Merlin

“I am a friend of the bishop here. I wish to see him.”

  The monk smiled pleasantly. “Of course. As you are his friend, you will understand that will be difficult. Our bishop is very old and he is resting at this time of day, as is his custom…” He spread his hands as if to imply that the matter was beyond his influence, as no doubt it was. “And then there is his sermon.”

  “Thank you,” I told him. “I would not think of disturbing him. And yet, I know he will wish to see me.”

  Two more monks had come to greet us and stood looking on, whispering to one another behind their hands. “Then wait if you will,” replied the monk, “and I will see to it that your request receives due consideration.”

  I thanked him again and asked whether there was a superior I might speak to while I waited. “That would be Brother Gwythelyn.”

  “I was thinking of Salach.”

  “Salach? But…” He searched my face questioningly. “Our dear brother Salach died years ago.”

  I felt the pang of sorrow I usually feel upon receiving such news. In truth, I had forgotten how old he must be. “Gwythelyn then. Tell him that Myrddin ap Taliesin is here.”

  At the sound of my name the two looking on murmured in surprise, “Myrddin is here! Here!” They gaped at me and then dashed away to tell the others.

  “Lord Myrddin,” said the monk, inclining his head toward me, “allow me to lead you to Brother Gwythelyn.”

  Gwythelyn was the image of his uncle, Maelwys. As happens in dynasties of strong bloodlines, the family resemblance was correspondingly strong. I hesitated as he turned from the manuscript on his table to greet me. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “No, nothing. It is just that you remind me of someone else.”

  “My grandfather, no doubt. You knew Pendaran Gleddyvrudd?” He appraised me closely. “May I know your name?”

  The monk who had led us to Gwythelyn’s cell had, in his excitement, forgotten to give my name. “Yes, I knew Red Sword well. I am Myrddin ap Taliesin,” I said simply.

  Gwythelyn’s eyes grew round. “Forgive me, Myrddin,” he said, taking my hands and squeezing them in his own. They were hands made to hold a sword, and contrary to my expectation they were not soft; long days of rough labor had made them strong and hard. “Forgive me, I should have known you.”

  “How so? We have never met.”

  “No, but from the day of my birth I have heard about you. Until this moment, I confess, I thought I should know you as I knew myself.”

  “And I confess that when you turned around just now I thought I was seeing Maelwys in the flesh once more.”

  He smiled, enjoying the compliment. “If I can become half the man he was, I will die content.” His smile broadened. “But Myrddin ap Taliesin ap Elphin ap Gwyddno Garanhir—you see, we all know your illustrious lineage—I had always hoped to meet you one day, and now you are here. It is true, you are a marvel to behold. But tell me, what great event brings you to Llandaff? Will you stay? We have room for you.”

  “Your welcome is most heartening, Gwythelyn; worthy of your generous uncle. I can stay but a short while—a day or two, and then I must go on to Londinium.” I went on to tell him about the new High King who would be crowned very soon.

  “My brother—” he interrupted, “Tewdrig, is he…?”

  “He is well and will return as soon as the High King has taken the throne. And this is why I have come: I would like Bishop Dafyd to officiate.”

  Gwythelyn considered this and then replied slowly, “It is true that Dafyd has not stepped a dozen paces outside Llandaff in as many years—but…well, we will ask him and see what he says.”

  “I would not disturb his rest. I am content to wait until he has awakened.”

  “Very well; he is accustomed to taking refreshment after his nap. We will go to him then. I know he will wish to see you. Until then, perhaps you would not refuse refreshment yourself?”

  We did not have long to wait, for no sooner had Pelleas and I finished eating than a young man came, saying, “Bishop is waking, Brother Gwythelyn. I thought you would like to know.” He addressed his superior, but his eyes never left me.

  “Thank you, Natyn. We will come along at once.”

  * * *

  Dafyd’s room was a clean-swept cubicle, bare of all furniture save his bed and one chair. I recognized the chair: it had once sat in Pendaran’s hall; likely, Maelwys had given it to him. There was a tiny window covered with an oiled skin, through which light poured like honey, thick and golden. His bed was a straw pallet on a raised wooden frame and covered with fleeces.

