Legacy: Arthurian Saga (148 page)

He saw me, and lifted a hand, but did
not hurry. He paused by the outer revetment, and spoke to the men
working there, then walked out onto the planking that bridged a
trench, while the laborers straightened from their tasks to answer
his questions. I saw one of them point something out to him; he
looked that way, and then all about him, before he left them to
mount the central ridge where the foundations for his headquarters
had been dug. From there he could command the whole area, and make
some sense, perhaps, out of the maze of trenching and foundations,
half hidden as it was beneath the web of ropes and
scaffolding.

He turned slowly on his heel, until he
had taken in the full circle. Then he came swiftly over to where I
stood, drawings in hand.

"Yes," was all he said, but with a
glowing satisfaction. And then: "When?"

"There will be something here for you
by winter."

He sent his eyes round again, a look
of pride and vision that could have been my own. I knew that he was
seeing, as I could see, the finished walls, the proud towers, the
stone and timber and iron that would enclose this space of golden
summer air, and make it his first creation. It was the look, too,
of a warrior who sees a strong weapon being offered to his hand.
His eyes, full of this high and fierce satisfaction, came back to
me.

"I told you to use a miracle, and I
think you have. That is how I see it. Perhaps you are too much of a
professional to feel that way, when you see what was only a drawing
on clay, or even a thought in your mind, being built into something
real that will last forever?"

"I believe all makers feel this way.
I, certainly."

"How fast it has moved! Did you build
it with music, like the Giants' Dance?"

"I used the same miracle here. You can
see it. The men."

A quick glance at me, then his gaze
went across the mess of churned ground and toiling laborers to
where, as orderly as in an old, walled city, the workshops of the
carpenters and smiths and masons rang with hammering and voices.
His eyes took a faraway and yet inward look. He spoke softly. "I'll
remember that. God knows every commander should. I use the same
miracle myself." Then, back to me: "And by next winter?"

"By next winter you shall have it
complete inside, as well as safe to fight from. The place is
everything we had hoped for. Later, when the wars are done, there
will be space and time to build for other things, comfort and grace
and splendor, worthy of you and your victories. We'll make you a
veritable eagle's eyrie, hung on a lovely hill. A stronghold to
hunt from in war, and a home to breed in times of
peace."

He had half turned from me, to make a
sign to the watching Bedwyr. The young men mounted, and Bedwyr
approached us, leading Arthur's mare. Arthur swung back to me,
brows up.

"So you know? I might have known I
could keep no secrets from you."

"Secrets? I know nothing. What secret
were you trying to keep?"

"None. What would be the use? I would
have told you straight away, but this came first...though she
wouldn't like to hear me say so." I must have gaped at him like a
fool. His eyes danced.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Merlin. But I really
was about to tell you. I am to marry. Come, don't be angry. That is
something in which you could hardly guide me to my own
satisfaction."

"I am not angry. What right have I?
This is one thing you must decide for yourself. It seems you have,
and I'm glad. Is it concluded?"

"No, how could it be? I was waiting to
talk to you first. So far it's only been a matter of letters
between Queen Ygraine and myself. The suggestion came from her, and
I suppose there'll be a lot of talking to do first. But I warn you"
-- a glint -- "my mind is made up." Bedwyr slipped from his saddle
beside us, and Arthur took the mare's reins from him. I looked a
query, and he nodded. "Yes, Bedwyr knows."

"Then will you tell me who she
is?"

"Her father was March, who fought
under Duke Cador and was killed in a skirmish on the Irish Shore.
Her mother died at her birth, and since her father's death she has
been under Queen Ygraine's protection. You must have seen her, but
you would not notice her, I expect. She was in waiting at Amesbury,
and then again at the crowning."

"I remember her. Did I hear her name?
I forget."

"Guenever."

A plover winged overhead, tumbling in
the sun. Its shadow floated over the grass between us. Something
plucked at the chords of memory; something from that other Me of
power and terror and bright vision. But it eluded me. The mood of
tranquil achievement was unruffled as the Lake.

"What is it, Merlin?"

