The Winter King

by Bernard Cornwell

  It was Merlin, who could change like no other man. He loved to pretend, to confuse and to deceive. He could be abrupt, mischievous, patient or lordly, but this day he had chosen to appear in stark, cold majesty. There was no smile on his dark face, no hint of joy in his deep eyes, just a look of such arrogant authority that the men closest to him instinctively sank to their knees and even King Gorfyddyd, who a moment before had been ready to thrust the sword into my neck, lowered the blade. ‘You speak for this man, Lord Merlin?’ Gorfyddyd asked.

  ‘Are you deaf, Gorfyddyd?’ Merlin snapped. ‘Derfel Cadarn shall live. He shall be your honoured guest. He shall eat of your food and drink of your wine. He shall sleep in your beds and take your slave women if he desires. Derfel Cadarn and Galahad of Benoic are under my protection.’ He turned to stare at the whole hall, daring any man to oppose him. ‘Derfel Cadarn and Galahad of Benoic are under my protection!’ he repeated, and this time he raised his black staff and you could feel the warriors quake beneath its threat. ‘Without Derfel Cadarn and Galahad of Benoic,’ Merlin said, ‘there would be no Knowledge of Britain. I would be dead in Benoic and you would all be doomed to slavery under Saxon rule.’ He turned back to Gorfyddyd. ‘They need food. And stop staring at me, Derfel,’ he added without even looking at me.

  I had been staring at him, as much with astonishment as with relief, but I was also wondering just what Merlin was doing in this citadel of the enemy. Druids, of course, were free to travel where they liked, even in enemy territory, but his presence at Caer Sws at such a time seemed strange and even dangerous, for though Gorfyddyd’s men were cowed by the Druid’s presence they were also resentful of his interference and some, safe at the hall’s rear, growled that he should mind his own business.

  Merlin turned on them. ‘My business,’ he said in a low voice that nevertheless stopped the small protest dead, ‘is the care of your souls and if I care to drown those souls in misery then you will wish your mothers had never given birth. Fools!’ This last word was snapped loudly and accompanied by a gesture from the staff that made the armoured men struggle down to their knees. None of the kings dared to intervene as Merlin swept the staff to give one of the skulls hanging from a pillar a sharp crack. ‘You pray for victory!’ Merlin said. ‘But over what? Over your kin and not your enemies! Your enemies are Saxons. For years we suffered under Roman rule, but at last the Gods saw fit to take the Roman vermin away and what do we do? We fight among ourselves and let a new enemy take our land, rape our women and harvest our corn. So fight your war, fools, fight it and win, and still you shall not have victory.’

  ‘But my daughter will be avenged,’ Gorfyddyd said behind Merlin.

  ‘Your daughter, Gorfyddyd,’ Merlin said, turning, ‘will avenge her own hurt. You want to know her fate?’ He asked the question mockingly, but answered it soberly and in a voice that had the lilt of a prophetic utterance. ‘She will never be high and she will never be low, but she will be happy. Her soul, Gorfyddyd, is blessed, and if you had the sense of a flea you would be content with that.’

  ‘I shall be content with Arthur’s skull,’ Gorfyddyd said defiantly.

  ‘Then go and fetch it,’ Merlin said scornfully, then plucked me by the elbow. ‘Come, Derfel, and enjoy your enemy’s hospitality.’

  He led us out of the hall, walking unconcernedly through the iron and leather ranks of the enemy. The warriors watched us resentfully, but there was nothing they could do to stop us leaving nor to prevent us taking one of Gorfyddyd’s guest chambers that Merlin had evidently been using himself. ‘So Tewdric wants peace, does he?’ he asked us.

  ‘Yes, Lord,’ I answered.

  ‘Tewdric would. He’s a Christian so he thinks he knows better than the Gods.’

  ‘And you know the minds of the Gods, Lord?’ Galahad asked.

  ‘I believe the Gods hate to be bored, so I do my best to amuse them. That way they smile on me. Your God,’ Merlin said sourly, ‘despises amusement, demanding grovelling worship instead. He must be a very sorry creature. He’s probably rather like Gorfyddyd, endlessly suspicious and foully jealous of his reputation. Aren’t you both lucky that I was here?’ He grinned at us, suddenly and mischievously, and I saw how much he had enjoyed his public humiliation of Gorfyddyd. Part of Merlin’s reputation was made by his performances; some Druids, like Iorweth, worked quietly, others, like Tanaburs, relied on a sinister wiliness, but Merlin liked to dominate and dazzle, and humbling an ambitious king was as pleasurable to him as it was instinctive.

