Legacy

by Mary Stewart

  When at length he was sent to lead the horses out, I said quickly to Ralf: "Tell Count Ector I would rather not come down to the castle. He'll understand that. The risks are too great. He'll know where we can meet in safety, so I'll leave it to him to suggest a place. Would he normally come up here, or might that make people wonder?"

  "He never came before, when Prosper was here."

  "Then I'll come down whenever he sends a message. Now, Ralf, there's not much time, but tell me this. You've no reason to suppose that anyone has suspected who the boy is? There's been no one watching about the place, nothing suspicious at all?"

  "Nothing."

  I said slowly: "Something I saw, when you first brought him over from Brittany. On the journey across by the pass, your party was attacked. Who were they? Did you see? He stared. "You mean up there by the rocks between here and Mediobogdum? I remember it well. But how did you know that?"

  "I saw it in the fire. I watched constantly then. What is it, Ralf? Why do you look so?"

  "It was a queer thing," he said slowly. "I've never forgotten it. That night, when they attacked us, I thought I heard you call my name. A warning, clear as a trumpet, or a dog barking. And now you say you were watching." He shifted his shoulders as if at a sudden draught, then grinned. "I'd forgotten about you, my lord. I'll have to get used to it again, I suppose. Do you still watch us? It could be an awkward thought, at times."

  I laughed. "Not really. If there was danger it would come through to me, I think. Otherwise it seems I can leave it to you. But come, tell me, did you ever find out who it was attacked you that night?"

  "No. They wore no blazon. We killed two of them, and there was nothing on them to show whose men they were. Count Ector thought they must be outlaws or robbers. I think so, too. At any rate there's been nothing since then, nothing at all."

  "I thought not. And now there must be nothing to connect Myrddin the hermit with Merlin the enchanter. What has been said about the new holy man of the chapel in the green?"

  "Only that Prosper had died and that God had sent a new man at the appointed time, as he has always done. That the new man is young, and quiet-seeming, but not as quiet as he seems."

  "And just what do they mean by that?"

  "Just what they say. You don't always bear yourself just like a humble hermit, sir."

  "Don't I? I can't think why not; it's what I normally am. I must guard myself."

  "I believe you mean that." He was smiling, as if amused. "I shouldn't worry, they just think you must be holier than most. It's always been a haunted place, this, and more so now, it seems. There are stories of a spirit in the shape of a huge white bird that flies in men's faces if they venture too far up the track, and — oh, all the usual tales you always get about hauntings, silly country stories, things one can't believe. But two weeks back — did you know that a troop of men was riding this way from somewhere near Alauna, and a tree fell across the way, with no wind blowing, and no warning?"

  "I hadn't heard that. Was anyone hurt?"

  "No. There's another path; they used that."

  "I see." He was watching me curiously. "Your gods, my lord?" "You might call them that. I hadn't realized I was to be so closely guarded." "So you knew something like this might happen?" "Not until you told me. But I know who did it, and why." He frowned, thinking. "But if it was done deliberately...If I am to bring Emrys this way again —" "Emrys will be safe. And he is your safe conduct, too, Ralf. Don't fear them." I saw his brows twitch at the word "fear," then he nodded. I thought he seemed anxious, even tense. He asked me: "How long do you suppose you will be here?" "It's hard to judge. You must know it depends on the High King's health. If Uther recovers fully, it may be that the boy will stay here until he is fourteen, and ready to go to his father. Why, Ralf? Can you not resign yourself to obscurity for a few more years? Or do you find it too taxing riding guard on that young gentleman?" "No — that is, yes. But — it isn't that..." He stammered, flushing. I said, amused: "Who is she?" I did not quite understand his scowling look until, after a pause, he asked: "How much else did you see, when you watched Arthur in the fire?" "My dear Ralf!" It was not just the moment to tell him that the stars tend only to mirror the fate of kings and the will of gods. I said mildly: "The Sight doesn't as a rule take me beyond bedchamber doors. I guessed. Your face is about as concealing as a gauze curtain. And you must remember to call him Emrys even when you are angry." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean — Not that there was anything you couldn't have watched — I mean, I've never even been in her bedchamber...I mean, she's — oh, hell and damnation, I should have known you'd know all about it. I didn't mean to be insolent. I'd forgotten you never take anything the way other men do. I never know where I am with you, You've been away too long...There are the horses now. He seems to have saddled yours as well. I thought you said you weren't coming down today after all?" "I hadn't intended to. It must be Emrys' idea." It was. As soon as he saw us in the doorway, Arthur called out: "I brought your horse, too, sir. Will you not ride down part of the way with us?" "If we go at my pace, not yours." "We'll walk the whole way if you like."

