And Merlin saw that, much as Arthur wanted to climb the mountain, Cai wanted it more, but for a far different reason.
'Now, Caius, you cannot -' began Ectorius.
Merlin cut him short with a gesture. 'Of course,' Merlin told him, 'I think it is time this mountain was conquered. And you two are just the men to do it. Well, hurry or you will be left behind.' He waved Cai away, and the boy rode after Arthur.
'Do you think it wise?' asked Ectorius, watching his son with some apprehension. Long had he protected his son's lame leg – the result of an accident and a poorly set bone when Cai was first learning to ride.
'No,' replied Merlin, 'it is foolishness itself to let them go.'
‘Then why -?'
Merlin smiled, lifting a hand to the mountain. 'Because if we prevented them now they would never again risk the impossible with a whole and open heart.'
'Is that so important?'
'For ordinary men, no.' Merlin shook his head, watching the boys ride away. 'But, Ector, we are not about making ordinary men.'
‘They could get themselves killed!'
'Then they will die in glorious defeat,' Merlin declared. Ectorius opened his mouth to protest, but my master stopped him, saying, 'Ector, they will die one day in any event and we cannot prevent that. Do you not see it?'
'No, I do not. This is needless hazard.' Ectorius showed his contempt for such an idea.
'The dead are so long dead,' Merlin said. 'Better to have lived while alive, yes? Besides, if they achieve this they will have conquered a giant; they will be invincible!'
'If they do not?'
‘Then they will learn something about the limitations of men.'
'A costly lesson, it seems to me,' muttered Ectorius.
"Then it will be valued all the more. Come, be of good cheer, my friend,' coaxed Merlin, 'If God and his angels stand ready to uphold them, can we do less?'
Ectorius lapsed into a sullen silence, and we turned our horses to follow the boys, catching them up some time later in one of the high meadows beneath the looming slopes, as they, stood discussing the best way to begin.
'Well? What is it to be?' asked Merlin.
'This appears to be the best way,' answered Arthur at once. 'The others are too steep. On this side we can walk a fair way up.'
'Then get on with it,' Merlin told them, casting an eye towards the sun. 'The best of the day is yours. We will make camp and await you here.'
'He is right,' said Arthur to Cai, setting his jaw. 'Let us begin.' Taking only a waterskin apiece and a couple of barley loaves, they bade us farewell and began their assault on Eryri. We, in turn, began making camp and settled down to wait.
Ectorius and some of his men went off hunting just after midday, and returned at dusk with a dozen hares and as many pheasants. The larger game they had let go, since we could neither eat it nor take it with us.
While the men cleaned the game and made our supper, Ectorius described the wealth of game they had seen – casting his eyes now and again at the slopes of the mountain above us. At last, he said, 'Will they stay up there all night, do you think?'
'I expect so,' I answered. 'It is too far to come down, and they cannot have reached the top yet.'
'I do not like to think of them climbing up there in the dark.'
'They are sensible enough,' I assured him. 'They will stop and rest for the night.'
'It is not their rest I am worried about.' Ectorius turned abruptly and went about his chores.
I wondered at Merlin, for he seemed not at all concerned about the enterprise. Usually, he exercised the utmost care where Arthur's safety was concerned. A little later, as the hares and pheasants were roasting on spits over the fire, I sought him at the streamside where he was filling waterskins and watering horses. I asked him about this and he simply replied, 'Be at ease, Pelleas. I see no hurt in this place.'
'What have you seen?'
He stopped and stood, turning his eyes back to the mountain, whose top was aflame with sunset's crimson afterglow. He was silent for a moment, his eyes alight with the strange fire from the heights. 'I have seen a mountain wearing a man's name and that name is Arthur.'
We waited all through the next day, and Ectorius held his peace. But, as night came on and a chill crept into the air, he stalked over to Merlin, hands on hips. 'They have not returned."
'No, they have not,' agreed Merlin.
'Something has happened.' He glanced uneasily up at the darkening mountainside, as if to see the boys clinging there. His mouth worked silently for a moment, then he burst forth: 'Cai's leg! Why the boy can hardly walk as it is – I should never have allowed them to go.'
