The Language of Stones

by Robert Carter

‘So…is Maskull now trapped in Leir’s tomb?’

  ‘Do not worry on that account, Willand, for Maskull is not anywhere as insecure as a barrow.’

  ‘Then – where is he?’

  ‘You saw me take the Star of Annuin from Leir’s tomb, surely. But I told you once before that it belonged to a king even greater than Leir, for it was fetched from the Realm Below by Great Arthur in the days of the First Men. From the beginning of time it lay with the other Hallows in a chamber far under the earth. That was where the hand of man first touched the Star, and that is where Maskull has been sent down to now. It required only that I caught him unawares to land the trigger-spell upon the gem. He is wily and most solicitous of his own skin – a hard enemy to distract, but when you appeared at his back and he turned on you, then my chance came, and thus was he, in the truest manner of speaking, defeated by us both.’

  By now they had come almost to the king, and Will’s impatience was setting him on fire. ‘Master Gwydion, I must learn what has become of Willow. Though all is won, all will be lost for me if I can’t find her!’

  ‘Tread softly, Willand…’

  Will endured a wait while the wizard gave King Hal into the keeping of Duke Richard’s captains, bidding the king work such healing touch as he might among those who had fallen. Then the king’s heralds were discovered and sent out to ask if there was one called Willow among those who yet lived, for she was eagerly sought by the king.

  ‘Do her proud,’ Gwydion told him. ‘And wait for her usefully. Take this salve and look to the wounded, for there is much bloody work to be undone while we still may.’

  And though Will’s heart was breaking he took the salve and went dutifully to those who had fallen. He passed among them with his healing, and as his own hurts melted away he saw the truth of the rede that said ‘a healer’s hands heal in the healing’. And all the while he looked urgently for Willow and foreboded the reason why she had not yet come at the king’s command.

  At last he could stand it no longer. He broke away from the dying and went out in search of her himself. But how could he find her among the many thousands of soldiers who were crowded into the town? He called her name, and looked in vain for the green and white of the Cambray archers in whose company she had served. Once again he came to that place of horror which he knew already, under the sign of the castle where Duke Edgar of Mells lay dead.

  Beside his body was that of the Earl of Umber, his neck shot through with an arrow. Humphrey, Earl of Stratford, son of the Duke of Rockingham also lay dead, and ‘Mad John’, Baron Clifton of Aston Oddingley, along with many more victims of lesser name. All of them had been hideously butchered and stripped.

  Suddenly he felt a gauntleted hand upon his shoulder. He turned to see Duke Richard himself, come as his warrior’s code demanded, to look at his fallen adversary and make peace with the dead. His helmet was under his arm and his eyes were sad. ‘I have heard that Duke Edgar was warned by Master Gwydion to beware castles. See how he has made the wizard’s words famous by his death.’

  ‘Your grace’s personal enemy is slain,’ Will said heavily. ‘Perhaps the dead will forgive, but what of Duke Edgar’s son, Henry? I know I would find it hard to pardon you if this were my father’s corpse lying so in the street.’

  ‘Aye, and I too, if it were mine,’ Edward said, arriving. He had not properly understood Will’s words, yet he said, ‘Willand’s right, Father. Beware the sons of all these whom you now look upon, for they will not easily forget this day!’

  As the duke stood in contemplation of the dead, he laid his hands upon both their shoulders as if he had been laying hands upon Edward and Edmund, his sons. Will thought of the limping, bewildered son who now would no longer grow up to be any sort of warrior. For a little while Will truly felt part of the family in which he had grown to manhood, but the moment passed away, and in parting Will asked the duke if he would send men to search out his company of greenclad Cambray archers and so make enquiry for Willow.

  Will recrossed the market square and came to the top of the lane where more bodies were laid out on the ground. They were arranged in rows and someone had covered them with white linen brought out from the wealthier houses. It looked as if fifty men had made their beds in the street, and that the dead were only sleeping. But they did not move and their faces were pale and the illusion outlasted itself to become something terrible. Will knelt down when he saw Willow there among the dead.

  She was kneeling also, and her grief was the greater for she was tending the body of her father.