  ‘Is Ceinwyn really blessed?’ I asked him.

  He looked astonished at the unexpected question. ‘Why should it matter to you? But she’s a pretty girl, and I confess that pretty girls are a weakness of mine so I shall weave her a charm of bliss. I did the same for you once, Derfel, though not because you are pretty.’ He laughed, then glanced through the window to judge the length of the sun’s shadows. ‘I must be on my way soon.’

  ‘What brought you here, Lord?’ Galahad asked.

  ‘I needed to talk to Iorweth,’ Merlin said, looking around to make sure that he had collected all his belongings. ‘He might be a bumbling idiot, but he does possess the odd scrap of knowledge I might have momentarily forgotten. He proved knowledgeable about the Ring of Eluned. I have it somewhere.’ He patted the pockets sewn into the lining of his robe. ‘Well, I did have it,’ he said carelessly, though I suspected the indifference was merely a pretence.

  ‘What is the Ring of Eluned?’ Galahad asked.

  Merlin scowled at my friend’s ignorance, then decided to indulge it. ‘The Ring of Eluned,’ he announced grandly, ‘is one of the Thirteen Treasures of Britain. We’ve always known about the Treasures, of course – at least, those of us who recognize the true Gods,’ he added pointedly, glancing at Galahad, ‘but none of us were sure what their real power was.’

  ‘And the scroll told you?’ I asked.

  Merlin smiled wolfishly. His long white hair was neatly bound in black ribbon at the back of his neck while his beard was plaited in tight pigtails. ‘The scroll,’ he said, ‘confirmed everything I either suspected or knew, and it even suggested one or two new scraps of knowledge. Ah, here it is.’ He had been searching his pockets for the Ring which he now produced. To me the treasure looked like any ordinary warrior’s ring made of iron, but Merlin held it in his palm as though it was the greatest jewel of Britain. ‘The Ring of Eluned,’ Merlin said, ‘forged in the Otherworld at the beginning of time. Piece of metal really, nothing special.’ He tossed it to me and I made a hasty catch. ‘By itself,’ Merlin said, ‘the Ring has no power. None of the Treasures has power by themselves. The Mantle of Invisibility won’t make you invisible, any more than the Horn of Bran Galed sounds any better than any other hunting horn. By the way, Derfel, did you fetch Nimue?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well done. I thought you would. Interesting place, the Isle of the Dead, don’t you think? I go there when I need some stimulating company. Where was I? Oh, yes, the Treasures. Worthless rubbish, really. You wouldn’t give the Coat of Padarn to a beggar, not if you were kind, yet it’s still one of the Treasures.’

  ‘Then what use are they?’ Galahad asked. He had taken the Ring from me, but now handed it back to the Druid.

  ‘They command the Gods, of course,’ Merlin snapped, as though the answer should have been obvious. ‘By themselves they’re tawdry nothings, but put them all together and you can have the Gods hopping like frogs. It isn’t enough just to gather the Treasures, of course,’ he added hastily, ‘there are one or two other rituals that are needed. And who knows if it will all work? No one has ever tried, so far as I know. Is Nimue well?’ he asked me earnestly.

  ‘She is now.’

  ‘You sound resentful! You think I should have gone to fetch her? My dear Derfel, I am quite busy enough without running around Britain after Nimue! If the girl can’t cope with the Isle of the Dead then what earthly use is she?’

  ‘She could have died,’ I accused him, thi
nking of the ghouls and cannibals of the Isle.

  ‘Of course she could! What’s the point of an ordeal if there’s no danger? You do have infantile ideas, Derfel.’ Merlin shook his head pityingly, then slipped the Ring on to one of his long bony fingers. He stared solemnly at us, and we each waited awestruck for some manifestation of supernatural power, but after a few ominous seconds Merlin just laughed at our expressions. ‘I told you!’ he said, ‘the Treasures are nothing special.’

  ‘How many of the Treasures do you have?’ Galahad asked.

  ‘Several,’ Merlin answered evasively, ‘but even if I had twelve of the thirteen I would still be in trouble unless I could find the thirteenth. And that, Derfel, is the missing Treasure. The Cauldron of Clyddno Eiddyn. Without the Cauldron we are lost.’

  ‘We’re lost anyway,’ I said bitterly.

