Legacy: Arthurian Saga (40 page)

"I may have to," I said dryly, "if I
said anything about Vortigern or my father."

"Which you did," said Cadal. "Well,
I'd better know; I'm going to have to stick by it."

"It was all dressed up, like poets'
stuff, red dragons and white dragons fighting and laying the place
waste, showers of blood, all that kind of thing. But it seems you
gave them chapter and verse foreverything that's going to happen;
the white dragon of the Saxons and the red dragon of Ambrosius
fighting it out, the red dragon looking not so clever to begin
with, but winning in the end. Yes. Then a bear coming out of
Cornwall to sweep the field clear."

"A bear? You mean the Boar, surely;
that's Cornwall's badge. Hmm. Then he may be still for my father
after all..."

"Berric said a bear. Artos was the
word...he took notice, because he wondered about it himself. But
you were clear about it, he says. Artos, you called him, Arthur
some name like that. You mean to tell me you don't remember a word
of it?"

"Not a word."

"Well look, now, I can't remember any
more, but if they start coming at you about it, you could find some
way of getting them to tell you everything you said. It's quite the
thing, isn't it, for prophets not to know what they were talking
about? Oracles and that?"

"I believe so."

"All I mean is, if you've finished
eating, and if you really feel all right, perhaps you'd better get
up and dress. They're all waiting for you out there.'"

"What for? For the god's sake, they
don't want more advice? Are they moving the site of the
tower?"

"No. They're doing what you told them
to do."

"What's that?"

"Draining the pool by a conduit.
They've been working all night and day getting pumps rigged up to
get the water out through the adur."

"But why? That won't make the tower
any safer. In fact it might bring the whole top of the crag in.
Yes, I'm finished, take it away." I pushed the tray into his hands,
and threw back the bed-covers. "Cadal, are you trying to tell me I
said this in my -- delirium?"

"Aye. You told them to drain the pool,
and at the bottom they'd find the beasts that were bringing the
King's Fort down. Dragons, you said, red and white."

I sat on the edge of the bed, my head
in my hands. "I remember something now...something I saw. Yes, that
must be it...I did see something under the water, probably just a
rock, dragon-shaped...And I remember starting to say something to
the King about draining the pool...But I didn't tell them to drain
it, I was saying 'Even if you drained the pool, it wouldn't help
you.' At least, that's what I started to say." I dropped my hands
and looked up. "You mean they're actually draining the place,
thinking some water-beast is there underneath, rocking the
foundations?"

"That's what you told them, Berric
says."

"Berric's a poet, he's dressing it
up."

"Maybe. But they're out there at it
now, and the pumps have been working full blast for hours. The
King's there, waiting for you.'"

I sat silent. He threw me a doubtful
look, then took the tray out, and came back with towels and a
silver basin of steaming water. While I washed he busied himself
over a chest at the far side of the room, lifting clothes from it
and shaking out the folds, while he talked over his shoulder. "You
don't look worried. If they do drain that pool to the bottom, and
there's nothing there --"

"There will be something there. Don't
ask me what, I don't know, but if I said so...It's true, you know.
The things I see this way are true. I have the Sight."

His brows shot up. "You think you're
telling me news? Haven't you scared the toe-nails off me a score of
times with what you say and the things you see that no one else can
see?"

"You used to be scared of me, didn't
you, Cadal?"

"In a way. But I'm not scared now, and
I've no intention of being scared. Someone's got to look after the
devil himself, as long as he wears clothes and needs food and
drink. Now if you're done, young master, we'll see if these things
fit you that the King sent for you."

"The King sent them?"

"Aye. Looks like the sort of stuff
they think a magician ought to wear."

I went over to look. "Not long white
robes with stars and moons on them, and a staff with curled snakes?
Oh, really, Cadal --"

"Well, your own stuff's ruined, you've
got to wear something. Come on, you'll look kind of fancy in these,
and it seems to me you ought to try and impress them, the spot
you're in."

