The best he could do was send out scouts and wait for news.
Tory and Brockwell felt light-headed and experienced an eerie sensation of travelling, yet as far as they could tell they hadn’t moved at all. When the thick mist cleared, however, they found they were no longer standing in the temple, but under their feet was the same intricately carved cross.
‘Well beam me up Scotty, dost thou believe this?’ Tory exclaimed as she ventured into an enormous room that was similar in style and size to a cathedral. But it had no windows and was entirely candle-lit. While the foundation of the structure seemed to be of the same period as the temple they’d been in only minutes before, the architraves reflected a distinct Romanesque style. The room was oblong in shape with double colonnades, rounded archways, and an apse to one end. This building plan was not employed in Britain until around the twelfth century. Tory was amazed by the rare exhibits that lined the walls and covered the floor. Some of the furnishings, decoration and artwork must date back to before recorded time, and there were prime examples of work from cultures throughout the ages.
At the opposite end of the room to the apse were a set of large mahogany doors, covered with panels of deep red padded leather fastened into place with flat silver studs. As Tory was admiring them the doors unexpectedly opened. She waited with bated breath for their host to emerge from the shadows. Brockwell, who was by nature more cautious, took a stand in front of Tory.
‘Brockwell.’ Tory tapped his shoulder. ‘May I ask what thou art doing?’
‘I am responsible for thy safety. Maelgwn would have my throat cut if any harm was to befall thee.’ Why couldn’t she just be a woman and stop confusing the issue?
Tory was ready to argue with him when a voice even more enchanting than Maelgwn’s stopped her.
‘Down, Calin. It be only I, Taliesin Pen Beirdd.’
‘Taliesin, old man,’ Brockwell answered relieved. Then he moved to greet the aging Merlin.
Tory was a little confused by Brockwell’s words, as the man she saw before her appeared no older than about thirty-five. Of a medium build, Taliesin had fair skin that seemed full of vigour and not old at all. His hair, as white as snow, sat high on his shining brow and was pulled back tight off his face, falling in a ponytail to halfway down his back. The Merlin’s long, thin, oriental-style moustache and beard were as fair as his hair. He was attired in a flowing purple robe that accentuated the colour of his large, soulful eyes, which were the most amazing shade of mauve-grey.
‘I would be a foolish man indeed to threaten the lady in thy care.’
Brockwell nodded in response to his words.
‘She be one of the greatest female warriors I have ever had the pleasure to witness in action … no offence intended,’ Taliesin continued. ‘We are, of course, all one and the same.’ He graciously bowed to kiss her hand.
This man was potent. Tory could feel the energy he generated flowing from his fingertips. She had never voluntarily knelt before anyone in her life, yet, bowing her head to rest on his hands, she fell on one knee before him. ‘I am most honoured, High Merlin, that thou hast summoned me back.’ Tory realised she was not speaking with her own voice. She looked up to the magician’s face; it was so familiar yet she couldn’t place it.
Taliesin patted her hand. ‘I have been watching and waiting for thee a long time, Sorcha. Or would thee prefer I call thee Tory?’
‘Sorcha!’ Tory and Brockwell cried in unison.
‘Alright then, Sorcha.’ He mistook their meaning on purpose. He let Tory go so he could lead them from the room.
‘Wait.’ Tory nursed her head, feeling giddy as she got back to her feet. ‘Would thee mind telling me what be happening to me?’
‘We have many urgent matters to discuss, lady, but first let me treat thee both to something to eat. Thee should rest before attempting to fathom the enormity of our situation.’
‘No,’ Tory protested, not about to be moved. ‘Why did thee call me Sorcha?’
‘That was thy name in a previous incarnation, when I had the honour to be thy close acquaintance and adviser.’ Taliesin approached her so she could look him straight in the eye. ‘Following thy needless death, I waited a long time for thee to incarnate again, and who should accompany thee into life but the finest warrior thou shalt ever train.’ Taliesin motioned to Brockwell. ‘Who in turn, did drive thee to be the great warrior thou art this day.’
‘So Brockwell is Brian?’ she asked, to ensure she was following him correctly. She didn’t realise she’d broken into modern English until Taliesin answered her thus.
