by Mary Stewart
"Harping?" he asked, with a lift of the lip.
"Harping," I said blandly. "Also reading and writing — I did the man's accounts for him. When he came back north he wanted me to stay with him, but I didn't want to come back. Didn't dare," I added, disarmingly frank. "It wasn't hard to find a place in a religious house. Oh, no, I was too young to be anything but a layman. To tell you the truth, I quite enjoyed it; it's a very peaceful life. I've been busy helping them to write out copies of a history of the fall of Troy." His expression made me want to laugh, and I looked down at my cup again. It was good ware, Samian, with a high gloss, and the potter's mark was clear. A.M. Ambrosius made me, I thought suddenly, and smoothed the letters gently with my thumb as I finished for Dinias the account of the five harmless years spent by his bastard cousin. "I worked there until the rumours started coming in from home. I didn't pay much heed to them at first — rumours were always flying. But when we knew that it was true about Camlach's death, and then Vortimer's, I began to wonder what might have happened in Maridunum. I knew I had to see my mother again."
"You're going to stay here?"
"I doubt it. I like Cornwall, and I have a home there of a sort."
"Then you'll become a priest?"
I shrugged. "I hardly know yet. It's what they always meant me for, after all. Whatever the future is there, my place here is gone — if I ever had one. And I'm certainly no warrior."
He grinned at that. "Well, you never were, exactly, were you? And the war here isn't over; it's hardly begun, let me tell you." He leaned across the table confidentially, but the movement knocked his cup so that it rocked, and the wine washed up to the rim. He grabbed and steadied it. "Nearly spilled that, and the wine's nearly out again. Not bad stuff, eh? What about another?"
"If you like. But you were saying — ?"
"Cornwall, now. I've always thought I'd like to go there. What are they saying there about Ambrosius?"
The wine was already talking. He had forgotten to be confidential; his voice was loud, and I saw one or two heads turn in our direction.
He took no notice. "Yes, I imagine you'd hear down there, if there was any news to hear. They say that's where he'll land, eh?"
"Oh," I said easily, "there's talk all the time. There has been for years, you know how it is. He hasn't come yet, so your guess is as good as mine."
"Like a bet on it?" I saw he had reached into the pouch at his waist and brought out a pair of dice, which he tossed idly from hand to hand. "Come on, give you a game?"
"No, thanks. At any rate, not here. Look, Dinias, I'll tell you what, we'll get another flask, or two if you like, and go home and drink them there?"
"Home?" He sneered, loose-lipped. "Where's that? An empty palace?"
He was still talking loudly, and from across the room I noticed someone watching us. Nobody I knew. Two men in dark clothes, one with fringe of black beard, the other thin-faced and red-headed, with a long nose like a fox. Welshmen, by the look of them. They had a flask on a stool in front of them, and cups in their hands, but the flask had been at the same level now for a good half hour. I glanced at Dinias. I judged he had reached the stage now of being disposed either to friendly confidences or a loud quarrel. To insist on leaving now might be to provoke that quarrel, and if we were being watched, and if the crowd near the door were indeed Vortigern's men, it would be better to stay here and talk quietly than to take my cousin out into the street, and perhaps be followed. What, after all, did a mention of Ambrosius' name matter? It would be on every man's lips, and if, as seemed likely, rumours had been flying more thickly than usual of late, everyone, Vortigern's friends and enemies alike, would be discussing them.
Dinias had dropped the dice on the table, and was pushing them here and there with a reasonably steady forefinger. At least they would give us an excuse for a heads-together session in our corner. And dice might take his attention off the wine flask.
I brought out a handful of small coins. "Look, if you really want a game. What can you put on the table?"
As we played I was conscious that Blackbeard and the foxy man were listening. The Saxons near the door seemed harmless enough; most of them were three parts drunk already, and talking too loudly among themselves to pay attention to anyone else. But Blackbeard seemed to be interested.
I threw the dice. Five and four. Too good; I wanted Dinias to win something. I could hardly offer him money to get him behind the curtain with a girl. Meanwhile, to put Blackbeard off the scent...
