Merlin

  Great is the king who loves the Most High God. Before the first snows of winter fell, Aurelius consecrated himself to God and took the sign of the Savior Son, the cross of Christ, as his emblem.

  Pelleas grew restless, and one day I found him on the rampart staring southward toward Llyonesse. “Do you miss it?” I asked him.

  “I did not think so until now,” he answered, without taking his eyes from the southern hills.

  “Then why not go back?”

  He turned to me, pain and hope mingled in his face. But he did not answer.

  “Not to stay. But I can spare you yet a while; go back to your people. How long has it been since you have seen them? Go to them.”

  “I do not know if I would be welcome,” he replied, and turned back to stare into the grey distance.

  “You will never find out standing here,” I told him. “Go; there is time. You could rejoin us in Londinium at the Christ Mass.”

  “If you think I might…”

  “I would not have said it if I did not think so. Besides, it would be good to have some word of happenings in Llyonesse.”

  “Then I will go,” he said resolutely. He turned and, with the air of a man going to his doom, strode from the rampart and across the courtyard. In a little while, I saw him ride along the causeway; I watched until he disappeared from sight along the hilltrack.

  For my part, I spent much time with my mother, talking, playing chess, playing my harp and singing for her. It was good to sit with her beside the hearth, the scent of oak and elm hazy in the air, wrapped in our woolen cloaks, listening to the icy rain spatter on the courtyard stones, and the small ticking of the fire before us.

  Charis told me of her life as a bull dancer in Atlantis, the cataclysm that claimed her homeland, their coming to Ynys Prydein, and the difficulties of those first hopeless, tragic years—all the old stories. But I heard them in a way I had never heard them before, and I understood. Hearing with understanding is perhaps the better part of wisdom. I learned much in listening to my mother speak about her life and came to see her in a new way.

  One morning I asked about the sword—Avallach’s sword, the one she had given me when I became king. Pelleas had told me that he found it on the battlefield when I fled, and that he had carried it back to Ynys Avallach, along with word of my disappearance, that first winter when the weather forced him to give up searching for me.

  “Do you wish to have it back?” she asked. “I have kept it for you. But when you did not ask for it on your return, I thought…But, of course, I will get it for you.”

  “No, please; I only ask about it. I told you once that sword was not for me. I held it for a time, but I think it is meant for another hand.”

  “It is yours. Give it to whomever you wish.”

  * * *

  I would have given much to remain in Avallach’s house, but it was not to be. Too soon the time came to leave. One day Aurelius sent out his messengers to his lords, as he had said he would, summoning them to his kingmaking. Then, a few days later, we started out.

  In the cold heart of a midwinter morning we mounted our horses and began the journey to Londinium. Aurelius was in high spirits and eager to seize his crown. He had embraced Dafyd’s instruction, and now owned the Holy Jesu as his Lord. Upon his taking the crown, he meant to be baptized, as a sign to all his people where his allegiance lay.

  Uther distrusted the church. I do not know why. He would speak of his misgivings to no one. He allowed the good in men like Dafyd and the good their lives and teachings produced, even acknowledged its source, but could not bring himself to embrace the truth they proclaimed, nor make it his own. But, as I have said, he loved his brother, and whatever Aurelius chose, Uther at least tolerated.

  Nevertheless, Uther’s sojourn at the Glass Isle, although restful, had something of captivity in it. So the day of our leave-taking was a day of liberation for Uther, and he breathed deep of it. He was the first into the saddle, and he sat jerking the reins back and forth impatiently as the rest of us made our farewells.

  “Mother, pray for me,” I whispered as I stepped close to embrace her.

  “Like my love, my prayers have never ceased. Go in God’s peace, my Hawk.”

  So, wrapping ourselves in our cloaks and furs against the cold, we started down the snaking trail to the causeway, and across the frozen meres to the snow-dusted hills beyond. The cold brought color to our cheeks and keenness to our appetites. We traveled with all speed over the hard winter ground, making the most of the too-short daylight hours, stopping only when it became too dark to see the road ahead. At night, we huddled close to the fire of our night’s host—chieftain or magistrate or village elder—and listened to the winter-starved wolves howl.