‘That is correct.’
Tory clapped her hands together, excited. ‘You speak English, this is great! So you’re telling me that I was Maelgwn’s mother?’ Tory held her head again. Does this change things?
‘Once,’ Taliesin clarified. He wanted to ease her fears and spoke again in a tongue Brockwell could understand. ‘Genetics art not really a factor here, though Maelgwn hast got so much of Sorcha in him that the attraction was, in a way, inevitable. A monk indeed!’ Taliesin took pleasure in his little ploy to lead the Prince away from his monastic retreat for good. ‘Maelgwn and thyself have loved each other dearly, many times, as brother, lover, son … and so the world turns. It will always be thus, forwards and backwards through time. All of us shall be drawn back together. Doth this not explain why Brockwell be so attracted to thee, and the other way round? For you recognise each other as kindred spirits, a bond that extends far beyond the boundaries of physical attraction.’
This was true enough. Even that first night in camp, when Brockwell had vexed her so, Tory could not bring herself to dislike him. As far as being physically attracted to the knight, she had always considered her brother to be good-looking. Had she not been his sister, she felt she would surely have fallen for his charms.
‘So,’ Taliesin summed up, ‘I have merely bent the rules a little to bring thee back to us and believe me when I say, we need thee now.’
Tory had question after question running through her head.
Taliesin felt this and decided he’d said more than enough for the moment. ‘Please, will thou not come and take advantage of my hospitality? I advise thee to indulge while thee can.’
Tory looked to Brockwell who had turned as white as a ghost. ‘I think that be a good idea.’
8
THE STORMS OF GWYNEDD
The Saxons observed the approach of the Prince’s party from their vantage point in the mountains; all was going to plan. They weren’t instructed to ambush, although they could have massacred the Dragon’s party with the number of men they’d rallied together. Still, Maelgwn was notorious for escaping such ploys and might make it back to Aberffraw before Chiglas’ troops had finished the crossing. Caradoc had insisted that they first allow his brother safe passage to the citadel in order to barricade him in. If they managed to take Degannwy, all the better. By that time, Caradoc would have claimed the Isle of Mon and the mountains, which in his mind belonged to him anyway. Once Mon was secured, Caradoc would concentrate all his forces on the citadel at Degannwy. He would slay Maelgwn to avenge Cadfer’s sorcerous death, and proclaim himself King of Gwynedd. Upon Chiglas’ death, he would marry Vanora to become King of Powys and wherever else he pleased with the armies he’d inherit.
Maelgwn beat the storm to arrive at Degannwy earlier than expected. He was pleased to find his old consort of men still together and in surprisingly good spirits, considering the circumstances. After they’d exchanged pleasantries, the knights congratulated their Prince on his engagement to the Princess Vanora. They presumed he would welcome the arrangement as it would eventually make him King of two kingdoms, so they were confused by the Prince’s obvious lack of enthusiasm. He merely thanked them politely, not wanting to comment further.
Cedric changed the subject, informing the Prince that the Saxon savages were proving no threat to Gwynedd. He joked about their poor form and gross lack of numbers.
It was
about this time that Maelgwn noticed that Cadogan was not present at their reunion, so he sent Madoc to find him. The Prince hated the fact that he mistrusted one of his knights, but there was too much at stake to ignore the danger. With any luck his fears would prove unjustified.
During the hour the Prince spent consulting with his advisers, scores of Saxon thugs had joined forces, preparing to converge on the citadel. Maelgwn silently observed the multitudes from the court window. The Saxons could never have organised such a force without higher supervision, he decided.
The Prince and his knights had been battling Saxons all their soldiering lives, and in all that time not one of them could recall seeing so many of these disgusting barbarians in one place.
Maelgwn ordered every available man to the outer bailey wall. He knew now that he must return to Mon as soon as possible, although he would have a huge battle ahead of him before he could even leave the citadel.
His advisers and knights left the room to see to the fort’s defence as Madoc entered, his expression grave. ‘Majesty, the scout thee sent down the Menai toward Caernarvon hast not returned. Apparently when Cadogan learnt of this he left the citadel, without thy leave, to investigate.’
