Merlin

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  That Morgian’s son should appear as out of the north-island mist alarmed me more than a little. What did it mean? Was Morgian behind it? Need I even wonder?

  No doubt Morgian saw in the king choosing an opportunity for gaining power of a kind different than she already possessed. But why send the boy?

  These things concerned me in no small measure. As I stared at Lot across the council ring, I tried to discern what kind of man he was. But aside from the obvious fact that he, like many in the bleak north, loved his color bright and his manner ostentatious, I could discover nothing.

  At one point in the proceedings Lot caught me watching him. His reaction puzzled me: he gazed back for a moment, then slowly smiled and touched the back of his hand to his forehead in the ancient acknowledgment of lordship. Then, as if dismissing me from his mind, he turned his attention back to the assembly.

  When, much later that day, the council finished, I waited for Ygerna in the yard outside the church, watching the builders. The masons were making use of the day’s last light to move the huge keystone of the great arch. The ropes they used were too small for the task and their levers were too short. For all their labor, and their energetic cursing, they could not shift the enormous stone but a few paces.

  As soon as Ygerna entered the yard she saw me and hurried to me, two of her chiefs following at a respectful distance. “Do not be angry with me, Myrddin,” she began at once. “I know what you are thinking.”

  “Do you indeed?”

  “You are thinking that I have no place here, that I should have stayed in Tintagel, that I will only make things worse by my presence.”

  I grinned with pleasure; she was not so purposeful and self-assured as she seemed. “Ygerna, I am glad you have come; you have as much right here as any of the others. And you could not make matters worse than they already are if that were your sole ambition. So you see, you have no cause to feel unwelcome.”

  She smiled, the corners of her mouth bending down. “Well, you may not think so when I ask you what I have in my mind to ask you.”

  “Ask then, but do not think anything you ask will change my mind.”

  Glancing quickly around—a kitchen girl about to speak a guilty secret—Ygerna said softly, “I must ask you to return Uther’s sword to me.”

  I considered this for a moment.

  “You see?” the queen remarked sulkily. “You are angry now.”

  “Please, I am not angry. But why the sword?”

  “I have seen what is happening here. They treat me well enough, but I am ignored. If they will not recognize me, perhaps they will recognize the sword.”

  It is not the first time a woman’s heart read the matter truly, and far more quickly than any man might arrive at the same conclusion. After only one day in council, she had discerned the crux of the thing: without any power of her own, she would be ignored—politely perhaps, but ignored all the same.

  “Well? May I have it back?”

  “Of course, my lady. But what do you plan to do with it?”

  She shook her head. “That will come to me when it comes. I will send Kadan to fetch it tonight.”

  “I will have it ready for him.”

  That settled, she turned to pleasantries. “It was a most enjoyable journey—not like the last time…” She paused, remembering when she had come with Gorlas and Uther. “And yet, I shall never forget that journey. It was the first time I saw Uther—the first time for so many things it seems.”

  We walked together along the narrow street to a nearby house, where she had lodging. “Dine with me tonight, Myrd din,” she offered. “Unless you have made better plans.”

  “I have no other plans,” I replied. “And certainly none better. I would be honored to dine with you, Ygerna. And I will bring the sword.”

  She smiled winningly. “In truth, you are not angry?”

  “Who am I to be angry with you?”

  She shrugged. “I just thought you might be.”

  I returned to Gradlon’s house, where Pelleas was waiting outside the door. “He came here with his men. There was nothing I could do.”

  I observed five thick-necked, stout-legged horses tied to the rings in the side of the wall. “Who has come, Pelleas?”

  “Lot.” His brow creased unhappily. “He said he would speak with you.”

  Well, there was nothing for it but to meet him. I entered the house and found it crowded with north-country strangers. Lot stood at Gradlon’s hearth, back to the door, one foot on a firedog, his hands wrapped in the iron chain suspended there.

  At my entry, the men fell silent. Lot turned. His eyes were the color of snow shadow—grey-blue and cold as winter ice. I stood in the doorway and he regarded me casually, confidently.

