The Iron Grail (28 page)

It was the work of a moment to glimpse their thoughts and realise what Jason had done. One of them sensed my presence and glanced angrily towards me. I stepped into the darkest shadow possible, one thought on my mind.
How had Jason managed this? Not alone; someone had helped him. Athene’s sweet breath, please not Niiv, not the silly, prowling, predatory girl … She couldn’t have willingly brought herself this close to death!

Niiv sensed my sudden alarm and tried to slip away. I grabbed her wrist, tugging her close. ‘If this is your work, you little fool, you’ve lost everything. Everything!’

‘Not mine. I swear. I knew who they were. But I had nothing to do with it.’

‘Then how did he manage it? How?’

‘I don’t know.’

I let go of her and she scurried off into the night, a small creature seeking safety.

Urtha greeted Jason with formal hospitality. His house was Jason’s house; there was room on the floor for all his men for the rest of the night.

Jason acknowledged the gesture, then asked, ‘Is he here?’

‘Yes. And like you, he’s a guest under my roof. I keep a peaceful house, friend Jason. If you try to kill him, I’ll have you killed.’

‘Plainly spoken, Lord Urtha. You may rest assured. I have no intention of killing him.’

He looked around in the torchlit night, and soon his gaze found mine. He stared at me for a few moments, then turned away. I heard him say to Urtha, ‘A few old friends of Merlin’s are here as well. He has a lot in common with them.’

‘That is a subject for a later discussion. For the moment, I’m intrigued to know why the sight of Argo has sent our enemy scurrying back to their grave-mounds.’

*   *   *

I shared Urtha’s puzzlement. Unable to rest, unwilling to sleep in the king’s hall alongside Jason, I prowled the battlements until the moment dawn began to break across the forest to the east of MaegCatha. All sign of the Ghostlanders had gone; it was hard to realise that a force of three hundred or more had been encamped there for the better part of a season.

Though they had seemed to abandon their tents, those temporary dwellings, too, had been swallowed by the earth.

A heavy footfall on the ladder behind me announced the arrival of Rubobostes. He had snatched a little sleep and a little food and was looking better. I reached out to help the brawny Dacian on to the platform inside the palisade and the hand that gripped mine was like an iron vice.

‘You would have made a fine match for Heracles,’ I told him.

‘I’d have liked to have known him. He was famous in my land. He carved a valley through a hill with his bare hands. The river that rose there still flows to the sea. We call it by a name that means “The famous man’s urine”.’

‘I’m sure you do.’

‘I’m glad to see you again, Merlin.’

‘I’m glad to see you as well, though I saw you in the hinterland. How did you get across the river? Argo, I suppose.’

‘Mielikki opened the way. It’s a strange thing: when we were exploring that strange edge-land I could swear that I heard your voice. We were attacked by a squadron of riders, one of them a very angry, very furious young man.’

I told him I’d been there, witnessing the assault from across the meadow. ‘And what happened to your horse? Ruvio?’

Rubobostes’ mount had been a creature of supernatural strength. Man and beast might well have been created together.

‘We’ve left him close to Ghostland; strategically placed. He was exhausted from the journey and there are several wild mares at the edge of the forest, and good grazing. When Ruvio looks at me in a certain way, I never argue. I gave him his head and by now the bellies of those mares are filling up with little stallions; they’ll be greatly useful in times to come.’

The sun suddenly sparked into fire above the trees. Rubobostes went quiet for a moment, going through his sacred dawn ritual with a haste that narrowly bordered on the blasphemous. It occurred to me, briefly, that I would have liked a ritual of my own, but if I’d ever had one it was long forgotten. When the sun rose in this way, bright, clear, suddenly sharp, it opened a thousand memories for me, all of them profane.

‘Before the others rise,’ the Dacian said quietly, when he had finished, ‘there are six old friends who never sleep and who would like to see you. The druid has let them enter the apple grove. He’s too frightened of them to refuse.’

I glanced towards the
nemeton
behind its high wicker walls. The Speaker for the Past stood before the gate, his hazel staff clutched in both hands as if he was guarding his precious orchard from anything else that might want to sully its precious soil. He looked dark-eyed and deeply unhappy.

