Merlin's Harp

by Anne Eliot Crompton

  Merlin saved me from answering. He held out his mug for more ale and chuckled. "I have very cleverly combined chivalry with piety," he told Gildas happily.

  Turning to Merlin, Gildas forgot me. "How do you mean?"

  "You have heard tell of the Holy Grail."

  Gildas paused, considering all the things of which he had heard. "Hah! The grail our Lord used at the Last Supper, in which He gave his followers the first Eucharist. Brought overseas to Britain by His disciple Joseph of Arimathea and Saint Mary Magdalene. What has all that to do with chivalry?"

  Merlin grinned. "I have convinced the King to send forth his knights to find this Holy Grail. Thus I combine chivalry with piety and keep a horde of bloody-minded men busy in peacetime."

  "Hah! Hmmm." Gildas knit his brows. "If they find the Grail, how will they know it? What does it look like?"

  "As you might suppose, the Holy Grail is pure gold."

  "Most unlikely!"

  "Inlaid with scenes from the life of the Savior—"

  "Pshaw!"

  "—and guarded by angels whose heavenly song drives mad the unworthy seeker. Some knights have returned frothing mad already."

  Gildas threw his white head back, slapped his knees and laughed.

  Why did he laugh? Madness was no joke. In truth, my brother Lugh was the only frothing madman I had ever seen, but I had no wish to see more.

  Now and then, Lugh fell into wild rages in which he truly frothed, and cut about with his great sword, and reeled through the streets, roaring. Innocent Humans ran all over each other to get out of his way.

  The first time I saw this I leaned out the door of our hut, wondering what to do. Mellias, scurrying after Lugh, made violent signs to me: Stay away! So I drew back into shadow and watched as Mellias deftly tripped Lugh so that Lugh fell flat, tossed Lugh's sword away, then knelt beside him, patting and murmuring. From a safe distance a Human crowd watched as Mellias helped Lugh up and led him gently away, one small arm halfway around Lugh's waist.

  Beside me, Merlin said, "That is Lugh, you know."

  I stared at him.

  He stroked his beard. "The knight, honored by all, is Lancelot."

  "Yes."

  "But Lugh lives inside Lancelot, asleep. Forgotten."

  "Ah." I began to see.

  "Now and then, Lugh wakes up, confused. Angry, because he has to sleep his life away."

  Dull sorrow pressed my chin down to my breastbone.

  So why did Gildas laugh? Maybe he knew Merlin was lying about the frothing-mad grail hunters. They made a grand story, such as Merlin loved to sing, but there was no truth in it.

  Maybe Gildas was heartless, like me. He thought so little of so many folk!

  A Merlin Song

  Who are those men who ride so fast

  Early and late, first light and last,

  Searching each farm and town and village,

  Like enemies in search of pillage,

  And slow their ponies' frantic paces

  Only to look at children's faces?

  King Vortigern, the Saxon's friend, Seeks his crumbled fort to mend.

  How shall these hunters mend a fort?

  They hunt not meat, nor pause for sport,

  They slow their ponies' frantic paces

  Only to look at children's faces.

  How shall these hunters mend a fort? What word will they take to Vortigern's court?

  King Vortigern, the Saxon's friend, To his fort's crumbling seeks an end.

  Three times the new-built fort has crumbled.

  Three times its battlements have tumbled.

  Three times his druid priest has mumbled,

  "Seek the child.

  Find the child.

  Bring the child.

  Slay the child.

  Mix with your mortar the blood of the child Whose father's unknown, from hell or the wild."

  Therefore the hunters ride so fast

  Early and late, first light and last,

  Slowing their ponies' frantic paces

  Only to look at children's faces.

  The child-hunters homeward turn, Back to the land of Vortigern.

  Whose child does the leader carry before him? What unhappy mother bore him?

  Child of the father from hell or the wild,

  Child of the Fey, a herd-maid's child.

  Leaving her folk, she has gone for a nun

  To pray for the soul of her little son.

  His blood will mix with Vortigern's mortar.

  Then Vortigern's tower will guard his border.

  How fast they ride away from the light

  Into the shade of nearing night!

  They sought the child

  They found the child.

  They took the child,

  They'll slay the child—

  Willingly bear they dread and fear At the word of a bloody druid seer…

  7

  Morgan's Door

  Fifteen years after this conversation, as we stood before Morgan le Faye's door, I wondered what Gildas and his brothers thought of her ! And what steps they might take against her, were she not Arthur's half sister. And I wondered if she were named in Gildas's moral history.

  In the far north of Arthur's realm you leave villages and duns behind. You ride through open country, barren but for patches of gorse and heather, where, even in sunshine, wind moans among rocks. Ravens and falcons sweep the sky in ominous patterns. Small herds of red deer flow over distant hills. The nearest village is a day's ride south.

  Rain spattered that spring morning. Our tired ponies cropped the moor behind us. Before us rose Morgan's Mount, a small, rounded hill of the kind druids say were man-built in ancient times. Humans have been shifting earth for a long, long time. Earth-working must be natural to them, as it is to ants.