  Nevertheless, we rode through a land silent and at rest, and arrived in Londinium a day sooner than we had planned. This time Aurelius did not go to the governor’s palace, but went straight to the church. Urbanus received us cordially and made us comfortable in his quarters—the lower floor of a plain but spacious house adjacent to the church.

  While we warmed ourselves over the brazier and sipped hot mulled wine, he told us how the church might be prepared for the coronation. He declared enthusiasm for the coronation to take place in his church, but confessed, “I still do not understand why you wish to be made king here.”

  “I am a Christian,” Aurelius explained. “Where would you have me go? Governor Melatus is not my superior that I should receive my crown from his hand. But Jesu is my Lord; therefore I will take up my kingship in his holy presence. And I will receive my crown from the hand of his true servant, Bishop Dafyd.”

  It was as I had always intended it to be, of course, but hearing the confirmation from Aurelius’ own lips thrilled me. Only such a king would be fit for the Kingdom of Summer, and Aurelius had the grace and the strength; he had the faith. He could rule this worlds-realm island, and it would flourish like a meadow in midsummer.

  Though the land lay barren in the cold grip of winter, I saw summer’s cloak falling over her like the mantle of a bride. And I rejoiced to see it.

  Great Light, let my vision prove false! Let Aurelius live to do his work.

  The next day the first of Aurelius’ kings arrived in Londinium. Coledac and Morcant, neither of whom had far to travel, came into the city with their lords and advisors, a small band of warriors each, and, to my surprise, their wives and children. Dunaut and Tewdrig arrived the next day, and Custennin and Ceredigawn the day following. And there was a scramble to find places for them all—for each had brought a large retinue to attend the ceremony.

  Others arrived: Morganwg of Dumnonia, with the princes Cato and Maglos; Eldof of Eboracum; Ogryvan of Dolgellau and his chieftains and druids; Rhain, prince of Gwynedd, Cerdigawn’s cousin; Antorius and his brother king, Regulus, of Canti in Logres; Owen Vinddu of Cerniu; Hoel of Armorica, braving the winter seas, with his sons Garawyd and Budic.

  Still others came, and not lords and chieftains only, but holymen as well: Samson, most reverent priest of Goddodin in the north; the renowned Bishop Teilo, and abbots Ffili and Asaph, noble churchmen of Logres; and Kentigern, the much-loved priest of Mon; Bishop Trimoriun and Dubricius, both learned and respected priests of the church at Caer Legionis; and, of course, Gwythelyn with all the monks of Dafyd’s monastery at Llandaff.

  Kings and lords and churchmen from all the realms of the Island of the Mighty came to uphold Aurelius as High King. And each had brought gifts: objects of gold and silver, swords, fine horses and hunting hounds, good cloth, ash bows and steel-tipped arrows, hides and skins and furs of finest quality, silver-rimmed drinking horns, casks of mead and dark beer, and more.

  All brought gifts according to their wealth and rank, and I realized that they had been long anticipating this event and awaiting it with eagerness—even as I had predicted. Time had worked its wonder in their hearts, magnifying Aurelius in their eyes. They came to Londinium to make a High King, and they would see him crowned with al
l honor and esteem.

  Did I say all? There was one whose absence fairly shouted: Gorlas. He alone risked the High King’s wrath with his defiance. With the Christ Mass but one day away, there was still no word or sign from Gorlas. This weighed more heavily on me and on Uther than it did on Aurelius, who was so busy receiving the gifts and honor of his lords that he did not appear to notice Gorlas’ slight.

  But Uther noticed. As the days dwindled and preparations for the Feast of the Mass of Christ hurried apace, he stormed the upper rooms of Urbanus’ house, angry, shouting, pounding tables and doorposts with his fists.

  “Give me twenty men and I will bring back Gorlas’ head for the High King’s crowntaking—by Lleu and Jesu I would!”

  I answered, “Calm yourself, Uther. Lleu might approve of your gift, but I heartily doubt that Jesu would find favor in it.”

