Legacy: Arthurian Saga (183 page)

They halted their horses at the
river's brink and looked me over. I stood my ground and returned
the look. I had the knife at my belt, but my sword was with the
saddlebags. And flight, with my horse stripped and tethered, was
out of the question. If truth be told, I was still no more than
faintly apprehensive; there had been a time when no one, however
wild and desperate, would have dared lay a finger on Merlin; and I
suppose that the confidence of power was still with me.

They looked at one another, and a
message passed. It was danger, then. The leader, he with the
greying beard and the black horse, walked the beast forward a pace,
so that the water swirled past its fetlocks. Then he turned,
grinning, to his fellows.

"Why, look you, here's a brave fellow,
disputing the ford with us. Or are you the Hermes, come to wish us
Godspeed? I must say, you're not what one expects of the Herm."
This with a guffaw in which his fellows joined.

I moved aside from the center of the
road. "I'm afraid I can't claim any of his talents, gentlemen. Nor
do I mean to dispute the way with you. When I heard you coming I
took you for the outriders of the troop that is due this way very
soon. Did you see any sign of troopers on the road?"

Another glance. The youngest -- he of
the cream cob and the woodbine spray -- set his horse at the water
and came splashing out beside me. "There was no one on the road,"
he said. "Troopers? What troopers would you be expecting? The High
King himself, maybe?" He winked at his companions.

"The High King," I said equably, "will
be riding this way soon, by all accounts, and he likes the law of
the roads looked to. So go your ways in peace, gentlemen, and let
me go mine."

They were all through the ford now,
ranged round me. They looked relaxed and pleasant enough,
good-tempered even. Brown Beard said: "Oh, we'll let you go, won't
we, Red? Free as air to go you'll be, good sir, free as air, and
traveling light."

"Light as a feather," said Red, with a
laugh. He was the one with the brown horse. He shifted the belt
round from his thick thighs, so that the haft of his knife lay
nearer to his hand. The youngest of the three was already moving
toward the fallen pine where the saddlebags lay.

I began to speak, but the leader
kicked his horse in closer, dropped the reins on its withers, then
suddenly reached down, catching hold of me by the neck of my robe.
He gathered the stuff in a choking grip, and half lifted me toward
him. He was immensely strong.

"So, who were you waiting for, eh? A
troop, was it? Was that the truth, or were you lying to scare us
off?"

The second man, Red, thrust his horse
near on the other side. There was no faintest chance of escaping
them. The third one had dismounted, and, without troubling to undo
them, had a long knife out and was slitting the leather of the
saddlebags. He had not even glanced over his shoulder to see what
his fellows did.

Red had his knife in his hand. "Of
course he was lying," he said roughly. "There were no troops on the
road. Nor any sign of them. And they wouldn't be coming by the
forest track, Erec, you can be sure of that."

Erec reached back with his free hand
and slipped the knobbed cudgel from its moorings. "Well, so it was
a lie," he said. "You can do better than that, old man. Tell us who
you are and where you're bound for. This troop you're talking
about, where are they coming from?"

"If you let me go," I said with
difficulty, for he was half choking me, "I will tell you. And tell
your fellow to leave my things alone."

"Why, here's high crowing from an old
rooster!" But he relaxed his hold, and let me stand again. "Give us
the truth, then, and maybe do yourself a bit of good. Which way did
you come, and where's this troop you were talking about? Who are
you, and where are you bound?"

I began to straighten my clothes. My
hands were shaking, but I managed to make my voice steady enough. I
said: "You will do well to loose me, and save yourselves. I am
Merlinus Ambrosius, called Merlin, the King's cousin, and I am
bound for Camelot. A message has gone before me; and a troop of
knights is riding this way to meet me. They should be close behind
you. If you go west now, quickly --"

A great guffaw of laughter cut me off.
Erec rocked in his saddle. "Hear that, Red? Balm, did you get it?
This is Merlin, Merlin himself, and he's bound for the court at
Camelot!"

"Well, he might be, at that," said
Red, shaking with mirth.

"Looks a proper skeleton, don't he?
Straight from the tomb, he is, and that's for sure."