  Merlin peered at me as though I was being particularly obtuse. ‘The war?’ he said after a few seconds. ‘Is that why you came here? To plead for peace! What fools the two of you are! Gorfyddyd doesn’t want peace. The man’s a brute. He has the brains of an ox and a not very clever ox at that. He wants to be High King, which means he has to rule Dumnonia.’

  ‘He says he’ll leave Mordred on the throne,’ Galahad said.

  ‘Of course he says that!’ Merlin said scornfully. ‘What else would he say? But the minute he gets his hands on that wretched child’s neck he’ll wring it like a chicken, and a good thing too.’

  ‘You want Gorfyddyd to win?’ I asked, appalled.

  He sighed. ‘Derfel, Derfel,’ he said, ‘you’re so like Arthur. You think the world is simple, that good is good and bad is bad, that up is up and down is down. You ask what I want? I tell you what I want. I want the Thirteen Treasures, and I shall use them to bring the Gods back to Britain and then I shall command them to restore Britain to the blessed condition it enjoyed before the Romans came. No more Christians’ – he pointed a finger at Galahad – ‘and no Mithraists either’ – he pointed at me – ‘just the people of the Gods in the country of the Gods. That, Derfel, is what I want.’

  ‘Then what of Arthur?’ I asked.

  ‘What of him? He’s a man, he’s got a sword, he can look after himself. Fate is inexorable, Derfel. If fate means Arthur to win this war then it doesn’t matter if Gorfyddyd masses the armies of the world against him. If I had nothing better to do then I confess I would help Arthur, because I like him, but fate has decreed that I am an old man, increasingly feeble and possessed of a bladder like a leaking waterskin, and I must therefore husband my waning energies.’ He proclaimed this pathetic state in a vigorous tone. ‘Even I cannot win Arthur’s wars, heal Nimue’s mind and discover the Treasures all at the same time. Of course, if I find that saving Arthur’s life helps me find the Treasures, then be assured I shall come to the battle. But otherwise?’ He shrugged, as though the war was of no importance to him. Nor, I suppose, was it. He turned to the small window and peered at the three stakes that had been erected in the compound. ‘You’ll stay to see the formalities, I hope?’

  ‘Should we?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course you should, if Gorfyddyd allows you. All experience is useful, however ugly. I’ve performed the rites often enough, so I won’t stay to be amused, but be assured you will be safe here. I shall turn Gorfyddyd into a slug if he touches a hair of your foolish heads, but for now I have to go. Iorweth thinks there’s an old woman on the Demetian border who might remember something useful. If she’s alive, of course, and kept her memory. I do hate talking to old women; they’re so grateful for company that they never stop chattering and never keep to the subject either. What a prospect. Tell Nimue I look forward to seeing her!’ And with those words he was out of the door and striding across the fort’s inner compound.

  The sky clouded that afternoon and a grey ugly drizzle soaked the fort before evening. The Druid Iorweth came to us and assured us we were safe, but tactfully suggested that we would strain Gorfyddyd’s reluctant hospitality if we attended the evening’s feast that marked the last gathering of Gorfyddyd’s allies and chiefs before the men at Caer Sws marched south to join the rest of the army at Branogenium. We assured Iorweth we had no wish to attend the feast. The Druid smiled his thanks, then sat on a bench beside the door. ‘You’re friends of Merlin?’ he asked.

  ‘Lord Derfel is,’ Galahad said.

  Iorweth rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was old, with a friendly, mild face and a bald head on which a ghost of a tonsure showed just above each ear. ‘I cannot help thinking,’ he said, ‘that my brother Merlin expects too much of the Gods. He believes the world can be made anew and that history can be rubbed out like a line drawn in the mud. Yet it isn’t so.’ He scratched at a louse in his beard, then looked at Galahad, who wore a cross about his neck. He shook his head. ‘I envy your Christian God. He is three and He is one, He is dead and He is alive, He is everywhere and He is nowhere, and He demands that you worship Him, but claims nothing else is worthy of worship. There’s room in those contradictions for a man to believe in anything or nothing, but not with our Gods. They are like kings, fickle and powerful,.and if they want to forget us, they do. It doesn’t matter what we believe, only what they want. Our spells only work when the Gods permit. Merlin disagrees, of course. He thinks that if we shout loud enough we’ll get their attention, but what do you do to a child who shouts?’

  ‘Give it attention?’ I suggested.

