Legacy: Arthurian Saga (33 page)

"I'll tell you all about it over
supper," I said, and would say no more till we reached the shelter
of the tavern, and got a bench in the corner with our backs to the
wall.

5

I had been right about Dinias'
poverty. Even in the smoky murk of the tavern's crowded room I
could see the threadbare state of his clothes, and sense the air
half of resentment, half of eagerness, with which he watched while
I ordered food and a jug of their best wine. While it was coming I
excused myself and had a quick word aside with Cadal.

"I may get some of the facts we want
from him. In any case I thought it better to stick to him -- I'd
rather he came under my eye for the moment. The odds are he'll be
drunk enough by moonrise to be harmless, and I'll either get him
bedded down safe with a girl, or if he's past it I'll see him home
on my way to the nunnery. If I don't look like getting out of here
by moonrise, get over yourself to the gate on the towpath to meet
my mother. You know our story. Tell her I'm coming, but I fell in
with my cousin Dinias and have to get rid of him first. She'll
understand. Now get yourself some food."

"Watch your step, I would, Merlin.
Your cousin, did you say? Proper daisy he is, and no mistake. He
doesn't like you."

I laughed. "You think that's news?
It's mutual."

"Oh. Well, as long as you watch
it."

"I'll do that."

Dinias' manners were still good enough
to make him wait till I had dismissed Cadal and sat down to pour
the wine. He had been right about the food; the pie they brought us
was stuffed full of beef and oysters in a thick, steaming gravy,
and though the bread was made from barley meal it was fresh. The
cheese was not, and was excellent. The tavern's other wares seemed
to match the food; from time to time one got a glimpse of them as a
girl peered giggling in through a curtained door, and some man put
his cup down and hurried after her. From the way Dinias' eyes
lingered on the curtain even while he ate, I thought I might have
little difficulty in getting rid of him safely once I had the
information I wanted.

I waited until he was halfway through
his pie before I started asking questions. I hardly liked to wait
longer for, from the way he reached for the wine-jug almost -- in
spite of his hunger -- between every mouthful, I was afraid that if
I left it too long he would not be clear-headed enough to tell me
what I wanted.

Until I was quite sure how the land
lay I was not prepared to venture on ground that might be tricky,
but, my family being what it was, I could glean a good deal of the
information Ambrosius wanted from simply asking questions about my
relatives. These he answered readily enough.

To begin with, I had been presumed
dead ever since the night of the fire. Cerdic's body had been
destroyed, and the whole of that side of the courtyard along with
it, and when my pony had found its way home and there was no sign
of me, it could only be presumed that I had perished along with
Cerdic and vanished the same way. My mother and Camlach had sent
men out to search the countryside, but of course found no trace of
me. It appeared there had been no suggestion of my having left by
sea. The trading ship had not put in to Maridunum, and no one had
seen the coracle.

My disappearance -- not remarkably --
had made very little stir. What my mother had thought about it no
one knew, but she had apparently retired into the seclusion of St.
Peter's very soon afterwards. Camlach had lost no time in declaring
himself King, and for form's sake offered Olwen his protection, but
since his own wife had one son and was heavy with another, it was
an open secret that Queen Olwen would soon be married off to some
harmless and preferably distant chieftain...And so on, and so
on.

So much for news of the past, which
was none of it news to me or news for Ambrosius. As Dinias finished
his meal and leaned back against the wall loosening his belt,
relaxed by the food and wine and warmth, I thought it time to steer
near more immediate questions of the present. The tavern had filled
up now, and there was plenty of noise to cover what we were saying.
One or two of the girls had come out from the inner rooms, and
there was a good deal of laughter and some horseplay. It was quite
dark now outside, and apparently wetter than ever; men came in
shaking themselves like dogs and shouting for mulled drinks. The
atmosphere was heavy with peat smoke and charcoal from the grills
and the smells of hot food and the reek of cheap oil-lamps. I had
no fear of recognition: anyone would have had to lean right over
our table and peer into my face to see me properly at
all.

"Shall I send for more meat?" I
asked.

Dinias shook his head, belched, and
grinned. "No thanks. That was good. I'm in your debt. Now for your
news. You've heard mine. Where have you been these past years?" He
reached again for the jug of wine and up-ended it over his empty
cup.

"Damned thing's empty. Send for
more?"

I hesitated. It appeared he had a poor
head for wine, and I didn't want him drunk too soon.

He mistook my hesitation. "Come on,
come on, you surely don't grudge me another jug of wine, eh? It
isn't every day a rich young relative comes back from Cornwall.
What took you there, eh? And what have you been doing all this
time? Come on, young Myrddin, let's hear about it, shall we? But
first, the wine."

"Well, of course," I said, and gave
the order to the pot-boy.

"But don't use my name here, if you
don't mind. I'm calling myself Emrys now till I see which way the
wind blows."

He accepted this so readily that I
realized things were even trickier in Maridunum than I had thought.
It seemed it was dangerous to declare oneself at all. Most of the
men in the tavern looked Welsh; there were none I recognized, which
was hardly surprising, considering the company I had kept five
years ago. But there was a group near the door who, from their fair
hair and beards, might have been Saxon. I supposed they were
Vortigern's men. We said nothing until the pot-boy had dumped a
fresh flask on the table in front of us. My cousin poured it,
pushed his plate aside, leaned back and looked at me
enquiringly.

"Well, come on, tell me about
yourself. What happened that night you left? Who did you go with?
You couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen when you went,
surely?"

"I fell in with a pair of traders
going south," I told him. "I paid my way with one of the brooches
that my gr -- that the old King gave me. They took me with them as
far as Glastonbury. Then I had a bit of luck -- fell in with a
merchant who was traveling west into Cornwall with glass goods from
the Island, and he took me along." I looked down as if avoiding his
eye, and twisted the cup between my fingers. "He wanted to set up
as a gentleman, and thought it would do him credit to have a boy
along who could sing and play the harp, and read and write as
well."

