The Iron Grail

  Even so, the Cymbrii purloined the wheels, slinging them across their backs like shields. Good wheels were rare; the wheels of Nodons’ chariot were the rarest of all.

  On the beach, as the longer of the two sea vessels was hauled across the hard shingle to the surging waves, Manandoun observed quietly, ‘It could be, of course, that the hounds can smell their mistress: Niiv. You put them under her control, if you remember. They continued to obey her long after she had been abandoned by Merlin, and made an outcast.’

  Urtha hauled, his face reddening with the strain as they plunged the craft into the water.

  ‘As long as we get across, friend Manandoun,’ was all he said to that. ‘Now, get the horses aboard and on their sides. While the sea is this calm we have a chance of rowing the distance. Quickly.’ He glanced apprehensively towards the village, invisible in the fog. ‘If I knew which gods looked after Merlin, I’d invoke them to have him come to me. But I don’t, so we must keep our wits and wiles about us at all times. Maglerd! Gelard! Aboard!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rough Crossing

  They had crossed the sea-channel in heavy fog; now a storm lashed Argo as she fought her way along the island coast, in sight of the steep, grey cliffs, searching for a haven. Billowing waves crashed across the deck and down into the hold, where the argonauts huddled, braced against the violent movement of the ship. Rubobostes, the brawny Dacian, was secured by ropes to the mast as he clung to the steering oar, heaving it with strength and experience as he helped the vessel stay at a distance from the surf and the shore. The sail had started to tear along the cross beam and Jason, in the stern, cloaked and sodden, watched the parting in the canvas as it moved towards destruction.

  Clinging to the rising curve of the high prow, the small figure of the Northlands enchantress Niiv lay sprawled, dark hair matted, her sharp sight keenly scanning the cliffs for the tell-tale sign of a drop to a cove.

  For the first time in this voyage, Jason felt the dull ache of despair. He could not afford to be cast, wrecked and ruined, against the wrong shore. This island was vast, and the way to its heart would be along one of the five rivers carved into the land by forces more powerful, even, than his own gods of old.

  ‘Goddess! Aid us! I must make land. My son is there!’

  He turned to face the grim-visaged carving of Mielikki. The figure leered from the stern, stretching out across the deck. Its hair seemed to stream in the strong wind. The eyes were narrow, demonic, the mouth turned down in contempt. Where once Hera’s divinity had smiled rose-lipped and kind-eyed at the men on Argo, now this monstrous Northlands witch was the small ship’s guide. Hera had been warmed by sun and sweetened with wine and olives. The Lady of the Forest was a shadow from the dark woods and snows, where for half the year only the moon was in the heavens to bring pallid, pellucid light to the frozen world below.

  Rubobostes’ voice was one more howl against the screech of wind and rain. ‘The sea will have us! I cannot hold this oar! Jason, we must take our chances on the beach!’

  ‘No! Hold the bearing. Hold until the oar breaks!’

  ‘My back will break before the oar. I am being bent in half by the billows!’

  ‘Hold longer!’

  Jason put his hands on the sinister birchwood face above him. The eyes seemed to move to watch him, mocking. Mielikki hated this man. She had not spoken to him since Greek Land. Olympian Hera’s love for Jason, her divine protection, had been replaced by loathing, by reluctant obedience to the captain’s orders.

  ‘A haven from the storm. I beg you, Lady! Make the cliffs break open, or the wind drop.’

  ‘I can do neither,’ the goddess murmured. ‘But I will hold that big man’s spine in one piece. He is a better man than you, Rottenbones. And I will help my daughter in the prow.’

  Argo plunged and rolled, the mast creaked ominously and the sail tore so badly that it now began to flap uselessly. In the shallow hold, the drenched and sallow argonauts, recruited from five lands on the long voyage to Alba, shouted for their lives, echoing the Dacian’s demand to be put ashore. Above the vessel, a wide-winged sea-eagle swooped and hovered against the storm, watching the deck below as if there was easy prey to be had from the fragile craft.

  Then Niiv cried out, her voice almost lost on the wind. ‘An inlet! The cliffs are dropping!’