Maelgwn looked back to the impending confrontation out the window. Did he know?
As Cadogan trained the younger scouts, it was not unusual for him to go chasing one of them to check on their whereabouts. Yet how convenient that this chore should leave him absent from the imminent onslaught.
The storm clouds began to rumble, black as night. Drums pounded in the distance and a loud cry sounded from the Saxon ranks. As they charged the outer walls of the citadel, a deafening thunderclap was heard and the rain came bucketing down.
‘Madoc, old friend, I fear I should not have left Caradoc inside Aberffraw.’
‘Sir Gilmore will not allow any harm to befall thy home, Sire.’
Maelgwn turned back to Madoc, praying he was right. ‘May the Spirits of the Otherworld be with us this day.’
‘The great Houses have always accompanied thee into battle, Dragon,’ Madoc said as he headed for the door, full of confidence. ‘This day shall prove no different.’
Taliesin led them down a wide torch-lit hallway, beautifully carpeted with long red rugs. Tory had never seen a wider or wilder array of armour and battledress than that which lined the corridor. Even Brockwell was turning circles in wonder as he viewed the life-size figures so strangely clad. It seemed that the Merlin’s entire abode was one big museum that appeared to go on and on forever.
Their host finally stopped, opening one of the doors that led into a cosy dining hall. The fire was lit and their meals were already laid out on the table. For Brockwell, a quarter of a pig had been roasted to perfection, with bread, fruit, and mead to accompany it. Tory’s prayers were finally answered when she spied a hamburger with fries and a Coke.
‘I wouldn’t go wandering off alone, as my home be a labyrinth of deception. I designed it that way so in the incredible impossibility of someone discovering it, they could never actually find their way out,’ Taliesin explained, impressed with his own ingenuity.
‘Surely they would find thee sooner or later?’ Brockwell asked, not really understanding what a labyrinth was.
Taliesin, sensing his scepticism and aware that Calin was often too adventurous for his own good, continued. ‘There be over a thousand rooms contained herein, and only I know what lies behind every door. I tend to keep some fairly unearthly and somewhat eccentric company at times, and I have a few animal acquaintances.’
‘What, like pets?’ Tory asked, not comfortable with the idea.
‘Nay, of course not. Most art perfectly free to come and go as they choose. For shamanistic studies I prefer the more unusual and rare creatures, but unfortunately these tend to get a bit violent around strangers.’
‘Such as?’ Brockwell inquired, before biting a huge chunk of meat off the bone.
‘Well, several dragons, one of which I keep for Maelgwn.’ The bard thought he’d tell the story for Tory’s benefit. ‘Some time ago, as a test of courage, Maelgwn sought to slay the dragon that had been menacing King Catulus’ kingdom for years. The King had offered a great reward to the warrior who could rid him of this beast. In the end, however, Maelgwn, who was not much more than a boy at the time, felt sorry for the dragon. Thus he befriended the creature and coaxed it back here.’
Tory’s face filled with delight at the story, though Brockwell seemed rather perplexed. ‘I thought he did slay it, that be what he boasted to me.’
‘Maelgwn rid Dumnonia of the horror that was plaguing them and thus earnt the respect and support of King Catulus. That was all that mattered at the time. The beast be far happier here with none to torment it.’
‘Dragons art not so fierce,’ Brockwell claimed, sounding in no way dissuaded by the Merlin’s caution. ‘Dost thou not have any creature more formidable than that?’
‘Hast thou ever laid eyes on a griffin, Calin?’ the Merlin asked, smiling.
The knight shrunk away, discouraged. ‘I am happy to be wherever thou doth see fit to put me,’ he said.
Tory pushed her plate aside. ‘A million thanks,’ she bowed her head to her host. ‘Best burger I ever had.’
‘Thou art most welcome,’ assured Taliesin, graciously. ‘Now, if thou art both done I would suggest some rest before nightfall.’
Tory was about to ask why, but Taliesin held up his index finger to show he was not prepared to discuss the matter at this time.
‘Follow me,’ the Merlin instructed politely as he walked towards the door.
