The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) (4 page)

‘Believe me, it’s for the best.’

She spat out the words. ‘Best
for your bloody career you mean.’

‘Is it such a crime to want success?’

‘No. But it’s a crime to abandon your child.’

He shrugged. ‘Happens every
day, duchess. It’s a funny old world. You’re angry now, but you’ll come round.’

How dare he patronise her? How
dare he tell her how to think and feel? She was angry, angrier than she had
ever been in her life, angry with him and angry with herself for being so
mistaken in her judgement of him. She hated Uther for not being the man she had
thought he was, and she hated him all the more because she knew he was going to
get his way.

The waiting room was sparsely furnished: two
grey polystyrene chairs, a white polystyrene table, its top burned by
cigarettes. On the table was a metal ashtray and a copy of
Country
Life
dated March 1992. The only decoration on the grey-painted walls was a
photograph of a young Queen

Elizabeth taken on the day of her coronation.

Uther lowered himself gingerly
onto one of the chairs, looked around the room and shuddered. Whilst he waited,
his thoughts drifted back a couple of weeks. To give Igraine moral support he
had driven down to Somerset and stayed at what the Travel Agents had described
as a Hostelry, whatever that was; a synonym for a fleapit, presumably. On the
afternoon of the 22nd the clinic had phoned to say the brat was on its way.
Three days before Christmas – what a time to give birth. He had hung around the
fleapit a few hours; no sense in rushing to the clinic, especially as he had
not the slightest desire to watch the ‘proceedings’. Later, driving there, he
had been caught in a storm; first a wild wind, then distant thunder rolling
closer and closer, and then the storm itself breaking with such a banging and
clattering it might have signalled the birth of the world, or the death. He had
never known anything like it, the lightning had lit up the streets as if it
were day, and then the rain, like a million tiny fists rapping on the car roof.
The windscreen wipers had packed up, and he had been stranded in the middle of
the village. Suddenly it was over – just before midnight – and everything was eerily
calm. Apparently that was when the child was born.

Merlin entered briskly, shook hands with Uther,
and sat at the table facing him. ‘Offer you something? Tea? Coffee?’

‘No thanks.’ Uther rested his
hands on the table and examined his nails.

‘Any problem finding the place?’ asked Merlin
politely.

Uther tried to concentrate his
gaze on the Queen’s portrait slightly to the left of Merlin’s head. It was no
good, the green orbs drew him back. ‘Your directions were perfect.’

‘Sorry about the red tape at the gate.’

‘They certainly quizzed me.
You chaps must be doing something pretty special here.’

Merlin turned his luminous
eyes on Uther and made no comment.

‘We met a few months ago,’
said Uther. Being nervous was a new experience for him, and he didn’t much care
for it. ‘I don’t know if you remember me,’ he added diffidently.

Merlin blinked. ‘Indeed I do.’
‘I expect it seems odd.’

Merlin directed a quick
searching look at his visitor and waited for him to continue.

‘My coming to see you, I mean.’
Uther ruffled the pages of the tattered
Country Life
. ‘You do understand
this is all . . . highly confidential.’

Merlin inclined his head,
waiting for Uther to come to the point.

Uther did not really know why
he was here. Why here? Why Merlin? There was no rational explanation, except
perhaps that there was no other place to go. ‘This friend of mine I mentioned
on the phone . . . ’ Was it worth persisting with the charade? On balance he
thought it might be, though Merlin was obviously no fool, and very likely
guessed that the ‘friend’ was sitting opposite him. The pretence at least
allowed him to address Merlin as an equal, rather than as a supplicant. ‘I
thought you might be able to help him. His wife wants to have the baby boy
adopted, and he has agreed – reluctantly I may say.’

Merlin’s eyelids drooped in
the subtlest of acknowledgements. ‘His main concern is to protect the lady’s
good name. He intends to marry her.’ Uther shifted uncomfortably on the tiny
chair. ‘Naturally.’