  On this bed sat a man who appeared to have been carved from fine alabaster. His white hair, ablaze in the light, surrounded his head like a nimbus, a halo of bright flame. On his face, so calm and serene, lingered still the beauty of his dreams. His dark eyes radiated peace to his simple world.

  It was Dafyd. Much changed, much aged—yet there was no mistaking him. He was leaner to be sure, but his flesh was firm and his teeth were good. Despite his advanced age—which must have been well past ninety, I realized with a shock—he looked robust and vital, a man in whom the fires of life burned with energy and passion and zeal.

  In short, he appeared a man in whom holiness had nearly completed its transforming work.

  As we entered the cell, his gaze shifted and he half-rose to receive us. Then he saw me. He stopped. His mouth opened to speak, but his tongue gave no utterance. Emotions played across his features like cloudshadows chasing over the slopes of a hill. Tears welled up in his eyes—and in mine as well.

  I went to him, raised him, and clasped him to my breast.

  “Myrddin, Myrddin,” he murmured at last, speaking my name as he would one of his holy texts. “Myrddin, my soul, you are alive. To see you after all these years—alive and well. Oh, but you have not altered a whit. You are the same as my memory of you. Look at you now!”

  His hands patted my shoulders and arms, as if he would be reassured that I was indeed flesh and bone before him. “Oh, Myrddin, to see you is joy itself. Sit. Can you stay? Are you hungry? Gwythelyn! This is Myrddin, of whom I have often spoken. He is here! He has returned!”

  Gwythelyn smiled. “So he has. I will leave you to speak to one another until dinner.” He closed the door silently and left us to our reunion.

  “Dafyd, I wanted to come sooner—so many times I thought of you and wanted to come to you…”

  “Shh, it is nothing. We are together at last. My prayer is answered. Ever I have prayed for you, Myrddin, that I might see you again before I die. And now you are here. God is good.”

  “You look well, Dafyd. I had not hoped—”

  “To see me alive? Oh, aye, I am quite alive—much to the chagrin of the younger monks. I am something of a terror to them.” He winked slyly at me. “They believe God keeps me alive just to torment them, and they may be right.”

  “Latin a torment? Surely not.”

  He nodded innocently. “The mother tongue, language of scholars—a torment. But you know what students are. They complain incessantly. ‘Better a heart broken in love, than a head broken on Latin,’ they say. So I tell them, ‘Fill your heads with Latin, and let God fill your hearts with love—then neither one can be broken.’ ”

  “Was it ever any different?”

  “No, perhaps not,” he sighed. “At least you never gave me such trouble.”

  “I gave you more,” I laughed.

  Dafyd laughed too. “You did! You are right…you did. Oh, when I think of the hours we spent tangled in it!” He fell silent, nodding to himself, remembering. In a moment he shook himself, as if waking from a dream. “Ah, well, we were young then, eh, Myrddin?”

  He cupped a hand to my face in a fatherly gesture. “But you, my golden-eyed wonder—you are still young. Look at you, a young man’s face and frame. Not a grey hair on your head. You are the flower of your race, Myrddin. Praise God, my son, for your long life. He has blessed you among men.”

  “What
good is a blessing I cannot share?” I asked seriously. “I would share what I have with you, Dafyd. You are far more deserving than I.”

  “Have I not been blessed also? I am well content in years, Myrddin, never fear. I am satisfied. Do not be sorry for me—and do not denigrate the gift you have been given. The Lord High God has made you as you are for a purpose. Be thankful you are knit with such strong stuff.”

  “I will try.”

  “You do that.” He turned and indicated his chair. “Now sit you down and tell me all that has passed with you since last we met.”

  I laughed. “That will take as many years as we have been parted!”

  “Then you had better begin at once.” He settled himself on the edge of his bed and folded his hands in his lap.

