I was rapidly losing patience. “Where was he going?”
“He did not say, my lord.”
“Perhaps not. But you have an opinion, do you not? Think! It is important.”
“Well,” he replied slowly, “it was in my mind that they were riding back to the camp—we camped the warhost half a day from Londinium, as the king did not wish to overwhelm the city.”
“Yes, and he met with the governor. What happened?”
“Nothing that I could tell. We stayed in the palace for a day and then returned to camp.”
“Was all well in camp?”
“Not as well as may be,” the soldier allowed. “Several of the lords had gone and taken their warbands with them.”
“And in the city? What happened on Aurelius’ return?”
The warrior shrugged. “Nothing that I know of.”
“Nothing—and yet the governor’s temper turned against Aurelius.”
“It did, Lord Emrys. For a fact it did.”
At last I began to understand what had happened: Aurelius, exuberant and fresh from the saving of the realm, nevertheless refrains from marching into Londinium in triumph. Adopting a humbler demeanor, he arrives in the city and presents himself to the governor in order to determine how he will be received in the city. Reassured, he returns to his lords, thinking perhaps to enter in force with the governor’s blessing. However, things begin to go wrong. He arrives in camp to find that several lords have deserted him—that’s how he would see it, whether they intended a slight or not.
In the meantime, a few of the wealthy and influential of Londinium would have had time to make up their minds about Aurelius, and apparently what they decide was not flattering: he calls himself High King, but where is his warband? Where are his lords and battlechiefs? He is no king at all! Something like that.
They spread this slander about and incite the people, who come to the governor with their petition against this impertinent youth. And the governor, owing no allegiance to Aurelius, instantly withdraws his support.
Poor Aurelius, by rights deserving a hero’s welcome, returns to discover himself persona non grata. Outraged, he rides to gather his lords once more and march on the city, thinking to take it by force if need be. Needless to say, the citizens, fearful of this young warlord’s anger, descend upon the governor, demanding safety, demanding protection, demanding action be taken against this upstart High King.
Well, that was the way of it, or near enough.
The warrior still stood before me, watching, and I realized that I would have no more from him; Aurelius had confided nothing to him. I obtained the location of the camp, thanked him, and left him to his duty. I went to Gwythelyn and told him to wait with Dafyd, warning him that for their own safety they must stay at the church with the warriors. There was no telling what the citizens of Londinium might do if roused to it.
Then Pelleas and I rode out to find Aurelius.
Having come by a more northerly route, we had not encountered the camp on our way to Londinium; but the warrior’s directions proved themselves, and we came upon the camp as the sun stretched our shadows long behind us.
I saw at once the reason for Aurelius’ fury, and I did not blame him. For, of the great warhost he had commanded, now only a few bands and their lords remained—among them Tewdrig, to be sure. Ceredigawn, one of Cunnedda’s sons, was still there, and Custennin’s band with their lord’s battlechief.
I went to Tewdrig directly.
He was not happy with the situation and let me know it at once. “I tried to stop them,” he insisted. “But they had it in their heads to leave as soon as Aurelius rode to Londinium. ‘We fought his war for him,’ they said, ‘let him win the city for himself!’ That is what they said.”
“And they said they’d had enough of High Kings!” remarked Ceredigawn, striding up. “And I am beginning to agree with them. Are we to wait here like shavelings while the grown men divide the spoils?” He had seen me ride into camp and came to offer his own opinion.
“Who voiced these things among you?” I asked him.
“Gorlas of Cerniu mostly,” Ceredigawn replied. “And some others.”
“Friends of Gorlas,” Tewdrig informed me. “I might have gone myself—”
“I am glad you stayed,” I told him quickly. “I think you will not be disappointed for your loyalty.”
“How so?” Tewdrig asked.
Before answering, I bade Pelleas to bring the other lords and battlechiefs to me, and when they had gathered, I sat them down and addressed them, saying, “My lords and sword brothers, I have just returned from Londinium and I have a fair idea what happened there.”
