Nor was this all, for at the king’s right hand waited a bard all clad in green with golden cuffs on his wrists and a white-framed harp in his hands. No less than twelve warlike men ranged the hall with their sharp spears and gilded helms on their heads. All watched the approach of Merlin Ambrosius.
Before this wealth and noble display, Merlin knelt. The soldiers who had brought him this far made their bows and retired, leaving the sorcerer alone before Berach Ui Neill.
“Be welcome to this place, Merlin Ambrosius,” said the king. His voice boomed out to fill his house. Firelight set his gold ornaments and red-gold hair to shine and glitter, but shadows hid his eyes. "We are glad to receive the ambassador of Uther of the Britains.”
The king gestured for him to rise. King Berach’s wife came forward with a cup of gold studded with blue gems filled with the mead of that place. Merlin accepted it and drank the whole of it down in a single draught.
“I thank you for your great courtesy, king of the Ui Neill,” he said as he returned the cup to the queen with a bow. “I bring to you the greetings and love of Uther who is named the father of dragons, and as a token thereof, my king commands I present to you this stone.” From the purse on his belt, Merlin brought forth an emerald the size of a pigeon’s egg colored the deep blue green of the seas beneath the sun. The king received this stone with great pleasure and pride. His chest swelled and his face shone to behold the jewel. Merlin’s keen eye noted this and in his silence he was deeply pleased to behold, it, for it told him what manner of man was before him.
The king handed the stone to his wife, who looked shrewdly at the sorcerer. She held her peace, however, and let her husband speak. “That is a strange sword you wear, Merlin Ambrosius,” he went on, displaying to all his keen and discerning eye.
Merlin smiled and drew it slowly, laying the blade out flat against his palm. “A poor thing,” he said. “Once the tool of the Romans who ruled our land while the men of Eire lived freely. Bronze only, but it suits me.” He held it out. “It is yours, Majesty, if it pleases you.”
This puffed out King Berach’s chest even further. He waved the offering away regally and then commanded that Merlin be given a bed and all he wanted for his refreshment until the feast for his welcome could be set before them. Pleased with all he had seen, Merlin permitted the king’s daughters to lead him away.
The feast was conducted with all the splendor that place had to offer. Merlin sat at the king’s right hand behind a board laid with cloths of delicate and brightly embroidered linen. Whole swans were brought on silver dishes, with oaten breads, as well as suckling pigs cooked in apples and sprinkled over with salt and the peppers of Spain. To drink, they had the wine of the Medeterrine and the fiery liquor the men of that isle call the water of life. There was a gracious plenty for all the company, for King Berach meant to display his wealth in his generosity. All the while the feast went on, the bard, whose name was Ailfrid mac Rian, sat beside the fire and played on his harp. He sang the great history of the Ui Neill, dwelling with the most love on the legends of Fionn mac Cumhail, the giant and king, and whom he said was greatest ancestor of the Ui Neill. If Merlin knew it to be otherwise, he prudently kept silent. Secretly, though, he watched the bard as closely as he watched the king. For Merlin knew the wisdom and secrets of the true bards, and wanted to take the measure of this one before him.
When the feasting was over, and the bard fell silent to receive the applause and praise of all the house, Merlin rose to his feet and bowed before the king.
“Majesty, I have been feasted here in a manner most worthy of the great and generous reputation that is the name of the Ui Neill. If it is your desire, I shall exercise my own humble skills for the amusement of this house, and to in some small measure show my gratitude for the rich welcome I have here received.”
King Berach inclined his head magnanimously and Merlin bowed once more, very low. He stepped out into the center of the house beside the fire. Bard Ailfrid took his harp and moved aside, but their eyes met in that small moment, the bard’s the pale blue of the winter sky and Merlin’s the bright blue of the summer morn. Each saw secrets, and the knowledge of secrets, and each smiled a small smile at the other, knowing there would be much speech between them later.
But for now, Merlin only raised his white staff. “See then Berach Ui Neill! See then all the souls of this land! See you the workings of Merlin Ambrosius!”