Merlin’s face remained impassive.

‘The child was not – um –
conceived in wedlock.’ The archaic phrase somehow distanced Uther from the
harsh realities of the situation, as indeed it was designed to. ‘Normally this
would present no problem, not in this day and age. In this case though, there
are . . . complications.’

‘What sort of complications?’
The green eyes were focused unwaveringly on Uther.

‘I prefer not to go into
details, if you don’t mind. Take it from me, there would be a scandal, a
scandal that would destroy both their lives. Though as I say, my friend is less
concerned with his own reputation than with that of his lady friend.’

No response. Uther found the
absence of reaction irritating, showing a lack of respect, perhaps even a touch
of scepticism. Again he asked himself whether he was doing the right thing in
approaching this strange man. Why should he be able to help? Even if he could,
would he keep his mouth shut? Panic stirred, his heart fluttered in his chest,
and he was tempted to make some excuse and walk out. But that would be foolhardy,
he had said too much to turn back now.

‘Is this really your friend’s child?’ asked
Merlin.

Uther was startled out of his
reverie. ‘Why do you ask?’ ‘Because if it is,’ said Merlin, forcing the issue,
‘then I fear

there is nothing I can do.’

Uther was about to protest in
the strongest terms, but Merlin’s green orbs were turned on him, and in their
blinding light, it seemed, nothing but the truth was possible. ‘If you must
know, the child is mine.’

Merlin nodded.

‘I’m not sure, but I seem to remember you and I
making some kind of deal,’ said Uther, who remembered it all too clearly, ‘a
deal I confess I never took seriously. And now here I am. A strange thing,
life.’

‘Isn’t it.’

‘Full of coincidences.’ Uther
was a proud man. It was humiliating to be sitting here, cap in hand – well,
more like baby in hand. ‘As it happens, I might be looking for a good home for
my, um . . . ’

‘For your son.’

Uther was looking intently at
the table now. ‘Do you think you could . . . ?’

‘When was he born?’

‘The twenty-second of
December, I think it was.’ ‘The winter solstice,’ said Merlin.

‘What does that have to do
with anything?’ Uther snapped irritably.

Merlin responded mildly. ‘The
winter solstice is about birth and rebirth.’

‘Really?’ said Uther indifferently.

‘The sun is at its lowest
point. The winter solstice is the longest, darkest night of the year. In the
moment of greatest despair, a seed begins to sprout.’

Despair? Seed? What on earth
was the man talking about? ‘The storm had just died down?’ enquired Merlin.

‘There was a storm. Why all these questions?’

‘I just wanted to be sure. So
the boy is now two weeks old.’ ‘I suppose.’

‘Wonderful.’ Merlin beamed.

Uther saw nothing wonderful
about it. Wonderful it would be if Merlin could spirit the brat away. Didn’t he
claim to be some kind of magician? That extraordinary business in the bar

– it was all coming back to him now.

‘Look here, can you help me or
not?’ asked Uther impatiently, making it clear by his expression and tone of
voice that he found the whole business frustrating, not to say demeaning.

‘There’s a couple I know who
would be happy to have the child,’ said Merlin, unperturbed. ‘They have a son
about a year old, but the lady can’t have any more children. They have been
thinking of adopting for some time.’

‘What kind of people are they?’

‘She is a social worker. He is a schoolmaster.’

A social worker, a
schoolmaster. My god, thought Uther, these are real people, a real man and a
real woman with real jobs and a real son. And for all its strangeness, this was
a real conversation he was having. Suddenly he understood the meaning of what
he was doing; he was giving away his own son. Like the movement of some
prehistoric creature in the depths of an uncharted lake, an unaccustomed and
sombre emotion stirred the dark depths of his soul, and then was still. ‘Is it
a good home? I have to be sure. Good background and all that? Are they capable
of . . . I mean, you’re quite sure they’ll look after him properly?’