His voice was anxious, like a boy's
who fears censure. I looked up. Bedwyr, beside him, was watching me
with the same worried look.

"Nothing at all. She's a lovely girl,
and bears a lovely name. Be sure the gods will bless the marriage
when the time comes."

The young faces relaxed. Bedwyr said
something quick and teasing, then followed it with some excited
comment about the building work, and the two of them plunged into a
discussion in which marriage plans had no part. I caught sight of
Derwen over near the gateway, so we walked that way to talk with
him. Then Arthur and Bedwyr took their leave, and mounted, and the
other young men turned their fretting horses to ride downhill after
their King toward the road.

They did not get far. As the little
cavalcade entered the sunken gateway they came head on against
Blackberry and Dewdrop and their sisters, making their slow way
uphill. The old herdsman, tenacious as goosegrass, still clung to
his grazing rights on Caer Camel, and brought the herd daily up
toward the part of the field as yet unspoiled by the
workings.

I saw the grey mare pause, veer, and
start to curvet. The cattle, stolidly chewing, shouldered by,
udders swinging. From somewhere among them, as suddenly as a puff
of smoke from the ground, the old man appeared, leaning on his
staff. The mare reared, hoofs flailing. Arthur pulled her aside,
and she turned back hard against the shoulder of Bedwyr's black
colt, which promptly lashed out, missing Dewdrop by inches. Bedwyr
was laughing, but Cei shouted out angrily: "Make way, you old fool!
Can't you see it's the King? And get your damned cattle out of the
way. They've no business here now!"

"As good business as yourself, young
master, if not better," said the old man tartly. "Getting the good
of the land, they are, which you and your likes can do naught but
spoil! So it's you should take your horses off and get your hunting
done in the Summer Country, and let honest folks be!"

Cei was never one to know when he
should curb his anger, or even save his breath. He pushed his horse
past Arthur's mare, and thrust his red face down toward the old
man. "Are you deaf, old fool, or just stupid? Hunting? We are the
King's fighting captains, and this is the King!"

Arthur, half laughing, began: "Oh,
leave it, Cei," then had to control the mare sharply once more as
the old goblin bobbed up again at his bridle-hand. The dim eyes
peered upward.

"King? Nay, but you can't fool me,
masters 'tis only a bit of a lad. The king's a man grown. Besides,
'tis not yet his time. He'll come at midsummer, with the full moon.
Seen him, I have, with all his fighting men." A gesture with his
staff that set the horses' heads tossing again. "These, fighting
captains? Boys, that's all they be! Kings' fighting men have armor,
and spears as long as ash trees, and plumes on them like the manes
on their horses. Seen them, I have, alone here on a summer's night.
Oh, aye, I know the king."

Cei opened his mouth again, but Arthur
put up a hand. He spoke as if he and the old man were alone in the
field. "A king who came here in the summer? What are you telling
us, father? What men were they?"

Something in his manner, perhaps, got
through to the other. He looked uncertain. Then he caught sight of
me, and pointed. "Told him, I did. Yes. King's man, he said he was,
and spoke me soft. A King was coming, he said, who would tend my
cows for me, and give me the grazing for them..." He looked about
him, as if taking in for the first time the splendid horses and gay
trappings, and the assured, laughing looks of the young men. His
voice faltered, and he slid off into his mumbling. Arthur looked at
me.

"Do you know what he's talking
about?"

"A legend of the past, and a troop of
ghosts that he says come riding out of their grave in the hill on a
summer's midnight. It's my guess that he's telling an old tale of
the Celtic rulers here, or the Romans, or maybe both. Nothing to
trouble you."

"Not trouble us?" said someone,
sounding uneasy; I think it was Lamorak, a brave and high-strung
gentleman who watched the stars for signs, and whose horse's
trappings rang with charms. "Ghosts, and not trouble
us?"

"And he has seen them himself, on this
very spot?" said someone else. Then others, murmuring: "Spears and
horsehair plumes? Why, they sound like Saxons." And Lamorak again,
fingering a piece of coral on his breast: "Ghosts of dead men,
killed here and buried under the very hill where you plan to build
a stronghold and a safe city? Arthur, did you know?"

