Merlin

by Stephen R. Lawhead

So the bargain was struck then and there, in just that way. Boar and his pigs settled themselves on the edge of the forest where they could guard the trails and keep any other creatures out. This they managed to do exceedingly well, for there are not many creatures willing to risk the wrath of a bold, battle-wise tusker.

  Fox lavished gifts upon his army of swine, listening to their squeals of pleasure as if to a chorus of bards singing his praises. Both master and servants flourished far beyond worth, much to the dismay of their fellow creatures of the forest.

  But by and by the day came when the pigs became greedy, as pigs will do. They looked around and grunted to one another their misgivings. "We do all the work and it is Fox who grows fat."

  Boar agreed with his chieftains and declared, “I have heard you, brothers, and I agree. Now I will do something about this, as you shall see.”

  It so happened that the young eagles had grown up and had become restless in the mountains. Said one to the other, “I am not lying when I say I am sick of living like this while pigs overrun our forest with impunity.”

  “You speak my thoughts exactly, brother. Let us go down to the forest and seek redress. It may be that we will win our own back. If not, we will at least be dead and no longer take notice of what vile creatures are ruling in our place.”

  At once they flew off, streaking like comets through the clouds toward the forest.

  Fox awoke from a happy nap to see a very disturbing sight: an army of pigs arrayed against him, led by Boar, his thick pelt bristling. “What news, friends?” Fox asked.

  “It seems to us that you have dealt falsely with us,” declared Boar. “Frankly, this state of affairs cannot continue.”

  “Am I to believe what I hear?” wondered Fox. “How can you say this to me? I have given you all I have, keeping but little for myself to live on—the rest is yours.”

  “Indeed, you give us the rest—which is little enough for earning the hate of all the other creatures,” grunted Boar. “Now we want the best!”

  Though they were only swine, they were not ignorant. They knew that Fox had been blaming all the problems of his reign on them. Thinking quickly, Fox said, “There may be something in what you say. I must think me how best to right this wrong I have done you.”

  Boar turned a suspicious bead of an eye on Fox, but said, “What will you do?”

  “I will give you a further half of all I possess, which will make you equal with me. We will rule the forest together, you and I—which, it seems to me, is a far better bargain than your like will find in many long years of looking.”

  Boar liked what he heard, for Fox was ever clever at saving his fine red pelt and knew right well the soothing words to say. Still, Boar would not be made the fool; so he said, “Saying is one thing, doing is another. Give me a token of your troth and I will believe you.”

  Fox made tears come to his eyes. “This, and after all I have done for you. Well, if there is no other way—”

  “There is none,” declared Boar confidently.

  “Then I will do as you require.” With that he turned and started off through the forest.

  “Wait!” cried Boar, and all the pigs with him shouted too. “Where do you think to go?”

  “Why, you are not so stupid as to think I keep my treasures hereabouts where anyone can stumble over them?” Fox replied. “I must go to my den to fetch the token you require.”

  “Go then,” sniffed Boar. “We will await you here.”

  And Fox turned tail and ran away.

  The pigs waited through the day and then through the evening and then through the night, but Fox did not return. And when dawn came rose-fingered in the east, Boar roused himself and said, “I am thinking that Fox is not returning. Nevertheless, we will wait until midday, and if our lord has not shown hide or hair, we shall surely go after him, and he will rue the day he deceived us.”

  Needless to say, Fox did not return. For by midday he was far, far away, going to ground in his own lands in the west. And in their rage the pigs began uprooting trees and bushes and flinging them into the air with their tusks. Meanwhile, the two eagles, flying over the forest, looked down and saw the commotion the pigs were making over Fox’s disappearance.

  “Well, brother,” said the older eagle, “if we are to have our revenge and save our lands, it appears that we must be the first to find Fox or there will be nothing left of him worth finding.”

  So on they flew to harry Fox in his den. And that is where they are flying even now.

  * * *

  I stood in silence with my cloak wrapped around me. “My tale is finished. He who has ears to hear, let him hear!”