“Tell us then, if you will,” said one of the chieftains, “for unless you do, I am leaving at once. There is a harvest to bring in at home, and I have had enough of waiting.”
His ultimatum was greeted with grunts of approval from several of the others. I had arrived none too soon—they were all on the point of leaving.
I took a deep breath and began, “I do not know if what I have to say will make any difference to you, but I tell you the truth: it appears that to keep from making one blunder, our young king has made an even bigger blunder.”
“Oh, aye,” agreed someone. “He forgot who his friends are.”
“Perhaps,” i allowed, “but that was never his intention. He did not march with you into Londinium because—”
“He was ashamed!” shouted one of the battlechiefs of the north. “We were good enough to fight for him, but not to be seen in his great city!” The man spat in the dirt to add emphasis to his words. “Mithras kill me if I lift a blade for Aurelius again!”
I understood then how it was with them. “Let Lord Emrys speak!” shouted Tewdrig. “I would hear him out.”
“Aurelius declined to march with you into Londinium, not because he was ashamed—never believe that!—but because he did not wish to appear arrogant in the eyes of the citizens.”
“Citizens!” spat the battlechief once more, showing what he thought of the word.
“Aurelius,” i continued, “feared that marching into the city in force would appear arrogant and would turn opinion against him. Worse, it might have been seen as an attack, and there would have been bloodshed. So he bade you wait for him and he went on alone. But deeming him a man of little account, Londinium turned against him anyway.”
“What does he need with Londinium?” demanded Ceredigawn. “They have no king, and no warband.”
“No, but they have wealth and power. Anyone who will be High King in this land must be recognized by Londinium.”
“Vortigern never was!” someone called out. How quickly they forget!
“Yes, and look where Vortigern has led us!” I answered. “That is the mistake Aurelius did not wish to make. He thought to win Londinium with meekness after Vortigern’s arrogance. Still, they turned against him. So be it. When next he marches into the city, he will want you at his side.”
The gathering remained silent, thinking it over. Finally Tewdrig rose from his place and proclaimed, “I have always wanted to see this wonder of a city, and as I am so close, I would not be turned back now. Let us go with Aurelius and see that our High King receives the proper respect from the stiff-necked rabble of Londinium.”
It was what the others needed to hear. They all stood up with a shout, adding their voices to Tewdrig’s, and an uneasy peace settled over the camp once more.
So it was that when Aurelius returned late that night, there was still a camp and men to return to.
“Gorlas, blast his bones!” He paced his tent in agitation, still sweating from his ride. “I swear he planned this as revenge for me letting Octa go free.”
“Calm yourself, Aurelie,” said Uther, “I was the one that let Octa go free. Gorlas is difficult, and that is the end of it. This was his way of making himself important.”
Uther had a way of reading men simply and directly. He had struck the truth of Gorlas. “Listen t
o your brother,” I said, “if you will not listen to me. Gorlas is not the only one who mistook your reasons for not marching into Londinium like a hero.”
“I would have received no hero’s welcome in Londinium!” Aurelius growled.
I turned on my heel and started from the tent. Aurelius saw this and cried after me, “So you desert me too, eh, Myrddin? Go then! Leave me! Get out, all of you!”
“Myrddin, wait!” Uther came after me. “Please, we have been in the saddle since before sunrise, and then we did not so much as catch a glimpse of Gorlas—or any of the others. Do not be angry with him.”
“I am not angry,” I said, turning to meet him in the moonlight. “But I will not waste my time talking just to hear myself speak.”
“Let him rest. He will be ready to listen in the morning.”
I did not go to my tent, but went instead to a nearby alder grove to think. I sat down among the slim, moon-silvered trunks and listened to the water ripple in the little stream. It was peaceful there, and I had much need of peace. Much need of respite from men and their self-important schemes—all desire and ambition, no thought, no restraint or compassion, no understanding.