  Morgan's door was easily found, an old, battered wooden door, moldy, curtained in green-budding vines. Its iron latch was rusted through. It looked as though the whole door would crumble at a push. Behind that door, under the hill, Morgan le Faye awaited us, Arthur's half sister, the Witch Queen.

  Behind that door and under the hill Caliburn awaited us— Caliburn, who had hung over Arthur's high seat together with his Goddess shield till Morgan stole the sword.

  Who but Morgan le Faye would dream to dare to steal Caliburn? Caliburn was magic. Caliburn was…sacred.

  When Arthur found Caliburn gone from the wall over his high seat along with visiting Morgan, he first hastened to cover the theft. Another sword, quickly hung beside the Goddess shield, passed for Caliburn. While the Angles thought Caliburn safe above Arthur's high seat, his crown was secure.

  Next he called for Merlin. His messengers scouted the eight directions, asking for Merlin at taverns, monasteries, Druid schools, noble manors, chiefs' duns. But no messenger found Merlin. The mage himself scried Arthur's need in the Fey lake waters; so we came to Arthur out of the Fey forest. From Apple Island and Lady Villa, Merlin, Aefa, and I rode out yet one more time through an icy spring rain into the dangerous kingdom.

  Now the sun rose, a vague shimmer through rain-mist, and Merlin squared his thin shoulders. Now was the time to confront the witch, while the sun looked down. Not even Merlin had wanted to push that crumbling door open during the night.

  I glanced at my companions.

  Armed with spear, cuirass, and helmet, my brother Lugh crouched before the door.

  In twenty years, Lugh had, in essence, turned Human. Even fifteen years before, seeing him again, I had not known him. I had seen a giant knight like any other lumber toward me, and pause. They often paused, then took a cautious detour by me. But this knight raised astonished hands. Surprise lit his face, and he blushed. "Niviene!" he roared. "Sister!" And he marched up and embraced me with iron arms.

  "Lugh!"

  "Lancelot," he whispered into my ear. "Remember: Lancelot."

  He insisted I call him that, though to this day I still forgot. He never asked after the Lady, our mother; he never menti
oned our childhood, our home, our memories. Lancelot and Lugh were two separate beings; and Merlin said that only one of them could live under the sun at a time. For now, it was Lancelot's turn. So it was then; and fifteen years later Lugh's only protest was the wild rage that sometimes overwhelmed Lancelot. When Mellias saw that one of these rages approached, he would lead Lancelot out of the dun to some secret place, sometimes to stay hidden for moons at a time.

  Mellias, known to Humans as Lancelot's servant Mell, was no longer deaf and dumb. Yet he was known to have "something wrong somewhere." This caused no comment. Very many Humans have "something wrong somewhere." Mellias was wholly Fey. Often he came home to the forest—as I did myself—to fish and dance, and to court me, smiling. (I withheld myself from Mellias and all others for the sake of my power. Yet always, under boy's shirt or lady's gown, I wore Mellias's stolen crystal, swinging on its thong.) After a while he would return again to be Lancelot's faithful Mell, to grease his harness and groom his charger. Mellias loved adventure. And he seemed to love Lancelot.

  Now Mellias smiled at me over Lugh's head. He and Lugh knew no magic. They were not here to war on the witch, but to guard against brigands, Saxons, and Picts. Yet Mellias alone seemed to have no fear of Morgan. Clear in my head I heard his thought: If this Morgan is a woman, I can tame her !

  Aefa cocked her head and fixed keen eyes on Morgan's door as though it were an ordinary door that she could "see through." But this door was magically sealed, and none of us could guess what might lie behind it. Witch Morgan might lean against it herself, listening to our breathing and to our ponies' teeth cropping grass.

  Ravens called warning, sweeping widdershins over us, and Merlin glanced up to check the pattern of their flight.

  Years had bowed Merlin and silvered his hair and beard. Wrinkles mapped his lean face. Wrapped in his shabby homespun cloak he might have been any Human oldster, looking to lay down his bones to the Goddess, but for the snap and sparkle of his gray eyes—which he veiled, for Humans—and the silver mist of his aura, which Humans could not see.

  He it was who scried in fire that Morgan was indeed the swordstealer. He it was who led us, by the stars and his bending wand, to her hill. When we came to the last village, a day's ride behind us now, her peasants pointed the way wordless, fingers crossed. They feared their witch, but they knew of Merlin and feared him more.

  Now we sat hunched in thought before Morgan's door. Lugh turned to inspect the wide, rainy landscape. Aefa and I watched Merlin.

  He brightened, scurried away to the pack pony and brought back a skin-wrapped package: the harp Enchanter. I hand-signaled, Witch Morgan has heard music before. Merlin shrugged. Not Enchanter's music!

  While tuning Enchanter in the rain he sent us each a glance and each remembered a time when Enchanter had shown his power. Lugh and the Otter may have remembered a night in Lady Villa, twenty years gone. Aefa and I had seen whole roistering taverns magicked to silence. On one particularly dangerous occasion, Enchanter had cast all listeners into a deep sleep, during which we Fey slipped safely away.