  ‘I was too late,’ she told him desolately. ‘The slash of a blade has swept him away from me. Oh, Will!’

  He let her cling to him, and he hugged her close, and there they stayed for a long while as she poured out her heart in falling tears.

  It seemed an age before Gwydion found them again. Already, beyond the Tonne, two large grave pits had been started, and there was much for the wizard to supervise. Willow was washing her father’s face and combing his hair. She was in the care of one of the Wise Women who had come into the town to do what they could now the fighting had ended. The Sister exchanged soft words with Gwydion and then he brought Will away so that father and daughter could spend one last quiet moment together.

  Gwydion took him before the king once more, for there were certain matters that could wait no longer, chiefly explanations concerning the Doomstone of Verlamion and what had happened at the moment of noon when the windows of the Martyr’s great chapter house had burst out and a cloud had issued into the sky. But when all had been said on the subject, Gwydion brought together the king and the duke and made sigils above their foreheads while they faced one another.

  ‘Behold!’ he said, turning and lifting his staff on high. ‘For now we are to witness the sealing of the peace!’

  Duke Richard, using all leniency, mercy and bounteousness, knelt formally before the king. He would not look upon him then, but bowed his head most humbly, saying, ‘By your leave, sire, I shall ride in procession to Trinovant, going as escort. And once in your royal palace you shall decide what is to be done for the best.’

  The king looked back, his face moon-pale, his dark eyes mournful and infinitely deep as he made formal reply. ‘Richard of Ebor, you have shown yourself to be our true and well-sworn servant. We will not go into our royal palace at Trinovant, but instead shall enter into the White Hall, and there, within the ambit of the Stone of Scions, shall be summoned a parliament of lords to debate the good governance of the Realm. There we shall make plain our recommendation before the gathered estates, which is that the Duke of Ebor should be once again Lord Protector of the Realm, and the Earl Sarum shall have the Great Seal delivered unto him as Chancellor, and the Earl Warrewyk should be once again made Captain of the port of Callas.’

  And when all was said, and all those who were present pronounced themselves satisfied, Gwydion brought Will before Duke Richard again, saying quietly, ‘I would know how this most crucial man is to be rewarded. Though you know it not, he has served this Realm more than any today.’

  ‘Crucial, you say? He does not seem so, but I will believe you, Master Gwydion, for your knack is truly uncanny.’

  Duke Richard was now almost childlike in the wizard’s presence, for his ardour was quelled and he no longer presumed upon Gwydion’s meanings but stood in awe, for all had come out as Gwydion had told him it would, and the battle had ended mysteriously and a victory of a stranger sort than any he had thought possible had been won.

  ‘Yes,’ the duke said, humbly. ‘All shall be done as you wish, for you are wiser than I have been able to see.’ Then he summoned his standard-bearer to him, and soon a servant came with rich gear, and he asked Will to choose among whatever was there and decide what he would take for his own gift of gratitude. It was a generous offer, made honestly, for there were coin purses and weapons whose blades were chased in fine gold and gems of great worth among what was displayed.

  Will came forward and bowed
and kissed the duke’s signet ring to show him respect, though his heart was still hollow with Willow’s grief and he would rather have been with her than choosing among all the gold of Fumi’s lair. ‘I thank your grace for your kindness,’ he said, ‘but I would prefer now only to return to my home, and nothing of this kind will be of use to me there.’

  ‘Then you shall have my own destrier to carry you home.’

  The horse was brought and when Will saw it he said, ‘I accept gladly, for this fine white horse reminds me of another that I once rode.’

  Gwydion said, approving of the gift, ‘His name is Avon. He is the finest of his blood. They say a strong horse, a stout staff and a good wife are the three boons that will make a man’s smile broad.’

  After that, the wizard took Will before the king once more, and after Gwydion had set a mark on the king’s brow he spoke privately with him. Then King Hal called to his scribe and set his seal to a paper which he offered to Will.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked as he was called forward to receive it.

  ‘We hear from Master Gwydion that you love your home above all things,’ the king whispered.

  ‘Above all things but one, your grace. I thank you.’