  “Well, am I to stand by and do nothing while that whore’s whelp thumbs his nose at Aurelius? Tell me, Merlin, what am I to do? Mind, I will not suffer Gorlas’ impudence lightly.”

  “I say that it is Aurelius’ affair, Uther, not yours. If the High King wishes to overlook Gorlas’ insult, so be it. No doubt, your brother will deal with it at a more opportune time.”

  Uther subsided, but he was not appeased. He continued to grumble and growl, snarling at all who approached him, making himself so unpleasant that I finally sent him out to look for Pelleas, who had not yet arrived. For I knew Pelleas would have come by now unless prevented, and I had begun to be anxious over him.

  I could have studied the fire for some sign of him, but I will tell you the truth—that since my healing and release from Celyddon, reading the embers or gazing into the seeing bowl had become distasteful to me. Perhaps I feared that in walking the paths of the future I might meet Morgian—that occurred to me, and the prospect chilled my heart. Or perhaps I was restrained by something else. In any event, I did not care to satisfy my curiosity with the fire or bowl, and I would not unless need were great.

  So Uther, glad to have something to do, ordered his horse to be saddled, and gathered a small band of companions and rode out from the city at midday. I was free to go about my own affairs, which included visiting Custennin and Tewdrig.

  This kept me occupied well into the night, for the noblemen came to Aurelius one after another without cease, drinking his health, giving gifts, and pledging themselves and their heirs to his service. On the eve of the Christ Mass, the High King was awash in a floodtide of fealty and well-wishing. I spoke to this one and that, gathering information and knowledge, learning what I could from the lords of realms of which I was ignorant.

  * * *

  Dawn was but a whisper away when I finally made my way to my bedchamber—only to realize that Uther had not yet returned. Notwithstanding my reluctance, I was tempted to stir up the embers and see what had befallen him. But instead I donned my cloak and went to find my horse. The monk whose charge was the stable lay sleeping in his corner on a pallet of fresh straw, snoring. Loath to wake him, I saddled my mount and rode out into cold, silent streets.

  The gatekeeper was nowhere to be seen, but the gate was not locked, so I opened the gate myself and hastened out. Gusts of wind hissed through frost-stiffened foliage along the road outside the walls. The heavens were heavy with unshed snow and shone like molten lead in the rising sun. I turned west with the road, knowing Uther would have ridden that way in search of Pelleas.

  I rode, letting my horse have his head, glad to be out in the countryside once more and free of the too-close company of men. My thoughts turned to Pelleas. Perhaps I had not acted wisely in urging him to return to his home in Llyonesse. I knew nothing of affairs there. King Belyn might not have been pleased to see his bastard son; Pelleas might have come to harm.

  Even now I did not think it likely and the thought would not have occurred to me at all, if not for the obvious fact of Pelleas’ absence. Of course, he might have had trouble on the road—always possible, although it was hard to imagine what kind of trouble a seasoned warrior might encounter that could not be easily discharged by the quick stroke of his blade.

  Or, might it be something else entirely?

  The empty road passed beneath my horse’s hoofs, and my danger sense sharpened with each step. At every moment I expected to see Pelleas cresting the hill ahead. But I reached it first, and he was not to be seen.

  I rode until midday and then stopped. I must turn back if I was to return to Londinium in time for the Mass and Aurelius’ crowntaking. I stopped and waited a moment on a tree-crowned hilltop, gazing into the distance all around, then reluctantly started back.

  I had not ridden far, however, when I heard a shout.

  “Mer-r-lin-n!”

  The call came from some distance away, but was distinct in the crisp winter air. Instantly I halted and whirled in the saddle. There, a long way off, a lone rider galloped toward me: Pelleas.

  I waited and he reached me a few moments later, exhausted, out of breath, his horse lathered from a hard ride. “I am sorry, my lord—” he began, but I dismissed his apology with a gesture.

  “Are you well?”

  “I am well, my lord.”

  “Have you seen Uther?”