‘They are decent,
unpretentious people,’ said Merlin, ‘moral, well educated and loving. Above
all, loving.’

‘Where do they live?’

A slight hesitation. ‘In a
small village in the Welsh countryside.’

Uther could scarcely conceal his distaste.

‘In my opinion they would make
ideal parents for your son.’

Feeling the need to regain the
moral high ground he had so clearly lost, Uther shook his head in sham sorrow.
‘Ideal? If only that were true. I fear the only ideal parents would be his own
natural father and mother. You simply cannot imagine the pain this causes me. I
wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But then life isn’t fair, is it? Not on us,
not on him. We are to be deprived of the joy of bringing up a son, and he, poor
mite, will lose all those advantages I could have given him.’ An anguished look
was followed by another gloomy shake of the head. ‘Ah well,’ he continued with
resignation, ‘no sense in torturing oneself. The truth is, I’m too sensitive
for my own good. It’s a curse, you know, being tender-hearted. But then that’s
the way I am.’

Whatever he was thinking,
Merlin’s face revealed nothing. ‘Do you want me to approach my friends?’

‘By all means. Naturally I
shall have to meet them to approve them – or not, as the case may be.’

‘No.’ The monosyllabic
response was surprisingly firm. ‘What do you mean, no?’

‘Meeting them would not be a good idea.’

‘My dear fellow,’ said Uther
imperiously, ‘you surely don’t expect me to hand over my son to complete
strangers?’

‘That is how it must be.’

Uther flushed with anger. Who
the hell did this weirdo think he was, dictating terms to Uther Pendragon? He
thumped the table with clenched fist. ‘Not acceptable.’

‘A normal condition of
adoption,’ said Merlin calmly, ‘is that the adoptive parents and the birth
parents do not meet.’

‘This is hardly a normal adoption.’

‘Would you like the other
couple to know who you are?’ ‘None of their damn business.’ Uther was affronted
to observe the mini-disturbance at the corners of Merlin’s mouth. This was no
laughing matter. ‘You are not suggesting there is any comparison between my rights
and theirs?’

Silence.

To hell with it, thought
Uther, that did it; he was going to walk out. He laid his hands on the table,
pushed back his chair and prepared to leave. And if he left, what then? Where
would he go? To an adoption agency? He would never be able to rely on their
discretion. It would only be a matter of time before a greedy employee sold the
story to the editor of some sleazy tabloid. To whom then? To a friend? An
acquaintance? A colleague? Was there a person in the world he could trust apart
from Merlin? No. Aggravating though it was he really had no choice. Best get it
over with. That disturbing exchange at Grey’s was in his head:
Why
do
you
want
him?
To
save
the world.
Suddenly he had the odd feeling that the whole situation was out of his
control, that it had all been decided a long time ago, long even before he met
Merlin.

A few days later Uther drove
to Merlin’s cottage and handed over the tiny baby, carefully wrapped against
the winter’s cold. Uther glanced round Merlin’s kitchen, with its simple pine
furniture and stone floor. A fire burned in the grate. Uther shuddered to think
in what squalor a teacher and a social worker lived in some drab village in the
Welsh countryside. Was he condemning his own flesh and blood to a lifetime of poverty?
Noticing a crib in the far corner of the room, his heart sank. Dear god, not
even a nursery?

‘Is there no room for the
baby?’ he enquired loftily. Merlin spread his hands wide. ‘All the room in the
world.’ Uther sniffed. ‘That is not what I mean.’

‘I know what you mean.’ ‘What
about money?’

‘Money is not a problem,’ said Merlin.

Uther waved a dismissive hand.
‘I shall arrange something on a regular basis. A cheque or a bank transfer. No
one need ever know where it comes from.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

Uther seemed disappointed.
‘Well,’ he said, shifting his feet uncomfortably, ‘then it’s good-bye.’

Merlin nodded. ‘Goodbye.’

