The Merlin Chronicles: Box Set (All Three Novels)

by Daniel Diehl

  Thoroughly embarrassed, Beverley made the introductions.

  “Yes, Liz, the hunk is my husband. Jason, this is an old school chum of mine, Liz Trotter. Liz, this is Jason and this is…umm…Jason’s granddad, Merlin Carpenter.”

  Stepping quickly around Beverley, Liz sized up Merlin with a critical gaze but continued addressing her comments to her old friend.

  “Well, he certainly looks like a Merlin, bless him.” Grabbing the wide sleeve of Merlin’s gown, she gauged the fabric with her fingertips. “I see somebody isn’t new to Dark Age reenactment. You can’t be into Live Action Role Play, LARPers couldn’t care less about authenticity. Blimey but this is nice fabric. And every stitch hand sewn, too.” Finally she addressed Merlin for the first time, blurting out a flurry of questions. “This is all hand spun and woven, isn’t it? Do you know who did it? How long have you been doing Dark Ages?”

  The great wizard looked down at her, offering an amused smile. “Actually, I don’t know who made the fabric, but I can only assume the good lady has long since passed away. You see, I’ve been wearing this same robe for a very, very long time.”

  Beverley cleared her throat gently. “Um, actually Liz, that’s what we came to see you about.”

  “So you have decided to get into reenactment? You’ll love it. Such a break from the…”

  Beverley held up a hand, cutting off her excitable friend, trying to hold her attention.

  “We need some good quality Dark Age kit for me and Jason.”

  “Oh, not to worry, dearie. We can fix you right up. Follow me to the longhouse and we’ll get it sorted out in no time.” Turning a quick about-face, she offered an encompassing gesture for them to follow her but never broke her frantic flow of conversation. “So how did you know to come to me?”

  “You remember Betty Lewis? Well she does costumes for the Royal York Opera…”

  “Oh, lord, Betty’s a dear but you don’t want that stuff. Stage costumes; quick and easy, down and dirty. They look great on stage but they’re shite close up.”

  “That’s what Betty said, so she sent me to see you.”

  “She did the right thing. Some of these reenactors are so dedicated to their work that you can hardly tell their stuff from museum pieces. Oh, and here we are, the heart of Dark Age Murton Park.”

  Stepping around a bend in the plank walkway, they found themselves looking at a creditable replica of a Viking era longhouse. Stepping through the low, crude doorway they found themselves in a smoky, dimly lit room with a dirt floor. In the center of the room a low fire was crackling beneath a simmering iron pot, and on benches set against the crude log walls groups of men, women and children were engaged in a variety of ancient crafts. Some of the reenactors looked up curiously, others remained engrossed in their tasks, but all of them were used to the steady trickle of tourists who wandered through Murton Park for a small taste of the Dark Age experience. Most of the women wore dresses similar to the one Liz Trotter was wearing; simple ‘T’ shaped garments in a variety of earth tones or blue, some of them wore an armless over-dress with open sides, known as a surcoat. The men wore short, crotch-length tunics over a pair of crude trousers. Everyone wore slipper-like shoes made from soft leather and a narrow belt with a small, leather pouch suspended from it, much like the one slung from Merlin’s belt.

  “So what do you think you want? Will you be wanting something relatively simple to start out with, or are you going full bore?”

  Before Beverley could form an answer, Merlin interjected himself into the conversation. “They each want two complete sets of clothes, one for daily wear and another for feasts and celebrations. We want something appropriate to people who will be spending the majority of their time around royalty.” Taking a moment to collect his thoughts further, Merlin continued as though reciting a familiar shopping list. “And we all need shoes; sandals for myself but for Jason and Beverley, I think something that looks like what you’re wearing but with good hard soles.” In a rolling aside to Jason he muttered, “You would never get used to those soft soles, your feet are far too soft. And while we’re at it, I might as well have a new gown for myself – just replicate this one, if you would, my dear. I want everything made of cloth indistinguishable from what I’m wearing.”

  “You don’t mean you want it all real wool, hand spun and hand woven, surely?”

