‘You swam out to the wreck and saved her. Pulled her from the cold depths.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Did you not, boy? Am I mistaken?’ He pointed a long finger towards Melwas who, to my distress, was talking to Guinevere. ‘Was it in fact that ruddy-faced boy who saved her? He has a hero’s looks, don’t you think?’
‘I saved her,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘I thought so. Mind you, your father never lacked courage. Just sense.’ Edern’s woman Avenie was playing the lyre now, and more skilfully even than Guinevere had, though no one seemed to be paying attention to the music. The Lady’s servants were passing through the room handing out bowls of steaming broth, starting with Uther’s men, whilst other folk sat down amongst the rushes ready to eat.
A thin servant offered Merlin a bowl of fragrant-smelling broth and a spoon but he waved the woman away, pulling me into the dark alcove off to the side of the dais. His Saxon slave, Oswine, appeared from nowhere, snatched the unwanted bowl and spoon and began slurping at the fish broth like a starving man.
‘But you don’t understand what you did that day, boy,’ Merlin hissed at me, giving a flash of white teeth. He was not an old man, nor was he young, yet he still had all his teeth so far as I could see. ‘For when you pulled the girl up from the depths you also prised her from Manannán’s clutches.’ Behind us a gust of wind fanned the hearth flames which I saw flash bright in Merlin’s eyes. ‘You cheated the sea god of the rich haul which he had promised to Arawn. He is angry, boy.’
A spit of rain hit my face, having gusted through a gap high up in the keep’s west wall, and I shuddered because I knew that Manannán mac Lir also had some power of the weather and could raise a storm if he so wished. Perhaps it was the god who rocked the Dobhran at her mooring now and hurled water against Karrek to shatter in foaming spray. Merlin looked past me and I turned to see that his eyes were fastened to Guinevere again. ‘The lord of the underworld was meant to have that girl,’ he said, then plucked something invisible from the smoky air, ‘but you took her from him.’
‘I could not let her drown,’ I said. My blood ran cold.
‘Ah, but that is precisely what you could have done, boy,’ the druid said, swinging his glare back to me. ‘But you did not. And so now your soul is in danger. Guinevere’s too,’ he added, his eyes not leaving mine this time. ‘Even now, Manannán and Arawn conspire against you, boy. The lord of the dead would have your soul for his plaything and heap untold torments upon you for your theft of what was rightfully his.’
I was dazed and could find no words. I had no answers to any of this. Here was a druid, a man wise in lore and the magic arts, a man who advised the Pendragon of Britain no less, telling me that I had offended the gods by saving Guinevere. That those gods had wanted Guinevere dead and now wanted me dead too.
I tore my eyes from Merlin’s and twisted to look for the Lady or for Pelleas, needing an ally. Needing someone who could tell me that the druid was wrong. I saw Oswine licking the last drops from his bowl, oblivious to any of the things his master was telling me. I looked for Guinevere but she was obscured from my sight by Melwas and the other boys, who were still standing because they had not been served their food yet.
‘So it is just as well that I can help you, Lancelot,’ Merlin said. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Lancelot? You haven’t taken a different name to escape the sad fate which befell your kin?’
I shook my head. I nodded. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and my gums were dry as dust. I wondered if Manannán or Arawn had broken my sparhawk’s wing to spite me. No. Gods have more important things to do than torment hawks.
‘I can intercede on your behalf, Lancelot,’ Merlin said, ‘and perhaps I can convince the gods that they would be better served by letting you live.’
‘Thank you, lord,’ I said.
‘Thought I told you to fetch me a jug of mead,’ said a voice and I looked round just as Pelleas cuffed me around the ears. The warrior shook his head at Merlin. ‘Lives inside his own damned head does this one,’ he told the druid. ‘Needs telling three times to do one thing.’
Merlin smiled despite the interruption. ‘Then you are not hard enough on him, Pelleas,’ he said. ‘Some boys must be beaten. Beat the foolishness out to make room for knowledge. Or sword craft, if you must,’ he admitted. He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘One doesn’t need brains to be a warrior, Lancelot, but there is still a modicum of learning involved.’