  "Oh, I won't subject you to that. But we'll let Ralf lead the way, shall we?"

  The first part of the descent was steep. Ralf went in front and Arthur behind him, and the black horse must have been very sure-footed indeed, for Arthur rode with his chin on his shoulder the whole way, talking to me. To anyone who did not know, it might have seemed that it was the boy who had nine years to make up; I hardly had to question him; all the detail, small and great, of his life came tumbling out, till I knew as much about Count Ector's household and the boy's place in it as he knew himself — and more besides.

  We came at length down from the edge of the pines into a wood of oak and chestnut where the going was easier, and after half a mile or so struck into the easy track along the lake. Caer Bannog floated, sunlit, above its secret. The valley widened ahead of us, and presently, cloudy along its green curve, showed the line of willows that marked the river.

  Where the river left the lake I checked my horse. As I took my leave of them the boy asked quickly: "May I come back soon?"

  "Come whenever you like — whenever you can. But you must promise me one thing."

  He looked wary, which meant that what he promised, he would keep. "What's that?"

  "Don't come without Ralf, or whoever escorts you. Don't break away next time. This is not called the Wild Forest for nothing."

  "Oh, I know it's supposed to be haunted, but I'm not afraid of what lives in the hills, not now that I've seen — " He checked, and changed direction without a tremor " — not with you there. And if it's wolves, I have my dagger, and wolves don't attack by day. Besides, there are no wolves that could catch Star."

  "I was thinking of a different kind of wild beast."

  "Bears? Boars?"

  "No, men."

  "Oh." The syllable was a shrug. It was bravery, of course; there were outlaws here as well as anywhere, and he must have heard stories, but it was innocence as well. Such had been Count Ector's care of him. The most vulnerable and sought for head in the kingdoms, and danger was still only a story to him.

  "All right," he said, "I promise." I was satisfied. The guardians from the hollow hills might watch him for me, but guarding him was another thing. That took Ector's kind of power, and mine.

  "My greetings to Count Ector," I told Ralf, and saw that he had understood my thoughts. We parted then. I stood watching them ride off along the turf by the river, the black horse fighting to be away and snatching at the bit, Ralf's big chestnut simmering alongside, while the boy talked excitedly, gesturing. At length he must have got his way, for suddenly Ralf's heels moved, and the chestnut leaped forward into a gallop. The black, set alight a fraction later, tore after it. As the two flying figures vanished round a shaw of birch trees, the smaller turned in the saddle, and waved. It had begun.

  He was back next day, trotting decorously into the clearing with Ralf half a length in th
e rear. Arthur carried a gift of eggs and honey cakes and the information that Count Ector was still away, but the Countess seemed to think contact with the holy man might do good where it was most needed, and was glad to let him come meanwhile. The Count would arrange to see me as soon as he got back.

  Arthur gave me the message, not Ralf, and obviously saw nothing in it but the strict precautions of a guardian who he must have long ago decided was over-zealous to an uncomfortable degree. Four of the eggs were broken. "Only Emrys," said Ralf, "could possibly have imagined he could carry eggs on that wild colt of his."

  "You must admit he did very well only to break four."

  "Oh, aye, only Emrys could have done it. I've never had a quieter ride since I last escorted you."