"Hmm. Very likely." I had known what
he would think of my story, and indeed, his tone held satisfaction,
as if his contempt of me had been justified. So much the better. It
didn't matter to me what he thought. "Then?" he asked.

"Oh, I stayed with him for a few
months, and he was pretty generous, he and his friends. I even made
a fair amount on the side."

"Harping?" he asked, with a lift of
the lip.

"Harping," I said blandly. "Also
reading and writing -- I did the man's accounts for him. When he
came back north he wanted me to stay with him, but I didn't want to
come back. Didn't dare," I added, disarmingly frank. "It wasn't
hard to find a place in a religious house. Oh, no, I was too young
to be anything but a layman. To tell you the truth, I quite enjoyed
it; it's a very peaceful life. I've been busy helping them to write
out copies of a history of the fall of Troy." His expression made
me want to laugh, and I looked down at my cup again. It was good
ware, Samian, with a high gloss, and the potter's mark was clear.
A.M. Ambrosius made me, I thought suddenly, and smoothed the
letters gently with my thumb as I finished for Dinias the account
of the five harmless years spent by his bastard cousin. "I worked
there until the rumors started coming in from home. I didn't pay
much heed to them at first -- rumors were always flying. But when
we knew that it was true about Camlach's death, and then
Vortimer's, I began to wonder what might have happened in
Maridunum. I knew I had to see my mother again."

"You're going to stay
here?"

"I doubt it. I like Cornwall, and I
have a home there of a sort."

"Then you'll become a priest?" I
shrugged. "I hardly know yet. It's what they always meant me for,
after all. Whatever the future is there, my place here is gone --
if I ever had one. And I'm certainly no warrior."

He grinned at that. "Well, you never
were, exactly, were you? And the war here isn't over; it's hardly
begun, let me tell you." He leaned across the table confidentially,
but the movement knocked his cup so that it rocked, and the wine
washed up to the rim. He grabbed and steadied it. "Nearly spilled
that, and the wine's nearly out again. Not bad stuff, eh? What
about another?"

"If you like. But you were saying --
?"

"Cornwall, now. I've always thought
I'd like to go there. What are they saying there about
Ambrosius?"

The wine was already talking. He had
forgotten to be confidential; his voice was loud, and I saw one or
two heads turn in our direction.

He took no notice. "Yes, I imagine
you'd hear down there, if there was any news to hear. They say
that's where he'll land, eh?"

"Oh," I said easily, "there's talk all
the time. There has been for years, you know how it is. He hasn't
come yet, so your guess is as good as mine."

"Like a bet on it?" I saw he had
reached into the pouch at his waist and brought out a pair of dice,
which he tossed idly from hand to hand. "Come on, give you a
game?"

"No, thanks. At any rate, not here.
Look, Dinias, I'll tell you what, we'll get another flask, or two
if you like, and go home and drink them there?"

"Home?" He sneered, loose-lipped.
"Where's that? An empty palace?"

He was still talking loudly, and from
across the room I noticed someone watching us. Nobody I knew. Two
men in dark clothes, one with fringe of black beard, the other
thin-faced and red-headed, with a long nose like a fox. Welshmen,
by the look of them. They had a flask on a stool in front of them,
and cups in their hands, but the flask had been at the same level
now for a good half hour. I glanced at Dinias. I judged he had
reached the stage now of being disposed either to friendly
confidences or a loud quarrel. To insist on leaving now might be to
provoke that quarrel, and if we were being watched, and if the
crowd near the door were indeed Vortigern's men, it would be better
to stay here and talk quietly than to take my cousin out into the
street, and perhaps be followed. What, after all, did a mention of
Ambrosius' name matter? It would be on every man's lips, and if, as
seemed likely, rumors had been flying more thickly than usual of
late, everyone, Vortigern's friends and enemies alike, would be
discussing them.

Dinias had dropped the dice on the
table, and was pushing them here and there with a reasonably steady
forefinger. At least they would give us an excuse for a
heads-together session in our corner. And dice might take his
attention off the wine flask.

I brought out a handful of small
coins. "Look, if you really want a game. What can you put on the
table?"

As we played I was conscious that
Blackbeard and the foxy man were listening. The Saxons near the
door seemed harmless enough; most of them were three parts drunk
already, and talking too loudly among themselves to pay attention
to anyone else. But Blackbeard seemed to be interested.

I threw the dice. Five and four. Too
good; I wanted Dinias to win something. I could hardly offer him
money to get him behind the curtain with a girl. Meanwhile, to put
Blackbeard off the scent...

I said, not loudly, but very clearly:
"Ambrosius, is it? Well, you know the rumors. I've heard nothing
definite about him, only the usual stories that have been going the
rounds these ten years. Oh, yes, men say he'll come to Cornwall, or
Maridunum, or London, or Avon-mouth -- you can take your
pick...Your throw." Blackbeard's attention had shifted. I leaned
closer to watch Dinias' throw, and lowered my voice. "And if he did
come now, what would happen? You'll know this better than I. Would
what's left of the West rise for him, or stand loyal to
Vortigern?"

"The West would go up in flames. It's
done that already, God knows. Double or quits? Flames like the
night you left. God, how I laughed! Little bastard sets the place
on fire and goes. Why did you? That's mine, double five. Throw you
again."

"Right. Why did I go, you mean? I told
you, I was afraid of Camlach."

"I didn't mean that. I mean why did
you set the place on fire? Don't tell me it was an accident,
because I don't believe you."

"It was a funeral pyre. I lit it
because they killed my servant."