‘We can’t all speak with gods and kings, Merlin,’ Pelleas said, grabbing my shoulder and steering me away from the druid.
‘Be glad of it, Pelleas,’ Merlin said, gesturing me away with a flutter of long fingers. ‘The knowledge I glean is more of a burden than you could know.’
‘You’re better off keeping your distance from that one,’ Pelleas growled as we picked our way amongst the guests, who were sitting on the floor eating while Avenie plucked the lyre and the hearth wood cracked and popped and laughter and conversation filled the keep in defiance of the wind’s howl in the night beyond those old walls.
‘Am I to stay away from everyone, Pelleas?’ I asked. He knew I was referring to Guinevere.
A deep rumble came from his throat. ‘I think I preferred it when the only friend you had was that hateful bird,’ he said, taking a jug of mead from the table and filling his cup to make good the pretence in case Merlin was watching. ‘You can’t trust a druid,’ he said. ‘What did he want?’
‘He says the gods are angry with me because I did not let Guinevere drown,’ I said, still feeling the cold of the druid’s words in my bones.
Pelleas pulled his head back and looked confused. ‘Which gods?’ he asked.
‘Manannán mac Lir and Arawn,’ I said, then explained how the sea god had promised the lord of the underworld every soul on Lord Leodegan’s ship and thus I had as good as stolen Guinevere from him.
Pelleas considered this for a long moment, drinking deeply to water his thoughts. ‘I cannot pretend to know the will of the gods, or the mind of a druid,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘but I do know that what you did, swimming out there into the maw of a storm, was brave. As brave a thing as a man can do, and that includes standing toe to toe with men who want to kill you in the shieldwall.’ He picked up an empty cup, half filled it with mead and gave it to me. ‘And I know that the gods love courage.’ He shook his shaven head again. ‘Never heard of a man being punished by the gods for having courage.’ I knew that Pelleas was no expert on such matters, and yet his words comforted me.
‘Besides which,’ he said, smiling, ‘you’re just a young’un. You’ve not lived long enough or done enough in your life to get on the wrong side of gods.’ He banged his cup against mine and some of his mead was flung over the lip of his cup to splash on my bare feet. ‘You might one day, of course, but we’ll worry about that then. Bear the druid no mind, lad. Men like him will stick their heads into a cauldron and then fret when they find a spot of rust at the bottom.’ He beckoned a servant over who was carrying two plates of roasted meat. ‘Let’s eat,’ he said.
And so we ate.
9
Journeying
THE MEAD AND the wine flowed that night, and by the time the festivities were over, there were plenty of folk snoring on cloaks and furs amongst the floor rushes, passed out or unwilling to walk all the way back down the Mount in the rain to their homes on the shore. A knot of King Uther’s men were awake still, huddled round the hearth, drinking and talking in low voices. Melwas and Agga, Peran and Jago were awake too, giggling and farting and sharing a jug of wine which I guessed they had stashed earlier in the evening. And if Pelleas or any of the other Karrek warriors knew the boys were getting drunk on the Lady’s wine, they did nothing about it. Edern and the others would make them pay during training next day, I thought.
Everywhere else, men and women slept where they had found space and now snored and grunted, moaned and dreamed, their bellies full and their heads spinning with drink. Benesek and Madern were slump
ed asleep against the curved wall on my right, Benesek still holding his horn cup. Caelan, the Lady’s deerhound, lay as near to the hearth as she could get, her legs twitching as she dreamt of chasing a hare. I must have slept a little too, for the last thing I remembered was telling Pelleas that I would rescue Guinevere from Melwas, as she must be tired of his boorish conversation. Now, most of the lamps had burnt out so that the chamber was gloomy and smoky, those flames that yet flickered guttering feebly in the thin gusts which ghosted through the place. And it was cold even with all those bodies crammed in there, because the stone walls did not hold the heat as well as mud, wattle and thatch, and I wondered how the Romans who built the keep so long ago did not freeze to death in the winter.
