Legacy: Arthurian Saga (94 page)

It told me who these men must be. They
were the descendants of those tribesmen who had, long since, fled
to the remoter hills, leaving the cities and the cultivable lands
to the Romans, and after them to Cunedda's federates from Guotodin,
and had roosted, like homeless birds, in the high tracts of the
forest where living was scarce and no better men would dispute it
with them. Here and there they had fortified a hilltop and held it,
but in most cases any hill that could be so fortified was desirable
to conquerors, so was eventually stormed or starved out and taken.
So, hilltop by hilltop, the remnants of the unconquered had
retreated, till there was left to them only the crags and caves and
the bare land which the snow locked in winter. There they lived,
seen by none except by chance, or when they wished it. It was they,
I guessed, who crept down by night to take the offerings from the
country shrines. My waking dream had been true enough. These,
perhaps, were all who could be seen by living eyes, of the dwellers
in the hollow hills.

They were talking freely -- as freely
as such folk ever do -- not knowing I could understand them. I kept
my eyelids lowered, and listened.

"I tell you, it must be. Who else
would be traveling in the forest on a night like this? And with a
strawberry mare?"

"That's right. Alone, they said, with
a red roan mare."

"Maybe he killed the other, and stole
the mare. He's hiding, that's certain. Why else lie out here in
winter without a fire, and the wolves coming down this
low?"

"It's not the wolves he's afraid of.
Depend on it, this is the man they were wanting."

"And paying for."

"They said he was dangerous. He didn't
look it to me."

"He had a sword drawn
ready."

"But he never picked it
up."

"We were too quick for
him."

"He had seen us. He had time. You
shouldn't have taken him like that, Cwyll. They didn't say take
him.

They said find him and follow
him."

"Well, it's too late now. We've taken
him. What do we do? Kill him?"

"Llyd will know."

"Yes. Llyd will know."

They did not speak as I have reported
it, but in snatches one across the other, brief phrases bandied to
and fro in that strange, sparse language. Presently they left me
where I lay between my two guards, and withdrew a short distance.
To wait, I supposed, for Llyd.

Some twenty minutes later he came,
with two companions; three more shadows suddenly no longer part of
the forest's blackness. The others crowded round him, talking and
pointing, and presently he seized the torch -- which was now little
more than a singed rag smelling of pitch -- and strode towards me.
The others crowded after, they stood in a half circle round me as
they had stood before. Llyd held the torch high, and it showed me
my captors, not clearly, but enough to know them again. They were
small men, dark-haired, with surly lined faces beaten by weather
and hard living to a texture like gnarled wood. They were dressed
in roughly tanned skins, and breeches of thick, coarse-woven cloth
dyed the browns and greens and murreys that you can make with the
mountain plants. They were variously armed, with clubs, knives,
stone axes chipped to a sheen, and -- the one who had given the
orders until Llyd came -- with my sword.

Llyd said: "They have gone north.
There is no one in the forest to hear or see. Take the gag
out."

"What's the use?" It was the fellow
holding my sword who spoke. "He doesn't know the Old Tongue. Look
at him. He does not understand. When we spoke just now of killing
him he did not look afraid."

"What does that tell us except that he
is brave, which we know already? A man attacked and tied as he is
might well be expecting death, but there is no fear in his eyes. Do
as I say. I know enough to ask him his name and where he is bound
for. Take out the gag. And you, Pwul, and Areth, see if you can
find dry stuff to burn. Let us have good light to see him
by."

One of the two beside me reached for
the knot, and got the gag loosened. It had cut my mouth at the
corner, and was foul with blood and spittle, but he thrust it into
his pouch. Theirs was a degree of poverty that wasted nothing. I
wondered how much "they" had offered to pay for me. If Crinas and
his followers had tracked me this far and set the hill-dwellers to
watch me and discover where I was bound, Cwyll's hasty action had
spoiled that plan. But it had also spoiled mine. Even if they
decided now to let me go, so that they could follow me in secret,
my journey was fruitless. Forewarned though I was, I could never
elude these watchers. They see everything that moves in the forest,
and they can send messages as quickly as the bees. I had known all
along that the forest would be full of watchers, but normally they
stay out of sight and mind their own concerns. Now I saw that my
only hope of reaching Galava unbetrayed was to enlist them. I
waited to hear what their leader had to say.

He spoke slowly, in bad Welsh. "Who
are you?"

"A traveler. I go north to the house
of an old friend."

"In winter?"

"It was necessary."

"Where..." He searched for the words.
"...where do you come from?"

"Maridunum."

This, it appeared, tallied with what
"they" had told them. He nodded. "Are you a messenger?"

"No. Your men have seen what I
carry."

One of them said quickly, in the Old
Tongue: "He carries gold. We saw it. Gold in his belt, and some
stitched in the mare's girth."

The leader regarded me. I could not
read his face; it was about as transparent as oak bark. He said
over his shoulder, without taking his eyes off me: "Did you search
him?" He was speaking his own language.

"No. We saw what was in his pouch when
we took his weapons."

"Search him now."

They obeyed him, not gently. Then they
stood back and showed him what they had found, crowding to look by
the light of the meager torch. "The gold; look how much. A brooch
with the Dragon of the King's house. Not a badge; feel the weight,
it is gold. A brand with the Raven of Mithras. And he rides from
Maridunum towards the north, and secretly." Cwyll pulled my cloak
again across the exposed brand and stood up. "It must be the man
the soldiers told us about. He is lying. He is the messenger. We
should let him go and follow him."

But Llyd spoke slowly, staring down at
me. "A messenger carrying a harp, and the sign of the Dragon, and
the brand of the Raven? And he rides alone out of Maridunum? No.
There is only one man it can be; the magician from Bryn
Myrddin."