  She watched Jason through the rain, pointing to the north. The land seemed to recede from them, the sure sign of a river’s outlet to the sea. Rubobostes heaved on the steering oar, screaming with the effort. A wave broke across the vessel, knocking Jason to the gunwales, but he slipped back across the galley, summoned two of his sailors and struck through the sheets, letting the canvas sail flap loose, letting the Dacian do the work, letting the frail craft nose on the roaring gale and the hurling tide towards the broad grey beach, where the land opened its arms.

  A while later they were in a haven, sea anchor dropped, rocking on the swell but protected from the main force of the storm. Later still, the wind eased, the clouds moved on, the sky brightened. The hull of Argo steamed. Her crew stripped and squeezed the salt water from their clothes, then baled out the hull and secured bales, ropes and barrels that had come loose in the storm. There was laughter and mischief from several as they took up their positions on the benches, slotting oars into place for the river journey to follow.

  Six of dark and grim demean, however, stayed at their benches, slumped forward, exhausted, ignored by the others.

  Rubobostes too had slumped to sleep, more than exhausted by his efforts of the last half day. Jason stood by Mielikki, his gaze on the dark-haired girl who crouched, watching back, at the other end of the ship. After a while he stepped down below the deck and beckoned to her. Reluctantly, she crept along the vessel and joined him at the threshold to Argo’s spirit.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘She talked to me. For the first time since we’ve left Greek Land, she talked to me. The two of you are like a pair of Harpies.’

  Niiv tugged her hair across her left shoulder and began to twist it, squeezing out the wet. She said nothing. After a moment Jason reached out and took the braid in his two hands, twisting carefully, as if helping her, his face close to the girl’s. ‘She talked to me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who do you think? The wooden witch!’

  ‘You should be more respectful.’

  ‘God’s eyes! I’ve promised the she-goat to take her north again! What else can I do? She is making this journey too difficult.’

  As he spoke, Jason folded the braid. Niiv had let her hands drop. The hair tugged at her scalp, pulling at the roots. When Jason saw pain he gave the sodden lock a final twist, pulling at the skin, threatening.

  ‘Why is she suddenly talking to me? You’re her virgin daughter, her little lass. You whisper in the night. I’m not afraid of either of you, but I need to know. There! My heart is open to you. I need to know.’

  Niiv licked her lips suggestively, bright eyes glaring through the pain of her twisted locks in this old man’s grasp. ‘I can do you harm.’

  ‘I know you can.’

  ‘I can do you great harm.’

  ‘I’m aware of it.’

  ‘I can change the way you see the world.’

  ‘I know. You and a thousand like you. A little enchantment and you think you can own the world you see.’

  ‘Mocking me will only make it worse for you.’

  ‘You like to think so. But experience tells me that it won’t.’

  ‘I can do you harm!’ she snarled again.

  Jason drew her closer. ‘But you won’t. I know you won’t. I can read your thinking as easily as I can tell which way a bird will fly in winter!’

  ‘Not all birds fly with the flock.’

  ‘Easy prey for hawks, then.’ He released his grip and took on a more approachable posture, crouching before her. ‘I know that no love is lost between us.’

  ‘It certainly isn’t.’

  ??
?I know I once tried to kill you. I wouldn’t try that now. It was a mistake. I learned my lesson.’

  Niiv laughed in his face, almost surprised by this apology. ‘It’s taken you long enough to tell me. You’ll understand if I doubt you.’

  ‘I’d expect nothing else. You’ve been a good navigator. I’ve said little, but without you at the prow and that giant man over there’—he glanced at Rubobostes—‘we could not have reached Alba. I know that. Mielikki, the spirit in this ship, abandoned me in Greek Land. But for what reason? The question haunts me.’

  Niiv smiled, rubbing her hands together to get them warm. She was amused, perhaps by the thought that a ‘question’ could haunt this man who was seven centuries out of his time, and pursued by the ghosts of his previous life.

  ‘Why should it matter? You don’t need the goddess, just a good strong sail, good oarsmen and a keen pair of eyes. All of that has brought you to Alba. Leave the Lady in peace.’