The last few days, coming from the benevolent company of Dafyd and his monks, seemed diabolic in contrast: the jealousy, the grudging animosity, the petty spite…My spirit recoiled from it as from a fanged serpent.
Great Light, deliver me from the enmity of small-minded men!
Or if I may not be delivered, give me the strength to overcome, or if not to overcome, simply to endure. I would settle for that.
Then, sitting there in the moonlight, I felt the confusion of the past days dissolve like hard dirt clods in the rain. I breathed deep of the tranquility of the sleeping world and began to see the way ahead more clearly.
Aurelius must be established as High King and must be recognized by all as supreme king of all Britons. His claim must remain unchallenged, and all lesser kings must be seen to give him fealty. This was of foremost importance. If it could be accomplished without increasing ill will and contention, so much the better.
By the time the moon dipped below the far horizon, a plan had begun to take shape in my mind. I went to my bed at last, satisfied that I had found a solution. It seemed that I had just stretched myself out when Pelleas woke me saying, “Lord Myrddin, the king is asking for you.”
I rose with a yawn, dashed water in my face from the basin in Pelleas’ hands, and went to see the king. He was seated at his board, his dark curls wild on his head, a loaf of bread in his hands. It did not appear that his night’s rest had soothed him. He half-rose when I came in, remembered him self, sat again, and extended half the loaf to me. Uther sat at the end of the board, looking out of sorts; he too had been dragged from his bed.
“Well, Wise Counselor,” Aurelius said, “give me the benefit of your wisdom. Am I to be High King, or hermit? What am I to do?”
“You will be High King,” I reassured him. “But not yet.”
“No?” His eyebrows rose. “How long must I wait?”
“Until the time redeems itself.”
“Speak plainly, Prophet. How long?”
So I told him my plan, and ended by saying, “Thus, send the rest of the kings back to their realms. Tell them to ready their tribute to you and await your summons—which will come when you are ready.”
“When will that be?” A sly smile wreathed his lips, for he understood the implications of my words.
“At the Christ Mass.”
“Yes!” He rose with a shout. “Well done, Myrddin!”
Uther nodded vaguely. “It is all very well for the kings to pay tribute to Aurelius, but why must we wait until the dead of winter to be crowned? The throne is his—he should take it.”
Aurelius was on his feet now, excited. “Do you not see it, brother? Londinium will have time to misdoubt its treatment of me. The citizens will wait for me to act, and they will grow fearful in waiting. They will fear my wrath, they will fear the worst. And then, when I come, they will seek to soothe me; they will throw open the gates, they will lavish gifts upon me. In short, they will welcome me in all meekness, glad in their hearts that I did not destroy them as they deserved. Am I right, Myrddin?”
“That is the meat of it.”
“And the other kings—by letting them go now, I rescue my dignity.”
“Essentially.”
Uther still appeared in a fog. “I do not see that at all.”
“Half of the kings have left me,” Aurelius said, “and the other half wish they had.” He was overstating it, but not by much. “Very well, let them all go. I will send word to them to attend me at Christ Mass in Londinium. They will come, and the people will see me attended by the kings of Britain in all their finery. Oh, it will be a splendid spectacle!”
“They will think you weak if you do not act now.”
“No, brother, it is by choosing not to act that I show my strength. He is truly strong who withholds his hand when he could strike.”
It was not as simple as that, I knew, but if it was what Aurelius believed, and he did, it might amount to the same thing in the end. I prayed that it would. Besides, I did not think he would lose anything by waiting—and letting the lords think better of their oaths of fealty. Also, the troublesome lords like Gorlas and his friends Morcant, Coledac, and Dunaut would be more easily dealt with singly; alone, without support of other dissenters, they could be brought into compliance.
Uther remained skeptical. “What do we do while we wait? Where will we go? Need I remind you, brother, we have not so much as a rooftile to call our own?”