‘How did Jason raise them?’ I asked the Dacian quickly, but Rubobostes shrugged his broad shoulders.

‘He’d raised them before he found me again. I was on my way home, after that big fight in Makedonia, on the way to Delphi, remember? But I changed my mind. I’d got the taste for adventure again, Merlin! And as I think you found out for yourself, it’s nothing if not adventurous around that cold-hearted Greeklander. I found him and his new retinue riding north through the foothills, close to the river Daan, where we’d hidden Argo before heading for Makedonia. The six were with him. All I know is that he had called on a promise they’d made to him. Apparently, you were there at the time. Some sort of bond of honour made when Argo sailed for the golden ram’s fleece.’

The Dacian’s words surprised me, though I wasn’t shocked. I’d spent a great deal of time with Jason on that famous voyage of Argo, seven centuries in the past. He’d made many deals to achieve his ends. I began to understand what might have happened.

Advising Rubobostes that, though he was weary with travel, he might be well employed echoing the procreative activities of his horse, since Urtha would need a strong retinue in his later years, I left him for a more difficult meeting.

He looked bemused for a moment, then called after me, ‘Just to be clear: you’re not suggesting I mate with horses?’

‘Of course not.’

‘But the women here all look so fierce! Even the unmarried ones.’

‘The gentle sound of a harp, a love song … very soothing, very pleasing.’

‘Thank you,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I can’t sing and I can’t play the harp. Thank you.’

*   *   *

The druid scowled as I approached him. He had limed his short hair and it rose in a series of curved spikes across his head, emphasising the gaunt anger of his shrivelled face. He was wearing a dark cloak, tied at the left shoulder, and he had smeared the garment with clay. He now held his hazel staff like a spear, pointed towards me. He was very upset indeed, and clearly considered himself to be in danger.

‘There are six dead men in the orchard,’ he growled. ‘Stay away.’

‘We’re fighting a war against the Dead,’ I reminded him. ‘And these six are on our own side.’

‘They are not dead like the Dead. The Dead are still alive! Shadows of Heroes. These dead
are
dead. Reluctantly resurrected! They don’t belong here.’

‘Then why did you let them into the orchard?’

‘Better there, in Nantosuelta’s reach, than out here; more chance of descending into the earth, out of harm’s way. And that ship is down there, in the heart of the hill. They belong with the ship. Who are they, Merlin?’

‘I don’t know yet. I know that they are six of Jason’s argonauts; six of the old crew. Let me pass. You’re in no danger from them. I’ll lay my life on that.’

‘My life doesn’t matter,’ Speaker for the Past murmured angrily. ‘This fortress matters; only this place.’

He stood aside, but as I stepped into the orchard he ran the tip of his staff down my back. A little charm, a crude thing, both protective and spying, touched my bones. I let it rest there. I trusted this man and it would be a good thing if he could see what I knew, and learn that his fort was not under threat from these Six of Reluctant Resurrection.

They had scattered through the grove. Each of them had found a place to stand in the early morning gloom of the sanctuary, but as I entered the orchard they turned to listen and look. I went to the grass-and-flower-covered stone mound that marked the deep shaft to the tomb of Durandond and his queen. One of the old argonauts drew close. He removed his helmet to expose his face. Though his eyes were haunted, there was also the shadow of pleasure there, and hunger; hunger to understand, perhaps, or hunger to hear a greeting from an old acquaintance.

‘Tisaminas. How well I remember you. You stayed with Jason until his death. You were the best of them, the most courageous.’

The haunted expression in the strong, grey face didn’t change. ‘Was I? Does it matter? I saw him die in Iolkos. But they all came back when Argo sailed away with his body. All the crew. Do you remember how they lined the cliffs above the harbour? They cast their torches into the sea. It was a moment of wonder. The moon swallowed the beautiful ship. Yet here he is again. And you! Antiokus. Antiokus. How can you still be alive and warm?’

Antiokus was the name by which I’d been known on Argo.

I saluted the old man, then took his hands in mine. They were cool, not cold; he was strong in this resurrection, not frail; Jason had somehow launched life back into the bloodstream of his corpse.

‘You always knew that I was from a different time, a different age,’ I reminded him.