I laughed. "You may be right. Let me
see them. Hmm, no, not the white, I'm not competing with Maugan's
coven. Something dark, I think, and the black cloak. Yes, that'll
do. And I'll wear the dragon brooch."

"I hope you do right to be so sure of
yourself." Then he hesitated. "Look, I know it's all wine and
worship now, but maybe we ought to make a break for it straight
away, not wait to see which way the dice fall? I could steal a
couple of horses --"

" 'Make a break for it'? Am I still a
prisoner, then?"

"There's guards all round. Looking
after you this time, not holding on to you, but by the dog, it
comes to the same thing." He glanced at the window. "It'll be dusk
before long. Look, I could spin some tale out there to keep them
quiet, and maybe you could pretend to go to sleep again till dark
--"

"No. I must stay. If I can get
Vortigern to listen to me. Let me think, Cadal. You saw Marric the
night we were taken. That means the news is on its way to my
father, and if I'm any judge, he will move straight away. So far,
lucky; the sooner the better; if he can catch Vortigern here in the
West before he gets a chance to join again with Hengist... "I
thought for a moment. "Now, the ship was due to sail three -- no,
four days ago --"

"It sailed before you left Maridunum,"
he said briefly.

"What?"

He smiled at my expression. "Well,
what did you expect? The Count's own son and his lady hauled off
like that -- nobody knew for sure why, but there were stories going
about, and even Marric saw the sense in getting straight back to
Ambrosius with that tale. The ship sailed with the tide the same
dawn; she'd be out of the estuary before you'd hardly ridden out of
town."

I stood very still. I remember that he
busied himself around me, draping the black cloak, surreptitiously
pulling a fold to cover the dragon brooch that pinned
it.

Then I drew a long breath. "That's all
I needed to know. Now I know what to do. 'The King's prophet,' did
you say? They speak truer than they know. What the King's prophet
must do now is to take the heart out of these Saxon-loving vermin,
and drive Vortigern out of this tight corner of Wales into some
place where Ambrosius can smoke him out quickly and destroy
him."

"You think you can do
this?"

"I know I can."

"Then I hope you know how to get us
both out of here before they find out whose side you're
on!"

"Why not? As soon as I know where
Vortigern is bound for, we'll take the news to my father
ourselves." I settled the cloak to my shoulders, and grinned at
him. "So steal those horses, Cadal, and have them waiting down by
the stream. There's a tree fallen clear across the water; you can't
miss the place; wait there where there's cover. I'll come. But
first I must go and help Vortigern uncover the dragons."

I made for the door, but he got there
ahead of me, and paused with his hand on the latch. His eyes were
scared. "You really mean leave you on your own in the middle of
that wolfpack?"

"I'm not on my own. Remember that; and
if you can't trust me, trust what is in me. I have learned to. I've
learned that the god comes when he will, and how he will, rending
your flesh to get into you, and when he has done, tearing himself
free as violently as he came. Afterwards -- now -- one feels light
and hollow and like an angel flying...No, they can do nothing to
me, Cadal. Don't be afraid. I have the power."

"They killed Galapas."

"Someday they may kill me," I said.
"But not today. Open the door."

12

They were all gathered at the foot of
the crag where the workmen's track met the marshy level of the
corrie. I was still guarded, but this time -- at least in
appearance -- it was a guard of honor. Four uniformed men, with
their swords safely sheathed, escorted me to the King.

They had laid duckboards down on the
marshy ground to make a platform, and set a chair for the King.
Someone had rigged a windbreak of woven saplings and brushwood on
three sides, roofed it, and draped the lot with worked rugs and
dyed skins. Vortigern sat there, chin on fist, silent. There was no
sign of his Queen, or indeed of any of the women. The priests stood
near him, but they kept back and did not speak. His captains
flanked his chair.