I said, not loudly, but very clearly: "Ambrosius, is it? Well, you know the rumours. I've heard nothing definite about him, only the usual stories that have been going the rounds these ten years. Oh, yes, men say he'll come to Cornwall, or Maridunum, or London, or Avon-mouth — you can take your pick... Your throw." Blackbeard's attention had shifted. I leaned closer to watch Dinias' throw, and lowered my voice. "And if he did come now, what would happen? You'll know this better than I. Would what's left of the West rise for him, or stand loyal to Vortigern?"
"The West would go up in flames. It's done that already, God knows. Double or quits? Flames like the night you left. God, how I laughed! Little bastard sets the place on fire and goes. Why did you? That's mine, double five. Throw you again."
"Right. Why did I go, you mean? I told you, I was afraid of Camlach."
"I didn't mean that. I mean why did you set the place on fire? Don't tell me it was an accident, because I don't believe you."
"It was a funeral pyre. I lit it because they killed my servant."
He stared, the dice for a moment still in his hands. "You fired the King's palace for a slave?"
"Why not? I happened to like my servant better than I liked Camlach."
He gave me a slightly fuddled look, and threw. A two and a four. I scooped back a couple of coins.
"Damn you," said Dinias, "you've no right to win, you've enough already. All right, again. Your servant, indeed! You've a mighty high tone for a bastard playing at being a scribe in a priest's cell."
I grinned. "You're a bastard, too, remember, dear cousin."
"Maybe, but at least I know who my father was."
"Keep your voice down, people are listening. All right, throw you again."
A pause while the dice rattled. I watched them rather anxiously. So far, they had tended to fall my way. How useful it would be, I thought, if power could be brought to bear on such small things; it would take no effort, and make the way smoother. But I had begun to learn that in fact power made nothing smoother; when it came it was like having a wolf by the throat. Sometimes I had felt like that boy in the old myth who harnessed the horses of the sun and rode the world like a god until the power burned him to death. I wondered if I would ever feel the flames again.
The dice fell from my very human fingers. A two and a one. No need to have the power if you could have the luck. Dinias gave a grunt of satisfaction and gathered them up, while I slid some coins towards him. The game went on. I lost the next three throws, and the heap beside him grew respectably. He was relaxing. No one was paying us any attention; that had been imagination. It was time, perhaps, for a few more facts.
"Where's the King now?" I asked.
"Eh? Oh, aye, the King. He's been gone from here nearly a month. Moved north as soon as the weather slackened and the roads were open."
"To Caer'n-ar-Von, you said — Segontium?"
"Did I? Oh, well, I suppose he calls that his base, but who'd want to be caught in that corner between Y Wyddfa and the sea? No, he's building himself a new stronghold, they say. Did you say you'd get another flask?"
"Here it comes. Help yourself, I've had enough. A stronghold, you said? Where?"
"What? Oh, yes. Good wine, this. I don't rightly know where he's building, somewhere in Snowdon. Told you. Dinas Brenin... they call it... Or would, if he could get it built."
"What's stopping him? Is there still trouble up there? Vortimer's faction still, or something new? They're saying in Cornwall that he's got thi
rty thousand Saxons at his back."
"At his back, on both sides — Saxons everywhere, our King has. But not with him. With Hengist — and Hengist and the King aren't seeing eye to eye. Oh, he's beset, is Vortigern, I can tell you!" Fortunately he was speaking quietly, his words lost in the rattle of dice and the uproar around us. I think he had half forgotten me. He scowled down at the table as he threw. "Look at that. The bloody things are ill-wished. Like King's Fort."
Somewhere the words touched a string of memory to a faint humming, as elusive and untraceable as a bee in the lime trees. I said casually, making my throw: "Ill-wished? How?"
"Hah, that's better. Should be able to beat that. Oh, well, you know these Northmen — if the wind blows colder one morning they say it's a dead spirit passing by. They don't use surveyors in that army, the soothsayers do it all. I heard he'd got the walls built four times to man height, and each time by next morning they'd cracked clear across... How's that?"
"Not bad. I couldn't beat it, I'm afraid. Did he put guards on?"
"Of course. They saw nothing."
