Legacy: Arthurian Saga (178 page)

Of Nimue he knew little beyond what he
had already told me. I gathered that her reputation for magic, in
the weeks since my going, had grown so quickly that the mantle of
the King's enchanter had fallen naturally upon her shoulders. She
spent some of her time at Applegarth, but since the Lady's death
had gone back to the Island shrine, to be accepted without question
as the new Lady of the place. One rumor seemed to indicate that the
status of the Lady would change with her. She did not remain on the
Island, a maiden among maidens: she paid frequent visits to the
court at Camelot, and there was talk of a probable marriage.
Stilicho could not tell me who the man was said to be, "But of
course," he said, "he will be a king."

With this I had to be content. There
was little other news. Most of the men who came up-river to the
mill were simple workmen, or barge masters, whose knowledge was
only local, and who cared for little beyond getting a good price
for the goods they carried. All I could gather was that the times
were still prosperous; the kingdom was at peace; the Saxons kept to
their treaties. And the High King, in consequence, had felt free to
go abroad.

Why, Stilicho did not know. And this
did not, for the moment, matter to me, except that it must mean my
own continued secrecy. I thought the matter over again, after my
return to health, and the conclusions I came to were the same. No
purpose could be served by my public return to affairs. Even the
"miracle" of a return from the grave would do no more for the
kingdom and its High King than my "death" and the transfer of power
had done. I had no power or vision to bring him; it would be wrong
to indulge in a return which would tend to discredit Nimue as my
successor, without bringing anything fresh or even valid to
Arthur's service. I had made my farewells, and my legend, such as
it was, had already begun to gather way. So much I could understand
from the tales that, according to Stilicho, had already added
themselves to the grave-robber's tale of the enchanter's
ghost.

As for Nimue, the same arguments
applied. With what wisdom I could command in the matter, I saw that
the love we had had together was already a thing of the past. I
could not go back, expecting to claim again the place I had had
with her, and to tie jesses to the feet of a falcon already in
flight. Something else held me back, something I would not
recognize in daylight, but which mocked me in dreams with old
prophecies buzzing around like stinging flies. What did I know of
women, even now? When I remembered the steady draining of my power,
the last, desperate weakness, the trancelike state in which I had
lain before the final desertion in darkness, I asked myself what
that love had been but the bond that held me to her, and bade me
give her all I owned. And even when I recalled her sweetness, her
generous worship, her words of love, I knew (and it took no vision
to do so) that she would not lay her power down now, even to have
me back again.

It was hard to make Stilicho
understand my reluctance to reappear, but he did accept my desire
to wait for Arthur's return before making plans. From his
references to Nimue he was obviously not yet aware that she had
been more to me than a pupil who had taken up the master's
charge.

At length, feeling myself again, and
not wanting to impose any longer on Stilicho's little household, I
prepared to set off for Northumbria, and set Stilicho to make
arrangements for me. I decided to go north by sea. A sea voyage is
something I never willingly undertake, but by road it would be a
long, hard journey, with no guarantee of continued fine weather,
and besides, I could hardly have gone alone; Stilicho would have
insisted upon accompanying me, even though at this time of year he
could be spared from the mill. Indeed, he tried to insist on going
with me by ship, but in the end let himself be overruled; this not
only by expedience, but because I think he believed me still to be
the "great enchanter" whom he had served in the past with such awe
and pride. In the end I had my way, and one morning early I went
quietly downstream on one of the barges, and embarked at Maridunum
on a north-bound coastal ship.

I had sent no message to Blaise in
Northumbria, because there was no courier I could trust with the
news of "Merlin's return from the dead." I would think of some way
to prepare him when I came near the place. It was even possible
that he had not yet heard news of my death; he lived so retired
from the world -- held to the times only by my dispatches -- it was
conceivable that he had only just unrolled my last letter from
Applegarth.

This, as it turned out, was the fact;
but I did not find out yet for a while. I did not get to
Northumbria, but traveled no farther north than
Segontium.