  “I most certainly do.”

  Liz’s eyebrows crawled upward toward her hairline. “You know that’s really going to cost you a pile, don’t you?”

  “I assumed as much. Oh, and, finally, we will want a small belt knife for each of them and a sword for Jason.”

  “We do?” Jason seemed genuinely stunned at the thought that he would be expected to carry a sword.

  “Of course, my boy. This is going to be a very different world than the one you’re used to and you don’t want to be mistaken for a peasant or a common laborer. Swords are a sign of high social status.”

  Liz raised her voice and called to a man at the far end of the room. “Oy, Colin, this lad wants a sword.”

  At her beckoning, a large, heavy-set man with a pendulous stomach and a mass of tousled, curly gray hair hoisted himself off of a bench near the wall and lumbered toward them, his right hand extended in greeting.

  “So, what kind of sword would you be wantin’? Somethin’ Saxon era, or somethin’ later?”

  “Actually, young man,” Merlin began, apparently knowing exactly what Jason should have. “He wants a Roman style short sword.”

  “Oh, a gladius style piece? Brilliant.”

  “I hate to correct you, young man, but gladius is not a style, it is simply a Latin word for sword, derived from the Celtic word kladimos, which also means sword. What we are specifically in search of is something from the later Roman era.”

  The fat man blinked several times before responding. “Bloody hell, old man, you do know your blades, don’t you?” Merlin’s only response was a small nod to let the man know he would accept only the finest sword and would detect any cheap knock-off instantly. “Ok, well, I guess what you’d be wantin’ is what they call a Pompeianus.”

  “I have no idea what you may call it, but I will certainly know it when I see it. Do you have one?”

  While the armorer rushed through Murton Park’s Visitor Center and burrowed furiously through a locked box in the back of his van, Liz started measuring Beverley for her new wardrobe. By the time the armorer came panting back, Beverley and Jason were all measured and Liz had begun measuring Merlin for his new habit. At the sight of the fat man scurrying into the perpetual half-light of the longhouse, Merlin shooed Liz away, so he could concentrate his full attention on the three scabbarded swords that were presented to him. Each of the weapons was slightly different in finish and ornamentation, but their size and overall shape was very similar. One after another Merlin accepted the swords, pulled them from their scabbards and examined the blades. When he found one that satisfied him, he turned it around, laid the blade on his sleeve, offering the hilt to Jason.

  “Take it, Jason. Feel the heft.” Obediently, Jason lifted the sword, judging its weight. It was surprisingly light. “Do you like it?”

  Jason stared at the gleaming twenty inch blade. It was about two inches in width, sharp as a razor along both edges and ending in an elongated, triangular point. The weapon’s overall length was about twenty-six inches and it weighed just under a pound and a half. Squeezing the hilt until the tendons on the back of his hands stood out in high relief, he extended his arm and held the sword at eye level, shifting the tip back and forth.

  “I don’t know much about swords except how to date them when I dig ‘em up, but it feels nice.”

  Merlin waggled his fingers at Jason, asking for the sword. “You don’t hold a Roman sword at arm’s length. You aren’t going to fight some medieval idiot wrapped in iron plates. Here, let me show you.” Accepting the sword from Jason, Merlin held it in his right hand, flexed his elbow and drew the hilt tight a
gainst his body at belt level. “Hold it like this, against your side with the blade parallel to the ground, sticking straight out in front of you.” With a single quick jerk Merlin thrust the gladius forward. “Drive it point first into your enemy’s mid-section, right below his shield, push it to the side as hard as you can, and then withdraw. Quick, brutal and very effective.”

  Jason and Beverley both wrinkled their noses at the thought of gut stabbing another human being, but Colin the armorer nodded silently. Satisfied with his demonstration, Merlin raised the blade and stared at the metal, shifting it back and forth in the flickering light of the fire.

  “It’s a good blade, master armorer. With proper care this should last a man a lifetime.”

  The fat man nodded vigorously, looking at Merlin. “You have a good eye. That’s one of the best ones I’ve ever made.”

