Legacy: Arthurian Saga (22 page)

He regarded me for a moment under
those long lids. Then he smiled. "It's something to remember. I
believe you told him once that it was what you were, not who you
were, that would matter. Believe me, he will use you, as he uses
everyone. So stop wondering about it, and let it be. Now I must
go."

The boy opened the door for him to
show Cadal just pausing outside, with a hand raised to
knock.

"Oh, excuse me, sir. I came to see
when you'd be done for the day. I've got the horses ready, Master
Merlin."

"We've finished already," said
Belasius. He paused in the doorway and looked back at me. "Where
were you planning to go?"

"North, I think, the road through the
forest. The causeway's still good and the road will be
dry."

He hesitated, then said, to Cadal
rather than to me: "Then keep to the road, and be home before
dark." He nodded, and went out, with the boy at his
heels.

"Before dark?" said Cadal. "It's been
dark all day, and it's raining now, besides. Look, Merlin" -- when
we were alone we were less formal -- "why don't we just take a look
along to the engineers' workshops? You always enjoy that, and
Tremorinus ought to have got that ram working by now. What do you
say we stay in town?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Cadal,
but I must go, rain or no rain. I've got the fidgets, or something,
and I must get out."

"Well, then, a mile or two down to the
port should do you. Come on, here's your cloak. It'll be pitch
black in the forest; have a bit of sense."

"The forest," I said obstinately,
turning my head while he fastened the pin. "And don't argue with
me, Cadal. If you ask me, Belasius has the right ideas. His servant
doesn't even dare to speak, let alone argue. I ought to treat you
the same way -- in fact I'll start straight away...What are you
grinning at?"

"Nothing. All right, I know when to
give in. The forest it is, and if we lose ourselves and never get
back alive, at least I'll have died with you, and won't have to
face the Count."

"I really can't see that he'd care
overmuch."

"Oh, he wouldn't" said Cadal, holding
the door for me to go through. "It was only a manner of speaking. I
doubt if he'd even notice, myself."

7

Once outside, it was not as dark as it
had seemed, and it was warm, one of those heavy, dull days fraught
with mists, and a small rain that lay on the heavy wool of our
cloaks like frost.

About a mile to the north of the town
the flattish salt-bitten turf began to give way to woodland, thin
at first, with trees sticking up here and there solitary, with
veils of white mist haunting their lower boughs or lying over the
turf like pools, which now and then broke and swirled as a deer
fled through.

The road north was an old one, paved,
and the men who had built it had cleared the trees and scrub back
on either side for a hundred paces, but with time and neglect the
open verge had grown thick with whin and heather and young trees,
so that now the forest seemed to crowd round you as you rode, and
the way was dark.

Near the town we had seen one or two
peasants carrying home fuel on their donkeys, and once one of
Ambrosius' messengers spurred past us, with a stare, and what
looked like a half-salute to me. But in the forest we met no one.
It was the silent time between the thin birdsong of a March day and
the hunting of the owls.

When we got among the big trees the
rain had stopped, and the mist was thinning. Presently we came to a
crossroads where a track -- unpaved this time -- crossed our own at
right angles. The track was one used for hauling timber out of the
forest, and also by the carts of charcoal burners, and, though
rough and deeply rutted, it was clear and straight, and if you kept
your horse to the edge, there was a gallop.

"Let's turn down here,
Cadal."

"You know he said keep to the
road."

"Yes, I know he did, but I don't see
why. The forest's perfectly safe."

This was true. It was another thing
Ambrosius had done; men were no longer afraid to ride abroad in
Less Britain, within striking distance of the town. The country was
constantly patrolled by his companies, alert and spoiling for
something to do. Indeed, the main danger was (as I had once heard
him admit) that his troops would over-train and grow stale, and
look rather too hard for trouble. Meanwhile, the outlaws and
disaffected men stayed away, and ordinary folk went about their
business in peace. Even women could travel without much of an
escort.

"Besides," I added, "does it matter
what he said? He's not my master. He's only in charge of teaching
me, nothing else. We can't possibly lose our way if we keep to the
tracks, and if we don't get a canter now, it'll be too dark to
press the horses when we get back to the fields. You're always
complaining that I don't ride well enough. How can I, when we're
always trotting along the road? Please, Cadal."

"Look, I'm not your master either. All
right, then, but not far. And watch your pony; it'll be darker
under the trees. Best let me go first."

I put a hand on his rein. "No. I'd
like to ride ahead, and would you hold back a little, please? The
thing is, I -- I have so little solitude, and it's been something
I'm used to. This was one of the reasons I had to come out this
way." I added carefully: "It's not that I haven't been glad of your
company, but one sometimes wants time to -- well, to think things
out. If you'll just give me fifty paces?"

He reined back immediately. Then he
cleared his throat. "I told you I'm not your master. Go ahead. But
go careful."

I turned Aster into the ride, and
kicked him to a canter. He had not been out of his stable for three
days, and in spite of the distance behind us he was eager. He laid
his ears back, and picked up speed down the grass verge of the
ride. Luckily the mist had almost gone, but here and there it
smoked across the track saddle-high, and the horses plunged through
it, fording it like water.

Cadal was holding well back; I could
hear the thud of the mare's hoofs like a heavy echo of my pony's
canter. The small rain had stopped, and the air was fresh and cool
and resinous with the scent of pines. A woodcock flighted overhead
with a sweet whispering call, and a soft tassel of spruce flicked a
fistful of drops across my mouth and down inside the neck of my
tunic. I shook my head and laughed, and the pony quickened his
pace, scattering a pool of mist like spray. I crouched over his
neck as the track narrowed, and branches whipped at us in earnest.
It was darker; the sky thickened to nightfall between the boughs,
and the forest rolled by in a dark cloud, wild with scent and
silent but for Aster's scudding gallop and the easy pacing of the
mare.