"Well, why should they?" It seemed that the luck was against us both; the dice were as ill-wished for Dinias as the walls for Vortigern. In spite of myself I threw a pair of doubles. Scowling, Dinias pushed half his pile towards me. I said: "It only sounds as if he picked a soft place. Why not move?"
"He picked the top of a crag, as pretty a place to defend as you'll find in all Wales. It guards the valley north and south, and stands over the road just where the cliffs narrow both sides, and the road is squeezed right up under the crag. And damn it, there's been a tower there before. The locals have called it King's Fort time out of mind."
King's Fort... Dinas Brenin... The humming swelled clear into a memory. Birches bone-white against a milk-blue sky. The scream of a falcon. Two kings walking together, and Cerdic's voice saying, "Come down, and I'll cut you in on a dice game."
Before I even knew, I had done it, as neatly as Cerdic himself. I flicked the still turning dice with a quick finger. Dinias, up-ending the empty flask over his cup, never noticed. The dice settled. A two and a one. I said ruefully: "You won't have much trouble beating that."
He did beat it, but only just. He pulled the coins towards him with a grunt of triumph, then sprawled half across the table, his elbow in a pool of spilled wine. Even if I did manage, I thought, to let this drunken idiot win enough money off me, I would be lucky if I could get him even as far as the curtain leading to the brothel rooms. My throw again. As I shook the box I saw Cadal in the doorway, waiting to catch my eye. It was time to be gone. I nodded, and he withdrew. As Dinias glanced to see whom I had signalled to I threw again, and flicked a settling six over with my sleeve. One and three. Dinias made a sound of satisfaction and reached for the box.
"Tell you what," I said, "one more throw and we'll go. Win or lose, I'll buy another flask and we'll take it with us and drink it in my lodgings. We'll be more comfortable than here." Once I got him outside, I reckoned, Cadal and I could deal with him.
"Lodgings? I could have given you lodgings. Plenty of room there, you needn't have sent your man to look for lodgings. Got to be careful these days, you know. There. A pair of fives. Beat that if you can, Merlin the bastard!" He tipped the last of the wine down his throat, swallowed, and leaned back, grinning.
"I'll give you the game." I pushed the coins over to him, and made to stand up. As I looked round for the pot-boy to order the promised flask, Dinias slammed his hand down on the table with a crash. The dice jumped and rattled, and a cup went over, rolled, and smashed on the floor. Men stopped talking, staring.
"Oh, no, you don't! We'll play it out! Walk out just as the luck's turning again, would you? I'll not take that from you, or anyone else! Sit down and play, my bastard cousin —"
"Oh, for God's sake, Dinias —"
"All right, so I'm a bastard, too! All I can say is, better be the bastard of a king than a no-man's-child who never had a father at all!"
He finished with a hiccup, and someone laughed. I laughed too, and reached for the dice. "All right, we'll take them with us. I told you, win or lose, we'd take a flask home. We can finish the game there. It's time we drank one another into bed."
A hand fell on my shoulder, heavily. As I twisted to see who it was, someone came on my other side and gripped my arm. I saw Dinias stare upwards, gaping. Around us the drinkers were suddenly silent.
Blackbeard tightened his grip. "Quietly, young sir. We don't want a brawl, do we? Could we have a word with you outside?"
6
I GOT TO MY FEET. THERE WAS no clue in the staring faces round me. Nobody spoke.
"What's all this about?"
"Outside, if you please," repeated Blackbeard. "We don't want a —"
"I don't in the least mind having a brawl," I said crisply. "You'll tell me who you are before I'll go a step with you. And to start with, take your hands off me. Landlord, who are these men?"
"King's men, sir. You'd best do as they say. If you've got nothing to hide —"
" 'You've got nothing to fear'?" I said. "I know that one, and it's never true." I shoved Blackbeard's hand off my shoulder and turned to face him. I saw Dinias staring with his mouth slack. This, I supposed, was not the meek-voiced cousin he knew. Well, the time for that was past. "I don't mind these men hearing what you have to say. Tell me here. Why do you want to talk to me?"
"We were interested in what your friend here was saying."