  “How much do you want for it, young man?”

  “Eight hundred pounds, guv’ner, and that includes the scabbard and sword belt.”

  “Jesus! Eight hundred pounds?” Jason’s eye’s nearly bugged out of his head in amazement but Merlin seemed unruffled.

  “If you include two belt knives in that price, we’ll take it.”

  Sticking out his hand the armorer nodded his head. “Go on, then. It’s a deal.”

  Merlin immediately turned his attention back to Liz and her ever-growing list of measurements.

  “And how much will the rest of the order come to, my dear?”

  “I’m going to have to check on the availability of this much hand woven cloth. If I can find it in stock it will be a lot less than if I have to have it woven special. When I have a final price I’ll call Bev and let her know.”

  “I quite understand. Do your best and that’s all we can ask. Oh, and I think you should include several changes of undergarments. Now, about delivery…”

  “Well, you’ve just come early enough to avoid the summer rush, another fortnight and we’ll be swamped. I think, if everything works out and there aren’t any problems with getting the cloth, I can have it all in about a month – give or take.”

  Merlin pulled a wad of bank notes out of his pouch, counted out twenty, twenty pound bills and held them out. “Here’s a deposit. And if you reduce delivery time by half I’ll give you an extra five hundred pounds.”

  The woman’s jaw nearly dropped onto her ample breast. “Two weeks?”

  “Exactly. I knew you would understand.” Cocking an index finger in the air, he smiled and marched toward the door, Jason and Beverley making hurried goodbyes and scurrying after him into the mellow spring afternoon.

  “So what do you think of Murton Park? I mean, how does it compare to the real thing?”

  Poking his head over the edge of a heavy fence enclosing a pair of nasty looking Iron Age boars with bristling manes and razor sharp tusks, Merlin smiled. “Considering how little your time actually knows about mine, I would say they are doing quite a creditable job.” He seemed to contemplate this for a moment before continuing. “But think how much more accurate they can be when the two of you write the world’s first book detailing how life in the fifth century really looked.”

  Most of the ten mile ride back to York was spent querying Merlin on his ability to accurately move backward and forward in time. His explanations to date – that he had conquered the problem of calculating how to move backward, but that to safely return Beverley and Jason to the present he would need the help of Vivian – left Jason with a feeling that could charitably be called queasy.

  “I’m not really doubting you, Merlin, but based on what I saw when that hole opened up in the cave and you and Morgana got sucked into God-knows-where, I think you can understand why I’m a little skeptical about this whole ‘time portal’ thing. Maybe this is one of those things that wizards are better equipped to deal with than us mere mortals.”

  “Nonsense, my boy. Just think of time travel as a function of quantum mechanics.”

  Jason turned his face away from the roadway and scowled at Merlin. “I have absolutely no idea what that means or how quantum mechanics work.”

  Merlin’s face split in a wide grin as he poked one finger gently into Jason’s side. “Neither do I, but it sounded positively brilliant, didn’t it? Seriously, Jason, I assure you it’s perfectly safe. Do you remember I explained to you how I could look into the places I wanted to go before I actually stepped through?”

  “Yeah, you called it ‘peeking’.”

  “Right. Well, I promise that when we’re ready to leave I will take a peek before either of you steps through, just to make certain that we’re in the right place and the right time. Fair enough?”

  “As long as we don’t wind up on some God forsaken alien planet or a hundred million years ago in the age of dinosaurs, I guess it should be ok. But I think it would be better if maybe Bev stayed here the first time we go…just to make sure everything is safe.”

  “Bollocks to that, Jason Carpenter. You left me behind six years ago when the two of you went waltzing off to Mongolia and I missed all the fun and was bloody near crazed with worry the whole time.”

  “But Bev, we almost got killed.”

  “You also got to meet nomadic tribesmen and see that Chinese wizard…what was his name?”

  “His name was Fu Ling Chu and he’s the one who damn near killed us. I thought he killed Merlin and he did kill one of the Buddhist monks. This isn’t a joke, Bev, this is dangerous stuff, here.”

