Merlin

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  But when the sun rose again the next morning, they crossed the causeway and climbed the Tor to Avallach’s palace. “We have come searching for the Emrys,” they announced after being admitted to the courtyard.

  “And you have found him,” I answered. “What do you want with me?”

  “We are from the High King, and bring our lord’s greetings,” answered the messenger with rough courtesy. “He bids you to join him at Gorlas’ stronghold at Tintagel. We are sworn to take you there.”

  “What if I choose not to go with you?” I did not know these men and they obviously did not know me.

  The man did not hesitate. “Then we are instructed to bind you hand and foot and drag you there.”

  That was Uther rope and knot. “Do you think,” I laughed, “that anyone could take me anywhere I did not wish to go?”

  This worried them. The two men glanced at one another nervously. “The Pendragon says—” began the first.

  “Pendragon?” I mused. “Chief Dragon—is that what Uther calls himself now?”

  “Yes, lord, ever since the night of the Dragon Star when he became king,” the man answered.

  So, Uther, you did heed me after all. Yes, it was fitting for him: Uther Pendragon. Well and good, my difficult friend. What else did you learn that night?

  The two were peering around anxiously. “Come, break your fast with me,” I offered. “And you can tell me more of your errand.”

  The messengers eyed me suspiciously. “You fear for nothing,” I scolded them. “Be gracious enough to accept hospitality when it is offered you.”

  “Well, we are hungry,” admitted one of the men.

  “Then come and eat.” I turned, and they followed me reluctantly into the hall. Fair Folk always amaze other races, which has its uses. “Why does he seek me?” I asked as we ate bread and cheese together.

  “We do not know, lord.”

  “You must know something of your lord’s affairs. Why did he send you?”

  “We were only told to find you—there are many others searching as well,” the man answered as if this proved the truth of his words.

  I looked at the other rider, who had not spoken. “What do you know of this? Tell me quickly, for I will not go with you unless I have some better reason to do so than I have heard yet. Speak!”

  “Uther requires your aid with his marriage,” the man blurted out, surprising himself completely. It was a secret he had not meant to tell.

  Ygerna…of course! But what was I to do? Ygerna was free to marry, and Uther did not need my approval. Yet, Uther would not have sent for me if he did not badly need my help. Of that I could be certain.

  “What is the trouble?” I asked my abashed accomplice. “Go on, tell me. No harm will come of telling—though some may if you withhold.”

  “It is Gorlas and the others—Dunaut, Morcant, and Coledac—they are holding vigil at Tintagel. Uther surprised them there and challenged them. Between them there was only Gorlas’ warband and a few others. To fight Uther would be to invite slaughter upon themselves, so they refused.”

  “They wait up there in Gorlas’ stronghold,” put in the other messenger. Now that the stream had begun to trickle, it might as well be a flood. “Uther cannot go in to them, and they will not come out.”

  I understood. Uther had indeed surprised the kings. He had ridden hard and arrived while they were still plotting their treason. Since they had not planned on an attack, the kings had brought only an escort and were caught without men and weapons enough to oppose Uther outright.

  This unwelcome circumstance placed Gorlas in an impossible position. A man of Gorlas’ stamp would not turn traitor on his friends by helping Uther, and in any event no force on earth would cause that stubborn west country chieftain to bring dishonor to his own name by withdrawing the hospitality he had extended. At the same time, however, protecting the rebel lords meant defying the High King, who owned his oath of fealty.

  I could well imagine Gorlas must be writhing with the pain of his predicament. And Uther, growing more furious with each passing moment, would hold Gorlas to blame.

  Yet, Uther was prevented from storming the gates. What held him back? Ygerna. His lady love was also shut up in the caer. He could not bring himself to make war on his future bride’s father and risk losing her affection. Nor could he withdraw and leave the traitors to go free.

  So, in his dilemma, not knowing anything else to do, he summoned me. Well, Uther, my headstrong young prince, so hot-tempered, they do well to call you Chief Dragon.