  There was something in the way she said this, a touch of anxiety, that intrigued Jason. It took him a moment only to realise what it was. ‘She’s weak. She has been too long from home, too far from home. She’s ill! Now I understand.’

  Niiv met his gaze, evenly and without expression, saying nothing. But as Jason turned to stare at the jutting figurehead, rising from the spirit of the ship below, so Mielikki herself whispered to him: ‘Not ill; not weak; but divided. A part of me is in the heart of this island, an older boat, with an older man. We are all coming together again, Jason. The second part of the play is about to begin.’

  The wind had begun to rise, the sky lowering. The argonauts, refreshed and repaired, were anxious, now, to get away from the swell and the seagulls that surged and swooped about their ship.

  Jason stood and faced Mielikki, pushing the lank grey hair back from his face. ‘You mean Merlin! Merlin is already here! And he travelled on one of your ancient echoes. Your hidden ships. That is why you have been so quiet.’

  ‘He has been here for a long while. He sailed by a shorter route than you. And he has been living both inside and outside of Time. We are all coming together again, Jason. We are being drawn together. The winds are rising. And Merlin is at the heart of the storm.’

  Jason was furious. He remembered the long land journey, north through Makedonia and the snow-blasted valleys, through the dark forests to the river Daan, where the hull of Argo had been hidden, all the while dragging her ‘spirit’, this wretched head, the birchwood presence that guarded the heart of the ship. To have met with Rubobostes again had helped. His unnatural horse, Ruvio, lying peacefully in the hull, had helped haul the wagon and saved them time. But then they had sailed east, to the Bythnian Sea; and south through those treacherous straits where rocks clashed and whirlpools reached in spouts to the clouds themselves. They had fought against storms and raiders as they sailed to the south of his homeland, Greek Land, and along the rocky coasts of Sicilia and Gaul, then the hostile seas of Eberia. Finally they had turned north again and entered the cold sea-mists of the western isles, where every cliff-top was alight with burning effigies, and the howling of war-trumpets was like the dying of a legion of the damned.

  But Merlin had come here by a shorter route! Through the underworld, no doubt. At Argo’s pleasure!

  ‘I built you!’ he shouted at the goddess. ‘Not once, but twice! This is my ship!’

  ‘This ship was built a long time before you came to the world,’ was Mielikki’s murmured retort. ‘All you did, like those before you, was shape her for your own needs. Your possession of her is temporary. And she is not complete. The enchanter Merlin sails in a small echo of Argo, an older part of her. She aches to have that part returned. But only when Merlin is ready to release it. If you lay claim to it, you must argue it out with Merlin.’

  * * *

  Jason’s black mood lightened as the skies brightened, the storm passing across the channel. He caught the watching glimmer in Niiv’s eyes and crossed the deck to join her. She huddled slightly, arms folded inside her cloak, watching the man suspiciously but with the hint of a smile.

  ‘We both need him,’ Jason said. ‘I’m aware of that.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Merlin, of course. Don’t play the innocent. We can search for him together. But now that we’re in Alba…’

  She gave a little laugh of surprise. ‘What? Work together? But Jason, you want him dead. I want him alive.’

  ‘Who has told you that I want him dead?’

  ‘You! In the moaning in your sleep. He hurt you badly.’

  ‘He betrayed me. He was an old friend. He helped me back to life. He helped me find Thesokorus, my elder boy. But he kept things back from me. He knew Medea was close to me, protecting her son, yet he said nothing. When I finally met Thesokorus, he did this to me…’

  Jason pulled up his saturated linen shirt to reveal the jagged, swollen scar of Thesokorus’s sword blow. Niiv had already seen the wound, discreetly, while Jason had slept, but she still feigned shock.

  ‘Merlin did that to you?’

  ‘Thesokorus did this to me. He is no longer my son. But Little Dreamer is on this island, and I will find him, or die trying.’ Jason covered his belly again, leaning forward, his gaze canny and amused. ‘As well you know. You know all my needs! Don’t think I haven’t felt your fingers in the night. You probe men’s skin and bones for their secrets like every charmer in the world. That’s why we should work together: you to learn from him, me to follow him to Kinos, little Kinos. And when you’ve learned, and I’ve followed and found: then we can all discuss the matter of Medea and betrayal, and what compensation is due.’