  “Don’t argue, children.”

  “We’re not arguing. I’m going with you and that’s all there is too it. End of story.”

  Jason only shook his head, sighed and stared out the window at the profusion of wild daffodils and poppies fighting for supremacy in the narrow space between the edge of the road and the stone walls circumscribing the fields beyond. It was going to be a very long summer.

  * * * *

  “A ddylwn i gymryd papur toiled?” Beverley stood in the door of the bathroom with two rolls of toilet paper clutched in one hand and a confused look on her face. “What the bloody hell did I just say?”

  “Uh-oh, somebody’s been inside somebody else’s head without asking permission.” Jason squinted one eye and pointed an accusing finger at Merlin. “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that, old man?”

  In response, Merlin only smirked, a sheepish grin on his face, leaving Beverley as confused as ever.

  “Will somebody please tell me what’s going on here?”

  Jason stepped around Merlin, shaking his head, as he took the rolls of toilet paper from Beverley and escorted her to a chair.

  “Since I understood you perfectly I have to assume Merlin taught us a new language while we were asleep last night. He just didn’t bother to warn us before he started crawling around inside our heads. Am I right?”

  “But your sleep was blithely undisturbed and now you both speak Old Welsh fluently.” Smiling at Beverley, he added in a mock whisper “And may I say that your Welsh accent is absolutely lovely, my dear.”

  “WHAT? You went into my brain? That’s an invasion of my privacy. It’s like brain rape or something.”

  “No, no. I did not go into your consciousness. I simply added to your store of knowledge; I did not access your thoughts in any way, I assure you.”

  Beverley shook her head, uncertain but unwilling to make an issue of the matter. “Well, then, as long as you didn’t muck around in there.”

  “I assure you, my dear, the process goes much more smoothly if the recipient doesn’t know beforehand. If I had told you, you might well have had trouble getting to sleep and then it might have been uncomfortable…or it might not have worked at all.” Jerking a thumb toward Jason, he added “I taught your husband how to speak Mongolian one night and he was absolutely fluent by the next morning. Didn’t I, Jason?”

  Begrudgingly, Jason nodded and grunted his assent. “It’s true. I wish he’d tell people before he does that, but in one night he taught me Mongolian well enough that
even the Mongols thought I was a native speaker.”

  “And tonight, I am going to teach you both Latin.”

  “Oh, God, please, not Latin.” Jason rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head. “I tried that for three whole years and just couldn’t deal with all that conjugation. You have to conjugate everything. That’s why I’ve had so much trouble with your scrolls. Without a computer program to translate that stuff for me I wouldn’t have gotten past the first sentence.”

  Merlin let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “In twenty-four hours all those nasty conjugations will just roll off of your tongue like fine wine, I promise you. You’ll be surprised how natural Latin feels; after all, it is the basis of most modern European languages. Besides, it is absolutely imperative that you are fluent in both Old Welsh and Latin. All the Britons speak Welsh and anyone who is literate speaks Latin. Arthur will certainly expect you to be fluent in Latin if he is to accept you as sages.”

  Beverley leaned forward and nodded. “I was thinking about King Arthur. I know this sounds weird, but are we actually going to meet him – really?”

  “Of course, my dear, that’s a big part of why I want you to go back with me.”

  “So what do we say when we talk to him? I mean, how should we address him? Your Majesty, what?”

  Before Merlin could speak, Jason injected himself into the conversation. “I know it’s not Your Majesty, that didn’t happen till that fat pig Henry the Eighth.”

  “Oh, right. I knew that.” Turning back to Merlin, she repeated her original question.

  “Arthur holds a number of titles but none of them are as self-aggrandizing as the ones used by later monarchs. Technically, since he makes his own decisions as to when and where to do battle with his enemies, he is a Dux Belorum – meaning a war lord; and as a commander of a large number of both foot soldiers and cavalry units who controls his own kingdom, he holds the title of Comes Britaniarum – meaning Count of the Britons. But when you talk to him – and obviously you should wait until he addresses you before you speak to him – just refer to him as ‘my Lord’.”