'Peace, Ector. You have no cause for worry. They will return when they have done what they can do.'
'When they have broken their necks, you mean.'
'I do not think that likely.'
'More like than not!' Ectorius grumbled. But he said no more about it that night.
The next morning the boys had still not returned and I began to feel Ectorius' misgiving. Might Merlin be mistaken?
By midday Ectorius' thin patience had worn through. He stormed silently around the camp, muttering under his breath. He respected Merlin enough not to insult him openly by insisting on going after the boys. But it was on his mind – and for all his great respect he would not wait another night.
Merlin pretended not to notice Ectorius' acute discomfort. He occupied himself walking the valley and gathering those herbs that could not be found further north.
Finally, as the sun disappeared behind the rim of mountains surrounding Eryri, Ectorius decided to take matters into his own hands. He ordered four of his men to saddle their horses, and made ready to begin the search.
'Think what you are doing,' Merlin told him equably.
'I have thought of nothing else all day!' Ectorius snapped.
'Let be, Ector. If you go after them now you will steal their glory; they will know you did not trust them to succeed.'
'What if their broken bodies lie bleeding in a crevice up there? They could be dying.'
'Then let them die like the men you hoped they would one day become!' Merlin replied. 'Ector,' he soothed, 'trust me just a little longer.'
'I have trusted you altogether too long!' Ectorius cried. As deep as his love, so deep was his pain. I believe he held himself to blame for his son's infirmity – the horse had been his own.
'If you cannot trust me, then trust the Good God. Patience, brother. You have borne your misgiving this long, bear it but a little longer.'
'It is a hard thing you are asking.'
'If they have not rejoined us by dawn, you need not lead the search, Ector; / will lead it.'
Ectorius shook his head and swore, but he accepted Merlin's reassurance and stalked off to rescind the orders to his men.
Dusk came on apace. I think night always comes first to the high places of the world. There were stars already winking in heaven's firmament, though the sky still held the day's light, when we sat down to our supper. The men talked loudly of hunting, trying to distract then- lord from his unhappy thoughts.
Merlin heard the shout first. In truth, I believe he had been listening for it most of the day and was beginning to wonder why he had not heard it.
He stood, holding out his hand for silence, his head cocked to one side. Neither I nor anyone else heard anything but the thin, trilling call of mountain larks, as they winged to their nests for the night.
Though I knew better than to doubt him, it seemed he was mistaken. The men grew restless.
'It was only – ' began Ectorius.
Merlin rose and held up a silencing hand. He stood rock still for a long moment and then turned towards the mountain. A slow smile spread across his face. 'Behold!' he said. 'The conquerors return!'
Ectorius jumped up. 'Where? I do not see them!'
'They are coming.'
Ector ran forward a few steps. 'I do not see them!'
Then the shout ca
me again. I heard it: the high, wavering 'halloo' one uses in the mountains. The others were on their feet now, too – all of us straining eyes and ears into the gathering gloom.
'It is them!' cried Ectorius. 'They are coming back!'
We did not see them until they were very close indeed, for in the dusk their clothing did not show against the darkening mountainside. When they shouted again, I made out the two forms hastening towards us.
'Cai! Arthur!' cried Ectorius.
In a moment they appeared, and I shall never forget the expression on then: faces. For I had never seen such triumph and exultation in a human countenance before – and have seen it only once since. They were bone weary, dishevelled, but ablaze with the light of victory. They were heroes. They were gods.
They staggered to the camp fire and collapsed on the ground. Even in the firelight I could see their sunburnt cheeks and noses; Arthur's fair skin was peeling and Cai's neck and brow were as red as his hair! Then- clothes were dirty – torn and ragged at knees and elbows. Their hands were raw, and there were bruises, scrapes and scratches on their arms and legs. They appeared to have passed through walls of hawthorn and thickets of thistle along the way.
'Get them something to drink!' ordered Ectorius, and someone hurried off to fetch the beer. The lord of Caer Edyn stared at his son, pride swelling his chest till he looked like a strutting grouse.