I did not wonder it for long, however, for my stomach was churning and my vision swam and I feared I might see that roast venison again. The mead was far stronger than the ale we boys were usually given, I realized, pushing myself upright against the wall, trying not to disturb Edern and Avenie beside me. Snoring louder than Edern, Avenie was wrapped up in the warrior’s brawny arms, the two of them looking as peaceful as the dead. Then I almost tripped over something else and saw, by the shifting copper glow of the hearth flames, another sleeping, fur-shrouded figure at my feet. Only when stepping over this dormant soul did I see the shock of yellow, straw-like hair sticking out from the pelt, which told me it was Oswine, Merlin’s slave. There was an empty wine jug beside him and it struck me that whatever had befallen the Saxon for him to be with Merlin rather than his own people, life could not be that bad with a master who allowed him to eat and drink like any other guest in the Lady’s keep.
Where was Pelleas? Gone outside to relieve himself, I guessed, thinking I would go outside too, so as not to puke in the Lady’s keep in front of the other boys. They would enjoy seeing that and I would suffer long after my head cleared.
‘Ah, Lancelot.’ I looked to the door and saw Merlin standing there, his gaunt face all bone and shadow by the failing light of a nearby fish-oil lamp. ‘Have you seen that waste of good skin Saxon?’ he asked, stepping amongst the sleeping bodies, his head twitching this way and that like a crow scouring the wheat stubble for grain. With the butt of his staff he prodded a man, one of the Dobhran’s crew, who jerked and half spat a curse, swallowing the rest of it when he realized who had woken him. He mumbled some apology but Merlin ignored him, moving on.
‘He’s here, lord,’ I said.
‘Enough with the lord, boy,’ he said, changing direction and stretching his leg over Edern and Avenie. ‘Look at him, the lazy toad.’ He glared down at Oswine who was sound asleep. ‘I knew I should have bought that pretty young thing with the limp. I daresay she would have been twice as useful as this lump of Saxon turd.’ With that he jabbed the staff down hard onto the fur and Oswine groaned awake.
Merlin bent down and sniffed the young man, then hit him again.
‘You’re drunk, you piss-reeking son of a Saxon sow.’ This time the druid brought the staff down onto the empty wine jug which shattered into a dozen shards.
‘I was thirsty, master,’ Oswine said, sitting up and rubbing bleary eyes. ‘The broth was salty.’
‘And where was my broth? Next I’ll find you crawling into my ear to steal the very thoughts from my head, you greedy maggot.’
Those of Uther’s men who had looked over turned back to the fire, perhaps well used to Merlin and his temper. But Melwas, Agga and the other boys were watching, half in awe of the druid and half in surprise that he had addressed me by name when he entered the hall.
‘Get up, maggot,’ Merlin hissed at Oswine, at last lowering his voice because several fur-wrapped bundles around us were stirring now.
Oswine dutifully obeyed, though when he was up he stumbled and fell upon Edern and Avenie, who woke with a start, the warrior grabbing Oswine and throwing him off as he might cast aside a bolster, threatening to pull the Saxon’s guts out of his backside and throw them to the fish if he came near him or his woman again.
Oswine slurred his apology and climbed once more to his feet, but suddenly threw both hands up to clamp them over his mouth and Merlin and I both stepped back, thinking he was going to spew his stomach’s contents across the rushes.
‘Outside with you, you Saxon devil. Quickly now,’ Merlin said, sweeping his staff towards the door, and off Oswine stumbled, leaving a wake of curses and insults hanging in the smoke from those he disturbed as he passed. ‘And that is why we must rid Britain of the Saxon,’ Merlin said, swinging his staff, ‘why King Uther must sweep them back into the sea.’ He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed hard enough to hurt. ‘Lancelot, you must take his place. Just until sunrise,’ he said, bending to put his face close to mine. ‘You must, do you hear?’ I could smell the herb-scented oil which he had used to tame his moustaches and beard. His dark eyes glistened like wet pitch. ‘Will you help me?’ he asked, then gestured with his beard towards the chamber door. ‘I cannot trust that worthless Saxon with the simplest task.’
All I could think of was Pelleas warning me to stay away from Merlin.
