by Chris Tookey
“You’re a very naughty boy,” she said, mock-reproachfully. “I’m old enough to be your mother.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Wyrd, huskily. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Am I?” said the Queen, stretching languorously. “I suppose I am. But I fear that that’s just the drink talking.”
“No,” said Wyrd, “really it isn’t. I’d do anything for you.”
“Would you? Would you really?” asked the Queen.
A look of triumph stole over her face.
“Then it’s time I told you why I have brought you here.”
“My lady?”
“Somebody will have to kill the King,” she said, “with a silver spear. And that somebody is you.”
Wyrd was shocked. He hadn’t been sure where the evening had been heading, but he certainly hadn’t considered this option.
“Er, why me?”
“Obviously, Artorus would be my first choice,” said Queen Elinor; “he’s so much handier with weaponry. But it wouldn’t look good for the heir to the throne to kill his father. Really, it wouldn’t.”
“Er, I can see that.”
“Besides,” she continued, “the King trusts you. I’m sure that if he was quite right in the head – which of course he isn’t – he would do just as I am doing and select you to do the, as it were, dirty work.”
“But what would happen to me?”
“Well, obviously I could not be seen to reward you,” she said. “You would have to be executed.”
Even though the drink had made Wyrd willing to agree to anything, he still felt uncertain how to respond.
“Can I, er, think about this?”
“Of course,” said the Queen brightly. “We have two or possibly three months before any action will have to be taken. I simply wished you to be forewarned.”
Wyrd pondered. The choice was clear. Stay at Castle Otto, kill the King and be executed. Or flee the castle and take his chance in the outside world, where everything and everyone seemed determined to kill him.
The Queen smiled.
“And Uther, please don’t consider leaving the castle. I have left orders that, if you attempt to leave, you will be regarded as a traitor and executed.”
When Wyrd told Wenda, she smiled.
“You see?” said Wenda. “I told you she was evil.”
29
The Return of Merlin
In which Wyrd becomes re-acquainted with the smell of Drains
It was on the following day that Merlin made his reappearance, interrupting a recital of courtly music in the open air by Melisande and Beatrice. Both princesses were proficient, rather than talented, on the lute; and King Otto was just starting to nod off when the wizard arrived.
His entrance could not have been more different from his furtive arrival at the kitchen door many years previously. One of the guards spotted him miles off. He was riding a white unicorn, and as he drew closer he could be seen to be wearing robes of royal purple and a wizard’s hat of extravagant height.
He was accompanied by a small, unidentified flying object. As it grew nearer, it revealed itself to be a chubby unicorn pony with a diminutive figure on top of it, not three foot tall.
Both flying creatures landed right in front of King Otto and Queen Elinor as they sat on their thrones.
“King Otto!” said Merlin, dismounting and bowing so low that his hat fell off.
King Otto growled. The moon was not yet up, but he could feel his wolfishness returning.
Queen Elinor nudged him.
“Try not to growl, dear,” she said.
Queen Elinor put on her best, regal smile.
“Merlin! What a delightful surprise!” she said. “And who is your little friend?”
The small figure beside Merlin had dismounted from his pony and was surveying the multitude with undisguised contempt. Although he had a pink beard, he was unmistakably one of the dwarven race: short and surly.
“Little friend!” he grumbled.
“This, Your Majesty, is Drains,” said Merlin.
“So pleased to meet you, Brains,” said Queen Elinor.
“Not Brains, Your Majesty, Drains,” said Merlin.
“Why doesn’t she wash her ears out?” muttered Drains.
“A curious name,” said the Queen, with a forced expression of civility. She had heard very well what the dwarf had said but was determined to preserve her most regal manner.
“It’s a nickname,” said the dwarf. “It’s because of the way I smell.”
Indeed, it was noticeable that those nearest the dwarf were starting to edge away, and some of those closest were even holding their noses.
“How quaint,” said the Queen.
King Otto descended from his throne and began circling first the wizard, then Drains. Queen Elinor cleared her throat warningly as the King started to drool and sniff Drains’ bottom.
“You’re looking well, Merlin,” she said brightly. “To what do we owe the honour of your visit?”
“I come with an invitation from the High King Vortigern,” said Merlin.
“You mean Vitalinus,” mumbled King Otto, wiping some drool off his chin, “that slimy son of a snake.”
“An invitation!” exclaimed the Queen hurriedly. “What to?”
“A wedding,” said Merlin.
“How exciting!” said the Queen, adding under her breath to King Otto, “Perhaps we should have invited him to ours.”
Merlin cleared his throat.
“I come from His Royal Majesty the High King Vortigern, formerly known as Vitalinus the Thin, who wishes to inform you that his son is of a mind to marry. To strengthen the bond between his great kingdom and your own, he wishes you to send one of your fair daughters to his court, where she will wed his oldest son, Catigern Artorus the Mighty. Being of advancing years, the High King Vortigern is anxious for his son to marry and bring forth heirs as soon as possible.”
“What’s in it for us?” asked King Otto, with the brusqueness that had become an even more salient part of his character since being bitten by a werewolf.