  So I began to tell him about Ganieda’s death and all that followed from it—the hole in my life, that hideous waste, the years of loss and lament. And the square of honeyed light slipped lightly across the floor and up the opposite wall as I spoke. I told him about Vortigern—much of which he knew already—and about Aurelius, the new High King, and Uther, his brother, the war leader.

  He drank in every word like a child listening to a terrible, fascinating story. And no doubt he would have gone on sitting in awed attention on the edge of his bed had not Gwythelyn come and rapped gently on the door to break Dafyd’s reverie and rouse us to our supper. “Dinner is being laid,” he informed us. “I have had a special table set up for you.”

  “I will hear more later,” Dafyd said, rising slowly. “They will be waiting for me to bless the meal. Come, let us go and eat. Although my appetite is not what it was, tonight I am hungry. See? Just beholding you once more quickens me.”

  “It cheers me to hear you say that,” I replied, taking his arm. But he did not need my assistance, for where I expected bone and sagging flesh, there was firm muscle beneath my grip. He did not shuffle as old men do, but walked upright and with vigor.

  He ate with vigor too, enjoying his food, remarking once and again that my coming was a balm to him. Clearly, he enjoyed himself and enjoyed the attention I was getting. “You cannot blame them for staring. They have never seen one of the Fair Folk, Myrddin, but they have all heard of you. Everyone has heard of the great Emrys. And, son, you are the equal of your legend. You have the look of greatness on you.”

  Gwythelyn served us with his own hand—so that he could be near to hear what we said, I suppose. Pelleas sat with us, but spoke not a word the whole time, not wishing to intrude on our conversation. When the meal was finished, Dafyd rose and, taking the holy text one of the brothers handed him, began to read out the passage. The monks, still sitting at the board, listened with bowed heads.

  “ ‘Praise the Lord,

  Praise the Lord from the high places,

  praise him in the Halls of Light.

  Praise him, all his angels,

  praise him, all you hosts of heaven.

  Praise him, sun and moon,

  praise him, all you shining stars.

  Praise him, you in the sky realms

  and you waters above the skies.

  Let them all praise the name of the Lord,

  for he spoke forthrightly and they were created.

  He established them in place for ever and ever;

  he uttered a decree that will never pass away.

  Praise the Lord from the earth,

  you dragons, and all sea deeps,

  lightning and hail, snow and clouds,

  stormy winds that do his bidding,

  you great mountains and all fair hills,

  fruit trees and cedars,

  wild beasts and all cattle,

  creeping things and flying birds,

  kings of the earth and all nations,

  you chieftains and all rulers on earth,

  young men and maidens,

  old men and children.

  Let them all praise the name of the Lord,

  for his name alone is exalted;

  his splendor is above the earth and the heavens.

  He has raised up for his people a king,

  the praise of all his saints…’ “

  Dafyd paused, and, turning the pages, read again:

  “ ‘But the father said to his servants, “Hurry! Bring forth the best robe and put it on him; and put a ring on his finger, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf, and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate…” ’”

  Here he stopped and closed the book reverently. Gazing at me, he finished the text: “ ‘ “For this my son was dead and now is alive again; he was lost and now is found.” So, they began to celebrate.’”

  He raised the holy book to his lips and kissed it, saying, “May God bless the reading of his Word.”

  “May God bless the hearing of his Word among us,” the monks answered.

  “I am happy tonight because my friend, long absent from me, has returned.” He turned and placed a hand on my shoulder. “My son, my soul, has returned. Great is my rejoicing, great the blessing in my heart.” He lifted an admonishing hand to those before him. “Tonight, before you close your eyes to sleep, I would have you contemplate the mystery of human love as a reflection of divine love.”

  He blessed them then and sent them to their rest. The brothers trooped out of the hall, and each wandered off by himself to find a lonely place to pray as was their custom. Bishop Dafyd and I remained in the hall; chairs had been placed before the hearth for us, for the night had turned chill. Hot mulled wine in wooden cups was brought as we settled before the fire.

  “Well, Myrddin, what has brought you?” Dafyd asked when we had sipped from our drinks.