  He went off then on some excuse. Arthur washed the eggs out of his horse's mane and then settled down to help me eat the honey cakes, and ply me with questions about the world that lay outside the Wild Forest.

  A few days later Ector returned to Galava, and arranged through Ralf to meet me. Word would have gone round by now that the boy Emrys had ridden up two or three times to the chapel in the green, and people might well expect Count Ector or his lady to send for the new incumbent to look him over. It was arranged that Ector and I were to meet as if by chance at Fedor's farm. Fedor himself and his wife could be trusted, I was told, with anything; the other folk there would only see the hermit calling for supplies as usual, and the Count riding by and taking the opportunity to speak with him.

  We were shown into a smallish, smoke-filled room, and our host brought wine and then left us. Ector had hardly altered, save to add a little grey to his hair and beard. When, after the first greetings were over, I told him so, he laughed. "That's hardly surprising. You tip a gilded cuckoo's egg into my quiet nest and think to find me carefree? No, no, man, I was only jesting. Neither Drusilla nor I would have been without the boy. Whatever comes of it in the end, these have been good years, and if we've done a good job, we had the finest stuff in the world to work on."

  He plunged then into an account of his stewardship. Five years is a long time, and there was a great deal to say. I spoke hardly at all, but listened readily. Some of what he told me I knew already, from the fire, or from the boy's own talk. But if I was familiar enough with the tenor of Arthur's life here in Galava, and could judge its results for myself, what came chiefly out of Ector's talk of him was the deep affection which he and his wife felt for their charge. Not only these two, but the rest of the household who had no idea who Arthur was held him, apparently, in the same affection. My impressions of him had been right; there was courage and quick wit and a burning desire to excel. Not enough cool sense and caution, perhaps — faults like his father's — "but who the devil wants a young boy to be cautious? That much he'll learn the first time he's hurt, or, worse, when he finds a man that can't be trusted," said Ector gruffly, obviously torn between pride in the boy and in his own successful guardianship.

  When I began to talk of this, and to thank him for what he had done, he cut me off abruptly.

  "Well, now, you've got yourself settled nicely in here, from all I hear about it. That was a fine chance, wasn't it, that led you up to the Green Chapel in time to take old Prosper's place?"

  "Chance?" I said.

  "Oh, aye, I'd forgotten who I was talking to. It's a long time since we had an enchanter in these parts. Well, to a jogging mortal like me it would have come as chance. Whatever it was, it's the best thing; you couldn't have taken a place in the castle, as it happens; we've got a man here who knows you well; Marcellus, him that married Valerius' sister. He's my master-at-arms. Maybe I shouldn't have taken him on, knowing you'd be likely to come back, but he's one of the best officers in the country, and God knows we're going to need all we have, here in the north. He's the best swordsman in the country, too. For the boy's sake, I couldn't miss the chance." He shot me a sharp look from under his brows. "What are you laughing at? Wasn't that chance, either?"

  "No," I said, "it was Uther." I told him of the talk I had had with the King on the subject of Arthur's training. "How like Uther to send a man who knew me. But then he never did have room for more than one thought at a time...Well, I'll keep away. Can you find a good reason for letting the boy ride up to see me?"

  He nodded. "I've given it about that I know of you, and you're a learned man and have traveled widely, and there are things you can teach the boys that they'd not learn from Abbot Martin or the fathers. I'll let it be known that they may ride up your way whenever they wish."

  "'They?' Hasn't Cei outgrown a tutor, even an unorthodox one?"

  "Oh, he wouldn't come for the learning." His father's voice held a kind of rueful pride. "He's like me, is Cei, not a thought in his head but what you might call the arts of the field. Not that even so he'll be the kind of swordsman Arthur's shaping for, but he's dogged and takes all the pains in the world. He'll not come twice if there's book learning to be discussed, but you know what boys are, what one has the other wants, and I couldn't keep him away if I tried, after all Arthur's been saying. He's talked of nothing else since I got home, even told Drusilla it was his holy duty to ride up there every day to see you got sufficient food. Yes, you may well laugh. Did you set a spell on him?"