“It is not so long to wait,” I said quickly. “And you have no lack of hearth places where you will be welcome. We could return to Dyfed, or—”
“No,” replied Aurelius firmly, “it must not be at the hospitality of any of my kings. It must be somewhere else.”
“Just where might that be?” wondered Uther. “Not Londinium, surely.”
“Leave it to me,” I said. “I know a place where you will be received in all luxury and accorded the dignity of your rank.”
Uther rose. He was happy with the plan, or at least happy to let the matter rest until he had properly broken fast. He took his leave of us and returned to his tent; I got to my feet as well. “Merlin,” said Aurelius. He stood and came to place his hands on my shoulders. “I am stubborn and impatient, but you forbear me. Thank you for your indulgence, my friend. And thank you for the benefit of your wisdom.”
The High King embraced me like a brother, and then went out to tell his lords that they were to return home to their harvests, and that he would send word for them to meet him in Londinium at the Mass of Christ when he would take his crown.
“The Christ Mass,” wondered Ceredigawn. “When is that?”
“At the midwinter solstice,” answered Aurelius.
“And where will you go now, my lord?” asked Tewdrig. “What will you do?”
“I am going away with my wise counselor,” Aurelius answered, and with a conspirator’s smile turned toward me. “I will hold vigil in prayer and holy instruction until I be made High King.”
This pronouncement caused as much sensation as if Aurelius had announced that he would forsake the throne altogether and become a monk. The lords turned to one another and remarked that such a thing had never been heard of before. Aurelius left them floundering in their surprise. “I will summon you when the season draws near, that you may make ready to attend me in all courtesy.” Saying this, he returned to his tent, leaving his lords staring after him.
A more kingly act he could not have conceived.
9
I should have seen more clearly. I should have known where events were leading. I should have recognized what shape the future would take. My vision was clear enough: I should have known to protect Aurelius. Above all, I should have recognized the hand of Morgian working unseen to shape the world to her will. So much I should have seen and known.
&nbs
p; Should have…Empty, useless words. How they cleave bitterly to the tongue. To utter them is to taste bile and ashes in the mouth. Well, I am to blame.
Aurelius was so happy, so confident. And I was so pleased to sojourn a season in Avallach’s house, and to see Charis again, that I did not think further ahead than the day at hand. Feeling no threat, I let time take its course. That was my mistake.
In truth, I feared Morgian and that was my failing.
* * *
Upon leaving Londinium, we rode to Ynys Avallach, the mysterious Glass Isle of old, to Avallach’s palace. We stopped along the way and were received with great acclaim; word of Hengist’s defeat had permeated the landscape itself, and we were everywhere made welcome.
Gwythelyn and the monks parted company with us at Aquae Sulis, but I induced Dafyd to continue on with us, and to undertake Aurelius’ tutelage. Not that he needed much coaxing; the happy prospect of seeing Charis and Avallach once more cheered him greatly.
Oh, it was a glad reunion. They fell into one another’s arms, tears of happiness shining on their cheeks. I do not think they ever hoped to see one another again, so many years had passed. But like all good friendships, the passage of time did little to alter their love for one another, and within the space of a few heartbeats it was as if they had never been apart.
After the hardships of a season of almost continual fighting, it was good to let the tranquility of the Glass Isle seep into our battle-weary souls. False summer faded and autumn progressed apace, bringing wind and rain to the Summerlands. The sea rose to flood the lowlands around the palace, and Ynys Avallach became a true island once again. Though the days grew shorter and the world colder, our hearts remained light and we luxuriated in the warmth of one another’s company.
Dafyd taught in the great hall by day. Most of Avallach’s household gathered to hear the wise bishop expound the teachings of God’s Holy Son, Jesu, Lord and Savior of men, and the hall was filled with love and light and learning. Aurelius, true to his word, spent his days in instruction and prayer at Dafyd’s feet. I watched him grow in grace and faith, and I rejoiced in my heart that Britain should have such a High King.