Cadal called me to stop. As I made no
immediate response, the thudding of the mare's hoofs quickened, and
drew closer. Aster's ears flicked, then flattened again, and he
began to race. I drew him in. It was easy, as the going was heavy,
and he was sweating. He slowed and then stood and waited quietly
for Cadal to come up. The brown mare stopped. The only sound in the
forest now was the breathing of the horses.

"Well," he said at length, "did you
get what you wanted?"

"Yes, only you called too
soon."

"We'll have to turn back if we're to
be in time for supper. Goes well, that pony. You want to ride ahead
on the way back?"

"If I may."

"I told you there's no question, you
do as you like. I know you don't get out on your own, but you're
young yet, and it's up to me to see you don't come to harm, that's
all."

"What harm could I come to? I used to
go everywhere alone at home."

"This isn't home. You don't know the
country yet. You could lose yourself, or fall off your pony and lie
in the forest with a broken leg --"

"It's not very likely, is it? You were
told to watch me, why don't you admit it?"

"To look after you."

"It could come to the same thing. I've
heard what they call you.

'The watchdog.'"

He grunted. "You don't need to dress
it up. 'Merlin's black dog,' that's the way I heard it. Don't think
I mind. I do as he says and no questions asked, but I'm sorry if it
frets you."

"It doesn't -- oh, it doesn't. I
didn't mean it like that. It's alright; it's only...Cadal
--"

"Yes?"

"Am I a hostage, after
all?"

"That I couldn't say," said Cadal
woodenly. "Come along, then, can you get by?"

Where our horses stood the way was
narrow, the center of the ride having sunk into deep mud where
water faintly reflected the night sky. Cadal reined his mare back
into the thicket that edged the ride, while I forced Aster -- who
would not wet his feet unless compelled -- past the mare. As the
brown's big quarters pressed back into the tangle of oak and
chestnut there was suddenly a crash just behind her, and a breaking
of twigs, and some animal burst from the undergrowth almost under
the mare's belly, and hurtled across the ride in front of my pony's
nose.

Both animals reacted violently. The
mare, with a snort of fear, plunged forward hard against the rein.
At the same moment Aster shied wildly, throwing me half out of the
saddle. Then the plunging mare crashed into his shoulder, and the
pony staggered, whirled, lashed out, and threw me.

I missed the water by inches, landing
heavily on the soft stuff at the edge of the ride, right up against
a broken stump of pine which could have hurt me badly if I had been
thrown on it. As it was I escaped with scratches and a minor bruise
or two, and a wrenched ankle that, when I rolled over and tried to
put it to the ground, stabbed me with pain momentarily so acute as
to make the black woods swim.

Even before the mare had stopped
circling Cadal was off her back, had flung the reins over a bough,
and was stooping over me.

"Merlin -- Master Merlin -- are you
hurt?" I unclamped my teeth from my lip, and started gingerly with
both hands to straighten my leg. "No, only my ankle, a
bit."

"Let me see...No, hold still. By the
dog, Ambrosius will have my skin for this."

"What was it?"

"A boar, I think. Too small for a
deer, too big for a fox."

"I thought it was a boar, I smelled
it. My pony?"

"Halfway home by now, I expect. Of
course you had to let the rein go, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry. Is it broken?" His hands
had been moving over my ankle, prodding, feeling. "I don't think
so...No, I'm sure it's not. You're all right otherwise? Here, come
on, try if you can stand on it. The mare'll take us both, and I
want to get back, if I can, before that pony of yours goes in with
an empty saddle. I'll be for the lampreys, for sure, if Ambrosius
sees him."

"It wasn't your fault. Is he so
unjust?"

"He'll reckon it was, and he wouldn't
be far wrong. Come on now, try it."

"No, give me a moment. And don't worry
about Ambrosius, the pony hasn't gone home, he's stopped a little
way up the ride. You'd better go and get him." He was kneeling over
me, and I could see him faintly against the sky. He turned his head
to peer along the ride. Beside us the mare stood quietly, except
for her restless ears and the white edge to her eye. There was
silence except for an owl starting up, and far away on the edge of
sound another, like its echo. "It's pitch dark twenty feet away,"
said Cadal. "I can't see a thing. Did you hear him
stop?"

"Yes." It was a lie, but this was
neither the time nor the place for the truth. "Go and get him,
quickly. On foot. He hasn't gone far." I saw him stare down at me
for a moment, then he got to his feet without a word and started
off up the ride. As well as if it had been daylight, I could see
his puzzled look. I was reminded, sharply, of Cerdic that day at
King's Fort. I leaned back against the stump. I could feel my
bruises, and my ankle ached, but for all that there came flooding
through me, like a drink of warm wine, the feeling of excitement
and release that came with the power. I knew now that I had had to
come this way; that this was to be another of the hours when not
darkness, nor distance, nor time meant anything. The owl floated
silently above me, across the ride. The mare cocked her ears at it,
watching without fear. There was the thin sound of bats somewhere
above. I thought of the crystal cave, and Galapas' eyes when I told
him of my vision. He had not been puzzled, not even surprised. It
came to me to wonder, suddenly, how Belasius would look. And I knew
he would not be surprised, either.

Hoofs sounded softly in the deep turf.
I saw Aster first, approaching ghostly grey, then Cadal like a
shadow at his head.

"He was there all right," he said,
"and for a good reason. He's dead lame. Must have strained
something."

"Well, at least he won't get home
before we do."

"There'll be trouble over this night's
work, that's for sure, whatever time we get home. Come on, then,
I'll put you up on Rufa."