  ‘You’ll kill him.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Jason said carefully. ‘I’ll listen to what you have to say…’

  Niiv said nothing. She gave a little shrug of her shoulders, a small signal of agreement, perhaps, or a signal of her willingness to think about the offer.

  Truth to tell—this much was obvious to the circling sea-eagle—there was still so much she didn’t know or understand.

  A Ligurian, his face tattooed with curling snakes, stood up and called to Jason in his own language, but made gestures that were clear enough: let’s get on before the rain comes again. These are good rowing conditions.

  Jason raised his hands in agreement. The rough crew began to sing, a rousing melody learned from the Sicilians on board, a coarse song that always made them laugh as they shouted out the last stanza of every verse.

  They had their minds on adventure, and on spoil. Jason had played up the availability of talismans, new weapons and armour and the beauty of women on the isle of Alba. This crew had been easy to recruit, but he didn’t trust a single man among them, save for the six of dark demeanour.

  Niiv was nervous too. Only Rubobostes’ protective bulk and Jason’s authority had saved her from violation on two occasions, though both those men had ended up mysteriously without speech and been put ashore on a high rocky headland, far to the south.

  Now Argo moved almost effortlessly through the water, drawn ahead by the steady rhythm of the oars, silent and serene as the river channel narrowed and the forest crowded closer to the edge. Niiv was still in position in the tall prow, calling out the hazards of gravel banks and floating logs. Standing in front of the oarsmen, Rubobostes used his brawny arms to signal port and starboard. Jason had trained his rough crew well. Argo drew smoothly against the flow, winding her way into the heart of the land.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Wolf Stalking

  It was Urtha’s two great hounds who first sensed the wolf, slinking through the undergrowth at the edge of the camp. First Maglerd, then Gelard—old names for old dogs—rose slowly to their feet from where they had been sprawled by the crackling fire. Hackles rose, heads dropped and two low, warning growls roused Ullanna from her half-slumber. She reached quickly for her bow, used it to tap on Urtha’s foot below his cloak. The voices of the hounds rose and fell; their bodies had started to shake. Where their
dual gaze was fixed, bright, lupine eyes watched back. The maw glistened. The lean head turned right and left, taking in the sprawl of sleeping figures and the guttering flames, and was then withdrawn.

  Maglerd made ready to begin the chase, but Urtha called softly, ‘Easy, dog. Good dog. Easy, Maglerd.’

  The wolf stalked the edge of the camp for a while, then silently disappeared.

  The hounds settled uneasily by the fire.

  Ullanna shook her head quizzically. ‘Why did you stop me? I could have got two shots off before it disappeared.’

  ‘It was just a wolf,’ Urtha said, frowning. ‘It wouldn’t have hurt us. Besides … it didn’t disturb the horses. Don’t you think that’s strange?’

  The Scythian glanced at the two silent horses, tethered close by, asleep on their feet. Urtha was right. Their calm was uncharacteristic.

  ‘More than a wolf, then. Is that what you’re saying?’

  The king drew his red cloak around his shoulders. His face was still dark with thought. ‘Yes. I think so. I was dreaming when you woke me. I was dreaming of Kymon and Munda. They were calling a warning as they ran towards me. And behind them, watching me through the dream, was our friend from the Northlands, that young-old man with all the charm…’

  ‘Merlin?’

  ‘Friend Merlin. Yes. I didn’t call on him. I didn’t know how to do it. He’s found us on his own. Maybe he’d found us before.’

  They looked back at the undergrowth where the wolf had appeared, then—remembering Merlin’s trick of inhabiting birds—glanced up at the night sky, searching for a hawk. There was nothing there but the movement of clouds and the occasional glitter of a star.

  ‘There is something wrong,’ Urtha murmured.

  ‘You keep saying that,’ Ullanna teased gently. ‘It’s beginning to be unnerving. We know there’s something wrong. The Desertion of your land. The wasteland. It’s why we went to Makedonia, to kill the man who had left your home unguarded.’