  I suppose I should have felt vindicated somehow, knowing that Uther could not do without me. In truth, I just felt tired. For it seemed to me that all my work with Aurelius had been wasted, and that time spent helping Uther would come to naught as well.

  Uther, I had long ago decided, was not what I needed in a High King. Certainly, he was not the ruler to help bring the Kingdom of Summer into existence. For that, I must look elsewhere.

  Be that as it may, he was the High King, and despite what power-mad petty potentates like Dunaut and Morcant might think—if it ever occurred to them to do so—Uther was neither stupid nor inept. He possessed a keen military mind and knew how to command men. This Britain desperately needed. At the very least, he should have been accorded the dignity of his rank.

  Consequently, I foresaw a messy end to this affair. I must, of course, side with Uther. Of that there was never a moment’s doubt. Still, I would go and see what might be done to save whatever might be saved, though I did not think much of my chances.

  Pelleas was even more dubious than I. “Why not let Uther tear them to little pieces and be done with it?” he asked as we made our way hastily to Tintagel. Neither was there any doubt in his mind who would emerge victorious. “It seems Dunaut and his friends have brought this on themselves. Let them pay for their treachery.”

  “You are forgetting Ygerna,” I replied. “I am certain that Uther is not.”

  * * *

  No, Uther was not forgetting Ygerna. Indeed, he was thinking of very little else.

  By the time we joined him, encamped in the narrow cleft of valley below Gorlas’ stronghold, Uther wore a scowl that would have cowed snarling dogs. His advisors and chieftains stood off away from him; no one dared come near for fear of a lashing or worse.

  At my appearance, a murmur of excitement fluttered among the warriors, who, bored with the stalemate and fearful of their lord’s displeasure, viewed my arrival with some relief. “Something will be done now,” the whispers said. “Merlin is here! The Enchanter is come.”

  Oh yes, it would take strong enchantment to save this situation. It would take a miracle.

  “I am here, Uther.” I announced myself, as his steward feared going in to him. He sat listlessly in his camp chair in the tent, unshaven, his red hair wild on his head.

  He raised his eyes. “It took you long enough,” he snarled. “Come to gnaw at the carcass?”

  I ignored the compliment and poured myself some wine from the jar into the king’s cup. “What is the trouble?”

  “What is it not?” he countered sullenly.

  “If you want my help, you must tell me now. I have ridden far in great haste to be here, but I will leave just as quickly if you do not sit up and speak to me as a man.”

  “My loyal lords lie up there,” he gestured impatiently in the direction of the caer, “plotting my destruction. Is that trouble enough for you?”

  “Yes, but I would have thought you most able to deal with that kind of trouble, Uther. Yet, you sit here in the dark, moaning and whimpering like a maid who has lost her best bobble.”

  “Oh, aye, rub salt in the wound. Get you gone if this is the help you bring.” He leaped from his chair as if it had suddenly become too hot to sit in any longer. “By the Raven, you are no better than that pack of yapping hounds out there. Go and join them. Shall I throw you all a bone?”

  “This is not worthy of you, Uther,” I told him flatly. “You still have n
ot told me what ails you.”

  He turned, a dog-bitten bear finally at bay. “I cannot attack the caer with Ygerna inside!”

  At the saying of her name his aspect changed and my purpose was fulfilled. No longer surly and unreasoning, Uther spread his hands and smiled ruefully. “Now you know, Meddler. So tell me, what am I to do?”

  “What can I say to you that your advisors have not already said?”

  He rolled his eyes and puffed out his cheeks. “Please!”

  “Your mood has blinded you, Uther, or you would see your way clearly.”

  He made no reply, but stood with his head down and his hands hanging at his sides. “Oh, for the light of Lleu,” I sputtered, “you are not the first man to love a woman. Stop behaving like a wounded bear and let us discover what might be done.”

  “We cannot attack the caer,” he sighed, then added more forcefully, eyeing me peculiarly, “At least, not while she is there.”

  “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “Do not think it.”