After Uther had gone, Merlin
warmed a bottle of milk and fed the tiny baby, cradling it in his arms.
‘Welcome,’ he whispered in its ear, ‘welcome once again.’ When the baby was
asleep, he laid it in its crib.

It was bitterly cold, a crisp,
bright January night. Merlin opened the back door and stood for a few minutes
looking up at the sky alive with stars. Somewhere in the woods a barn owl
hooted. Closing the door again, Merlin smiled. He knew that sound. The fire
chattered in the grate. For a few moments he gazed into the flames, stirring
the embers with a poker. Crossing the room, he stood by the crib, eyes closed,
the palms of his hands pressed together as though in prayer.

The doorbell rang. Uther
again. ‘I almost forgot,’ he said. ‘His name is Arthur.’

‘An excellent name,’ said Merlin.

To the West of Carmarthen, not far from
Merlin’s birthplace, and less than a dozen miles from the Bristol Channel, the
tiny village of Ponterlally sits cosily in a fertile valley. At the east end of
the valley, two flat-topped hills known locally as Adam and Eve overlook the
forest called Eden. There, according to Ponterlally’s official storyteller,
golden-eyed lions hunt on moonless nights, and loose skinned elephants shuffle
their ponderous dance at sunrise. Most villagers, however, see only hedgehogs, rabbits,
squirrels, foxes, stoats, badgers and deer, and hear the raucous caw of crows
at dusk and the hoot of owls in the snug hours of the night.

The village stream, called
Lally, a distant relative several times removed from the river Severn, bustles
through the valley, flowing down the shop side of the main street, under the
stone bridge that tradition says was built by Julius Caesar, then south to join
its tributary kinsfolk on the slow march to the sea.

In this valley of orchards,
farms and fairy tales, lived the Hughes: young Hector and Elizabeth, man and
wife, both born in the village, friends from childhood days. Elizabeth was a
woman of strong character and emotions, and Hector a sensible fellow with a
logical mind, both feet planted firm as oaks in the land of his birth.

At eighteen Hector went to the
village school to teach, on the understanding that it was only a temporary
commitment until he found his true vocation. Never a week went by that he did
not ponder his future, until the day came, many long years later, when he was
astonished to discover that what he had been doing all his life was what he had
always wanted to do. Elizabeth, for her part, never had the smallest doubt that
what she was doing was right for her. She was a part-time social worker, as
well as being a wife to the man she had loved since she was twelve, and a
mother to their only child, eleven months old Keir.

‘The little darling,’ she
said, her pretty face glowing with happiness as she stroked the baby’s tiny
cheeks with the tips of her fingers.

‘You know something? He looks
like you,’ she told Hector, who was about to point out the logical fallacy when
he caught the look in Merlin’s eye and thought better of it.

Merlin beckoned his friends to
the kitchen table. Husband and wife sat opposite hi m, Hector with his arm
round Elizabeth whilst she cradled baby Arthur. ‘I want you both to promise me
something. When Arthur is ready to hear it, you must tell him he is adopted.’

Hector liked to have the whys
and wherefores of everything. ‘How will we know when he’s ready?’

‘When the time comes, you will
know. But whatever happens, you must tell him before his thirteenth birthday.
Do I have your promise?’ Merlin was looking at Elizabeth.

‘I suppose so,’ she said.
‘Though why you men always want everything so cut and dried I shall never
know.’

Merlin was content. ‘You will
make him a fine mother.’ ‘Will he want to know who . . .
they
are?’ She
could not bring

herself to use the word
“parents”, for in her own mind Arthur was already her child, and she had no
intention of sharing him with anyone.

‘One day he will,’ said
Merlin. ‘Who are they?’ asked Hector.

Merlin smiled, knowing his
friend as well as he did. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that now.’

Hector sighed, frustrated.
‘It’s just that I like to have everything clear.’

‘I know,’ said Merlin. He reached across and
patted Hector’s shoulder affectionately. ‘Patience, my friend. Everything will
be clear in time.’