He swept the staff over the bright red fire. A great wind blew cold through the house and in an instant, the flames were quenched leaving not even the scent of the smoke. All gasped in the sudden gloom. Merlin smote the earthen floor with the butt of his staff, and from the circle of ash sprang up an apple tree covered in white blossoms. Their perfume filled the house, and was so sweet that all breathed deep and sighed with the wonder of it. Merlin then raised his right hand. The tree’s blossoms closed and shrank to become green fruit. He raised his left hand, and the fruits swelled, ripened and turned red. He called out a single word, and every red fruit became a red bird that took wing. All the assembly shouted for wonder. The scarlet flock flew about the house, singing songs as sweet of the scent of blossoms had been and setting all the hounds to barking. Once more, Merlin smote the earth with his staff. Birds and tree all vanished, and where they had been there burned the homely fire of the hearth.
Astonishment tied the tongues and hands of all who witnessed this miracle until the king let out a loud laugh and beat his great hands upon the table, roaring his approval. His people joined him with applause and laughter and many exclamations. Merlin bowed humbly.
King Berach rose to his feet, holding out his cup to drink to the sorcerer. “Such a marvel I have never seen!” he cried out. “What reward can I give you for such a feat?”
Merlin’s eyes looked this way and that, taking in the wealth of all the hall, but more than that.
“Will you give me the hound that sleeps at Your Majestiy’s feet?” he asked, pointing to one of the four dogs that waited so patiently beneath the table at Berach’s feet.
“And gladly,” laughed the king. The hound Merlin chose was one of the great canines they breed on that isle that are prized even by the Roman lords. It was huge and shaggy, heavy-jawed and black, such as might take down elk or boar. Its golden collar might make the fortune of a freeman. The king snapped his fingers and pointed. Obedient to his master, the hound loped to Merlin’s side and lapped at his hand in simple loyalty.
“His name is Ciar. But surely there is more you desire?” said the king, awash in wonder and the need to show himself great in his generosity.
Merlin let himself appear to consider this as he rested one hand on the back of his new hound, Ciar. “It is not gold I seek, great king,” he said slowly, as if making this admission reluctantly. “But if you would give
me what I desire, you will give me an answer.”
Berach spread his hands. “What answer would that be?”
“I have heard that in this land there is one of the last of the old priests, one who worked of the groves and prophecies such as used to be so common in this land. I would speak with that person.”
Berach’s face fell slowly into harsh lines, and the men of the house began to mutter among themselves. “We are all Christians here,” said the king, but now his voice was cold. “None of this clan know anything of such a pagan witch.”
Merlin cast a glance then at Berach’s wife and saw how her eyes shifted away from his. He looked at Bard Ailfrid, and saw how his face remained bland and without expression. “Of course,” said Merlin, inclining his head in all humility. “But this witch had a dwelling in former times, or a grove where she practiced her pagan rites. It may be that some ancient among your people might remember where that was.”
“None here would have knowledge of such a thing.” The king’s fists hardened as he said it, and he looked about at all his company, male and female, his wife and daughters most of all. All bowed their heads and Merlin understood, He too bowed once more.
“It is surely as Your Majesty says. I ask your pardon.”
This soothed Berach and restored his good spirits. He invited Merlin to sit and drink with him once more, and called upon the bard for a new song.
So passed the night until all the house was exhausted from drink and revelry. Merlin was conducted to the place set aside for him, but he did not lay down on the soft bed. Instead, he waited in the darkness, scratching the head and ears of his black hound, until all the noises of the house fell away. Then, with Ciar trotting obediently at his heels, he stepped out of the king’s house, waving to the men on watch who nodded over their spears. Outside beneath the stars, he found Bard Ailfrid. Ailfrid sat with his harp, and a plate of food and a mug of drink. He played softly upon the strings, a tune Merlin had never before heard. He paused, took a bite of meat and a swig from his mug, lost in thought. Then touched his fingers to the strings once more. Merlin moved aside, thinking to wait until this moment of creation was finished, but the bard turned, unsurprised to see the sorcerer come out into the chill night. The bard raised his mug and beckoned to Merlin to come closer.
Merlin sat down beside him. “A cold night.”
“Ah, well.” Ailfrid drank his mead and ate a piece of oaten bread.
“You could have feasted better inside.” The sorcerer waved a hand at the plate and its meager offerings.
“Well enough,” Ailfrid acknowledged with a shrug. “But there are nights I prefer my thoughts as company for a smaller feast.” He folded his arms over the top of his harp and gazed for a moment at the autumn stars shining so brightly down.
“And may I ask, Bard Ailfrid, what are your thoughts?”
The corner of the bard’s mouth twitched. “They are of you, Merlin Ambrosius, and of your errand.” He traced the diamond paths of the stars with his gaze for a moment longer, before he looked to Merlin once more. “You are right in what you heard. There is such a one in these lands. She is old now, and much diminished from what she was, as are all who once spoke to the oak and the mistletoe.”
