Legacy: Arthurian Saga (142 page)

"I shall see that you are taught. Go
now, and thanks. Good night."

He went, running, as if the stinking
alley were as light as day. Halfway up it I saw him jump and
spring, like a young animal suddenly let out of its pen on a fine
morning. I went quietly back into the shop, picking my way past the
wheel-pit and the heavy sledge left leaning by the pile of spokes.
Near the fireplace was the stool where the boy sat who kept the
bellows going. I sat down to wait, spreading my wet cloak to the
warmth of the fire.

Outside, drowning the soft sounds of
the rain, the lasher roared. A loose paddle of the great wheel,
hammered by the water, clacked and thudded. A pair of starving dogs
raced by, wrangling over something unspeakable from a midden. The
wheelwright's shop smelled of fresh wood, and sap drying, and the
knots of burning elm. The faint tick of the fire was clearly
audible in the warm darkness against the water noises outside. Time
went by.

Once before I had sat like this, by a
fire, alone, with my mind on a birth-chamber, and a child's fate
revealed to me by the god. That had been a night of stars, with a
wind blowing over the clean sea, and the great king-star shining. I
had been young then, sure of myself, and of the god who drove me.
Now I was sure of nothing, save that I had as much hope of
diverting whatever evil Morgause was planning as a dry bough had of
damming the force of the lasher.

But what power there was in knowledge,
I would have. Human guesswork had brought me here, and we should
see if I had read the witch aright. And though my god had deserted
me, I still had more power than is granted to common men: I had a
king at my call.

And now here was Ulfin, to share this
vigil with me as he had shared it in Tintagel. I heard nothing,
only saw when his body blocked the dim sky in the
doorway.

"Here," I said, and he came in,
groping his way over to the glow.

"Nothing yet, my lord?"

"Nothing."

"What are you expecting?"

"I'm not quite sure, but I think
someone will come this way tonight, from the queen."

I felt him turn to peer at me in the
darkness. "Because Lot is due home?"

"Yes. Is there any more news of
that?"

"Only what I told you before. They
expect him to press hard for home. He could be here very
soon."

"I think so, too. In any case,
Morgause will have to make sure."

"Sure of what, my lord?"

"Sure of the High King's
son."

A pause. "You mean you think they will
smuggle him out, in case Lot believes the rumors and kills the
child? But in that case --"

"Yes? In that case?"

"Nothing, my lord. I wondered, that's
all...You think they will bring him this way?"

"No. I think they have already brought
him."

"They have? Did you see which
way?"

"Not since I have been here. I am
certain that the baby in the castle is not Arthur's child. They
have exchanged it."

A long breath beside me in the
darkness. "For fear of Lot?"

"Of course. Think about it, Ulfin.
Whatever Morgause may tell Lot, he must have heard what everyone is
saying, ever since it became known that she was with child. She has
tried to persuade him that the child is his, but premature; and he
may believe her. But do you think he will take the risk that she is
lying, and that some other man's son, let alone Arthur's, lies
there in that cradle, and will grow up heir to Lothian?

Whatever he believes, there's a
possibility that he may kill the boy. And Morgause knows
it."

"You think he has heard the rumors
that it may be the High King's?"

"He could hardly help it. Arthur made
no secret of his visit to Morgause that night, and nor did she. She
wanted it so. Afterwards, when I forced her to change her plans,
she might persuade or terrify her women into secrecy, but the
guards saw him, and by morning every man in Luguvallium would know
of it. So what can Lot do? He would not tolerate a bastard of any
man's; but Arthur's could be dangerous."

He was silent for a while. "It puts me
in mind of Tintagel. Not the night we took King Uther in, but the
other time, when Queen Ygraine gave Arthur to you, to hide him out
of King Uther's way."

"Yes."

"My lord, are you planning to take
this child as well, to save him from Lot?"

