Legacy: Arthurian Saga (46 page)

The bishop started to shout again, but
Ambrosius turned away unheeding and, with Uther and the other
captains, strode back across the bridge and into the fortress. I
followed. Spears flashed down to bar my way, then -- the place was
garrisoned by Ambrosius' Bretons -- I was recognized, and the
spears withdrawn.

Inside the fortress was a wide square
courtyard, now full of a bustling, trampling confusion of men and
horses. At the far side a shallow flight of steps led to the door
of the main hall and tower. Ambrosius' party was mounting the
steps, but I turned aside. There was no need to ask where the
wounded had been taken. On the east side of the square a long
double-storied building had been organized as a dressing station;
the sounds coming from this guided me. I was hailed thankfully by
the doctor in charge, a man called Gandar, who had taught me in
Brittany, and who avowedly had no use for either priests or
magicians, but who very much needed another pair of trained hands.
He assigned me a couple of orderlies, found me some instruments and
a box of salves and medicines, and thrust me -- literally -- into a
long room that was little better than a roofed shed, but which now
held some fifty wounded men. I stripped to the waist and started
work.

Somewhere around midnight the worst
was done and things were quieter. I was at the far end of my
section when a slight stir near the entrance made me look round to
see Ambrosius, with Gandar and two officers, come quietly in and
walk down the row of wounded, stopping by each man to talk or, with
those worst wounded, to question the doctor in an
undertone.

I was stitching a thigh wound -- it
was clean, and would heal, but it was deep and jagged, and to
everyone's relief the man had fainted -- when the group reached me.
I did not look up, and Ambrosius waited in silence until I had done
and, reaching for the dressings the orderly had prepared, bandaged
the wound. I finished, and got to my feet as the orderly came back
with a bowl of water. I plunged my hands into this, and looked up
to see Ambrosius smiling. He was still in his hacked and spattered
armor, but he looked fresh and alert, and ready if necessary to
start another battle. I could see the wounded men watching him as
if they would draw strength just from the sight.

"My lord," I said. He stooped over the
unconscious man. "How is he?"

"A flesh wound. He'll recover, and
live to be thankful it wasn't a few inches to the left."

"You've done a good job, I see." Then
as I finished drying my hands and dismissed the orderly with a word
of thanks, Ambrosius put out his own hand. "And now, welcome. I
believe we owe you quite a lot, Merlin. I don't mean for this; I
mean for Doward, and for today as well. At any rate the men think
so, and if soldiers decide something is lucky, then it is lucky.
Well, I'm glad to see you safe. You have news for me, I
believe."

"Yes." I said it without expression,
because of the men with us, but I saw the smile fade from his eyes.
He hesitated, then said quietly: "Gentlemen, give us leave." They
went. He and I faced one another across the body of the unconscious
man. Nearby a soldier tossed and moaned, and another cried out and
bit the sound back. The place smelled vile, of blood and drying
sweat and sickness.

"What is this news?"

"It concerns my mother." I think he
already knew what I was going to tell him. He spoke slowly,
measuring the words, as if each one carried with it some weight
that he ought to feel. "The men who rode here with you...they
brought me news of her. She had been ill, but was recovered, they
said, and safely back in Maridunum. Was this not true?"

"It was true when I left Maridunum. If
I had known the illness was mortal, I would not have left
her."

"'Was' mortal?"

"Yes, my lord." He was silent, looking
down, but without seeing him, at the wounded man. The latter was
beginning to stir; soon he would be back with the pain and the
stench and the fear of mortality. I said: "Shall we go out into the
air? I've finished here. I'll send someone back to this
man."

"Yes. And you must get your clothes.
It's a cool night." Then, still without moving: "When did she
die?"

"At sunset today." He looked up
quickly at that, his eyes narrow and intent, then he nodded,
accepting it. He turned to go out, gesturing me to walk with him.
As we went he asked me: "Do you suppose she knew?"

"I think so, yes."

"She sent no message?"

