“Me? Those are the words of Jesu. And do you know why I can trust them?”
“Tell me.”
“Mórganthu wanted revenge, but Jesu gave up his life so we could be forgiven.”
Caygek said nothing more, yet his eyes narrowed and he turned away to look out over the sea.
Merlin went to Natalenya and shook her shoulder while she feigned sleep. When she sat up, a coughing fit took hold. He gave her a sip from his waterskin, and she smiled up at him. “Are we there?”
“Soon.” His hand hesitated on her shoulder for only a moment before pulling away.
“Merlin,” she said.
He turned to face her, and though he didn’t smile back or show any other emotion, his eyes were red-rimmed. “Yes?”
“Could you sit and talk a bit?”
He glanced away. “I …”
“I know something’s wrong.”
He locked gazes with her and his lips parted, but he didn’t speak. Even so, there was longing in his eyes.
“Merlin?”
“Yes?”
“Were you going to say something?”
“No … not at all.” But there was a catch in his voice and he gulped. Turning away, he woke Garth, who slept soundly with Arthur’s head poking out from his cloak. When Garth sat up, his right cheek was red with the imprint of the wood grain from the deck.
“We’re almost to shore, sleepy,” Merlin said, and mussed Garth’s hair even more.
Natalenya turned her face away, confused and alone.
Before long, they landed the boat on a broad and gently sloping beach amidst ten or so other fishing ships, all pulled beyond reach of the tide. Above them on a cliff lay the village, and Natalenya disembarked with the others, happy to be on solid ground once again.
They all thanked Inktor, Henktor, and Crothak, bidding them farewell as the fishermen sorted their catch.
The evening sun gave them maybe an hour before it went below the hills. They walked up the strand and soon arrived at the rock-cut stairs that led to the village. Natalenya coughed all the way up and became dizzy by the time she reached the top. Just in time for Garth to hand Arthur to her. The world went black for a moment, and she feared falling over, but it passed.
Arthur clung to her hair and began sucking his thumb.
The village was half the size of Bosventor, with the houses tightly packed due to the cliff edges on three sides. Smoke rose from the centers of the roofs, and a few men could be seen in the lanes.
Natalenya hung back while Merlin approached the nearest two men, who sat chatting on a log. When he approached, they both stood to greet him.
“What do you need?” the first man said, fear in his eyes as he studied Merlin’s scars. He wore a leather tunic covered in wood shavings. “Odd folk aren’t welcome here.” He spoke with a slight Kembry accent.
“We’re looking to buy five horses.”
The second man spoke. “We don’t sell our horses less’n they’re near to useless. Try our priest, Anfri, who’s bought a few off a traveler or two. He’s uppa the village a bit.”
Merlin looked to Colvarth, who blinked but then nodded.
They thanked the men and skirted the village, heading inland and away from the cliffs until they found the priest’s dwelling set off to the side of a heather-covered hill. A large cross cut from limestone marked the spot, and the forest grew close behind his dwelling.
Loud cracking sounds echoed from inside.
Stepping near the door, they heard shouting and more crashing. They all paused, and Natalenya listened carefully.
“Useless pots,” yelled a man’s voice, and out through a window spun a broken amphora, which landed with a dull clunk on some grass and leaves.
The man, who appeared to be a priest, was tall and skinny with long brown hair. He sprinted out past the travelers as if they were trees grown up near his door. Catching up with the pot, he crushed it with his tattered boot. “Useless. Useless and empty!” He kicked the shards away.
Only then did he realize he was being watched.
“Excuse me … my apologies … mea culpa …” He gave a deep bow and flourished his lanky arms. “And for what honoris does the humble Anfri owe your esteemed company, kindly souls?” He spied Natalenya. “And may I not forget my lady of benevolence?” The man straightened up, raised his left eyebrow, and bunched up his thin lips. His baggy frock had been woven with silver threads for accents — but the bottom fringe was dirty and stained.
Colvarth cleared his throat. “We are travelers from Kernow looking to purchase five horses, and we are in great hope that you might have so many available.”