I gathered food from our supper and gave it to them. Arthur took the bread and stuffed half the loaf into his mouth; Cai, too tired to eat, simply held it in his hand and stared at it.
'Here,' said Merlin, handing them a waterskin, 'drink this.'
Cai drank, swallowing great moutbfuls at a time, and then handed the skin to Arthur, who gulped the cool stream water down in noisy draughts.
Ectorius could contain himself no longer. 'Well, how did you fare, son? Did you reach the top?'
'The top,' replied Cai reverently. 'We reached the top, we did.' He turned his face to Arthur and his eyes held the look of a man who has learned a profound and life-changing truth. 'I would never have made it but for Arthur.'
Arthur lowered the waterskin. 'Never say it, brother. We climbed it together – you and I together.' He turned to the rest of us standing over him. 'It was wonderful! Glorious! You should have been there, Merlin – Pelleas! – you should have come with us. You can see from one end of the world to the other! It was – it was… wonderful.' He lapsed into silence, at a loss for words.
'You said it was impossible,' Cai reminded Merlin. 'You said no one had ever done it. Well, we did it! We climbed it all the way to the top!' He paused and added softly, turning once more to Arthur,'… He all but carried me.'
I have seen a mountain wearing a man's name and that name is Arthur, Merlin had said.
I was not to discover the full meaning of these words until many years later when bards learned of Arthur's youthful exploits and began referring to the mountain as The Great Tomb – by which they meant he had conquered and slain the snow-topped giant.
Well, the day he strode from the Council of Kings with the Sword of Britain on his hip, he had another mountain to conquer, and another giant to entomb. That mountain was forging the unity of Britain – the vaunting pride of the small kings was the giant.
These two together made Eryri and its forbidding heights appear but a mound in a maiden's turnip patch.
I have bethought myself many times what was accomplished that dreary day – what was lost, and what the gain.
We lost a High King certainly. We gained a Dux Britanniarum, a war leader – if in title only. There were no legions to command, no auxiliaries, there was no fleet, no mounted ala. Arthur had no warband – he did not even own a horse! And sa the grand Roman title meant nothing and everyone knew it.
Everyone except Arthur. 'I will be their Duke,' he vowed. 'And I will lead the battles so weU and rightly they will be forced to make me High King!'
Still, there was no force to lead. There was only Bedwyr, and Cai, the two pledged to Arthur and one another since childhood. Mind, taken together, the three were a power to be esteemed. Any king would have given the champion's place to any one of them, simply to have such a warrior in his keep.
Arthur's first trial would be to gather a warband. Implicit in this was the support and maintenance of the warriors. It was one thing to raise the men, and quite another to provide sustenance for them: arms, horses, food, clothing, shelter – that took an endless supply of wealth.
Wealth derives from land. The ants in the dust possessed more of that than Arthur.
This lack, however, was soon addressed, for upon returning to Gradlon's house that night we found Meurig arrived from Caer Myrddin with three of his chieftains, all of them exhausted and near frozen to their saddles.
'I am sorry, Lord Emrys; I beg your forgiveness," Meurig said, upon settling himself before the hearth with a warming cup in his hand. And hastily turning to Arthur, added, ' – and yours, Lord Arthur. I am heartily sorry to have missed the council. My father desired so badly to come, but the weather -'
'You missed nothing,' Arthur replied. 'It does not matter.'
'I understand your displeasure,' Meurig began. 'But – '
'What he means,' interrupted Merlin, 'is that your presence, welcome as it is, would not have helped matters.'
'But if I had been here.
'No.' Merlin shook his head gently. 'As it is, you have had a long, cold ride for nothing. Still, since you are here I would have you hail the Duke of Britain, and drink his health. I give you Arthur, Dux Britanniarum!’
'What happened?' Meurig had expected to find Arthur made king.
'In a word,' muttered Ectorius, 'Morcant.'
Meurig gestured rudely at the name. 'I need not have asked. I should have known that old deceiver would put down Arthur's claim. He was not alone?'