“You do not fear to tell me this?” Ailfrid shook his head. “Are you not a Christian?”
Ailfrid shrugged again. “I am a bard on the edge of winter.” He gazed at the darkening trees. Some had already begun to lose their cloaks of leaves and the wind rattled their bare twigs, bringing the scent of ice as well as the scent of warm smoke from the houses below. “I am what my king would have me be.”
“Yours are said to be greater than kings.”
Ailfrid laughed a little at this, running his fingers gently over the frame of his harp, almost as one would touch the face of a beloved child. “The greatest of us are. I am not as great as all that, and prefer a fire to the winter pride of my calling.”
This answer satisfied the sorcerer, and he turned quickly to his own business, lest the bard think the better of it, or, more importantly, one of the king’s men should come to overhear them. “Do you know of this priestess?”
The bard’s eyes clouded over as he searched within himself. “As I crossed the borders into the land of the Fian, it grew late and I sought shelter with a shepherd family. Glad I was to have it, as the rains came down fiercely when night fell. With them was an old woman who asked for the most ancient stories, of the kings and queens of the elder days. She shook her head and sighed heavily at all I recited. When it grew late, and she and I were the only ones left waking, I asked what made her sigh so. This she said to me; ‘It is all fading. The greatness of the world. Patrick and his followers have taken it all away.’ I tried to comfort her, to say that the seasons would turn, and the great would rise again, but she would not hear me.
“’All gone,’ she said again. “The secrets of the earth and the future, all gone. Fionn mac Cumhail sleeps and will not wake for there is no deed great enough for him to do. The prophets have all lost their sight. None honor the priest and priestess. My own sister was called away to the druid’s grove, and for years she did what was needful that we might prosper and be safe. What is she now? A wizened thing in her hut where the river Balidoire meets the bog, and none will bring her from that lonely spot for the comfort of her age.’ I asked the name of this sister, so I would know her if ever I met her, and was told her name was Lasair Ui Fian.”
Merlin was silent for a long time after that. He gazed at the stars, gold, blue, red and blinding white, their graceful, curving trail and mighty patterns all froze above him. “Thank you,” he said at last, to the bard and the stars. Bard Ailfrid looked steadily at him, waiting. “What might I give you in return for such a good answer?”
The bard smiled and he drank his mead and ate of his meat. “Answer for answer, Merlin,” he said. He folded his arms and rested them on his knees. “Her words have weighed on me since that day. You have eyes that see. Is it true what she said, that all the greatness is gone from the world?”
Merlin did not even need to look to the heavens for his answer. “It is not true. Great kings are yet to come, and long are the tales that are to be told in the world. It is written that my king, Uther Pendragon, will bring forth the greatest age of heroes the Britons shall ever know. Not one year shall go by from now until the end of days that its tales are not told.”
“Well.” The bard drained his mug and then stretched his long legs. “I am glad to hear it. I had thought my days short.” He spoke lightly, but Merlin heard more beneath the bard’s words. It was not tales he was concerned of, it was the hearts and heights of men, for such are the charges of even the least of the bards. But Ailfrid smiled, setting that away for simple pride of his people. “And if such an age comes to pass for the Britons, then how much greater will the men of Eire be? We may even wake Fionn mac Cumhail with the thunder of our striding across the world!”
Both la
ughed at this, making the hound raise his head and prick up his ears. Merlin touched the bard on the shoulder. “Walk your ways, Bard Ailfrid. Hear the stories and speak them with a full heart. And if ever you feel cramped on this green isle, come find me across the waters. I will show you the greatness I have seen there with the father of dragons.”
Ailfrid looked at him for a thoughtful moment and for that moment, Merlin could not read what was in the other man’s heart. “Perhaps I will,” said the bard. “If only to return home and sing of these great heroics your King Uther is to bring forth.” Ailfrid stood, taking his harp tenderly into his arms. “I wish you well in your errand, Merlin Ambrosius, but perhaps you’ll accept one word from me.”
Merlin spread his hands. “And what word is that?”
“My kind must go about on foot, and here is a thing we all learn; be sure you’ve looked long and hard at the path where you step before you declare you know your way along it.”
With these words, the bard took his harp back into the king’s house. Merlin sat awhile beneath the stars, pondering the lights and the words, and the errand which brought him there.
*****
Jim Baen’s Universe Page 40