"Not directly. She said, 'When we meet
again, it will be soon enough.' She is a Christian, remember. They
believe --"

"I know what they believe."

Some commotion outside made itself
heard, a voice barking a couple of commands, feet tramping.
Ambrosius paused, listening. Someone was coming our way,
quickly.

"We'll talk later, Merlin. You have a
lot to tell me. But first we must send Hengist's spirit to join his
fathers. Come."

They had heaped the Saxon dead high on
a great stack of wood, and poured oil and pitch over them. At the
top of the pyramid, on a platform roughly nailed together of
planks, lay Hengist. How Ambrosius had stopped them robbing him I
shall never know, but he had not been robbed. His shield lay on his
breast, and a sword by his right hand. They had hidden the severed
neck with a broad leather collar of the kind some soldiers use for
throat guards. It was studded with gold. A cloak covered his body
from throat to feet, and its scarlet folds flowed down over the
rough wood.

As soon as the torches were thrust in
below, the flames caught greedily. It was a still night, and the
smoke poured upwards in a thick black column laced with fire. The
edges of Hengist's cloak caught, blackened, curled, and then he was
lost to sight in the gush of smoke and flames. The fire cracked
like whips, and as the logs burned and broke, men ran, sweating and
blackened, to throw more in. Even from where we stood, well back,
the heat was intense, and the smell of burnt pitch and roasting
meat came in sickening gusts on the damp night air. Beyond the
lighted ring of watching men torches moved still on the
battlefield, and one could hear the steady thud of spades striking
into the earth for the British dead. Beyond the brilliant pyre,
beyond the dark slopes of the far hills, the May moon hung, faint
through the smoke.

"What do you see?" Ambrosius' voice
made me start. I looked at him, surprised. "See?"

"In the fire, Merlin the
prophet."

"Nothing but dead men
roasting."

"Then look and see something for me,
Merlin. Where has Octa gone?" I laughed.

"How should I know? I told you all I
could see." But he did not smile. "Look harder. Tell me where Octa
has gone? And Eosa? Where they will dig themselves in to wait for
me? And how soon?"

"I told you. I don't look for things.
If it is the god's will that they should come to me, they come out
of the flames, or out of the black night, and they come silently
like an arrow out of ambush. I do not go to find the bowman; all I
can do is stand with my breast bare and wait for the arrow to hit
me."

"Then do it now." He spoke strongly,
stubbornly. I saw he was quite serious. "You saw for
Vortigern."

"You call it 'for' him? To prophesy
his death? When I did that, my lord, I did not even know what I was
saying. I suppose Gorlois told you what happened -- even now, I
couldn't tell you myself. I neither know when it will come, nor
when it will leave me."

"Only today you knew about Niniane,
and without either fire or darkness."

"That's true. But I can't tell you
how, any more than how I knew what I told Vortigern."

"The men call you 'Vortigern's
prophet.' You prophesied victory for us, and we had it, here and at
Doward. The men believe you and have faith in you. So have I. Is it
not a better title now to be 'Ambrosius' prophet?"

"My lord, you know I would take any
title from you that you cared to bestow. But this comes from
somewhere else. I cannot call it, but I know that if it matters it
will come. And when it comes, be sure I will tell you. You know I
am at your service. Now, about Octa and Eosa I know nothing. I can
only guess -- and guess as a man. They fight still under the White
Dragon, do they?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"Then what Vortigern's prophet said
must still hold good."

"I can tell the men this?"

"If they need it. When do you plan to
march?"

"In three days."

"Aiming for where?"

"York." I turned up a hand. "Then your
guess as a commander is probably as good as my guess as a magician.
Will you take me?" He smiled. "Will you be any use to
me?"

"Probably not as a prophet. But do you
need an engineer? Or an apprentice doctor? Or even a singer?" He
laughed. "A host in yourself, I know. As long as you don't turn
priest on me, Merlin. I have enough of them."