“Lodgings? You say you need lodgings? I have just the place, a mite dusty perhaps … but soon spiffed up to your lofty expectations. It is in fact … my loft.”
Colvarth took hold of the man’s sleeve and shook it. “We must ride tonight, and will not be staying.”
The man clapped his hands and winked at Colvarth. “Then mayhap some refreshment? My wine is sadly and sorrowfully gone, but I have some succulent … ahh … half-malted ale that your excellencies would find most refreshing.” He made a pouty face, closed his eyes, and held out his hand as if to collect some long-expected coins.
Merlin stepped forward. “Horses. We want to buy some horses.”
The priest hopped and pointed in the air. “Ah, yes. Just the thing, I mean, just the horse, I mean, just the equpi. A nice band of … merchants … rode here just two weeks ago. The coats on these horses are most … brilliant, and their hooves are … quite remarkable. Over this way.”
The priest stomped off on his gawky legs toward the woods.
The others followed, but Natalenya felt tired and lagged behind. She wished for a place to sit down. A fly buzzed around Arthur, and he began to fuss in her arms. She wrinkled her nose at him and forced a smile between coughs. “I need to get you a snack from Garth’s bag, I do. We’ll buy the horses first, and then I promise.”
She stepped forward, felt dizzy, and fell to her knees in the mossy shadow of a tree. This journey had been too hard on her: not enough sleep, the fear of being chased, and caring for Arthur almost constantly. And now her sickness. Very soon they would have to find a place to really rest. Inland, away from questioning ears. She had hoped it would be at this church, but Colvarth wanted to ride through the night. How could she keep going?
Her arm itched, and she scratched it. These buzzing flies! She pushed up her sleeve so she could scratch it better — and froze. There on her arm lay a large boil. About an inch from the boil her skin was normal, but then it paled to near white before rising in a purplish, oozing mound. She wanted to shriek, but instead yanked her sleeve down. It will go away, she told herself … if she could just find a place to rest. But there was no resting until after they bought the horses and rode toward somewhere safe. Raising herself, she hefted Arthur and ran after the others, her breath now a wheeze interrupted by deep coughs.
When she arrived, the priest was showing them a set of eight horses, all grazing the short grass from tethers tied to different trees.
“This fine specimen has great heft about him, and his legs are stout and strong. But pick any of my unsurpassed horses you like — they are all of the same quality and the same price, ten silviquii apiece.”
Colvarth cleared his throat. “You call yourself a priest? Why, this is robbery. A good horse costs only three in Londinium.”
“Londinium, you say? You are from Londinium?” The priest cracked his knuckles. “Ahh, how I long to see that blessed fortress again. My father was born there. For his sake … and just for you, just for you, mind, I will lower the price to eight silviquii. There are no better horses for that price in these parts.”
Garth stepped forward. “If these were the finest horses o’ Kembry, they wouldn’t be worth half that. But look at these — they’re nothing but worn-down, mangy shipwrecks.”
The priest bunched his eyebrows together and frowned at Garth.
Natalenya sa
w the horses now too. She had been so focused on the priest and his antics that she hadn’t looked properly at them. The first one — the “fine specimen,” as the priest called it — may have had stout legs, but his back was so curved, his rotund belly almost touched his hocks. The second horse limped, and the next was hairless and thin — his ribs looked like they would break if she sat on him.
In fact, Natalenya couldn’t find a sound, healthy horse among them.
Merlin inspected one and found its right eye had been gouged out, possibly by a branch. “The only thing unsurpassed about your horses is how much pity they need.”
“My horses are the finest for sale in Baegower.”
Merlin strode over to the priest and grabbed his frock. “If you weren’t a priest, I’d throw you in the manure.”
The priest brought his hands together in prayer, his eyebrows beseeching heaven. “Two … two … s-s-siliviquii apiece … any of my horses for two silviquii.”