His guests looked at each other a moment and shrugged, resolving that the Merlin knew best.
Brockwell began to realise what a labyrinth was, as from the hall stairs led off in all directions. The battledress that stood between every doorway became more and more bizarre as they moved deeper into the maze. Taliesin eventually came to a standstill and gestured towards a doorway, ‘Brockwell …’
‘Nay, I must stay with Tory. Maelgwn made me swear an oath.’
Taliesin just smiled at him. ‘Surely thee can trust an old man like myself with the Prince’s lady? I am a proven ally, after all.’
Brockwell did not favour the bard’s suggestion that Tory already belonged to the Prince. Maelgwn was bound to wed Vanora, and Tory would never succumb to the role of mistress to a married man. Brockwell, therefore, felt sure he could help Tory over her brother fixation.
Taliesin, aware of Brockwell’s thoughts, swung open the door to reveal a sizeable room decorated according to sixth-century taste, and fit for a king. In it were five scantily-clad young maidens, who were eager to tend to Calin’s every whim.
Brockwell looked at Tory, suddenly feeling obliged to resign himself to the Merlin’s wishes. ‘Rest well.’ He patted her shoulder and cheerfully entered his abode.
Tory was about to protest, unsure of whether it was his fickle nature or the ease by which he was distracted from his duty that bothered her most. But the Merlin just guided her back, closing the door. ‘Brockwell has much ahead of him this night. Is it not right that he should be allowed to indulge a little beforehand?’
‘Something has happened then.’ Tory panicked. ‘It’s Caradoc, isn’t it? Is Maelgwn in danger?’
‘Indulge me one moment longer.’ He took her hand and immediately Tory felt her anxiety melt away. ‘I must show you something that will no doubt be of interest.’
He guided her towards a pair of large doors at the end of the corridor. Taliesin held his hand out before him and the doors parted wide to reveal a technological phenomenon within.
The large, space-age room contained a series of hexagons that rose out of the floor, and lining the walls was enough computer hardware to run NASA. ‘This is far beyond even my time,’ Tory gasped as she perused the control centre. ‘What are the applications?’
‘Good question,’ Taliesin replied, pleased to see the same direct manner he’d come to expect from Sor
cha.
He walked past the first of the hexagons which measured over seven metres round, making it much larger than any of the others. Its base was covered in chips of black onyx and large glass screens extended to the roof. Then he took his place behind a smaller hexagon that housed a control panel. ‘Do you know much of satellite communication, Tory?’
The hexagon before her lit up like a television monitor, showing an aerial view of Castell Degannwy and its surroundings. Tory experienced the sensation of soaring over the citadel, which could barely be seen through the storm.
‘How does it happen that a sixth-century Merlin possesses technology dating far beyond even the twentieth century?’
‘Beyond the year three thousand, satellites are so small that they can no longer be seen by the naked eye and are operated by remote control.’ Taliesin still hadn’t answered her question, but before Tory could point this out, he continued with a sigh.
‘I have travelled through time witnessing the Earth’s disasters, discovering its wonders, and collecting its treasures. I have returned here to try and restore its balance and right the wrongs where I can. This is my quest. I am, as you might say, everlasting, and assume whatever form I see fit.’ He smiled. ‘That is why Brockwell refers to me as old man, because to him I appear thus. Neither he nor Maelgwn would have listened to a word I’d said if I’d appeared the young man you see.’
Taliesin passed his hand over a smoky crystal ball that was embedded in the centre of the panel. The soft hum of the machinery dropped in pitch, as the ball changed in colour from purple to red. The image on the screens of the hexagon became stationary and appeared to fall flat before rising to display a detailed holographic image of the citadel at Degannwy, which one could view from all angles.
Fantastic! Tory walked around the hexagon, observing the miniature world of the fortress below. The storm clouds sat a bit above eye level behind the glass screens. ‘What’s happening?’ She became alarmed when she realised the little figures scaling the citadel walls were Saxons. ‘This is what Maelgwn considers no serious threat, yet they are being overrun!’ Tory looked on in horror, wondering where the Prince was placed in the uproar. ‘He made the wrong decision, didn’t he?’