His voice, softly pitched as it was,
sounded thin with some kind of strain. I hardly attended; far out
somewhere in the night, beyond the noise of the weir, I had heard a
beat of hoofs; not a sound so much as a vibration under our feet as
the earth carried it. Then the faint pulse was gone, and the
water's roar came back.

"What did you say?"

"I wondered, my lord, how sure you
were about the child up at the castle."

"Sure of what the facts say, no more.
Look at them. She lied about the date of birth, so that it could be
put about that the birth was premature. Very well; that could be a
face-saver, no more; it's done all the time. But look how it was
done. She contrived that no doctor was present, and then alleged
that the birth was unexpected, and so quick that no witnesses could
be called into the chamber, as is the custom with a royal birthing.
Only her two women, who are her creatures."

"Well, why, my lord? What more was
there to gain?"

"Only this, a child to show Lot that
he could kill if he would, while Arthur's son and hers goes
scatheless."

A gasp of silence. "You mean
--?"

"It fits, doesn't it? She could
already have arranged an exchange with some other woman due to bear
at the same time, some poor woman, who would take the money and
hold her tongue, and be glad of the chance to suckle the royal
baby. We can only guess what Morgause told her; the woman can have
no inkling that her own child might be at risk. So the changeling
lies there in the castle, while Arthur's son, Morgause's tool of
power, is hidden nearby. At my guess, not too far away. They will
want news of him from time to time."

"And if what you say is true, then
when Lot gets here --"

"Some move will be made. If he does
harm the changeling, Morgause will have to see that the mother
hears nothing of it. She may even have to find another home for
Mordred."

"But --"

"Ulfin, there is nothing we can do to
save the changeling. Only Morgause could save it, if she would.
It's not even certain that it will be in danger; Lot is not quite a
savage, after all. But you and I would only run on death ourselves,
and the child with us."

"I know. But what about all the talk
up there in the castle? Beltane would tell you about it. He was
talking while I got my supper. I mean, the baby being so like King
Lot, the living image, they were all saying. Could this of yours
just be a guess, sir? And the child be Lot's own, after all? The
date could even have been right. They said it was a sickly child,
and small."

"It could be. I told you I was
guessing. But we do know that Queen Morgause has no truth in her --
and that she is Arthur's enemy. Her actions, and Lot's, bear
watching. Arthur himself will have to know, beyond doubt, what the
truth is."

"Of course. I see that. One thing we
could do is find out who bore a male child at about the same time
as the queen. I could ask around the place tomorrow. I've made a
useful wine-friend or two already."

"In a town this size it could be one
of a score. And we have no time. Listen!"

Up through the ground, clear now, the
beat of hoofs. A troop, riding hard. Then the sound of them, close
and coming closer, clear above the river noises, and soon the town
noises as people crowded out to see. Men shouting; the crash of
wood on stonework as the gates were flung open; the jingle of bits
and the clash of armor; the snorting of hard-ridden horses. More
shouting, and an echo from the castle rock high above us, then the
sound of a trumpet.

The main bridge thundered. The heavy
gates creaked and slammed. The sounds dwindled toward the inner
courtyard, and were lost in the other, nearer noises.

I stood up and walked to the doorway
of the wheelwright's shop, and looked up to where, beyond the mill
roof, the castle towered against the clouded night. The rain had
stopped. Lights were moving. Windows flared and darkened as the
king's servants lighted him through the castle. To the west side
were two windows bright with soft light. The moving lights went
there, and stayed.

"Lot comes home," I said.

12

Somewhere a bell clanged from the
castle. Midnight. Leaning in the doorway of the wheelwright's shop,
I stretched shoulders aching with the damp of the night. Behind me,
Ulfin fed another faggot to the fire, carefully, so that no spurt
of flame should attract the attention of anyone who might be
waking. The town, sunk back into its night-time stupor, was silent,
but for the barking of curs and now and again the scritch of an owl
among the trees on the steep crag-side.