"And straight back to it." Suddenly
savage, Erec seized me again and shook me violently.

A shout from Balin gave him pause.
"Hey! Look here!"

Both men turned. "What have you
got?"

"Enough gold to get us a month's food
and good beds, and something to go in them, forby," called Balin
cheerfully. He threw the saddlebag down to the ground, and held up
his hand. Two of the jewels glinted.

Erec drew in his breath. "Well,
whoever you are, our luck's in, it seems! Look in the other one,
Balin. Come on, Red, let's see what he's got on him."

"If you harm me," I said, "be sure
that the King --"

I stopped, as if a hand had been laid
across my mouth. I had been standing there, perforce, hemmed
between the two horses, staring up at the bearded face bent down
over me, with the high bright sky behind him. Now, across that sky,
with the sun striking bronze from its black gloss, went a raven.
Flying low, silent for once, tilting and sidling on the air, went
the bird of Hermes the messenger, the bird of death.

It told me what I had to do. Till now,
instinctively, I had been playing for time, as any man will play,
to ward off death. But if I succeeded, if I made the murderers
pause and hold their hands, then Arthur, riding alone, and on a
weary horse, with nothing in his heart but the thought of meeting
me, would come on them there, three to one, in this lonely place.
In a fight I could not help him. But I could still serve him. I
owed God a death, and I could give Arthur another life. I must send
these brutes on their way, and quickly. If he came across my
murdered body here, he would go after them, no doubt of that; but
he would know what he was doing, and he would have help.

So I said nothing. Balin started on
the other saddlebag. Erec seized me again, dragging me close. Red
came behind me, tearing at the belt that held my wallet, with the
rest of my gold stitched into its lining. Above me the knotted
bludgeon swung high.

If I reached for my own weapon, they
might kill me sooner. My hand went back for the knife in my belt.
From behind, Red's hard hand caught and held my wrist, and the
knife spun to the ground. The bones of my hand ground together. He
thrust his sweating face over my shoulder. He was grinning.
"Merlin, eh? A great enchanter like you could show us a thing or
two, I'm sure. Go on then, save yourself, why don't you? Cast a
spell and strike us dead."

The horses broke apart. Something
flashed and drove like light across the sky. The cudgel flew wide
and fell. Erec's hand loosened me, so suddenly that I staggered,
and fell forward against his horse. Bending above me still, the
brown-bearded face wore a look of surprise. The eyes stared, fixed.
The head, severed cleanly by that terrible, slashing blow, bounced
on the horse's neck in a splatter of blood, then thudded to the
ground. The body slumped slowly, almost gracefully, onto the cob's
withers. A gush of blood, bright and steaming, flooded over the
beast's shoulder and splashed down over me where I reeled, clinging
to the breast-band. The horse screamed once, in terror, then reared
and slashed out at the air, tore itself free, and bolted. The
headless body bobbed and swayed for a bound or two before it
pitched from the saddle to the road, still spouting
blood.

I was thrown hard down on the grass.
The cool dampness struck up through my hands, steadying me. My
heart thumped; the treacherous blackness threatened, then withdrew.
The ground was thudding and shaking to the beat of hoofs. I looked
up.

He was fighting the two of them. He
had come alone, on his big grey horse. He had outstripped Bedwyr
and the knights, but neither he nor the stallion showed any trace
of weariness. It was a wonder to me that the three murderers had
not broken and fled at the very sight of him. He was lightly armed
only -- no shield, but a leather tunic stitched with metal
phalerae, and a thick cloak twisted round his left arm. His head
was bare. He had dropped the reins on the stallion's neck, and
controlled him with knee and voice. The great horse reared and
wheeled and struck like another battle-arm. And all around horse
and King, like a shield of impenetrable light, whirled the flashing
blade of the great sword that was mine and his: Caliburn, the
King's sword of Britain.

Balin flung himself on his horse, and
spurred, yelling, to his fellow's aid. A ribbon of leather flying
from Arthur's tunic showed where one of them had slashed him from
behind -- while he was killing Brown Beard, probably -- but now,
try as they might, they could not pass that deadly ring of shining
metal, or close in past the stallion's lashing hoofs.