  The warriors filling Vortigern’s hall stared at me nervously; the Chief Druid gripped his staff with both hands in a paroxysm of impotent rage. He had heard my children’s tale and understood its hidden truth, and it angered him that I saw so much so clearly. He knew, at last he knew in his very soul, he was no match for me.

  “There, Joram,” I said softly. “Now you know the power of a true bard.”

  * * *

  Yes, and soon the rest of the world would remember as well.

  You kings asleep in your mead halls, awake! Gather your warbands, arm your warriors, fill their hands with strong steel!

  You warriors sunk in your cups at your lord’s table, arise! Burnish your weapons, sharpen your blades, scour your war-caps, and paint bright your shields.

  You people of the Island of the Mighty, stand! Stop your trembling; take heart, and make ready rich welcome. For the Soul of Britain is stirring again. Merlin is coming home.

  BOOK

  THREE

  PROPHET

  1

  Vortigern had gone to ground in the west, in his native lands, choosing high Yr Widdfa’s bleak hills for his last battleground. There he hoped to erect a fortress strong enough to keep the young eagles from stripping the flesh from his brittle bones, strong enough to keep the battling boar from uprooting him.

  For it was as I had said in my story: fox Vortigern had played his last trick and now cowered in the hills, awaiting the judgment of those he had wronged and those whose greed he had inflamed. The young eagles, Aurelius and Uther—younger brothers of Constans, murdered son of the slain Constantine, first High King of Britain—gathered warriors in the south. Hengist, the boar, awaited the arrival of reinforcements for his Saecsen warhost from his homeland. It would be a race to see which enemy would reach miserable, driven fox Vortigern first.

  Vortigern knew all this, of course, and early the next morning, as I was preparing to leave, the High King called me to him. “I would not detain you unduly, Myrddin, for I esteem you highly. But if you would tarry with me but a little, I would speak with you, and I would deem it a service worth high reward.”

  I was eager to be away, anxious now to seek out my mother in Ynys Avallach and let her know I was still alive. It rankled me to delay even a moment more; although I held no ill will toward the High King, there was nothing more to say to Vortigern. I had done what I had come to do, and even now word was winging across the land that I had returned.

  I could hear the voices:

  Myrddin Wylt is come!…Merlin the Enchanter has appeared!…The Great Emrys is alive again, awakened from his long sleep…Did you see? He defeated the druid bards of the High King and had them all beheaded…He is here, I have seen him…Merlinus Ambrosius, King of Dyfed, has returned for his kingdom!…Did you hear? He has foretold Vortigern’s doom!…Merlin lives again!

  Yes, the Emrys had returned with the doom of the usurper in his hand. Vortigern, for all his sins and vices, was no mouse. What he had done he had always done boldly, with impunity. If his doom was to catch him up, he was game to hold it off as long as he could, by whatever means possible. But he wanted to know what shape it would take, so to prepare himself to fight or to flee—which is why he sent for me now.

  “I have nothing more to tell you, Lord Vortigern,” I said. “There is nothing else to say.”

>   “Perhaps not, but I would speak nonetheless,” the High King replied. He lowered himself heavily into his chair, a handsome thing carved with imperial eagles on the armrests. His bloated face was haggard in the early morning light. “I did not sleep last night,” he paused and I waited, “for fear, Myrddin, for fear of a dream…”

  He looked at me cannily. “They tell me you are one who knows portents and dreams. I would have you tell me the meaning of mine, for I fear it greatly and believe it betokens much.”

  “Very well, Vortigern, tell me your dream, and if I find a meaning in it I will tell you.”

  The grizzled red head nodded absently and he was silent for a moment, then began abruptly. “I saw the pit the workmen dug at your bidding, and at the bottom they struck a great stone, and it broke and the water gushed forth—like it did, you know—and then you ordered the water to be drawn off by means of a ditch. This was done and when the pool was carried away, a great cavern was discovered, and in it, two great stones like eggs.”