I moved silently out from the door's
shelter into the street near the end of the bridge. I looked up at
the black bulk of the crag. The high windows of the castle still
showed light, and light from the troopers' torches, red and
smoking, moved behind the walls that masked the courtyard
below.

Ulfin, at my elbow, drew breath for a
question.

It was never asked. Someone, running
chin on shoulder across the footbridge, ran headlong into me,
gasped, gave a broken cry, and twisted to dodge past.

Equally startled, I was slow to react,
but Ulfin jumped, grasped an arm, and clapped a hand tightly to
stifle the next cry. The newcomer twisted and fought in his grip,
but was held with ease. "A girl," said Ulfin, surprised. "Into the
shop," I said quickly, and led the way. Once there, I threw another
piece of elm on the fire. The flames leaped. Ulfin brought his
captive, still writhing and kicking, into the light. The hood had
fallen from her face and head, and I recognized her, with
satisfaction.

"Lind." She stiffened in Ulfin's grip.
I saw the gleam of frightened eyes staring at me above the stifling
hand. Then they widened, and she went quite still, as a partridge
does before a stoat. She knew, me, too.

"Yes," I said. "I am Merlin. I was
waiting for you, Lind. Now, if Ulfin loosens you, you will make no
sound." Her head moved, assenting. He took his hand from her mouth,
but kept his grip on her arm.

"Let her go," I said. He obeyed me,
moving back to get between her and the doorway, but he need not
have troubled. As soon as he released her she ran toward me, and
flung herself to her knees in the litter of shavings. She clung to
my robe. Her body shook with her terrified weeping.

"Oh, my lord, my lord! Help
me!"

"I am not here to harm you, or the
child." To calm her, I spoke coldly. "The High King sent me here to
get news of his son. You know I cannot come to the queen herself,
so I waited here for you. What has happened up at the castle?" But
she would not speak. I think she could not. She clung, and shook,
and cried. I spoke more gently. "Whatever has happened, Lind, I
cannot help you if I do not know. Come near the fire, and compose
yourself, and tell me." But when I tried to draw my robe from her
clutches she clung the harder. Her sobs were violent. "Don't keep
me here, lord, let me go! Or else help me! You have the power --
you are Arthur's man -- you are not afraid of my lady
--"

"I will help you if you will talk to
me. I want news of King Arthur's son. Was that King Lot who arrived
just now?"

"Yes. Oh, yes! He came home an hour
ago. He is mad, mad, I tell you! And she did not even try to stop
him. She laughed, and let him do it."

"Let him do what?"

"Kill the baby."

"He killed the child Morgause has at
the castle?"

She was too distraught to see anything
strange about the form of the question. "Yes, yes!" She gulped.
"And all the while it was his own son, his very own son. I was
there at the birth, and I swear it by my own hearth-gods. It was
--"

"What's that?" This, sharply, from
Ulfin, on watch in the doorway.

"Lind!" I stooped, pulled her to her
feet, and held her steady.

"This is no time for riddles. Go on.
Tell me all that happened."

She pressed the back of one wrist to
her mouth, and in a moment or two managed to speak with some sort
of composure. "When he came, he was angry. We had been expecting
it, but nothing like this. He had heard what people were saying,
that the High King had lain with her. You knew that, lord, you knew
it was true...So King Lot stormed and raved at her, calling her
whore, adulteress...We were all there, her women, but he cared
nothing for that. And she -- if she had talked sweetly to him,
lied, even..."

She swallowed. "It would have calmed
him. He would have believed her. He never could resist her. That's
what we all thought she would do, but she did not. She laughed in
his face, and said, 'But do you now see how like you he is? Do you
really think a boy like Arthur could get such a son?' He said, 'So
it's true? You lay with him?' She said, 'Why not? You would not wed
me. You took that little honey-miss, Morgan, instead of me. I was
not yours, not then.' It made him angrier." She shivered. "If you
had seen him then, even you would have been afraid."