"Out of the way," said the King,
curtly, to me. The horses plunged and circled. I started to drag
myself to my feet. It seemed to take a long time. My hands were
slimy with blood, and my body shook. I found that I could not
stand, but crawled instead to the fallen pine, and sat there. The
air shook and clashed with battle, and I sat there, helpless,
shaking, old, while my boy fought for his life and mine, and I
could not summon even the mortal strength of a man to help
him.

Something glinted near my foot. My
knife, lying where Red had struck it from my hand. I reached for
it. I still could not stand, but threw it as hard as I could at
Red's back. It was a feeble throw, and missed him. But the flash of
its passing made the brown horse flinch and swerve, and sent its
rider's blow wide. With the slither and whine of metal, Caliburn
caught the blade and flung it wider, then Arthur drove the great
stallion in and killed Red with a blow through the
heart.

There was a moment when the sword
jammed and could not be withdrawn, and the body, falling, made a
dead weight on the King's sword arm. But the grey stallion knew
about that, too. Balin, trying to wheel the cream cob to take the
King in the rear, met teeth and armed hoofs. An upward slash laid
the cream's shoulder open. It swerved, screaming, and turned
against rein and spur to flee. But Balin -- brave ruffian that he
was -- wrenched its head back by main force, just as the King
dragged his sword clear of Red's body and wheeled back,
right-handed, into fighting range.

I believe that in that last moment
Balin recognized the King. But he was given no time to speak, much
less beg for mercy. There was one more vicious, brief flurry, and
Balin took Caliburn's point in his throat, and fell to the trampled
and bloody grass. He writhed once, gasped, and drowned on a gush of
blood. The cob, instead of running, now that it was no longer
constrained, simply stood with head hanging and shaking legs, while
the blood ran down its shoulder. The other horses had
gone.

Arthur leaped down, wiped his sword on
Balin's body, shook the folds of his cloak from his left arm, and
came across to me, leading the grey. He touched my bloodstained
shoulder.

"This blood. Is any of it
yours?"

"No. And you?"

"Not a scratch," he said cheerfully.
He was breathing only a little faster than usual. "Though it wasn't
quite a massacre. They were trained men, or so it seemed to me,
when there was time to notice...Sit quietly for a moment; I'll get
you some water."

He dropped the stallion's reins into
my hand, reached to the pommel for the silver-mounted horn he
carried there, then trod lightly towards the river. I heard his
foot strike something. The quick stride stopped short, and he
exclaimed. I turned my head. He was staring down at the wreck of
one of my saddlebags, where, in the scatter of spilled food and
slashed leather, lay a strip of torn velvet, heavily stitched with
gold. One of the jewels that Balm had torn from it lay winking
beside it in the grass.

Arthur swung round. He had gone quite
white.

"By the Light! It's you!"

"Who else? I thought you
knew."

"Merlin!" Now he really was trying for
breath. He came back to stand over me. "I thought -- I hardly had
time to look -- just those murdering rascals butchering an old man
-- unarmed, I thought, and poor, by the look of the horse and
trappings..." He went on both knees beside me. "Ah, Merlin,
Merlin..."

And the High King of all Britain laid
his head down on my knee, and was silent.

After a while he stirred and lifted
his head.

"I got your token, and the message
from the courier. But I don't think I really quite believed him.
When he first spoke and showed me the Dragon it seemed right...I
suppose I'd never thought you could really die, like mortal
men...but on the way here, riding alone, with nothing to do but
think -- well, it ceased to be real. I don't know what I pictured;
myself ending up again, perhaps, in front of that blocked cave
mouth, where we buried you alive." I felt a shiver go through him.
"Merlin, what has happened? When we left you for dead, sealed in
the cave, it was the malady, of course, giving the appearance of
death; I realize that now. But afterwards? When you woke, alone and
weighed down with your own grave-clothes? God knows, that would be
enough to bring another death! What did you do? How survive, locked
alone in the hill? How escape? And when? You must have known how
sorely I was bereft. Where have you been all this
while?"