‘I don’t—’
‘Think before you flap your tongue, boy,’ the druid hissed. ‘Remember what I told you, Lancelot,’ he said, looking at me from beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘I am the one who can smooth things over between you and the gods, whom you have offended.’ He had whispered this, as though him being my ally in this cause should be a very great secret. ‘You would be wise to prove yourself useful, boy,’ he said.
I thought of Guinevere and what Merlin had told me about how she was supposed to have drowned with her maid and her father’s warriors and all those aboard that ill-fated ship. I remembered the look in her eyes as she had slipped beneath the wind-shredded surface of the sea.
‘What would you have me do?’ I asked.
And Merlin grinned.
In the event I felt disappointed, cheated even by Merlin for making me agree to help with such a dull task. And yet part of me was thankful that it was at least easy enough, if made miserable by the rain. He had told me to go down to his hut on the shore and fetch his belongings, which Oswine had stored earlier that evening.
‘Don’t go snooping,’ the druid warned me, ‘do not even look inside the sack. Just bring it to me. And be quick,’ he said.
When I found the bulging sack, having rummaged around in the hut’s dark interior, I slung it over my shoulder as I had seen Oswine do, and lugged it all the way back up the Mount, trudging through the muddy little streams that coursed down the paths. Something sharp inside that sack dug into my back no matter how I shifted its position. My feet were cold and for the first time I wondered if my old shoes would still fit me, for I had not worn them since coming to the Mount, but at least the fresh air and the rain cleared my head, so that I no longer thought I would vomit.
I found Merlin waiting in the lean-to against the keep’s wall where the men’s weapons lay on a table beneath oiled skins. He snatched the sack from me and pulled out what I first took to be a lustrous black pelt, but then realized was not fur but feathers. Raven or crows’ feathers woven into a cloak. Hundreds upon hundreds of them. Iridescent in the white moonlight spilling through a sudden rent in the fast-moving clouds. For just a heartbeat that otherworldly cloak shone blue and purple and green, but a cloud cast the night into darkness again and the feathers were black. Black as soot from Gofannon the smith-god’s forge. Black as Malo, my father’s stallion.
I asked Merlin what it was for. He had thrown the feathered cloak around his shoulders and I could see the weight in it as he shrugged himself deeper into the thing. It fell almost to the ground.
‘It is for the journey, boy,’ he said, fastening the cloak over his chest with a silver ring brooch which glowed dully in the dark. The ring was a snake chasing its own tail, its baleful little eye a piece of red enamel no bigger than a louse.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked. The rain seethed and it would soon be the deepest part of the night, and I wondere
d where Merlin was bound at such a time and in such a cloak.
He bent and thrust his hand into the sack and pulled out a necklace made of bird skulls, all shapes and sizes, some dark with age and ancient looking, others still pale. All with large empty eye sockets and curving beaks. He held this strange necklace up towards the veiled moon and muttered in a language I did not understand, then with great reverence he put it over his head, the skulls rattling softly on their leather cord. The next object that he pulled out was very delicate, judging by the care with which he removed it from a skin pouch, though when I saw it I was struck with revulsion. It appeared to be another necklace, only this one looked too small to fit over the druid’s head, and I had never imagined such a thing. It was made of birds’ feet: gnarled and clawed, some complete with scaly flesh and others worn to the bone and all somehow threaded together to make a grim chain. Merlin lifted it to the moon, made the same utterances as before, then placed it upon his head so that it made a grisly wreath which for some reason made me think of the circlet of red campion which Wenna had woven for the Lady’s hair on the day of the race. I was not cold standing there in my thick cloak, the mead glow still warm in my belly, and yet I shivered in my skin to see the druid like that. He no longer looked like a man, but like some half-bird, half-god creature, his eyes seeming to catch fire now as he looked at me with the rain hammering on the lean-to and gushing over the edge in streams.
‘Bring it with you,’ he said, gesturing at the sack on the ground between us and taking up his staff from where it leant against the shelter’s upright.
I could not help but peer inside the sack as I lifted it and saw that there were still things in there, though most were wrapped in leather or cloth. But I did spot what had been digging into my back as I had carried the sack up the Mount. A pair of cream-coloured antlers gleamed even in the dark and I could only wonder why the druid needed those.
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