Legacy: Arthurian Saga (14 page)

I was ready. I stood looking down at
him for a moment longer, and saw instead, as in the flashing
crystal, how they had laid my grandfather, with the torchlight and
the watchers and the purple. Nothing here but darkness, a dog's
death. A slave's death.

"Cerdic." I said it half aloud, in the
darkness. I wasn't weeping now. That was over. "Cerdic, rest you
now. I'll send you the way you wanted, like a king."

I ran to the door, listened for a
moment, then slipped through into the deserted colonnade. I lifted
the lamp from its bracket. It was heavy, and oil spilled. Of
course; he had filled it just that evening.

Back in my own room I carried the lamp
over to where he lay. Now -- what I had not foreseen -- I could see
how he had died. They had cut his throat.

Even if I had not intended it, it
would have happened. The lamp shook in my hand, and hot oil
splashed on the coverlet. A burning fragment broke from the wick,
fell, caught, hissed. Then I flung the lamp down on the body, and
watched for five long seconds while the flame ran into the oil and
burst like blazing spray.

"Go with your gods, Cerdic," I said,
and jumped for the window.

I landed on the bundle and went
sprawling in the wet grass, then snatched it up and ran for the
river wall.

Not to frighten the pony, I made for a
place some yards beyond the apple-tree, and pitched the bag over
the wall into the ditch. Then back to the tree, and up it, to the
high coping.

Astride of this, I glanced back. The
fire had caught. My window glowed now, red with pulsing light. No
alarm had yet been given, but it could only be a matter of moments
before the flames were seen, or someone smelled the smoke. I
scrambled over, hung by my hands for a moment, then let myself
drop. As I got to my feet a shadow, towering, jumped at me and
struck.

I went down with a man's heavy body on
top of me, pinning me to the muddy grass. A splayed hand came hard
down on my face, choking my cry off short. Just near me was a quick
footstep, the rasp of drawn metal, and a man's voice saying,
urgently, in Breton: "Wait. Make him talk first."

I lay quite still. This was easy to
do, for not only had the force of the first man's attack driven the
breath right out of my body, but I could feel his knife at my
throat. Then as the second man spoke, my captor, with a surprised
grunt, shifted his weight from me, and the knife withdrew an inch
or two.

He said, in a tone between surprise
and disgust: "It's only a boy." Then to me, harshly, in Welsh: "Not
a sound out of you, or I'll slit your throat here and now.
Understood?"

I nodded. He took his hand from my
mouth, and getting up, dragged me to my feet. He rammed me back
against the wall, holding me there, the knife pricking my
collarbone. "What's all this? What are you doing bolting out of the
palace like a rat with the dogs after it? A thief? Come on, you
little rat, before I choke you."

He shook me as if I were indeed a rat.
I managed to gasp: "Nothing. I was doing no harm! Let me
go!"

The other man said softly, out of the
darkness: "Here's what he threw over the wall. A bag full of
stuff."

"What's in it?" demanded my captor.
And to me, "Keep quiet, you."

He had no need to warn me. I thought I
could smell smoke now, and see the first flicker of light as my
fire took hold of the roof beams. I flattened myself back even
further into the black shadow under the wall.

The other man was examining my
bundle.

"Clothes...sandals...some jewelry by
the feel of it..."

He had moved out on to the towpath,
and, with my eyes now used to the darkness, I could make him out. A
little weasel of a man, with bent shoulders, and a narrow, pointed
face under a straggle of hair. No one I had ever seen.

I gave a gasp of relief. "You're not
the King's men! Who are you, then? What do you want
here?"

The weaselly man stopped rooting in my
bag, and stared.

"That's no concern of yours," said the
big man who held me.

"We'll ask the questions. Why should
you be so scared of the King's men? You know them all,
eh?"

"Of course I do. I live in the palace.
I'm -- a slave there."

"Marric" -- it was the
Weasel, sharply -- "look over there, there's a fire started.
They're buzzing like a wasp's nest. No point in wasting time here
over a runaway slave-brat. Slit his throat and let's run for it
while
we can."

"A moment," said the big man. "He may
know something. Look now, you --"

"If you're going to slit my throat
anyway," I said, "why should I tell you anything? Who are
you?"

He ducked his head forward suddenly,
peering at me. "Crowing mighty fine all of a sudden aren't you?
Never mind who we are. A slave, eh? Running away?"

"Yes."

"Been stealing?"

"No."

"No? The jewelry in the bundle? And
this -- this isn't a slave's cloak." He tightened his grip on the
stuff at my throat till I squirmed. "And that pony? Come on, the
truth."

"All right." I hoped I sounded sullen
and cowed enough for a slave now. "I did take a few things. It's
the prince's pony, Myrddin's...I -- I found it straying. Truly,
sir. He went out today and he's not back yet. He'll have been
thrown, he's a rotten horseman. I -- it was a bit of luck -- they
won't miss it till I'm well away." I plucked at his clothes
beseechingly. "Please, sir, let me go. Please! What harm could I do
-- ?"

"Marric, for pity's sake, there's no
time." The flames had taken hold now, and were leaping. There was
shouting from the palace, and the Weasel pulled at my captor's arm.
"The tide's going out fast, and the gods only know if she's there
at all, this weather. Listen to the noise -- they'll be coming this
way any minute."

"They won't," I said. "They'll be too
busy putting the fire out to think of anything else. It was well
away when I left it."

"When you left it?" Marric hadn't
budged; he was staring down at me, and his grip was less fierce.
"Did you start that fire?"

"Yes."

I had their full attention now, even
Weasel's.

"Why?"

"I did it because I hate them. They
killed my friend."

"Who did?"

"Camlach and his people. The new
King."

There was a short silence. I could see
Marric better now. He was a big, burly man, with a bush of black
hair, and black eyes that glinted in the fire.