  "Not that I'm aware of. I'd like to see Cei again. He was a fine boy."

  "It's not easy for him," said Ector, "knowing the younger one is near as good as he is already, for all the three years' difference, and is likely to surpass him when they both come to man. And when they were younger it was always 'Remember to let Emrys have as much as you — he's the fosterson, and a guest.' It might have been easier if there'd been others. Drusilla's had the hardest time of it, not liking to favor one or the other, but having to let Cei see all the way that he was the real son, without letting Arthur feel he was on the outside. Cei's done well enough by the other boy, even if he does tend to jealousy, but there'll be nothing to fear in the future, I assure you. Show him where he can be loyal, and no one will shift him. Like his father; a slow dog, but where he grips, he holds." He talked on a little longer, and I listened, remembering my own very different upbringing as the bastard and outsider at another court. Where I had been quiet and showed no talents that could rouse jealousy in boy or man, Arthur by his very nature must shine out among the other boys in the castle like a young dragon hatching in a clutch of pond newts.

  At last Ector sighed, drank, and set down his cup. "But there, those are nursery tales now, and long past. Cei stays by me now, among the men, and there's Bedwyr to keep Arthur company. When I said 'they' I wasn't thinking of Cei. We've another boy with us now. I brought him back with me from York. Bedwyr, his name is, son of Ban of Benoic. Know him?"

  "I've met him."

  "He asked me to take Bedwyr for a year or two. He'd heard Marcellus was here with me, and wanted Bedwyr to learn from him. He's about the same age as Arthur, so I wasn't sorry when Ban made the suggestion. You'll like Bedwyr. A quiet boy; not a great brain, so Abbot Martin tells me, but a good lad, and seems to like Emrys. Even Cei thinks twice before he tangles with the pair of them. Well, that's that, isn't it? It's just to be hoped Abbot Martin doesn't try to spoke the wheel."

  "Is it likely?"

  "Well, the boy was baptized a Christian. It's thought that Prosper served God in the later years, but it's well known that the Green Chapel has housed other gods than the true Christ in its time. What do you do now, up there in the forest?"

  "I believe in giving due honor to whatever god confronts you," I said. "That's common sense in these days, as well as courtesy. Sometimes I think the gods themselves have not yet got it clear. The chapel is open to the air and the forest, and they come in who will."

  "And Arthur?"

  "In a Christian household, Arthur will owe duty to Christ's God. What he does on the field of battle may be another matter. I don't know yet which god will give the boy his sword — though I doubt if Christ was much of a swordsman. But we shall see. May I pour you more wine?" />
  "What? Oh, thank you." Ector blinked, wetted his lips, and changed the subject, "Ralf was saying you'd asked about that ambush at Mediobogdum five years back. They were robbers, no more. Why do you ask? Have you reason to think that someone's interested now?"

  "I had some small trouble on the way north," I said. "Ralf tells me there has been nothing here."

  "Nothing. I've been twice myself to Winchester and once to London, and there's never a soul so much as questioned me, which they'd have been quick to do if anyone had thought the boy might be anywhere in the north."

  "Lot has never approached you or shown interest?"

  Another quick look. "Him, eh? Well, nothing would surprise me there, Some of the trouble we've been having in these parts might easily have been avoided if that same gentleman had minded his kingdom's business instead of paying court to a throne."

  "So they say that, do they? It's the King's place he's after, not just a place at the King's side?"

  "Whatever he's after, they're handfast now, he and Morgian: they'll be married as soon as the girl is twelve years old. There's no way out of that union now, even if Uther wanted to end it."

  "And you don't like it?"

  "No one does, up in this part of the country. They say that Lot's stretching his borders all the time, and not always with the sword. There's talk of meetings. If he gets too much power by the time the High King fails, we might well find ourselves back in the time of the Wolf. The Saxons coming every spring and burning and raping as far as the Pennine Way, aye, and the Irish coming down to join them, and more of our men taking to the high hills and what cold comfort they can find there."