  He paused to swill some wine from a cup, and then continued, never looking at me with his eyes, but staring at the dead embers on his hearth. “Inside the stone eggs were two dragons that came forth to battle one another. The first was white as milk, and the other—the other was red as blood. And they fought one another, shaking the very ground with their furious fight.

  “Oh, it was terrible to behold! Their jaws foamed, their tails thrashed, and with their claws they slashed one another. Flames flew out from their mouths! First the white would be above, and then beneath, and the same with the red dragon. Sorely they wounded one another, I tell you, and when neither could fight anymore, they dragged themselves back to their eggs and slept, only to fight once again when they had rested.

  “That is all, though it filled me with such terror that I awoke at once.” Vortigern dashed down the last of the wine and sat back, fixing his narrow eyes on me at last. “Well, what say you, Myrddin? What of these dragons in the pit and their fierce fight?”

  I answered him forthrightly, for I had seen the meaning in my mind as he spoke. “Yours was a true dream, Vortigern. And here is its meaning: the dragons are kings yet to come, who will contend with one another for the Island of the Mighty—white for the Saecsen horde, blood-red for the true sons of Britain.”

  “Which is fated to win out, Myrddin?”

  “Neither will triumph over the other until the land is united. In truth, the man has not been born who can bind the tribes of Britain together.”

  He nodded again, slowly. “What of me, Myrddin? What will happen to Vortigern?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I must know.”

  “Even now, Aurelius and Uther are sailing from Armorica—”

  “So you have said,” he snorted, “in that tale of yours.”

  “They will arrive with fourteen galleys and put ashore tomorrow in the south. Meanwhile, Hengist has gathered his war brood and they march to meet you now. Your enemies are arrayed on every side. As you have done much evil, much evil will be done to you. Yet, if you would save your life, you must flee, Vortigern.”

  “Is there nothing else I can do?”

  I shook my head. “Flee, Vortigern, or stay and face the wrath of those you have wronged. Make no mistake, Aurelius and Uther seek the blood price for their brother; they mean to pluck back their realm, and the kings of Britain march with them.”

  “Is there no hope for me?” This was spoken softly, but without self-pity. Vortigern knew what he had done, and likely had long ago weighed out the losses against the gains.

  “Here is your hope, Lord Vortigern, and the hope of our people: from the events which you have set in motion will arise a king who will hold all Britain in his hand, a High King who will be the wonder of the world—a Chief Dragon to utterly devour the white dragon of the pit.”

  He smiled grimly and stood. “That is something at least. Well, if I am to flee, I must be about it. Will you accompany me, Myrddin? I would have you with me, for your presence is a balm to me.”

  “No,” I told him. “My road lies another way. Farewell, Lord Vortigern. We will not meet again.”

  Pelleas and I departed the camp as Vortigern called his chieftains to order the march east, where he hoped to elude the vengeance of the brothers swooping down on him. It would go ill with fox Vortigern; yet there was nothing for it but to face the justice he had so long denied.

  We were well away from the stronghold, riding down between the crease of the hills and out of sight. Pelleas, glancing a last time over his shoulder at the heads of the druids adorning a row of pikes along the ridgeway, sighed with relief. “That is over.”

  “For Vortigern, yes,” I replied, “but not for us.”

  “We ride to Ynys Avallach, do we not?”

  “We do, but our stay there will not be long.”

  “How long?” he asked, dreading my answer.

  “A few days,” I told him, “that is all. I wish it were more, believe me.”

  “But—” He was remembering his master’s temperament and how quickly moods and plans could change. “But it is not to be.”

  I shook my head gently. “No, it is not to be.”

  We rode on a pace or so, and then I reined up. “Pelleas, listen carefully to me now. You have found me and brought me back to the world of men, and I thank you for that. But it is in my mind that you will soon curse the day you begged my service. You will wish, perhaps, that you had never wasted a day in searching for me.”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but your own heart will prove traitor before I do,” he swore. And I knew he meant it with all that was in him.