  Gwydion spoke softly in his ear. ‘Friend Hal’s gift to you is but one among many that he will make today in healing the Realm. Yours is a secret charter which you must deliver safe home with you. Henceforth, the Vale and each of the villages and hamlets that lie within it shall be relieved of the tithe. The cost of it shall be borne instead, upon this secret order, by the royal exchequer.’

  ‘Your grace is too generous,’ Will said, overwhelmed by the honours done him. Yet he was still anxious. ‘I must go to Willow now. Master Gwydion, I must—’

  Gwydion stayed him. ‘Wait one more moment, for we may not see one another again for a while and I would like to have a proper parting from you.’

  ‘Parting?’ Will felt a cloud pass across the face of the westering sun.

  ‘Bid me farewell, Willand, for a horse is being saddled for me. I shall leave Verlamion before nightfall.’

  ‘So soon? Where will you go, Master Gwydion?’

  ‘First, to Trinovant. I must see that this hard-won peace holds. Then I will go alone into the North, for there is much for me to debate and study upon and many wise men I must consult. I must decide what is to be done with the Dragon Stone, and all the other battlestones that lie scattered across the Realm. These are large questions, and their settling will be no easy undertaking.’ He fixed Will with a searching look. ‘But all that is now none of your concern, for as you yourself say you have fulfilled the prophecy of the Child of Destiny…’

  But there was something in the way the wizard’s words trailed off that made Will question if the cracking of the Doomstone might not have been due to the final fulfilment of prophecy.

  ‘But one has been made two,’ he said. ‘It was the power of that prophecy that broke the stone. Wasn’t it, Master Gwydion?’

  The wizard’s expression was impenetrable. ‘Still you do not know your own strength. And as the Wortmaster would say, “when it comes to prophecy, who knows?” I will say only this: the lorc may have fallen silent, but it is not dead. Therefore, I expect we shall hear Gort’s “trumpet of ancestral voices” again in future time.’ He glanced about. ‘Meanwhile, you should return home – live well and be at your ease and remember to be kind to yourself. And against such a day as may yet come, you must leave me to stand guard.’ He reached inside his sleeve. ‘Now, see here! I have decided upon this as my parting gift to you.’

  Will took the slim volume. It was old and bound in scuffed brown leather. It had no iron clasp as most other books did, but on the cover were tooled the words,

  Ane radhas a’leguim oicheamna; ainsagimn deo teuiccimn.

  Will smiled for he knew their meaning pretty well in the true tongue: ‘Speak these words to…read the secrets within…learn and so…come to a field of brightlycoloured mushrooms? Eh?’

  ‘—and so come to a true understanding.’ Gwydion corrected him.

  ‘Hmmm. Well, a pretty little book of my own at last. What fun!’ he said, turning it over. ‘But it doesn’t seem to have any place on it to put a chain.’

  Gwydion grunted. ‘Pity the man who tried to put a chain on that book. The words on the cover are clasp enough.’

  ‘Can such a small book have more than a little wisdom in it?’ he said impishly.

  ‘Ha! More than enough for the likes of you, I think. The more you read that book the bigger it will grow. You will see!’

  ‘Then I’ll treasure it, Master Gwydion. And I hope it becomes so large that in time a dozen men won’t be able to turn a page of it! Would it make me wise if I was to read all of it?’

  The wizard chuckled. ‘No book could do that. But I fancy it will make you more learned, and stronger. And you cannot be strong until you are a little wise, and you cannot be wise until you have stocked at least a little learning inside that unruly head of yours – so says one of the redes of true manhood, at least.’

  Will grinned at that, very pleased with his gift, but sad that it had to have been given to him in parting. When he tried to open the book the covers would not budge until he had spoken the golden words. Even then, the pages appeared blank, though as he looked at them words began to show mistily, and when he looked away again everything faded.

  ‘That is the usual precaution,’ Gwydion said, then lowering his voice he added. ‘In matters of reading, make habit your friend. Read from it every day. If you do that faithfully, you will find that by the time you reach the Vale your eyes will know enough to see your way in. And – mark this very well – should you find yourself in dire need, you must find the page where flies the swiftest bird. Call it by name and that will be enough.’