  “Yes,” Pelleas answered with a nod, gasping for breath. “We met him on the road—”

  “We? Who was with you?”

  “Gorlas,” Pelleas wheezed. “I would have come sooner, but in the circumstance, I thought best—”

  “No doubt you did right. Now tell me what has happened.”

  “One day ago, on the road, Gorlas and his party were attacked. He traveled with but a small escort, and we were forced to fight for our lives; we held them off for a good while nevertheless. Uther came upon us when it appeared that we would fail. Our attackers fled; the duke gave chase, but was eluded.” Pelleas paused, gulping air. “Upon his return Uther sent me on ahead. He rides with Gorlas now.”

  “How far behind?”

  Pelleas shook his head. “I cannot say for certain. I have been riding all night.”

  I scanned the road behind, hoping to see some sign of Uther and Gorlas; there was none. “Well, there is nothing we can do now. We will return to Londinium and await them there.”

  Owing to Pelleas’ fatigue, we were late in reaching the city. But we hurried to Urbanus’ house and washed ourselves before going to the church. By the time we arrived, the church was already full; the yard was thronged with the lords’ retinues and curious citizens. We forced our way through the press at the doors and made our way among the crowd inside, finding places beside a pillar near the front.

  The interior of the great room was a blaze of candlelight—shining, white gold, like the light of heaven after a violent storm. Blue-misted vapors of incense ascended to the roofbeams in sweet-scented clouds to waft above our heads like the prayers of saints. The church buzzed with excitement. Here was a thing that had never happened before: a king crowned in a church, receiving his kingship from the hand of a holyman!

  We had only just taken our places when the inner doors were thrown wide open and a robed monk swinging a censer came down the central aisle. Behind him came another, carrying a carved wooden cross before him. Urbanus followed, wearing a dark robe and a huge cross of gold upon his chest.

  Dafyd walked behind him dressed in his robes, face shining in the candleglow. I stared at him as all the others stared, for he was a man transformed. Splendid in humility, radiant in simple holiness, Dafyd appeared a heavenly messenger come down to bless the proceedings with his presence. No one who saw him could have mistaken his kindly smile for anything but the rapture of one close to the living source of all love and light. Just to see him was to bow the knee to the God he served; it was to draw near true majesty with meekness and submission.

  Behind Dafyd walked Aurelius, carrying his sword—the Sword of Britain—blade across palms, dressed in a white tunic and trousers with a wide belt of silver discs. His dark hair was oiled and combed back, bound at the nape with a
thong. He walked easily, his expression at once serious and joyful.

  Gwythelyn came after him bearing a narrow circlet of gold on a cloth of white linen. Four more monks followed with a cloak of imperial purple, each holding a corner in his hand.

  All these made their way to the altar, which was raised on a stepped marble dais. Urbanus and Dafyd approached the altar and turned to face Aurelius, who knelt down before them on the steps.

  No sooner had this taken place than a chorus of monks, lining the perimeter of the church, began shouting:

  GLORIA! GLORIA!

  GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO!

  GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO!

  “Glory to God in the High Realms!” they shouted, and their shout became a chant. Others joined in, and soon everyone was chanting; the church reverberated with it, the sound lifting the heart and spiraling up and ever upward through the night-dark sky to the first twinkling stars, to the very throne of heaven.

  When the chant had reached its crescendo, Dafyd stepped forth with arms outspread and the room fell silent at once. “It is right to pay homage to the Great Good God,” he said. Then he turned to the altar, knelt, and began to pray aloud.

  “Great of Might, High King of Heaven, we honor

  you!

  Light of sun,

  Radiance of moon,

  Splendor of fire,

  Speed of lightning,

  Swiftness of wind,

  Depth of sea,

  Stability of earth,

  Firmness of rock,

  Bear witness:

  We pray this day for Aurelius, our king;

  For God’s strength to steady him,

  God’s might to uphold him,

  God’s eye to look before him,

  God’s ear to hear him,

  God’s word to speak for him,

  God’s hand to guard him,

  God’s shield to protect him,

  God’s host to save him

  From the snares of devils,