“What’s in it for you?” mused Merlin. “The knowledge that the Atlantean bloodline will be maintained and that your daughter’s sons will be Kings of all Albion.”
King Otto grunted, non-committally.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
“Have you not heard of the prophecy?” asked Merlin.
“Indeed we have,” replied Queen Elinor. “Which is one reason why we have married our son Artorus to the Princess Morgana. Is that not so, Osprey?”
“Indeed it is, ma’am,” said Osprey, stepping out from behind the throne to face Merlin, and adding icily, “Good day, brother.”
“Good day to you too, brother,” said Merlin amiably. “And what do you understand the prophecy says?”
Osprey cleared his throat and began to recite from memory:
“When the purple blood of Atlantis
Meets the crimson blood of the Hun,
Arthur shall reign over Albion
And all kings shall bow unto one.”
“The meaning is clear,” said Queen Elinor. “The marriage of Prince Artorus of the Atlantean line to Princess Morgana, the daughter of a Roman empress and Attila the Hun, fulfils the prophecy. The only doubt is whether the ruler of all Albion is to be Artorus himself or his son.”
“That is certainly one possible interpretation,” acknowledged Merlin, “but the High King Vortigern has another. He believes that the prophecy speaks of The One, rather than The Hun.”
“And who, pray, is The One?” inquired Osprey superciliously.
“Why, he is, of course,” replied Merlin. “That is why he has it in mind for his crimson blood to merge with your purple blood and produce the ruler of all Albion.�
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“And how long has he known of this prophecy?” inquired Osprey.
“Not long,” said Merlin.
“And who told him of it?” asked Osprey.
“I did,” said Merlin. “I wrote a book about it once.”
“I have read it,” said Osprey, “and it refers quite specifically to The Hun – not The One.”
“Ah, but if you examine the book closely,” replied Merlin, “you will see that the person who recorded that prophecy was Bishop Ambrose of Milan, who was well known for his deafness. It is entirely possible that Bishop Ambrose, whose mind may well have been on the invading Huns, misheard the Oracle of Delphi and mistakenly substituted the word Hun for One.”
“You really believe that?” asked Osprey.
“I’m not sure if I believe it,” said Merlin, “but King Vitalinus – I mean the High King Vortigern – certainly does. He has, of course, known of a prophecy along those lines for some time. That is why he took the precaution of giving all his sons Artorus as a second name.”
“It’s all poppycock!” muttered Osprey.
“That will do, Osprey,” said Queen Elinor. “Thank you so much, Merlin, for these interesting tidings.”
“So, am I to understand,” growled the King, “that our son Artorus is now merely one of a number of young princes all calling themselves Artorus and all claiming to be the future King of all Albion?”
“You are correct, sire,” agreed Merlin. “Vortigern has two sons, Catigern and Paschent, both with Artorus as a second name; and I understand that even the High King’s principal rival has had himself rechristened Artorus, to be on the safe side.”
“You mean my brother, Aurelius,” said Queen Elinor.
“I do,” said Merlin.
“Four!” snarled the King. “That’s too many Arthurs!”
“Time will tell which is the true Arthur,” said Merlin, allowing his eyes to flick sideways and fasten on Wyrd. “I am keeping an open mind.”
The Queen had become used to handling the diplomatic side of government, now that so much of her husband’s conversation consisted of growls. She nudged her husband.
“You might look more cheerful, my dear,” she said. “This Catigern Artorus sounds an excellent match for Melisande.”
King Otto shifted uneasily on his throne.
“I think we should think about it first,” he said. “Perhaps little Beatrice would be more suitable. I happen to know that Melisande has other ideas.”
“Oh yes, Father!” cried Beatrice, clapping her hands. “Please let me marry Catigern the Mighty! Do tell me I can be the Queen of all Albion! Please! Please!”
“Steady, Beatrice,” said King Otto.
Melisande, who had been listening to the proceedings with interest, broke in.
“But, Father, Beatrice is a mere child! A fine Queen of all Albion she would make!”
“Still,” muttered her father sotto voce, “you are already spoken for, Melisande…”
“I know, Father, but you are always telling me I should think of others before myself. I am merely thinking about Beatrice’s true welfare.”
“Of course you are, my dear,” said Queen Elinor, with a quizzical look on her face. “And everyone knows the sisterly love you bear towards her.”
“She’s spoilt enough as it is,” snapped Melisande. “If I had to stand up whenever Beatrice entered the room, and sit on a footstool while she lolled about on a throne, why… it would be the child’s ruin.”
“Certainly,” said King Otto, “it would be hard on you to have a younger sister that ranked above you.”
“Oh, Father!” exclaimed Melisande. “I see what you are saying! That I must overcome my private inclinations and marry Vortigern’s son and likely successor for the sake of our kingdom!”
“My dear, I merely said…”
“For you have seen, with that sagacity I have always admired in you, Father, that I would know how to manage this Catigern and rule over all Albion, with you to give me counsel whensoever I needed it.”
“My dear,” said King Otto, shaking his head, “I fear I am not long for this world…”
“No, no, Father!” cried Melisande, pressing a finger to his lips. “I would never argue with you, for I know you are so very much wiser than I.”