  ‘You hit it, Lord Derfel,’ Iorweth said. ‘You hit it until it is quiet. I fear Lord Merlin may shout too loud for too long.’ He stood and picked up his staff. ‘I apologize that you cannot eat with the warriors tonight, but the Princess Helledd says you are very welcome to dine with her household.’

  Helledd of Elmet was the wife of Cuneglas and her invitation was not necessarily a compliment. Indeed, the invitation could have been a measured insult devised by Gorfyddyd to imply that we were only fit to dine with women and children, but Galahad said we would be honoured to accept.

  And there, in Helledd’s small hall, was Ceinwyn. I had wanted to see her again, I had wanted it ever since Galahad had first ventured the suggestion that he make an embassy to Powys, and that was why I had made such strenuous efforts to accompany him. I had not come to Caer Sws to make peace, but to see Ceinwyn’s face again, and now, in the flickering rushlight of Helledd’s hall, I saw her.

  The years had not changed her. Her face was as sweet, her manner as demure, her hair as bright and her smile as lovely. When we entered the room she was fussing with a small child, trying to feed him scraps of apple. The child was Cuneglas’s son, Perddel. ‘I’ve told him if he won’t eat his apple then the horrid Dumnonians will take him away,’ she said with a smile. ‘I think he must want to go with you, for he won’t eat a thing.’

  Helledd of Elmet, Perddel’s mother, was a tall woman with a heavy jaw and pale eyes. She made us welcome, ordering a maidservant to pour us mead, then introduced us to two of her aunts, Tonwyn and Elsel, who looked at us resentfully. We had evidently interrupted a conversation they were relishing and the aunts’ sour glances suggested we should leave, but Helledd was more gracious. ‘Do you know the Princess Ceinwyn?’ she asked us.

  Galahad bowed to her, then squatted beside Perddel. He always liked children who, in turn, trusted him on sight. Before a moment had passed the two Princes were playing with the apple scraps as though they were foxes, with Perddel’s mouth the foxes’ den and Galahad’s fingers the hounds chasing the fox. The pieces of apple disappeared. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ Ceinwyn asked.

  ‘Because you weren’t raised by Galahad’s mother, Lady,’ I said, ‘who doubtless fed him in the same way. To this day he can’t eat unless someone sounds a hunting horn.’

  She laughed, then caught sight of the brooch I wore. She caught her breath, coloured, and for an instant I thought I had made a huge mistake. Then she smiled. ‘I should remember you, Lord Derfel?’

  ‘No, Lady. I was very young.’

  ‘And you kept it?’ she
asked, apparently astonished that anyone should treasure one of her gifts.

  ‘I kept it, Lady, even when I lost everything else.’

  The Princess Helledd interrupted us by asking what business had brought us to Caer Sws. I am sure she already knew, but it was politic for a princess to pretend that she was outside men’s council. I answered by saying we had been sent to determine whether war was inevitable. ‘And is it?’ the Princess asked with understandable worry, for on the morrow her husband would go south towards the enemy.

  ‘Sadly, Lady,’ I answered, ‘it seems so.’

  ‘It’s all Arthur’s fault,’ Princess Helledd said firmly and her aunts nodded vigorously.

  ‘I think Arthur would agree with you, Lady,’ I said, ‘and he regrets it.’

  ‘Then why does he fight us?’ Helledd wanted to know.

  ‘Because he is sworn to keep Mordred on the throne, Lady.’

  ‘My father-in-law would never dispossess Uther’s heir,’ Helledd said fiercely.

  ‘Lord Derfel almost lost his head through having this conversation this morning,’ Ceinwyn said mischievously.

  ‘Lord Derfel,’ Galahad intervened, looking up from the latest fox-chase, ‘kept his head because he is beloved by his Gods.’

  ‘Not by yours, Lord Prince?’ Helledd asked sharply.

  ‘My God loves everyone, Lady.’

  ‘He is indiscriminate, you mean?’ She laughed.

  We ate goose, chicken, hare and venison, and were served a villainous wine that must have been stored too long since it was brought to Britain. After the meal we moved to cushioned couches and a harpist played for us. The couches were furniture for a woman’s hall and both Galahad and I were uncomfortable on their low, soft beds, but I was happy enough for I had made sure I took the couch next to Ceinwyn. For a time I sat straight up, but then leaned on one elbow so I could talk softly to her. I complimented her on her betrothal to Gundleus.