  “But you, Merlin…You could go up there. Gorlas would let you in. You could see her; you could get her out.”

  “Perhaps I could—but what then?”

  “I would clean out that viper’s nest once and for all.”

  “A bold plan, Uther. And do you think she would so easily marry the man who murdered her father?”

  “Murder?”

  “That is how she would see it.”

  “But—but—they are traitors.”

  “Not in her eyes.”

  “There! You see? It is hopeless!” He smashed his fist against the board. “Any way I turn, I am undone.”

  “Retreat then.”

  Anger sprang up in his eyes. “Never!”

  I turned and strode from the tent. He followed me a few moments later and came to join me where I stood on a rock mound looking up at the black, gleaming stone walls of Gorlas’ fortress. It was an impressive structure, and probably impenetrable, for it squatted on a great, high, jutting headland crag thrust out into the sea. The headland was joined to the main by the narrowest causeway, which ran through a single, easily defended gate, the only landward entrance.

  “I do not mean run from the field. But remove yourself from this place,” I said softly.

  “To what purpose?”

  “You can do nothing as long as you remain here. Just as they can do nothing against you.” I lifted a hand toward the fortress, black and immense above us. “In the game of chess this is called stalemate, and no one can win in such a position. Therefore, since they cannot move, you must.”

  “I will not,” he growled through clenched teeth. “By all the gods of heaven and earth, I will not.”

  “Swear no oaths, Uther, until you have heard all.”

  He let air hiss through his teeth. “Oh, do go on then.”

  “I do not suggest you drag yourself back to Caer Uintan; just behind the line of hills to the east will suffice. Then wait there while I go speak to them.” He considered this and nodded. “Very well. Now, what terms will you offer?”

  “Terms?” He rubbed his jaw. “I have given no thought to terms.”

  “Well, which do you desire more: their lives or their loyalty?”

  The High King hesitated, then showed what he was made of. “Their loyalty—if that is possible after this.”

  “It is possible, if you will allow it.”

  “Allow it? I will welcome it.”

  “Then I will see if they will listen to reason.”

  “By the god you pray to, Merlin, if you can secure their loyalty without undue bloodshed, and save Ygerna, I will give you anything you ask, even to the half of my kingdom.”

  I shrugged. “Never have I asked anything for myself, nor will I.”

  As I spoke, I saw a vision: Gorlas lying dead on a hillside, his blood blackening the soil. And I heard, as from the Other-world, the cry of a babe amidst the howl of wolves on a cold winter’s night. My heart felt heavy in my chest, and I tasted salt and sour sweat on my tongue.

  Words came to my tongue unbidden. “Yet my service exacts a price. One day soon I will demand my reward, and bitter will be the granting. Let this be your comfort: what I shall demand will be for the good of Britain. Remember that in the day of reckoning, Uther Pendragon. And refuse me at your peril.”

  Uther stared, but accepted my pronouncement. “Let it be as you say, Merlin. I am content. Do what you will.”

  Although it was late in the day, orders were given to strike camp and depart. I knew this activity would draw the attention of those in the caer, so Pelleas and I climbed into a coracle and paddled around the headland to see if there was another way into the fortress.

  There was, of course, as I knew there must be; but it could be used only at low tide—for only when the water was low could a boat be landed on the hard shingle below the fortress. Any other time the tunnel mouth was flooded and the waves thrashing around the tumbled rocks were too dangerous to navigate.

  Unless I wished to make entrance in the dead of night, the mainland causeway remained my best choice. I held no great hope that Gorlas would welcome me as a brother, but he would receive me and bear my presence for at least as long as it took me to say what was in my mind. He respected me that much, I considered. He owed me that much for that day on the battlefield when we had fought Hengist together.

  By dusk, Uther had decamped and withdrawn beyond the hills. Pelleas and I, our survey of the headland completed, mounted our ponies and made our way up the narrow, slate-paved spine of a causeway to the great dome of rock upon which Gorlas had built his caer. The sea washed ceaselessly on one side, and a freshet careened noisily on the other—a sheer drop to a sudden and certain death on either hand.