"And," I added, "if I'd stayed, they'd
have killed me, too. So I burned the place and ran away. Please let
me go now."

"Why should they want to kill you?
They'll want to now, of course, with the place going up like a
torch -- but why, before that? What had you done?"

"Nothing. But I was the old King's
slave, and...I suppose I heard things. Slaves hear everything.
Camlach thinks I might be dangerous...He has plans...I knew about
them. Believe me, sir," I said earnestly, "I'd have served him as
well as I did the old King, but then he killed my
friend."

"What friend? And why?"

"Another slave, a Saxon, his name was
Cerdic. He spilled oil on the steps, and the old King fell. It was
an accident, but they cut his throat."

Marric turned his head to the other.
"Hear that, Hanno? That's true enough. I heard it in the town."
Then back to me: "All right. Now you can tell us a bit more. You
say you know Camlach's plans?"

But Hanno interrupted again, this time
desperately. "Marric, for pity's sake! If you think he's got
something to tell us, bring him along. He can talk in the boat,
can't he? I tell you, if we wait much longer we'll lose the tide,
and she'll be gone. There's dirty weather coming by the feel of it,
and it's my guess that they won't wait. And then in Breton: "We can
as easy ditch him later as now.

"Boat?" I said. "You're going on the
river?"

"Where else? Do you think we can go by
road? Look at the bridge." Marric jerked his head sideways. "All
right, Hanno. Get in. We'll go."

He began to drag me across the
towpath. I hung back. "Where are you taking me?"

"That's our affair. Can you
swim?"

"No."

He laughed under his breath. It was
not a reassuring sound.

"Then it won't matter to you which way
we go, will it? Come along." And he clapped his hand once more over
my mouth, swung me up as if I had been no heavier than my own
bundle, and strode across the path to the oily dark glimmer that
was the river.

The boat was a coracle, half hidden
under the hanging bank. Hanno was already casting off. Marric went
down the bank with a bump and a slither, dumped me in the lurching
vessel, and clambered after me. As the coracle rocked out from
under the bank he let me feel the knife again against the back of
my neck.

"There. Feel it? Now hold your tongue
till we're clear of the bridge."

Hanno thrust off, and guided us out
with the paddle into the current. A few feet from the bank I felt
the river take hold of the boat, and we gathered speed. Hanno bent
to the paddle and held her straight for the southern arch of the
bridge.

Held in Marric's grip, I sat facing
astern. Just as the current took us to sweep us southwards I heard
Aster's high, frightened whinny as he smelt the smoke, and in the
light of the now roaring fire I saw him, trailing a broken rein,
burst from the wall's shadow and scud like a ghost along the
tow-path. Fire or no fire, he would make for the gate and his
stable, and they would find him. I wondered what they would think,
where they would look for me. Cerdic would be gone now, and my room
with the painted chest, and the coverlet fit for a prince. Would
they think I had found Cerdic's body, and in my fear and shock had
dropped the lamp? That my own body was there, charred to nothing,
in the remains of the servants' wing? Well, whatever they thought,
it didn't matter. Cerdic had gone to his gods, and I, it seemed,
was going to mine.

12

The black arch of the bridge swooped
across the boat, and was gone. We fled downstream. The tide was
almost on the turn, but the last of the ebb took us fast. The air
freshened, and the boat began to rock.

The knife withdrew from my flesh.
Across me Marric said: "Well, so far so good. The brat did us a
good turn with his fire. No one was watching the river to see a
boat slip under the bridge. Now, boy, let's hear what you have to
tell us. What's your name?"

"Myrddin Emrys."

"And you say you were -- hey, wait a
minute! Did you say Myrddin? Not the bastard?"

"Yes."

He let out a long whistling breath,
and Hanno's paddle checked, to dip again hurriedly as the coracle
swung and rocked across the current. "You heard that, Hanno? It's
the bastard. Then why in the name of the spirits of lower earth did
you tell us you were a slave?"

"I didn't know who you were. You
hadn't recognized me, so I thought if you were thieves yourselves,
or Vortigern's men, you'd let me go."

"Bag, pony, and all...So it was true
you were running away? Well," he added thoughtfully, "if all tales
be true, you're not much to be blamed for that. But why set the
place on fire?"

"That was true, too. I told you.
Camlach killed a friend of mine, Cerdic the Saxon, though he had
done nothing to deserve it. I think they only killed him because he
was mine and they meant to use his death against me. They put his
body in my room for me to find. So I burnt the room. His people
like to go to their gods like that."

"And the devil take anyone else in the
palace?"

I said indifferently: "The servants'
wing was empty. They were all at supper, or out looking for me, or
serving Camlach. It's surprising -- or perhaps it isn't -- how
quickly people can switch over. I expect they'll put the fire out
before it reaches the King's apartments."

He regarded me in silence for a
minute. We were still racing with the turning tide, well out in the
estuary now. Hanno gave no sign of steering to the further bank. I
pulled my cloak closer round me and shivered.

"Who were you running to?" asked
Marric. "Nobody."

"Look, boy, I want the truth, or
bastard prince or not, you'll go over the side now. Hear me? You'd
not last a week if you hadn't someone to go to, to take service
with. Who did you have in mind? Vortigern?"

"It would be sensible, wouldn't it?
Camlach's going with Vortimer."

"He's what?" His voice sharpened. "Are
you sure?"

"Quite sure. He was playing with the
idea before, and he quarrelled with the old King about it. He and
his lot would have gone anyway, I think. Now, of course, he can
take the whole kingdom with him, and shut it against
Vortigern."

"And open it for who else?"

"I didn't hear that. Who is there? You
can imagine, he wasn't being very open about it until tonight, when
his father the King lay dead."