  For the space of three heartbeats I paused, then stepped into a room bristling with hidden knives and unseen spears.

  18

  “Well, Merlin Ambrosius—Myrddin Emrys,” Lot said finally. “I am honored.”

  “Lord Lot, I did not expect you.”

  “No, I suppose not. It seems no one expected me in Londinium.” His smile was sudden and sly. “But I much prefer it that way.”

  Uneasy silence reclaimed the room. I broke it at last, saying, “Will you drink with me? Gradlon’s wine is excellent.”

  “I do not drink wine,” he said coolly. “That is a luxury we

  do not allow ourselves in Orcady. And I have never developed

  the taste for southern vices.”

  “Mead?” I offered. “I am certain our host will oblige.”

  “Beer,” he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “As you see, I am a man of simple pleasures.”

  The mocking emphasis he gave the words suggested a wildly voracious appetite and brought to my mind images of unspeakable perversion. Yet, he smiled as if it were a point of honor with him. He was his mother’s son, no doubt. I resisted the impulse to flee the room. The only reason I suffered him at all was to discover why he had come.

  I motioned to Pelleas, standing protectively beside me, to bring the beer. Lot gestured to one of his men, who silently followed Pelleas from the room.

  I saw no reason to prolong the pointless. “Why have you come?” I asked. The bluntness of my question amused him.

  “And the beer not even in the cups,” he chided good-naturedly. “Why, cousin, since you ask, I will tell you. There is only one reason to venture so far from the balmy borders of my sun-favored realm. Surely you can guess.”

  “The others are here to win the High Kingship, but I cannot think you hope to gain that for yourself.”

  “Do you think me unworthy?”

  “I think you unknown.”

  “Your tact is celebrated.” Lot tossed back his head and laughed. Pelleas, shadow looming, entered with the cups. He offered the guest cup to Lot, who took it and splashed a few drops over the rim for the god of the hearth. He drank deeply and with zeal.

  Then, handing the cup to the first of his men, he wiped his mouth with his fingertips and fixed me with a fierce gaze. “My mother warned me you would be difficult. I wondered if you had lost your will to cross blades.”

  “You have not answered my question, Lot.”

  He shrugged. “All my life I have heard of Londinium. So, fancying a sea-voyage, I said to my chieftains, ‘Let us go see this wonder for ourselves. If we like it, perhaps we will stay.’ Imagine our surprise when we discovered a king choosing taking place.”

  His whole demeanor was mockery. But I detected a thread of truth in his answer: he did not know about the king choosing when he set out from Orcady. He had come for an altogether different reason and had learned of the council somewhere along the way—perhaps, as he said, only upon his arrival. Still, I reflected, he had not answered the question I asked.

  I sipped from my cup and then passed it on. “Now that you are here, what will you do?”

  “That, unless I am far wrong, will very much depend upon how I am treated.”


  “I find that I am generally treated as well as I treat others.”

  “Oh, but it is not so simple for some of us as that, dear cousin. Would that it were.” He sniffed unhappily. “Ah, but you would know little of the adversity lesser mortals must endure.”

  Was he trying to provoke me? I thought it likely, though I could perceive no reason for it. “Is your life so burdensome to you?” I asked, not expecting any particular reaction. But, as if I had fingered a very raw and painful wound, Lot winced. His eyes narrowed and his smile grew tight.

  “Burdensome is not the word I would choose,” he replied stiffly. “Where is that cup?” He reached for it and took it from the hand of one of his men, tossing back the remaining draught. “Empty so soon? Then we must leave,” he said, and walked to the door.

  Reaching the doorway, he paused, saying, “You know, Myrddin, I had hoped our first meeting would be different.” He turned abruptly and started away.

  I can, when I choose to, make my command almost irresistible. I made it so now. “Do not leave!” I called after him. Lot halted. He stood for a moment and then turned around slowly, as if expecting a swordpoint against his throat.