  We waited outside the timber gate while the guards fetched their lord, who appeared momentarily—as I said, they had been watching. “What do you here, Emrys?” Gorlas demanded. The question was a challenge.

  “I have come to speak to you, Gorlas.”

  “I have no business with Uther.”

  “Perhaps not,” I allowed, “but he has business with you, or more precisely, those who shelter beneath your roof and claim your hospitality.”

  “What of that?” the Cornovii chieftain sneered. “I withhold hospitality from no man who asks it. Those you seek are welcome here as long as they care to stay.”

  “If that is the way of it,” I replied easily, “then I claim the same hospitality for myself and my steward. It is getting dark and night is upon us. We have nowhere else to go.”

  To be trapped with his own words made Gorlas furious; that it was so easily done did not improve his disposition. I began to think he would not let us in after all, but honor went deep in Gorlas and he relented in spite of himself.

  He unbarred the gate and opened it himself, his face frozen in a grimace of mingled rage and humiliation. “Enter, my friends,” he muttered through clenched teeth, each word a curse, “you are welcome here.”

  “Our thanks to you, Gorlas,” I replied sincerely, leading my horse through the gate. “You do yourself no wrong.”

  “That remains to be seen,” he huffed, and impatiently ordered the gate closed, lest Uther himself appear to claim hospitality from him.

  Tintagel’s rock formed a mighty foundation for a sprawling fortress of timber and stone—more stone than timber since the black rock of the region lay ready to hand, and the timber must be cut and dragged in from forests a fair distance away. This gave the place a cold, harsh appearance; the solid house of a hard man, unused to small comforts, strong of will and principle, and loath to bend.

  Tintagel could be a sanctuary or a prison—its gate keeping in as easily as keeping out. I wondered if Uther understood this.

  The high-arched hall rose from the center of an aimless scattering of smaller buildings: cook houses, granaries, larders and hoardings of various types, smaller sleeping quarters and round houses of stone. Between these buildings a narrow paving of dressed and channeled stone h
ad been put down so that in wet weather—which, so close to the sea, was continual— men and beasts need not flounder in fields of mud.

  In all, Tintagel proved a simple yet impressive fortress: a fitting seat of power for the king of the Cornovii. Nor was I the first to think so, for the settlement had been occupied for many generations, and, I had no doubt, would continue to serve for many, many more.

  “Supper will be laid soon.” Gorlas came puffing up the track behind us as we dismounted. “Your horses will be cared for.”

  He led us into a hall bright with torchlight and a huge fire on the hearth. Dogs and children played in the corners, and a cluster of women occupied the far end of the hall, talking quietly, heads together. I did not see Ygerna among them. Morcant, Dunaut, and Coledac, and their retinues, lolled carelessly at Gorlas’ board. Heads turned as we entered and laughter ceased.

  Then Morcant was on his feet. “Look you, my friends, here is that craven Uther’s lapdog! Well, Merlin Embries, have you come to sniff after us and run back to your master with the tale?”

  “The insult is beneath you, Lord Morcant. I require no respect from you, but at least do not endanger yourself further by speaking ill of the High King.”

  “High King?” sneered Morcant. “High Coward, more like.” Dunaut and Coledac laughed loudly at this.

  “You call him coward because he ignores your treason and extends his hands in friendship?”

  “Extends his hands in fright!” snorted Coledac, who convulsed himself with laughter. Gorlas, embarrassed by his guests’ rudeness, called loudly for the supper to be brought. Servants scurried at his sharp command, and in a few moments baskets and platters of food appeared.

  The three lords had been guzzling Gorlas’ mead and were not inclined to stop. No doubt their relief at Uther’s withdrawal from the field had put them in a celebratory mood, and drink had made them bold. But it was a fool’s courage that abetted them.

  “There will be trouble,” Pelleas warned as we took our places at the board. “Drink will make them surly, and they will pick a fight.”