  "Where's Otter?" Merlin had abandoned his tuning and was looking around. The battered, moldy door behind the vines stood open. Mellias was gone.

  I whirled on Lugh. "You let him go!"

  Lugh shrugged. "The door was only sealed against magic. It opened at a touch."

  "He came along to help you guard the door, not to face the witch alone!"

  "How would you have had me stop him?"

  The Fey do not impose their will. But with Lugh…"With you I never know if I am dealing with Human or Fey."

  A bitter smile creased Lugh's gray eyes. "Neither do I."

  Merlin whispered, "Enough talk! Let us go!"

  I touched Mellias's crystal. It warmed my fingers as I slipped after him through Morgan's cracked-open door.

  One step inside, I found myself in complete darkness. I smelled Aefa at my elbow, Merlin some way back, and some cold, vegetative smell. I heard Merlin hiss, "Hold still!"

  Something slithered across my foot. Aefa breathed, "Adders."

  As my Fey eyes adjusted, darkness turned dim and I saw movement around our feet. Adders surrounded us, wriggling, rearing, slipping across and over each other. Now I could even see their tongues darting in and out, testing our smell. Aefa said aloud, "Pretty ones! Children of the Goddess, make way for us."

  Rising, the snakes swayed knee-high. From childhood experiments I knew they could not hear us, but Aefa's voice had set the stale air moving.

  Merlin raised his voice in song. The small, dangerous heads turned in his direction; the curious tongues lunged out.

  Aefa and I sang with Merlin. As our voices shook the air, one by one the snakes lowered, turned away, flowed away.

  Merlin paused to ask, "Are they gone?" I remembered, then, that his eyes were only half Fey; he could barely see in the darkness. "Going," I told him. I sang to the last few, "One bite of us will poison you."

  Aefa said, "Gone."

  "Then move forward, slowly," Merlin ordered. "Niviene first. Aefa, hold my hand. Gods, I can't see beyond a step!"

  We moved forward.

  Soft cobwebs brushed our faces. The passage narrowed till we could touch both walls and had to stoop under the rough stone roof, with Merlin bent double. I thought, This cannot be Morgan's own entrance. She must have another, hidden door.

  Aefa whispered, "Cold down here!"

  "Either it's cold or I am craven."

  We edged forward into heavy cold, a pool of spiritual winter, such as I remembered feeling before. But that time I had sought it deliberately. I said, "Aefa, I think—"

  A kilted giant warrior stepped out of the wall ahead. He lifted one booted foot free of the wall, and then the other, and hefted his javelin. Aefa gasped.

  The warrior shone of his own light like a star in the night sky, so Merlin saw him as clearly as we did. He growled, "Ghost, Aefa. Only a ghost."

  Beside me, Aefa stiffened. Spirit conversation was no talent of hers.

  The warrior hurled his ghost javelin cleanly through my neck. Icicle-cold, it sliced through me and melted.

  Crouched under the roof, I lowered my head like a bull and charged the giant. My head and shoulders burst through his icy form and I rushed clear, hearing his disappointed roar inside my ears.

  I stopped to look back. The giant form dissolved into a shining mist through which Aefa led Merlin by the hand.

  "The druids are right," he declared, stumbling. "These man-built hills are tombs of the Old Ones. They sacrificed that man to guard the passage; and still he stays on, though he has long been spirit. Niviene, lead on."

  Shuffling slowly down the sloping passage, I sent my spirit ahead to spy.

  I had never met or seen Witch Morgan. What might she be like? I knew only that she was Arthur's half sister, reputedly wise and wicked. Why had she stolen Caliburn from Arthur's hall? And what did it matter? Did Arthur's Peace truly depend on the magic sword? And if it did, did the safety of our forest truly depend on Arthur's Peace?

  Merlin whispered, "Niviene, why have you stopped?"

  "I was thinking, Merlin; wondering why we are creeping down into this trap."

  "Hah!"

  "Morgan might turn us all into snakes."

  (Once I had asked the Lady, "Can magic turn man into bat?" She had told me, "Spirit, once shaped in flesh, holds that shape. But a clever mage can make a man think he is a bat.")

  "Hah!" Merlin almost spat. "She's turned you into a coward, anyhow!"

  And I saw that this was true. My spirit, scouting ahead, had met Morgan's spirit; and she had sent me frightened, doubting thoughts.

  "Move!" Merlin commanded. "Lead! Think no more, just walk!"

  I obeyed. Moments later, a dim light swam before us.

  We stopped and bunched together, like three white deer I had seen lately under Counsel Oak. The deer had stamped and jostled and gazed at me over each other's shoulders, ears and tails a-twitch. So we three now gazed
and shifted and sought each other's hands.

  Ahead, the faint light shimmered, dimmed, and strengthened. Merlin muttered, "It's reflected. See? Off the wall." He was right. The tunnel took a turn, there. The light shone from beyond the turn.

  The three white deer under Counsel Oak had leaped apart in three directions and vanished in shadow. We three crept forward like one three-headed monster and turned the corner.