As Elizabeth rocked the
sleeping child, her whole body was flooded by a wave of tenderness so powerful
that she almost fainted. When her head cleared, she said, looking down at him,
‘My son is special.’

‘Yes,’ said Merlin. ‘Why us?’
she asked.

‘It is written,’ said Merlin enigmatically.

For a full minute they did not
speak. The bracket clock on the mantelpiece ticked self-importantly, the damp
logs hissed and snapped in the flames. ‘On the sixteenth of January,’ said
Merlin, breaking the silence, ‘is the next full moon. I will tell you what you
must do.’

Whenthe night of the full moon
came, the outside temperature was below zero. Hector stood at the kitchen door
that led to the back garden. ‘Be reasonable, Elizabeth, it’s far too cold.’

She clasped the baby to her
bosom. ‘We gave Merlin our word.’

To Hector it simply did not
make sense, and if a thing didn’t make sense, you shouldn’t do it. ‘It’s
freezing out there. You want the boy to catch pneumonia?’

‘We must do as Merlin told us.
Don’t ask me why. I just know it,’ said Elizabeth, beginning to remove the
baby’s clothes.

‘Are you out of your mind,
girl? The poor mite will catch his death!’

‘Stand aside, Hector.’ She
spoke quietly but with such authority that he moved away from the door, though
still protesting.

‘This is madness. I’ll tell
Merlin we did what he wanted us to do. He’ll never know we didn’t.’

‘He’ll know,’ insisted Elizabeth.

Hector shook his head in bewilderment. ‘It
doesn’t make sense.’

‘Some things don’t.’ With that
she opened the door and went out to the garden followed by Hector, muttering
angrily. The night sky was overcast, the moon and stars nowhere to be seen.
Elizabeth held the naked baby high, and Hector, shrugging his shoulders in
defeat, found himself speaking aloud the words that Merlin said would come to
him.

‘We offer you your son,
Arthur, who has come again. We shall love him as our own; we shall prepare him
as far as we are able. It is written that he will be wise and courageous and
will perform great deeds. It is written that he will know much happiness, and
much sadness too. It is also written that when his time comes he will be
reunited with the Creator and with everything that lives and dies. We offer you
your son, Arthur, who has come again.’

As Hector spoke, the clouds
parted, and the full glory of the shimmering silver planet was unveiled in the
eastern sky. ‘We offer you your son, Arthur, who has come again. We shall teach
him, as far as we are able, to know the planets and the stars and the galaxies,
and all the heavenly bodies. We shall teach him, as far as we are able, to know
himself, and to love his fellow men and all creatures. We shall teach him, as
far as we are able, to fear nothing, neither life nor death. We offer you your
son, Arthur, who has come again.’

Then the sky blazed with a
light so dazzling that they were forced to turn away their faces. Gurgling with
joy, the baby reached up his tiny arms as if to greet the heavens, kicking his
legs and wriggling so hard that Elizabeth feared she might drop him.

Filled with wonder, they
brought him back into the kitchen. Despite the biting cold outside, his little
naked body was as warm as toast. Still Elizabeth was taking no chances;
wrapping Arthur in a shawl, she sat in front of the fire and held him until he
fell asleep. She was about to return him to his own crib, when on an impulse
she laid him next to his adoptive brother.

Immediately, Keir began to cry.

Hector picked up Keir, put him
across his shoulder and patted him gently on the back. When he stopped crying,
he laid him next to Arthur again. For a few moments the two babies lay quietly
side by side. But then, to Hector’s surprise, Keir began to shriek louder than
ever, fists clenched, face bright red, feet drumming the mattress. ‘Poor baba’s
got wind,’ said Hector soothingly.

Elizabeth shook her head.
‘That’s not wind,’ she said, ‘that’s rage.’ And the instant she put Arthur back
in his own cot, Keir stopped crying.