"You needn't be afraid of that." The
flames were dying down. The officer in charge of the proceedings
approached, saluted, and asked if the men might be dismissed.
Ambrosius gave him leave, then looked at me. "Come with me to York,
then. I shall have work for you there. Real work. They tell me the
place is half ruined, and I'll need someone to help direct the
engineers. Tremorinus is at Caerleon. Now, find Caius Valerius and
tell him to look after you, and bring you to me in an hour's time."
He added over his shoulder as he turned away: "And in the meantime
if anything should come to you out of the dark like an arrow,
you'll let me know?"

"Unless it really is an arrow." He
laughed, and went.

Uther was beside me suddenly. "Well,
Merlin the bastard? They're saying you won the battle for us from
the hilltop?" I noticed, with surprise, that there was no malice in
his tone. His manner was relaxed, easy, almost gay, like that of a
prisoner let loose. I supposed this was indeed how he felt after
the long frustrations of the years in Brittany. Left to himself
Uther would have charged across the Narrow Sea before he was fairly
into manhood, and been valiantly smashed in pieces for his pains.
Now, like a hawk being flown for the first time at the quarry, he
was feeling his power. I could feel it, too: it clothed him like
folded wings. I said something in greeting, but he interrupted
me.

"Did you see anything in the flames
just now?"

"Oh, not you, too," I said warmly.
"The Count seems to think all I have to do is to look at a torch
and tell the future. I've been trying to explain it doesn't work
like that."

"You disappoint me. I was going to ask
you to tell my fortune."

"Oh, Eros, that's easy enough. In
about an hour's time, as soon as you've settled your men, you'll be
bedded down with a girl."

"It's not as much of a certainty as
all that. How the devil did you know I'd manage to find one?
They're not very thick on the ground just here -- there's only
about one man in fifty managed to get one. I was lucky."

"That's what I mean," I said. "Given
fifty men and only one woman amongst them, then Uther has the
woman. That's what I call one of the certainties of life. Where
will I find Caius Valerius?"

"I'll send someone to show you. I'd
come myself, only I'm keeping out of his way."

"Why?"

"When we tossed for the girl, he
lost," said Uther cheerfully. "He'll have plenty of time to look
after you. In fact, all night. Come along."

6

We went into York three days before
the end of May.

Ambrosius' scouts had confirmed his
guess about York; there was a good road north from Kaerconan, and
Octa had fled up this with Eosa his kinsman, and had taken refuge
in the fortified city which the Romans called Eboracum, and the
Saxons Eoforwick, or York. But the fortifications at York were in
poor repair, and the inhabitants, when they heard of Ambrosius'
resounding victory at Kaerconan, offered the fleeing Saxons cold
comfort. For all Octa's speed, Ambrosius was barely two days behind
him, and at the sight of our vast army, rested, and reinforced by
fresh British allies encouraged by the Red Dragon's victories, the
Saxons, doubting whether they could hold the city against him,
decided to beg for mercy.

I saw it myself, being right up in the
van with the siege engines, under the walls. In its way it was more
unpleasant even than a battle. The Saxon leader was a big man,
blond like his father, and young. He appeared before Ambrosius
stripped to his trews, which were of course stuff bound with
thongs. His wrists likewise were bound, this time with a chain, and
his head and body were smeared with dust, a token of humiliation he
hardly needed. His eyes were angry, and I could see he had been
forced into this by the cowardice -- or wisdom, as you care to call
it -- of the group of Saxon and British notables who crowded behind
him out of the city gate, begging Ambrosius for mercy on themselves
and their families.

This time he gave it. He demanded only
that the remnants of the Saxon army should withdraw to the north,
beyond the old Wall of Hadrian, which (he said) he would count the
border of his realm. The lands beyond this, so men say, are wild
and sullen, and scarcely habitable, but Octa took his liberty
gladly enough, and after him, eager for the same mercy, came his
cousin Eosa throwing himself on Ambrosius' bounty. He received it,
and the city of York opened its gates to its new king.