"Then why not talk to him?"
Blackbeard said stolidly: "All in good time. If you'd tell me who you are, and where you come from — ?"
"My name is Emrys, and I was born here in Maridunum. I went to Cornwall some years ago, when I was a child, and now had a fancy to come home and hear the news. That's all."
"And this young man? He called you 'cousin'."
"That was a form of speech. We are related, but not nearly. You probably also heard him call me 'bastard'."
"Wait a minute." The new voice came from behind me, among the crowd. An elderly man with thin grey hair, nobody I recognized, pushed his way to the front. "I know him. He's telling the truth. Why, that's Myrddin Emrys, sure enough, that was the old King's grandson." Then to me, "You won't remember me, sir. I was your grandfather's steward, one of them. I tell you this" — he stretched his neck, like a hen, peering up at Blackbeard — "King's men or no King's men, you've no business to lay a hand on this young gentleman. He's told you the truth. He left Maridunum five years ago — that's right, five, it was the night the old King died — and nobody heard tell where he'd gone. But I'll take any oath you like he would never raise a hand against King Vortigern. Why, he was training to be a priest, and never took arms in his life. And if he wants a quiet drink with Prince Dinias, why, they're related, as he told you, and who else would he drink with, to get the news of home?" He nodded at me, kindly. "Yes, indeed, that's Myrddin Emrys, that's a grown man now instead of a little boy, but I'd know him anywhere. And let me tell you, sir, I'm mightily glad to see you safe. It was feared you'd died in the fire."
Blackbeard hadn't even glanced at him. He was directly between me and the door. He never took his eyes off me. "Myrddin Emrys. The old King's grandson." He said it slowly. "And a bastard? Whose son, then?"
There was no point in denying it. I had recognized the steward now. He was nodding at me, pleased with himself. I said: "My mother was the King's daughter, Niniane."
The black eyes narrowed. "Is this true?"
"Quite true, quite true." It was the steward, his goodwill to me patent in his pale stupid eyes.
Blackbeard turned to me again. I saw the next question forming on his lips. My heart was thumping, and I could feel the blood stealing up into my face. I tried to will it down.
"And your father?"
"I do not know." Perhaps he would only think that the blood in my face was shame.
"Speak carefully, now," said Blackbeard. "You must know. Who got you?"
"I do not know."
/>
He regarded me. "Your mother, the King's daughter. You remember her?"
"I remember her well."
"And she never told you? You expect us to believe this?"
I said irritably: "I don't care what you believe or what you don't believe. I'm tired of this. All my life people have asked me this question, and all my life people have disbelieved me. It's true, she never told me. I doubt if she told anyone. As far as I know, she may have been telling the truth when she said I was begotten of a devil." I made a gesture of impatience. "Why do you ask?"
"We heard what the other young gentleman said." His tone and look were stolid. — " 'Better to be a bastard and have a king for a father, than a no-man's-child who never had a father at all!'"
"If I take no offense why should you? You can see he's in his cups."
"We wanted to make sure, that's all. And now we've made sure. The King wants you."
"The King?" I must have sounded blank.
He nodded. "Vortigern. We've been looking for you for three weeks past. You're to go to him."
"I don't understand." I must have looked bewildered rather than frightened. I could see my mission falling round me in ruins, but with this was a mixture of confusion and relief. If they had been looking for me for three weeks, this surely could have nothing to do with Ambrosius.
Dinias had been sitting quietly enough in his corner. I thought that most of what was said had not gone through to him, but now he leaned forward, his hands flat on the wine-splashed table. "What does he want him for? Tell me that."
"You've no call to worry." Blackbeard threw it at him almost disdainfully. "It's not you he wants. But I'll tell you what, since it was you led us to him, it's you who should get the reward."
"Reward?" I asked. "What talk is this?"
Dinias was suddenly stone sober. "I said nothing. What do you mean?"
Blackbeard nodded. "It was what you said that led us to him."
"He was only asking questions about the family — he's been away," said my cousin. "You were listening. Anybody could have listened, we weren't keeping our voices down. By the gods, if we wanted to talk treason would we have talked it here?"