“I’d say that’s a good price,” someone said off to Natalenya’s left. She turned, and saw Caygek leading five horses from a thick stand of pines. “And there’s more where these came from.” The new horses he had brought were straight-backed with a solid gait. They were strong and their coats flashed in the filtered sunset.
Colvarth stepped forward and quickly inspected them. The old man’s shoulders straightened and the brightness returned to his eyes. He took out his money bag and counted out ten silviquii and held them out to the priest.
“But that price was for these horses. You cannot possibly —”
Merlin shook the priest by the frock. “You said any of your horses for two silviquii. We all heard it.”
The priest pulled sideways to get away from Merlin and then stumbled back, nearly tripping over a fallen tree. Regaining his balance, he looked into each of their eyes. When he found no solace even with Natalenya, he said, “But … but … those aren’t my horses, you see —”
“Ahh, that is good,” Colvarth said. “No payment is required. Wild horses are for anyone to catch, and we caught them.” He opened his money bag and was about to pour the coins back in when the priest jumped forward and grabbed his arm.
“Well … now that you put it that way, my good friend, I do sort of remember them. Oh yes … these ones are mine after all. How could I be so daft? Dim light and all.”
Natalenya hoped Merlin would come and help her mount — but again he ignored her. Garth helped instead, and soon she and Arthur sat on a white mare. At her request he passed up some food from his pack.
After the others mounted, Colvarth threw the ten coins to the ground.
“Thank you, thank you.” The priest scrambled to gather them. “Don’t take the valley,” he yelled after them as the party rode off. “They say it’s haunted by bogeys …” This last word echoed through the trees.
They ignored him and found a track that led eastward down the cliff and into a valley where a stream ran toward the sea. After the track turned north to head into the heart of Kembry, Merlin rode his horse next to Caygek’s. “How did you know he was hiding better horses?”
Caygek glared at Merlin. “Those that have the sharpest wits get the best trade.”
“C’mon, what tipped you off?”
“You really want to know?”
“Sure.”
“He was a Christian.”
Merlin stared for a moment, then he shook his head and rode forward until he was just behind Colvarth.
Natalenya had been ignored yet again. She let her horse fall to the back of the line, fed Arthur some dried oatcake … and wept.
CHAPTER 9
RHYMES AND RUINS
Merlin rode with the others as the sun set. At first the track on their side of the stream was almost too slippery for the horses to traverse, the valley being so narrow. But it broadened out, and the footing soon became firm. Dead gorse bushes, dry and brambled, cropped up along the edges of the stream, and the air smelled sour.
Having left the sea behind, Merlin had hoped he’d feel safe. Nevertheless, he had the feeling that faces hid in the shadows of the trees, watching their progress. It felt as if Vortigern and his men were going to ambush them. But that was silly.
Darkness fell quickly as the sides of the valley rose to become tree-studded cliffs that marched past like gloomy sentinels. The gorse thorns faded to black, and the stream continued its dirge down to the sea.
When the sun fell below the cliff tops, a thin fog poured down the valley and encircled the legs of their horses, slowly rising until all the gorge was covered with the dank whiteness. It filled not only Merlin’s vision but also his lungs, and he shivered.
Birds flew across the expanse, caw-cackling their disdain upon the travelers. They were magpies, black as night, with the tips of their wings a ghoulish white. Natalenya sang out the old “Rhyme of the Magpie,” her voice weak and alone from the back.
One for sorrow … Two for bliss …
Three is snake’s deceptive hiss.
Four for silver … Five for gold …
Six for secrets never told.
Seven you live … Eight you die …
Nine dead ghosts of the magpie.
Merlin looked back at Natalenya, and then at where the magpies had landed — a stand of pines that had leeched themselves to the sides of the cliff. How many magpies had flown past? Seven? Or eight? He didn’t know.
They continued up the ravine, the fog thickening. The urge came upon Merlin to flee — to get out of the valley as fast as possible. He felt vulnerable, and he wanted to break out onto higher ground where clean air and the open land waited for them. He hailed the group, and then kicked his horse to a gallop.