True, Meurig had expected to find Arthur made king – it was to his father, Tewdrig, King of Dyfed, that Merlin brought the infant Arthur for protection, the first years of his life. Consequently, Meurig had long since discovered Arthur's identity. Yet even Meurig, close as he was, did not fully appreciate the strength of Arthur's claim to the throne of Britain.
In fairness, few men did in those days. Aurelius' son he might be, well and good; but it took more than that to make a man High King. It took the support of all the kings. Or at very least as many as would silence the dissenters – which, in practical terms, amounted to almost the same thing.
No one fully believed that a youth of fifteen, a mere boy, could accede to the High Kingship, nor would they abet him.
'Morcant had all the help he needed,' replied Merlin sourly.
'I would gladly flay those wattled jowls,' swore Cai, 'if it would do any good.'
'I should have been here,' Meurig repeated. 'My father is not well, or he would have made the journey with us. We were prevented by the weather. As it is, we lost two horses.' He turned to Arthur. 'I am sorry, lad.'
'It does not matter, Lord Meurig,' said Arthur, belying his true feelings, which anyone could see on his face. The unhappy group fell silent.
'Duke of Britain, eh? That is a beginning anyway.' Meurig, feeling responsible, forced a jovial mood. 'What will you do now?'
Arthur had his answer ready. 'Raise a warband – that is first. It will be the greatest warband ever seen in the Island of the Mighty. Only the finest warriors will ride with me.'
'Then you will need lands – to raise horses, grain, meat,' announced Meurig grandly. Arthur frowned, feeling his poverty. Therefore, my father and I are agreed that you shall have the lands south of Dyfed.'
'Siluria? But those lands are yours!' objected Arthur.
'Were mine,' Meurig corrected him. 'My father is old and will rule no longer. I am to rule in Dyfed now. Therefore we need a strong hand in the south and, as I have no heir to follow me, I can think of none better to hold the land than you. Yes?'
Arthur's frown turned to incredulity.
'Now then,' Meurig hurried
on, 'there is an old hill fort lying between the Taff and Ebbw rivers, with a port on Mor Hafren – Caer Melyn is its name. It would take a deal of work, but you could make it a serviceable stronghold. The land is good; with care, it will provide.' Meurig beamed bis pleasure in making the gift. 'How now? Nothing to say, young Arthur?'
'I scarce know what to say.'
The young Duke appeared so disconcerted by this news that Ectorius clapped him on the back, shouting, 'Be of good cheer, my son. You will just have to accept your good fortune and get on with life as best you can.'
'Lands and a sword!' called Cai. 'What next? A wife and squalling bairns, no doubt.'
Arthur grimaced at Cai's gibe, and turned to Meurig. 'I am in your debt, my lord. I will do my best to hold the land and rule it as you would yourself.'
'I do not doubt it. You will be to us a wall of steel, behind which the people of Dyfed will grow fat and lazy.' Meurig laughed, and the shadows which had dogged our every move during our stay in Londinium rolled back.
I poured mead from the jar. We drank to the fortune of the Duke of Britain, and then began to talk of establishing Arthur's warband. Ectorius and Cai, it was decided, should return to Caer Edyn as soon as the weather would allow, to begin raising a force that could join Arthur in the south.
Naturally, Arthur could not wait to see his lands. He had visited there as a boy, of course, but had not been in Dyfed for a very long time. Winter lay full upon the land, but Arthur did not care. He would have it that next morning we should ride at once to Caer Melyn to inspect it.
'Wait at least until the snow has melted,' urged Merlin. 'Meurig says that winter has been hard in the southlands this year.'
'What is a little snow?'
'Have a care, Arthur. It is cold!'
Then we will wear two cloaks! I mean to see my lands, Myrddin. What sort of lord would I be if I neglected my holdings?'
'It is hardly neglect to wait until the roads are passable.'
'You sound like a merchant," he scoffed, and proceeded with his plans just the same.
I believe he had it all worked out before ever we left Londinium: how he would raise his warband, how he would support it, how he would build his kingdom, using Caer Melyn and the rich southlands given him as his strong foundation. He saw it so clearly that doubters were forced to join with him or stand aside. In this, as in so many things with Arthur, there could be no middle ground.
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