There are few men more superstitious
than soldiers. They are, after all, the men who live closest to
death. All laughter had vanished, quenched, and a shiver went
across the bright day, as surely as if a cloud had passed between
us and the sun.

Arthur was frowning. He was a soldier,
too, but he was also a king, and, like the King his father before
him, dealt in facts. He said with noticeable briskness: "And what
of it? Show me any strong fortress as good as this which has not
been defended by brave men, and founded on their blood! Are we
children, to fear the ghosts of men who have died here before us,
to keep this land? If they linger here at all, they will be on our
side, gentlemen!" Then, to the herdsman: "Well? Tell us your story,
father. Who was this king?"

The old man hesitated, confused. Then
he asked, suddenly: "Did you ever hear of Merlin, the
enchanter?"

"Merlin?" This was Bedwyr. "Why, do
you not know --?"

He caught my eye, and stopped. No one
else spoke. Arthur, without a glance in my direction, asked into
the silence: "What of Merlin?"

The filmed eyes went round as if they
could see every man clearly, every listening face. Even the horses
stood quiet. The herdsman seemed to take courage from the attentive
silence. He became suddenly lucid. "There was a king once who set
out to build a stronghold. And like the kings of old, who were
strong men and merciless, he looked for a hero, to kill and bury
beneath the foundations, and hold them firm. So he caught and took
Merlin, who was the greatest man in all Britain, and would have
killed him; but Merlin called up his dragons, and flew away through
the heavens, safely, and called a new king into Britain, who burned
the other one to ashes in his tower, and his queen with him. Had
you heard the tale, master?"

"Yes."

"And is it true that you are a king,
and these your captains?"

"Yes."

"Then ask Merlin. They say he still
lives. Ask him what king should fear to have a hero's grave beneath
his threshold. Don't you know what he did? He put the great Dragon
King himself under the Hanging Stones, that he did, and called it
the safe castle of all Britain. Or so they say."

"They say the truth," said Arthur. He
looked about him, to see where relief had already overlaid
uneasiness. He turned back to the herdsman. "And the strong king
who lies with his men within the hill?"

But here he got no further. When
pressed, the old man became vague, and then unintelligible. A word
could be caught here and there: helmets, plumes, round shields, and
small horses, and yet again long spears "like ash trees," and
cloaks blowing in the wind "when no wind blows."

I said coolly, to interrupt these new
ghostly visions: "You should ask Merlin about that, too, my lord
King. I believe I know what he would say."

Arthur smiled. "What,
then?"

I turned to the old man. "You told me
that the Goddess slew this king and his men, and that they were
buried here. You told me, too, that the new young King would have
to make his peace with the Goddess, or she would reject him. Now
see what she has done. He knew nothing of this story, but he has
come here with her guidance, to build his stronghold on the very
spot where the Goddess herself slew and buried a troop of strong
fighters and their leader, to be the king-stone of his threshold.
And she gave him the sword and the crown. So tell your people this,
and tell them that the new King comes, with the Goddess's sanction,
to build a fortress of his own, and to protect you and your
children, and let your cattle graze in peace."

I heard Lamorak draw in his breath.
"By the Goddess herself, you have it, Merlin!"

"Merlin?" You would have thought the
old man was hearing the name for the first time. "Aye, that's what
he would say...and I've heard tell how he took the sword himself
from the depths of the water and gave it to the King..." For a few
minutes then, as the others crowded close, talking again among
themselves, relieved and smiling, he went back to his mumbling. But
then, my final, incautious sentence having got through, he came
suddenly, and with the utmost clarity of speech, back to the matter
of his cows, and the iniquity of kings who interfered with their
grazing. Arthur, with one swift, charged glance at me, listened
gravely, while the young men held in their laughter, and the last
wisps of trouble vanished in mirth. In the end, with gentle
courtesy, the King promised to let him keep the grazing for as long
as the sweet grass grew on Caer Camel, and when it did no longer,
to find a pasture for him elsewhere.