The ship put in there on a fine, still
morning. The little town sunned itself at the edge of the shining
strait, its clustered houses dwarfed by the great walls of the
Roman-built fortress that had been the headquarters of the Emperor
Maximus. Across the strait the fields of Mona's Isle showed golden
in the sun. Behind the town, a little way beyond the fortress
walls, stood the remains of the tower that was known as Macsen's
Tower. Nearby was the site of the ruined temple of Mithras, where
years ago I had found the King's sword of Britain, and where, deep
under the rubble of the floor and the ruined altar of the god, I
had left the rest of Macsen's treasure, the lance and the grail.
This was the place I had promised to show Nimue on our way home
from Galava. Beyond the tower the great Snow Hill, Wyddfa, reared
against the sky. The first white of winter was on its crest, and
its cloud-haunted sides, even on that golden day, showed
purple-black with scree and dead heather.

We nosed in to the wharf. There were
goods to unload, and this would take time, so I went thankfully
ashore, and, after a word at the harbor-master's office, made for
the wharfside inn. There I could have a meal, and watch the
unloading and loading of my ship.

I was hungry, and likely to get
hungrier. My idea of any voyage, however calm, is to get below and
stay below, without food or drink, until it is over. The harbor
master had told me that the ship would not sail before the evening
tide, so there was ample time to rest and make ready for the next
dreaded stage of the journey. It did cross my mind to wish I might
have time to make my way up once again to the temple of Mithras,
but I put the thought aside. Even if I were to revisit the place, I
would not disturb the treasure. It was not for me. Besides, the
privations of the journey had tired me, and I needed food. I made
for the inn.

This was built round three sides of a
court, the fourth being open to the wharf, for the convenience, I
suppose, of carrying goods straight from the ships into the inn's
storerooms, which served as warehouses for the town. There were
benches and stout wooden tables under the overhanging eaves of the
open courtyard, but fine though the weather was, it was not warm
enough to persuade me to eat out of doors. I found my way into the
main room, where a log fire burned, and ordered food and wine. (I
had paid my passage with -- appropriately -- one of the gold coins
which had been the "ferryman's fee"; this had left me change
besides, and caused the ship's master to accord me a respect which
my apparent style hardly called for.) Now the servant hastened to
serve me with a good meal, of mutton and fresh bread, with a flask
of rough red wine such as seamen like, then left me in peace to
enjoy the warmth of the fire and watch through the open door the
scene at the quay-side.

The day wore through. I was more tired
than I had realized. I dozed, then woke, and dozed again. Over at
the wharf the work went on, with creak of windlass and rattle of
chain and straining of ropes as the cranes swung the bales and
sacks inboard. Overhead the gulls wheeled and cried. Now and again
an ox-cart creaked by on clumsy wheels.

There was little coming and going in
the inn itself. Once a woman crossed the courtyard with a basket of
washing on her head, and a boy hurried through with a batch of
bread. There was another party staying, it seemed, in chambers to
the right of the court. A fellow in slave's dress hurried in from
the town, carrying a flat basket covered with a linen cloth. He
vanished through a doorway, and a short while later some children
came running out, boys, well dressed but noisy, and with some kind
of outlandish accent I could not place. Two of them -- twins by
their look -- settled down on the sunlit flagstones for a game of
knucklebones, while the other two, though ill-matched for size,
started some kind of mock fight with sticks for swords, and old box
lids for shields. Presently a decent-looking woman, whom I took to
be their nurse, came out of the same doorway and sat down on a
bench in the sun to watch them. From the way the boys, now and
then, ran to gaze toward the wharf, I guessed that their party was
perhaps waiting to join my ship, or continue its voyage on another
vessel that was tied up a few lengths away along the
quay.

From where I was sitting I could see
the master of my ship, and at his elbow some sort of tallyman with
stilus and wax. The latter had written nothing for some time, and
on board the activity seemed to have ceased. It would soon be time
to get back to my uneasy bed below decks, and wait miserably until
the light breezes carried us northward on the next stage of the
journey.