  The uncertainty of that gesture argued eloquently for him. He was an untried boy playing bravely at being a king, and I was moved with compassion for him. “We should not part like this,” I told him.

  His grey-blue eyes searched mine for any hint of deception—I think he was a master of discerning it—but found none in me. “How would you have us part?” His tone was wary, testing.

  “As friends.”

  “I have no friends in this place.” It was an unthinking response; nevertheless, I know he believed it.

  “You can hold to that,” I replied, “or accept my friendship and prove yourself wrong.”

  “I am not often proved wrong, Emrys. Farewell.” His men followed him, and in a moment I heard the clatter of hoofs in the street and they were gone.

  Pelleas closed the door, and then turned to me. “He is a dangerous man, my Lord Myrddin. The more so because he is confused.”

  I knew Pelleas to possess no mean ability in weighing out the character of a man. “Confused, there is no doubt. But I do not think he intends me harm. I am not certain he knows what he intends.”

  My companion shook his head slowly. “The man who does not know his own heart is a man to be feared. Have nothing to do with him, my lord.” Then he spoke my own misgivings. “Who can say how Morgian has twisted the youth?”

  * * *

  If my meeting with Lot was disconcerting, my dinner with Ygerna was all delight. She had dressed in her finest clothes, and in the glimmering, golden sheen of light from a hundred candles—light that Ygerna herself seemed to radiate—she appeared more lovely than I have ever seen her.

  She kissed me as I entered the room where a table had been set up, and took my hands and led me to a chair. “Myrddin, I was afraid you would not come tonight and I would be disappointed.”

  “How so, my lady? Had you eaten as many suppers cold by the side of the lonely road as I have, you would never let pass an opportunity to dine in comfort. And were you a man, you would never disappoint a lady as beautiful as I see before me, my queen.”

  She blushed with the innocent pride of a maid. “Dear Myrddin,” she murmured, then stopped suddenly. “You have not brought the sword?” Ygerna looked at my hands as if expecting to see it there.

  “I have not forgotten,” I replied. “Pelleas will bring it later. I thought it best not to be seen carrying it with me. Someone might notice.”

  “A wise thought.” Sitting me in my chair, she turned to the table and poured wine into two silver cups. She knelt beside my chair and offered one to me; it was the formal gesture of a servant to a lord. I made a movement of protest, but she held out the cup, saying, “Allow me to serve you tonight. Please, it is small enough repayment for the kindness in all you have done for me.”

  I shook my head gently. “All I have done? My lady, you honor me too highly. I have done nothing to warrant such affection.”

  “Indeed? Then I will tell you, shall I? When everyone else thought me a foolish girl, you treated me as a woman and the equal of any man. You have ever been my true friend, Myrddin. And true friendship, for a woman, is difficult to find in this world.” She pressed the cup into my hand with her cool fingers. “Let us drink together in friendship.”

  We drank, and then she rose and began laying the meal on the board. I allowed her ministrations to me, and it made her happy. It saddens me now to admit that the kindness she referred to had been extended to her not because she was Ygerna, and therefore worthy of such consideration: no, it was that she was Aurelius’ bride, or Uther’s wife. In truth, I had given her no particular consideration as a fellow human being; but so barren was her life on that seabound rock that my small courtesies loomed large with her. I thought of this, and my shame overwhelmed me.

  Great Light, we are blind men, all of us; slay us and be done with it!

  Oh, Ygerna, trusting heart, if you only knew. That she loved where she should rightly despise was her glory. I think I did not taste a single bite of the meal she laid before me. But I know I have seldom enjoyed a repast more. Ygerna fairly shone in her beauty and happiness.

  In this, I should have had my warning of what she was planning. Although it is likely that Ygerna herself did not yet know. I believe that she acted out of the pureness of her heart and there was no other motive.

  Pelleas was mistaken; one who did not know what he intended might be turned to the Light as easily as the Darkness. Good is always possible, and redemption is never more distant than the next breath. Somehow Ygerna reminded me of this.

