Pryderi, the golden bowl and indeed the fortress itself were gone and not to be seen anymore.

  “Woe to me,” cried Manawydan when he saw what had happened. “I am alone now with neither companions nor even dogs for company. Lleu knows I do not deserve such a fate as this. What shall I do?”

  There was nothing to be done but go on with his life as best he could. He fished the streams and caught wild game and began to till the soil, using a few grains of wheat he had in his pocket. The wheat flourished, and in time he had enough to sow an entire field, and then another, and another. Great the wonder of it, for the wheat was the finest the world had ever seen!

  Manawydan bided his time and waited out the seasons until at last the wheat was so ripe he could almost taste the bread he would make. So, looking at his wonderful crop, he said to himself, “I am a fool if I do not reap this tomorrow.”

  He returned to his bothy to sharpen his wheat knife. The next morning when he came in the grey dawn to harvest his long-awaited crop, he found only naked stalks standing in the field. Each stalk had been snapped off where the ear joins to the stem and the grain carried off, leaving only stubble behind.

  Much distressed, Manawydan ran to the next field and saw that all was as it should be. He examined the grain, which had ripened nicely. “I am a fool if I do not reap this field tomorrow,” he said to himself.

  He slept lightly that night and awoke with the break of day to reap his grain. Upon coming to the field, he saw that, as before, only naked stalks remained. The grain had been carried off. “Alas!” he cried. “What enemy is doing this to me? Lleu knows he is completing my downfall. If this keeps on, I will be destroyed and all the land with me!”

  With that, Manawydan hastened to his last remaining field. And behold, it was ripe and ready to be harvested. “I am a fool if I do not reap this field tomorrow,” he said to himself; “more, I will be a dead fool, for this is my last hope.”

  And he sat down right where he was, intending to watch through the night and so catch the enemy that was destroying him. Manawydan watched, and toward midnight what must have been the greatest uproar in the world reached his ears. He looked and saw the greatest host of mice ever assembled, so large a host he could scarce believe his eyes.

  Before he could move, the mice had fallen upon the field, each one scaling a stalk and nipping off the ear and carrying off the grain in its mouth, leaving only a naked stalk behind. Manawydan rushed to the rescue of his field, but the mice might have been midges, for he could not catch them.

  One mouse, however, was heavier than all the others and could not move so quickly. Manawydan pounced upon it and put it in his glove. He tied the opening with string and took the mouse prisoner back to his bothy. “Well, as I would hang the thief that has ruined me,” he said to the mouse, “Lleu help me, I will hang you.”

  The next morning Manawydan went out to the mound where this whole misadventure had begun, taking the mouse in the glove. And there he set two forked sticks upright in the ground at the highest part of the mound.

  All at once a man appeared, riding by the foot of the mound on a thin-shanked horse. The man’s clothes were worse than rags, and he appeared a beggar. “Lord, good day to you,” the beggarman called out.

  Manawydan turned to observe him. “Lleu be good to you,” he replied. “These past seven years I have seen not one man in all my kingdom, save yourself this very moment.”

  “Well, I am only passing through these desolate lands,” the beggar told him. “If it pleases you, lord, what work are you about?”

  “I am executing a thief.”

  “What sort of thief? The creature I see in your hand looks very like a mouse to me. It is scarcely fitting for a man of your exalted position to touch an animal like that. Surely, you will let it go.”

  “Between you and me and Lleu, I will not!” said Manawydan hotly. “This mouse, and his brothers, have brought about my destruction. I mean to execute punishment upon it before I starve to death, and the judgment is hanging.”

  The beggar went on
his way, and Manawydan set about fixing a stick for the crossbeam between two forks. He had done this when a voice hailed him from below the mound. “Good day to you, lord!”

  “Lleu smite me if this is not becoming a busy place,” muttered Manawydan to himself. He looked around and saw a fine noblewoman sitting on a grey palfrey at the foot of the mound.

  “Good day to you, lady,” he called back to her. “What brings you here?”

  “I was only riding by when I saw you toiling up here. What work are you about?” she asked full politely.

  “I am hanging a thief,” explained Manawydan, “if that is anything to you.”

  “Indeed, it is nothing to me,” said the lady, “but the thief appears to be a mouse. Still, I should say punish it by all means were it not so demeaning to a man of your obvious rank and dignity to hold commerce with such a low creature.”

  “What would you have me do?” asked Manawydan suspiciously.

  “Rather than see you disgrace yourself further, I will give you a coin of gold to let it go.” She smiled winsomely as she said this, and Manawydan was almost persuaded.

  “You speak well for this sorry mouse, but I am determined to end the life of the creature that has ended mine.”

  “Very well, lord,” replied the lady haughtily, “do as you wish.”

  Manawydan returned to his grim task, and taking the string from the glove, he tied one end around the mouse’s neck. As he drew the creature up to the crossbeam, there came a shout from the foot of the mound. “Not a freckle on a face have I seen in seven years to this day, and now I am accosted at every turn,” he grumbled.

  So saying, he turned around to meet an Archdruid with a score of ovates as retinue ranged behind him. “Lleu give you good day,” said the Archdruid. “What sort of work is my lord about?”

  “If you must know, I am hanging a thief which has brought about my destruction,” replied Manawydan.

  “Forgive me, but you must be a fragile man indeed. For that appears to be a mouse in your hand.”

  “It is a thief and destroyer nonetheless,” snapped Manawydan. “Not that I should have to explain myself to you.”