  They embraced, and Gwydion whispered words in the true tongue, and then they swiftly parted. Will watched the wizard go, and as he passed out of sight he went to look for Willow. When she came to him he hugged her close and enfolded her in his cloak.

  ‘Do you wish to remain in service with the duke’s household?’ he asked.

  She hesitated. ‘I don’t know what else I can do.’

  ‘He will agree, for Lady Cicely says you are a hard worker and good tempered and much liked by everyone.’

  She said nothing, but looked away, and he saw how her tears had washed some of the dirt of battle from her cheeks.

  ‘It’s funny,’ he said, hardly knowing how to put it, ‘but in my real home there’s a mother who always longed for a girlchild of her own. What I mean to say is, I’d like it if you decided to return with me to the Vale. I mean, if you wanted to.’

  ‘Oh, Will! I want that more than anything!’

  And she wept then, for she feared to be left alone and the truth was that she had wished for many a long year that she could be some mother’s daughter.

  By now, the long shadows of the day were falling across the market square and a cool breeze had sprung up to add poignancy to their leavetaking. They stayed only to see brave Stenn committed to the earth. Will stood in sadness at the graveside while Willow wrapped him in his shroud and then they both laid him down among the heroes. And Willow watched over him through tear-filled eyes until evening began to fall and flaring torches were lit. And there was a great gathering that came past in a long and silent line, each man casting down a handful of earth upon the dead of both armies. And so the slain were given as one the solemn dignity of a soldier’s burial, and every man who looked upon the scene was in his heart glad that he too was not himself down in the cold clay.

  Afterwards, Will lifted Willow up onto Avon’s back and turned the horse’s head towards the last of the western glow. And so they left the fateful town of Verlamion before the day was fully done and looked for solace in one another’s company.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE GREEN MAN

  The caress of approaching summer was now soft upon the land, for when day came the whitethor
n was all in bloom and fragrant, and there was the sound of crickets and the buzzing of bees and the sweet song of larks. Willow spoke much about her father as they went along, and Will listened, knowing that the pain of loss would be lessened only by letting her share happy memories.

  And so, for two days and two nights they wended westward together, while the summer of the Realm deepened all around them. Willow would ride while he led Avon by the bridle, and when she had ridden long enough they would change places, or walk together side by side. The hurts on Will’s face and hands healed with surprising readiness, and he began to enjoy a new peace of mind – a state he had not known before and one he suspected might have had more than a little to do with Gwydion’s farewell whisperings.

  At noon on the second day he and Willow blew the fluff from a dandelion, and he asked her to make a wish and to keep it a secret. Then he showed her the leaping salmon talisman that once more hung about his neck. He told her it carried another wish, one made with a mother’s love more than two years before.

  ‘Gunhe robh arh chlachsan ammet adhorn,’ he said as he squeezed the token. ‘Gesh an ruigha ma mer cheanat uidhe.’

  ‘Is that what it says on your fish?’ Willow asked.

  ‘No. It’s just a wish – spoken in the language of stones. It means something like: “May this ornament remain in my keeping until I return home”.’

  It was a far longer journey back over much the same ground that Will and Gwydion had covered so swiftly on Arondiel’s back. Avon clip-clopped along the dusty roads, and many were the country folk they met who admired the great white horse and enquired after the terrible battle that had lately been fought upon Werlame’s hill.

  Will would not speak of it, except to shake his head and call it ‘a very bad business’. And it seemed to him when he thought of it that some of the vividness of what had happened had already begun to fade from memory. Still, on that slow road home, Will thought much about the tragic king and what might be the true fate of his realm. He thought too about the lorc, a thing that had been intended as a boon for men, but which had ended up putting hatred into men’s hearts. But the more he thought about high matters the less he seemed to understand. All that had been agreed upon at Verlamion was that King Hal would continue to reign in name and dignity, but in deed and in authority Duke Richard would be sovereign. It seemed to Will, after all, to be a deal that could have been struck quietly by two Valesmen over a mug of ale without any need to raise voices much less entail the maiming and killing of men.