  “What I have to do will earn no man’s thanks,” I warned him. “It could be that before I am through I will be despised from one end of this island to the other, with every hand raised against me and those who stand with me.”

  “Let others make their choice; I have made mine, my Lord Merlin.”

  He was in earnest, and now that I knew he understood how hard it would be, I knew I could trust him with both our lives. “So be it,” I said. “May God reward your faith, my friend.”

  We rode on then, considerably lighter of heart than before, for we had spoken the bond between us and our old places had been reclaimed. Pelleas was content, and so was I.

  * * *

  Aurelius and Uther, sons of Constantine by separate mothers and as different as dawn and dusk, would end Vortigern’s reign with swift justice. Aurelius, the elder of the two, would be the next High King and would prove an inspired leader. His mother was Aurelia, the last flower of a noble Roman family—a claim which Constantine himself could make somewhat less certainly—whose forebears included a governor, a vicarius, a long line of distinguished magistrates, and scores of well-married and highly-revered women.

  But Aurelia took fever and died suddenly when Aurelius was three years old. And Constantine, fresh from his victories over the harrying Pict, Scot, and Saecsen, had become smitten with the daughter of one of the defeated Saecsen leaders. In a fit of generosity toward the vanquished, he married the fair-haired beauty, a girl named Onbrawst. Little Uther was born a year later.

  Both boys, near enough in age, were raised in the old Roman manner, under the tutelage of a household servant. Their older brother, Constans, pledged to God from birth, was schooled apart, living with the priests at the little monastery at Venta Bulgarum. When Constantine was murdered by one of his slaves—a vengeful Pict whose clan had been defeated years before—old Gosselyn, archbishop of Londinium, became afraid for the younger boys’ lives. He took Aurelius and Uther under his wing.

  When, as a result of Vortigern’s manipulations, Constans met his sorry end, Gosselyn wisely removed the boys from harm, sending them to an obscure priory in King Hoel’s lands in Armorica—near enough to keep an eye on, far enough away not to be a threat to Vortigern’s ambition. There they had grown to manhood, biding their time until they could return and claim their rightful place in the world.r />
  This they would do, but they would soon need help if they were to advance the High Kingship beyond the mark made by Vortigern. Hengist would see to it that they had no rest, no opportunity to consolidate their gains; and the other kings, once Hengist was beaten back, would grant them no peace either. In short, they would need my help.

  Pelleas and I moved swiftly. He led and I followed, agog at the changes wrought in the land since I had last been in it—especially in the settlements where fear accomplished its bleak work. Walls were everywhere, made of stone, and high. Most of the older, more expansive towns were abandoned—murderously difficult to defend—in favor of smaller, half-hidden stone-built settlements that were less conspicuous, and less inviting to the barbarian eye.

  It seemed as if all dwelling-places of men had shrunk in upon themselves. Streets, where there were streets, were narrower, the houses smaller and tighter. Everything appeared crowded and huddled together, cowering before the Darkness that grew and grew.

  This both saddened and outraged me.

  By God’s holy name, we are the Children of the Living Light! We do not cower in our dens like frightened livestock. This is the Island of the Mighty, and it is ours by right! The foeman challenges that right to his everlasting peril, but by the Great Good Light we will not be moved!

  Yet, wherever I turned my eyes we were being moved—in body and in spirit. Back and back, retreating before the armies of the night we fled. We were no longer certain of our right or our ability to defend ourselves and our homeland. And unless something was done right soon, this retreat would become a rout.

  I took heart that the land itself was solid as ever—not that anyone could change it very much. Trees grew tall for timber, fields, where they could be planted in peace and left to harvest, flourished; cattle and sheep gave good meat, leather, and wool; the old Roman mines were still worked and provided tin and lead and, more importantly, iron for weapons.

  There was strength and consolation in this, to be sure. Still, it would take more than healthy agriculture to embolden the hearts of men. It would take a swift, certain demonstration of leadership: success in battle, turning back the onrushing barbarian tide. For this reason, I was anxious to meet Aurelius.