I got to my feet. As I did so I saw
the master raise his head, with a movement like that of a dog
sniffing the air. Then he swung round to look upward at the inn
roof. Straight above my head I heard the long creak of the
weathervane swinging round, then whining to and fro in small uneasy
arcs as the suddenly rising breeze of evening caught it. To and fro
it went, then settled into silence in front of a steady wind. The
wind went across the harbor like a grey shadow over the water, and
in its wake the moored ships swayed, and ropes sang and rattled
against the masts like drumsticks. Beside me the fire flickered and
then roared up the open chimney. The master, with a gesture of
impatient anger, strode for the ship's gangway, calling out orders.
Mingled with my own annoyance was relief; the seas would roughen
quickly in this wind, but I would not be on them. With the fickle
violence of autumn, the wind had veered. The ship could not sail.
The fresh wind was blowing straight from the north.

I walked across to speak to the
master, who, watching the sailors stow and rope the cargo against
the new weather, glumly confirmed that there was no question of
sailing until the wind blew our way again. I sent a boy to bring up
my gear, and went back to bespeak a room at the inn. That there
would be one vacant I knew, for the ill wind had apparently blown
good for the other lodgers in the place. I could see sailors making
ready on the other ship, and back at the inn there was a rush and
bustle of preparation. The children had vanished from the
courtyard, and presently reappeared, cloaked and warmly shod, the
smallest boy holding his nurse's hand, the others frolicking around
her, lively and noisy and obviously excited at the prospect of the
voyage. They waited, skipping with impatience, while the slave I
had seen, with another to help him, came out loaded with baggage,
followed by a man in the livery of a chamber-groom, sharp-voiced
and authoritative. They must be people of consequence, in spite of
their strange speech. About the tallest of the boys, I thought,
there was something vaguely familiar. I stood in the shadow of the
inn's main doorway, watching them. The innkeeper had bustled up
now, to be paid by the chamber-groom, and then a woman, his wife,
perhaps, came running with a package. I heard the word "laundry,"
then the two of them backed away from the doorway with bow and
curtsy, as the principal guest at length emerged from the
chamber.

It was a woman, cloaked from head to
foot in green. She was slightly built, but bore herself proudly. I
caught the gleam of gold at her wrist, and there were jewels at her
throat. Her cloak was lined and edged with red fox fur, deep and
rich, and the hood, too. This was thrown back on her shoulders, but
I could not see her face; she was turned away, speaking to someone
behind her in the room.

Another woman came out carefully,
carrying a box. This was wrapped in linen, and seemed heavy. She
was plainly dressed, like a waiting woman. If the box contained her
mistress's jewels, these were persons of consequence
indeed.

Then the lady turned, and I knew her.
It was Morgause, Queen of Lothian and Orkney. There could be no
mistake. The lovely hair had lost its rose-gold glimmer, and had
darkened to rose-brown, and her body had thickened with
child-bearing, but the voice was the same, and the long slant of
the eyes, and the pretty, folded mouth. So the four sturdy boys,
ruddy and clamorous with the outlandish accent of the north, were
her children by Lot of Lothian, Arthur's enemy.

I had no eyes for them now. I was
watching the doorway. I wondered if, at last, I was going to see
her eldest son, her child by Arthur himself.

He came swiftly out of the doorway. He
was taller than his mother, a slim youth who, though I had never
seen him before, I would have known anywhere. Dark hair, dark eyes,
and the body of a dancer. Someone had once said that of me, and he
was like me, was Arthur's son Mordred. He paused beside Morgause,
saying something to her. His voice was light and pleasant, an echo
of his mother's. I caught the words "ship" and "reckoning," and saw
her nod. She laid her pretty hand on his, and the party started to
move off. Mordred glanced at the sky, and spoke again, with what
looked like a hint of anxiety. They went by within feet of where I
was standing.