The others followed, and he led them up the ravine until a large hump of ground arose from the white fog of the valley like the back of a giant boar. Ancient standing stones surrounded the mound, and each one was engraved with the symbols of the druidow: serpents, birds, giant cats, cauldrons, and antlered men. A low doorway had been cut into the side of the mound and the tunnel lined with massive stones to hold back the smothering earth. The right side of the hill lay almost in the stream, but there was room to pass on the left.
Behind Merlin, someone cried out. It was Natalenya. She held out her hand, beckoning someone, anyone. “Please, take Arthur …” Her eyes were glazed.
Caygek rode up quickly and took the child from her trembling hands. Natalenya tried to climb down from her horse but swooned and fell.
Merlin jumped off his horse and ran to her. He pulled her cloak back, to reveal the pale skin of her face — almost deathly. Her lips quivered as if she were trying to speak, and her breathing was shallow.
“Natalenya!”
He took her delicate hand and patted her cold fingers. He put his hand to her cheek, but she didn’t respond. What was wrong with her? “Natalenya … Natalenya …” he called, the love he’d withheld welling up inside him.
Colvarth joined him. “She is bad, yes?”
Merlin lifted her up and carried her to a large standing stone and set her down on some soft grass. “We camp here tonight.”
Colvarth shook his head. “We cannot. Not here. This is an evil place.”
With all his will, Merlin wanted to agree. He could lay Natalenya over his horse and they could walk out of the valley. But with her sickness getting steadily worse, he knew she needed rest. He had ignored it too long already. “We have no choice. We’re staying.”
“Next to a burial mound? In all God’s creation, I would not choose to camp here.”
“God is here too,” Merlin said, but he wasn’t fully sure if he believed it. “Garth, Caygek, get some wood — we’re lighting a fire.”
Colvarth sighed. “A fire? You would reveal our presence to all eyes?”
“She needs warmth and hot food.”
Colvarth set his bag down, and then his harp. “I don’t like it, but I will follow your lead. May God protect us this night.”
The tunnel in the mound
began to groan, and hundreds of bats poured from its doorway. They flapped all around Merlin, and he covered his head with his arms until they spiraled away into the darkness.
Bedwir had dozed off, unaware how close to shore they’d come until the boat bumped the sand and the men leapt out to pull it up the beach.
The sun had set sometime during his nap, and Bedwir shook his head to chase away the gloom that had filled his dreams. He got to his feet, and his legs felt cold and stiff, but he was glad to slip down to the beach and gather with the other warriors.
Without delay, Vortigern had torches lit from a coal box and began climbing the rock stairs that led to the village. Bedwir and the other men followed to the top, where all was quiet, save a dog barking in the distance. Vortigern went straight to the nearest crennig and banged on the door with the hilt of his blade. When a man cracked open the door, Vortigern slammed it wide and quickly had the man on his knees begging for mercy, the blade near his chest. His family screamed behind him.
“Five travelers and a child? Have you seen them?”
“I … I … sent them to the priest’s house to buy horses —”
The man flinched as Vortigern lowered the torch. “Tell me what they looked like.”
“Two men, one with scars on his face. An old man. A boy. A girl holding a child —”
Vortigern smiled. “How long ago?”
“A little … little over an hour …”
After getting directions to the priest’s house, Vortigern led the way.
Bedwir hung back and helped the man up, slipping him a coin for his trouble. By the time he caught up to the others, they were already halfway to the priest’s house. When they arrived, the priest was singing inside.
O the jolly-hey, do-diddly-i-merry-o,
With a hey to left, jo-jarry-o-wine-o.
O the jolly-hey, bo-bibbly-by-berry-o,
With a hey to right, go-gibby-o-fine-o.
Vortigern thumped on the priest’s door, the singing stopped, and the man poked his head out the window and stood, guffawed at all the torches. His long locks nearly covered his eyes and his skinny lips formed an O. His face was flushed, and his nose a bit red. In his right hand he held a small, unstoppered amphora, whose red liquor was spilling to the ground.
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