  All the same, when Pelleas arrived with Uther’s sword and I realized how quickly the evening had passed, I bade Ygerna good-night and stepped out into a star-filled night without the slightest suspicion of what would take place on the morrow.

  * * *

  The next morning the kings assembled in the church once more. And once more, like all the other times, Dunaut and Morcant devised to hobble the proceedings with insulting and outrageous demands. If they could not realize their ambitions in council, at least they might provoke the others to arms and win in that way. It was all the same to them.

  But from the beginning, that day’s events took shape differently. Ygerna and Lot were present, and the others were forced to take account of them. As Dunaut was warming to his long harangue, Ygerna simply rose from the chair that had been added to the circle for her.

  She stood until Dunaut, distracted by her quiet presence, stopped and acknowledged her. “My lords,” he sneered, “it appears that Queen Ygerna wishes to speak. Perhaps she does not understand the proper observances of this assembly.”

  “Oh, indeed,” she replied. “I have observed much in the short time since I have joined this noble assembly. It appears to me that the only way to be heard is to shout at the top of one’s lungs while impugning the characters of those present. That, I think, would avail me little, so I stand and wait to be recognized.”

  “Lady,” said Dunaut in an exasperated tone, “I yield to you.”

  Coolly but politely, she dismissed him. “Thank you, Lord Dunaut.”

  It must have taken all her strength of will to appear so calm and self-possessed. But there was no trace of fear or hesitancy in her manner; indeed, anyone would have thought dealing with power-mad kings was all her world. “I am Uther’s widow,” she began, speaking slowly and forcefully, “and before that I was Aurelius’ widow. No other woman, I think, has shared meat and bed with two High Kings.”

  Some of the kings laughed nervously. But though she smiled, Ygerna did not allow them to make light of her. For she continued, “No other woman can claim to be twice High Queen of Britain…and no other woman knows what I know.”

  That stopped them. The lords had not considered that Uther and Aurelius might have confided their secrets to her. They surely considered it now; I could almost hear
them grunting under the strain of guessing what she might know.

  “We are at war here, my lords. We do battle here among ourselves while the Saecsen sends out the husting.” This revelation, spoken by one so fair and self-assured, sobered them. “Oh, yes, it is true. Or did you think that when news of Uther’s death reached them they would lay down their weapons and weep?

  “I tell you they weep for joy to hear it. They gather the warhost, and soon they will come.” She paused, gathering every eye to herself. “But this you already know, my lords. I have not come here to tell you that which you already know.”

  Blessed girl, she had them like fish in a net. What would she say next?

  She raised a hand and Kadan, her advisor, came to her holding a cloth-wrapped bundle. He lay the bundle in her hands and then took his place behind her. Ygerna stepped to the center of the floor and held the bundle well up so all could see. Then she began unwinding the cloth.

  Gold and silver flashed beneath the wrappings, and all at once the cloth fell away to reveal what I knew to be hidden there: the Sword of Britain.

  “This,” she said, lifting the sword, “was Uther’s sword, as it was Aurelius’ sword; but once, long ago, it belonged to the first High King in the Island of the Mighty. And each High King has held it since, save one—” She meant Vortigern, of course. “—for this is the sword of Maximus the Great, Emperor of Britain and Gaul.”

  She turned slowly so that all could see that it was, without doubt, the emperor’s famed blade. Light from the narrow, high-cut windows fell in long, slanting rays, catching the blade and setting fire to the great eagle-carved amethyst.

  Oh yes, they recognized it: the lust glinting sharp in their eyes told all. Dunaut’s right hand actually fondled the hilt at his side as he imagined what it must be to wear the imperial weapon as his own. Other hands twitched too, and eyes narrowed to see the play of light along that cold, tapering length of polished steel.

  The sanctuary fell silent as Ygerna raised the sword in both hands above her head. “My lords, this is the Sword of Britain and it is shameful to fight over it like hounds over a gristlebone!”