King Otto thought for a moment. He looked across at Wyrd, then back at Melisande. And he saw that Melisande had already dismissed Wyrd as a prospective husband.
“I’m not going to stand in your way,” he said.
And here King Otto bent and whispered in his daughter’s ear, so that the Queen could not hear.
“But what are you going to say to Uther?”
“Father,” she whispered back, “I am sure that Uther too will be noble, self-sacrificing and, above all, sensible about it.”
“I thought you were in love with him,” whispered the King.
“Love and marriage are two very different things, as you of all people should know, Father,” whispered Melisande. “And I am sure that after I am married you may see fit to send Uther to Vortigern’s court on some diplomatic mission or other. And I am sure that he and I will remain the closest and most intimate of friends without, of course, ever causing the slightest whiff of scandal.”
“Very well,” barked the King. “Prince Catigern shall have the hand of my eldest daughter in marriage!”
Wyrd heard the cheering with mixed emotions. He felt betrayed and, at the same time, curiously relieved. And Beatrice looked very, very cross. She crossed her arms in front of her and scowled.
Merlin managed a weak smile but remained before the throne, shifting uncomfortably from one leg to the other.
“Is there anything else?” inquired the Queen. “We haven’t got all day.”
She cast a nervous look up at the sky. There was still no sign of the moon, but it could not be delayed by many hours.
“Yes, Your Majesty, I’m afraid there is,” said Merlin. “I regret to say that I have been ordered by the High King to go around all the minor kings of Albion and demand the payment of a protection tax.”
“A protection tax?” the Queen repeated icily.
“Minor kings?” said King Otto.
He emitted so lengthy and guttural a growl that Wyrd wondered if the old man was turning into a wolf already. He looked up, but the sun was still high in the sky.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Merlin. “In return for the High King’s agreement not to invade your lands, each king of Albion is to pay him a thousand crowns immediately, and a half of everything they earn for their exchequer from this year forward.”
“That’s monstrous!” exclaimed King Otto, recovering his powers of speech. “Daylight robbery!”
“Not only this,” continued Merlin, clearly determined to get any unpleasantness over with as quickly as possible, “each monarch is to send the High King his eldest son straight away, as warranty that these taxes will be paid promptly and in full.”
Wyrd looked across at Prince Artorus. Wyrd could see that Artorus’s mind was working hard to assimilate all this new information. His lips were moving, which was always a telltale sign.
“And what, my Lord Merlin,” said Queen Elinor softly, “would happen if there were to be any delay in our taxes reaching King Vitalinus – I mean the High King Vortigern?”
“Why then, Your Majesty, the life of your eldest son would be forfeit.”
“So, let me get this right,” said King Otto. “That untrustworthy old stoat Vitalinus wants our son to be his hostage, and he’s going to bally well kill him if we don’t pay up on time.”
“Elegantly put, Your Majesty,” said Merlin, with another deep bow, “though I would advise you not to call the High King Vortigern Vitalinus to his face. He prefers now to be addressed only as Vortigern. The last minor king to address him as Vitalinus – I
don’t know if you know him: Victor of the Votadini? – ended up with his head on a spike.”
King Otto appeared to be going red with fury at the thought of being designated a ‘minor’ king, but Queen Elinor put a restraining hand over her husband’s clenched fists.
“I am sure that something can be arranged,” she said sweetly. “But tell me, Merlin, how long have we the pleasure of your company?”
“Alas, I must leave in the morning,” said Merlin. “For I still have one more kingdom to visit. Cunomor of Dumnonia.”
“But Cunomor pays tribute to me,” said King Otto.
“Not anymore,” said Merlin. “King Vortigern has confiscated his castle at Tintagel.”
“What?” roared King Otto. “Has Cunomor abandoned it without a fight?”
“He would have been unwise to put up any resistance,” opined Merlin. “Besides, the High King has allowed Cunomor to keep his smaller palace at Castle Dore.”
“But Tintagel! That means Vitalinus – Vortigern – has control of all the maritime trade in the west of Albion. He could blockade the whole of Atlantis if he wished!”
“Very true, Your Majesty,” said Merlin. “And all the more reason to agree to whatever he may ask.”
“Damnation!” cursed King Otto, turning his back on the magician.
“We shall see to it that your unicorns are fed and watered,” said the Queen, more politely.
“No, I’ll see to that,” said Drains abruptly.
Drains turned to Merlin and muttered out of the side of his mouth:
“I’d trust this lot about as far as I can spit a goat. Which way to the stables?”
Merlin pointed, and Drains led the unicorns away.
“I shall be leaving Drains behind with you,” said Merlin. “He is an excellent guide and will ensure that the prince and princess reach Tintagel safely.”
“That depends on whether we decide to do as the High King commands,” said Queen Elinor, with a stare that might have felled a dragon at twenty paces. “In the meantime, I trust you will join us for dinner tonight. And tomorrow we shall give you our reply.”
“You are most kind, Your Majesty,” said Merlin, bowing. “And now, if you will excuse me, I must visit an old friend of mine…”