The sun was setting behind the
improvised pavilion in a splash of scarlet. It must have rained
again that day; the grass was sodden, every blade heavy with drops.
The familiar slate-grey clouds furled and unfurled slowly across
the sunset. As I was led forward, they were lighting the torches.
These looked small and dull against the sunset, more smoke than
flame, dragged and flattened by the gusty breeze.

I waited at the foot of the platform.
The King's eyes looked me up and down, but he said nothing. He was
still reserving judgment. And why not, I thought. The kind of thing
I seemed to have produced must be fairly familiar to him. Now he
waited for proof of at least some part of my prophecy. If it was
not forthcoming, this was still the time and the place to spill my
blood. I wondered how the wind blew from Less Britain. The stream
was a full three hundred paces off, dark under its oaks and
willows.

Vortigern signed to me to take my
place on the platform beside him, and I mounted it to stand at his
right, on the opposite side from the priests. One or two of the
officers moved aside from me; their faces were wooden, and they did
not look at me, but I saw the crossed fingers, and thought: Dragon
or no dragon, I can manage these. Then I felt eyes on me, and
looked round. It was the greybeard. He was gazing fixedly at the
brooch on my shoulder where my cloak had blown back from it. As I
turned, his eyes lifted to mine. I saw his widen, then his hand
crept to his side, not to make the sign, but to loosen his sword in
its scabbard. I looked away. No one spoke.

It was an uncomfortable vigil. As the
sun sank lower the chilly spring wind freshened, fretting at the
hangings. Where puddles lay in the reedy ground the water rippled
and splashed under the wind. Cold draughts knifed up between the
duckboards. I could hear a curlew whistling somewhere up in the
darkening sky, then it slanted down, bubbling like a waterfall,
into silence. Above us the King's banner fluttered and snapped in
the wind. The shadow of the pavilion lengthened on the soaked
field.

From where we waited, the only sign of
activity was some coming and going in the trees. The last rays of
the sun, level and red, shone full on the west face of King's Fort,
lighting up the head of the crag crowned with the wrecked wall. No
workmen were visible there; they must all be in the cave and the
adur. Relays of boys ran across and back with reports of progress.
The pumps were working well and gaining on the water; the level had
sunk two spans in the last half hour...If my lord King would have
patience, the pumps had jammed, but the engineers were working on
them and meanwhile the men had rigged a windlass and were passing
buckets...All was well again, the pumps were going now and the
level was dropping sharply...You could see the bottom, they
thought...

It was two full hours of chill, numb
waiting, and it was almost dark, before lights came down the track
and with them the crowd of workmen. They came fast but
deliberately, not like frightened men, and even before they came
close enough to be clearly seen, I knew what they had found. Their
leaders halted a yard from the platform, and as the others came
crowding up I felt my guards move closer.

There were soldiers with the workmen.
Their captain stepped forward, saluting. "The pool is empty?" asked
Vortigern. "Yes, sir."

"And what lies beneath it?" The
officer paused. He should have been a bard. He need not have paused
to gather eyes: they were all on him already.

A gust of wind, sudden and stronger
than before, tore his cloak to one side with a crack like a whip,
and rocked the frame of the pavilion. A bird fled overhead,
tumbling along the wind. Not a merlin: not tonight. Only a rook,
scudding late home.

"There is nothing beneath the pool,
sir." His voice was neutral, carefully official, but I heard a
mutter go through the crowd like another surge of wind. Maugan was
craning forward, his eyes bright as a vulture's, but I could see he
did not dare to speak until he saw which way the King's mind was
bending. Vortigern leaned forward.

"You are certain of this? You drained
it to the bottom?"

"Indeed, sir." He signed to the men
beside him, and three or four of them stepped forward to tip a
clutter of objects in front of the platform. A broken mattock,
eaten with rust, some flint axe-heads older than any Roman working,
a belt buckle, a knife with its blade eaten to nothing, a short
length of chain, a metal whip-stock, some other objects impossible
to identify, and a few shards of cooking pots.