"Him?" This was the man who held my
sword. It went slack, suddenly, in his grasp, and I saw him swallow
and take a fresh grip. "Him, the magician? He is too young.
Besides, I have heard of that magician. They say he is a giant,
with eyes that freeze you to the marrow. Let him go, Llyd, and we
will follow him, as the soldiers asked us."

Cwyll said, uncomfortably: "Yes, let
him go. Kings are nothing to us, but a magician is unchancy to
harm."

The others crowded close, curious and
uneasy.

"A magician? They said nothing about
that, or we would never have touched him."

"He's no magician, see how he's
dressed. Besides, if he knew magic, he could have stopped
us."

"He was asleep. Even enchanters have
to sleep."

"He was awake. He saw us. He did
nothing."

"We gagged him first."

"He is not gagged now, and see, he
says nothing."

"Yes, let him go, Llyd, and we will
get the money the soldiers offered. They said they would pay us
well."

More mutters, and nods of assent. Then
one man said, thoughtfully: "He has more on him than they offered
us."

Llyd had not spoken for some time, but
now he broke angrily across the talk. "Are we thieves? Or hirelings
to give information for gold? I told you before, I will not blindly
do as the soldiers asked us, for all their money. Who are they that
we, the Old Ones, should do their work? We will do our own. There
are things here that I should like to know. The soldiers told us
nothing. Perhaps this man will. I think there are great matters
afoot. Look at him; that is no man's messenger. That is a man who
counts among men. We will untie him, and talk. Light the fire,
Areth."

While he had been talking the two he
had bidden had brought together a pile of boughs and fallen stuff,
and built a pyre ready for lighting. But there could have been no
dry twig in the forest that night. Though the sleet showers had
stopped some while back, all was dripping wet, and the ground felt
spongy as if it must be soaked right to the earth's
center.

Llyd made a sign to the two who
guarded me. "Untie his hands. And one of you, bring food and
drink."

One of them hurried off, but the other
hesitated, fingering his knife. Others crowded round, arguing.
Llyd's authority, it seemed, was not that of a king, but of an
accepted leader whose companions have the right to query and
advise. I caught fragments of what they were saying, and then Llyd
clearly: "There are things we must know. Knowledge is the only
power we have. If he will not tell us of his own will, then we
shall have to make him..."

Areth had managed to set the damp
stuff smouldering, but it gave neither heat nor light, only an
intermittent gusting of smoke, acrid and dirty, which blew into all
quarters as the wind wandered, making the eyes smart and choking
the breath.

It was time, I thought, that I made an
end. I had learned enough. I said, clearly, in the Old Tongue:
"Stand back from the fire, Areth."

There was a sudden complete silence. I
did not look at them, I fixed my eyes on the smoking logs. I
blotted out the bite of my bound wrists, the pain of my bruises,
the discomfort of my soaked clothes. And, as easily as a breath
taken and then released on the night air, the power ran through me,
cool and free. Something dropped through the dark, like a fire
arrow, or a shooting star. With a flash, a shower of white sparks
that looked like burning sleet, the logs caught, blazing. Fire
poured down through the sleet, caught, gulped, billowed up again
gold and red and gloriously hot. The sleet hissed in onto the fire,
and, as if it had been oil, the fire fed on it, roaring. The noise
of it filled the forest and echoed like horses
galloping.

I took my eyes from it at last, and
looked about me. There was no one there. They had vanished as if
they had indeed been spirits of the hills. I was alone in the
forest, lying against the tumbled rocks, with the steam rising
already from my drying clothes, and the bonds biting painfully into
my wrists.

Something touched me from behind. The
blade of a stone knife. It slid between the flesh of my wrists and
the ropes, sawing at my bonds. They gave way. Stiffly, I flexed my
shoulders and began to chafe the bruised wrists. There was a thin
cut, bleeding, where the knife had caught me. I neither spoke nor
looked behind me, but sat still, chafing my wrists and
hands.

From somewhere behind me a voice
spoke. It was Llyd's. He spoke in the Old Tongue.

"You are Myrddin called Emrys or
Ambrosius, son of Ambrosius the son of Constantius who sprang from
the seed of Macsen Wledig?"

"I am Myrddin Emrys."

"My men took you in error. They did
not know."

"They know now. What will you do with
me?"

"Set you on your journey when you
choose to go."

"And meanwhile question me, and force
me to tell you of the grave matters that concern me?"

"You know we can force you to do
nothing. Nor would we. You will tell us what you wish, and go when
you wish. But we can watch for you while you sleep, and we have
food and drink. You are welcome to what we have to
offer."

"Then I accept it. Thank you. Now, you
have my name. I have heard yours, but you must give it to me
yourself."

"I am Llyd. My ancestor was Llyd of
the forests. There is no man here who is not descended from a
god."

"Then there is no man here who need
fear a man descended from a king. I shall be glad to share your
supper and talk with you. Come out now, and share the warmth of my
fire."

The food was part of a cold roast
hare, with a loaf of black bread. They had venison, fresh killed,
the result of tonight's foray; this they kept for the tribe, but
thrust the pluck into the fire to roast, and along with it the
carcass of a black hen and some flat uncooked cakes that looked,
and smelled, as if they had been mixed with blood. It was an easy
guess where these and the hare had been picked up; one sees such
things at every crossways stone in that part of the country. It is
no blasphemy in these people to take the wayside sacrifices: as
Llyd had said to me, they consider themselves descended from the
gods and entitled to the offerings; and indeed, I see no harm in
it. I accepted the bread, and a piece of venison heart, and a horn
of the strong sweet drink they make themselves from herbs and wild
honey.