‘Did I? I’ve forgotten.’

‘Who else is here? Who else among the six of you?’

‘Hylas; Cepheus of Arcadia; Lynceus of Arene and Leodocus of Argos, both wounded; and Atalanta.’

If I were to use the language of the Celts, this would have been one of the Seven Shocking Revelations of my life. I had been shocked before; no doubt I would be shocked again; but I will not deny that though the mention of Hylas—Heracles’ young servant, lover and spear-carrier, and a helpful friend to me during my first difficult days on Argo—had sent a surge of anguish through my stony heart, the mention of Atalanta was more distressing.

Hylas had become tired to the point of desperation with Heracles and his ego. Jason had conspired with the other argonauts to hide him from the monstrous man, pretending he had been taken by water nymphs, seduced and drowned when we’d put ashore on our way to Colchis. Heracles had destroyed the lake where he believed his favourite boy had been killed, before stalking off to other adventures. Hylas had sneaked back on to Argo, departed from us at the mouth of the river Acheron, and I’d hoped had gone on to have a long and less demanding life. It would be difficult to greet him again.

Atalanta, however, was another matter. I have not mentioned her before because, truth to tell, she kept herself to herself when she sailed for the fleece. She was not given to easy conversation, and though she took her pleasure with several of us, as we all did with each other in those lonely times on the wide sea, she did not share the spirit of the ship; she had her own tasks to perform. She was good company and a good hunter, and she had sea-sense and a woman’s nose for impending trouble that had served us well on that voyage.

When she went ashore and decided to stay ashore, before we reached Colchis, she was missed for a long time.

I had known her briefly, and not very well. But I knew the woman who had descended from her: Ullanna, Urtha’s new consort. Ullanna: Scythian and strong, and living in admiration of her legendary ancestor.

This would be a difficult introduction.

Wise Tisaminas had read my concern, perhaps. He said, ‘We are a strong band, even though we are out of Time. We are here because of Jason, because of our promises to him. We can be kept apart from the others. When Little Dreamer is in his arms, we can all go home. No need to look so concerned, Antiokus.’

‘Where is home for you, Tisaminas? How did Jason persuade you away from it?’

The old man looked at me and almost smiled, but the weight of his displacement from his land dragged at the muscles of his once handsome face. ‘Home is a wide plain, with olive groves, fresh water, wine flavoured with resin and the occasional visit of my ancestors, none of them so old that they wish to stay long, none of them so young that they have to make an effort to sit and talk and drink and eat with me.’

‘Is that what you wished for in life?’

‘Doesn’t everybody?’

‘I don’t know, Tisaminas. I’m one of the visitors.’

‘So you are. I remember now. But that can change; if your future is to be as long as your past, you can build a tower to the moon. In my day, I’d heard that there were people in the east who were planning to do just such a thing.’

‘They didn’t succeed.’ I was able to tell him. ‘The builders came from lands too far apart. Too many languages; too many foremen; too much bargaining; too much cheap mortar trying to keep the whole thing together; too soft.’

‘It collapsed?’

‘They always collapse.’

‘Nothing changes.’

‘Not even you, even though you’ve been dragged abruptly from your grave.’

‘Don’t call it a grave, Antiokus. Graves are where the bodies go.’

‘But this
is
your body. Isn’t it?’ I pinched his cool flesh.

‘On loan.’

‘Tell me about the terms of the loan.’

His answer was a whisper, his face darkening even further, brow-furrowed and frightened, as if the answer to my question was a curse in itself. ‘Kolossoi. Kolossoi.’

It took just a moment for me to realise the significance of what he was saying. Everything I knew about Jason at that moment became meaningless. Cold fury burst in my breast. I had not realised how truly that man had been a mercenary, how much he had
gathered
! I had not known the man at all. I felt stunned and betrayed. But where had he hidden the spoils of his greed?

‘I can help you,’ I said angrily to Tisaminas. This shade of my old friend seemed to recognise my intention and begged me not to. He seemed alarmed by my urgency.

‘Not yet. Not yet. The consequences are unforeseen. We gave him kolossoi willingly. You must realise that. We had no comprehension of what he could do with it if he so wished. But I understand that it is his right by our agreement.’