  “Need it be anything more than a wish to see my friend?”

  “No, it need not—with ordinary men. But you, Myrddin Emrys, are far from ordinary. Your life is not your own, you know; you serve the kingdom, and its needs are yours.”

  He looked at me over his cup, eyes shining like a mischievous child’s in the firelight. “Do you wonder that I say this to you? I will tell you something else: you will never rest until this realm is united and at peace.”

  “That is a hard prophecy,” I told him, for I foresaw the troubled years stretching out ahead of me.

  He smiled. “Well, perhaps the Lord Jesu will bring his peace to this land with all speed.” He drank again and waited for me to speak.

  I took a last draught and set the cup on the hearth. “You ask what has brought me. Two matters, both urgent. For the first, I simply wanted to see you. It is true that I serve the Island of the Mighty and my life is not my own—Jesu knows I wear that duty like a harness—but as soon as I had a moment to myself I came straight here.”

  “I did not say that for you to chide yourself. It was on my heart, that is all.”

  “No doubt it was a word I needed to hear,” I assured him. “But it brings me to the second reason for my visit: the High King.”

  “Yes, the High King. Is he a worthy man?”

  “He is; and the more I know of him, the more I feel that he is sent of God.”

  “As you were.” Dafyd leaned back in his chair. The firelight playing over his features made him appear insubstantial, as if he were made of some finer, yet more ephemeral material; a momentary being. I realized he would not long remain in the world of men.

  I must have been staring at him, for he said, “The Champion, oh yes. Why do you look at me so? Hafgan always maintained as much.”

  The memory came in a rush: Hafgan standing beside this trembling boy, and calling to the Learned Brotherhood to bear witness, saying, Before you stands the one whose coming we have long awaited, the Champion who will lead the warhost against the Darkness…

  “Ah, Hafgan,” Dafyd was saying. “His name has not passed my lips in many years. That man possessed a soul, Myrddin; a very great soul indeed. The discussions we had! Jesu bless him. What a reunion it will be!”

  The good bishop made it sound as if he were merely going on a day’s journey to visit h
is friend. Perhaps that was how he saw it.

  “What do you know of the Champion?” I asked gently. “What can you tell me?”

  “What can I tell you about the Champion?” he continued. “That he will be a man to save the Britons, that he will come when we most have need of him, that his will be a rule of righteousness and justice.” He paused and eyed me sharply. “Are you suggesting that Hafgan was mistaken?”

  I sighed and shook my head. “I cannot say. Hafgan believed; it could be he saw in me what he wanted to see. Or perhaps he saw through me to another.”

  “Myrddin,” Dafyd’s voice was soft and comforting as a crooning mother’s, “have you lost your way?”

  I pondered this. The fire crackled in the hearth as the pine knots popped and scattered sparks at our feet. Had I lost my way? Was this the source of my confusion? Until just now I had never doubted…

  “No,” I answered at length, “I have not lost my way. It is just that so many ways open before me that sometimes I hardly know which way to choose. To decide for one is to decide against another. I never imagined it would be this hard.”

  “Now you know,” Dafyd said gently. “The higher a man’s call and vision, the more choices are given him. This is our work in creation: to decide. And what we decide is woven into the thread of time and being forever. Choose wisely, then, but you must choose.”

  Great Light, help me! I am blind without you.

  “Well, I have said enough,” Dafyd said, settling back once more. “You were telling me about the High King.”

  “Aurelius, yes; he is High King, although he has yet to take the throne. I do not know how Vortigern received his kingship, but in elder times the chieftain would be blessed by the clan’s druid, and I thought…”

  “You wish me to consecrate this king as I consecrated you?” Dafyd saw the implications of this at once, and the idea delighted him. “Myrddin, you are a far-thinking man,” he said approvingly. “Of course, I will be your druid. Although you could do it yourself just as well. When will he come here?”

  “He is going to Londinium,” I replied. “It is where his father was crowned.”

  “There is a church in Londinium, and a bishop—Urbanus. I know him well, a zealous servant of our Lord.”