“How many of the Treasures do you have?” Galahad asked.
“Several,” Merlin answered evasively, ‘but even if I had twelve of the thirteen I would still be in trouble unless I could find the thirteenth. And that, Derfel, is the missing Treasure. The Cauldron of Clyddno Eiddyn. Without the Cauldron we are lost.”
“We’re lost anyway,” I said bitterly.
Merlin peered at me as though I was being particularly obtuse. “The war?” he said after a few seconds. “Is that why you came here? To plead for peace! What fools the two of you are! Gorfyddyd doesn’t want peace. The man’s a brute. He has the brains of an ox and a not very clever ox at that. He wants to be High King, which means he has to rule Dumnonia.”
“He says he’ll leave Mordred on the throne,” Galahad said.
“Of course he says that!” Merlin said scornfully. “What else would he say? But the minute he gets his hands on that wretched child’s neck he’ll wring it like a chicken, and a good thing too.”
“You want Gorfyddyd to win?” I asked, appalled.
He sighed. “Derfel, Derfel,” he said, ‘you’re so like Arthur. You think the world is simple, that good is good and bad is bad, that up is up and down is down. You ask what I want? I tell you what I want. I want the Thirteen Treasures, and I shall use them to bring the Gods back to Britain and then I shall command them to restore Britain to the blessed condition it enjoyed before the Romans came. No more Christians’ he pointed a finger at Galahad ‘and no Mithraists either’ he pointed at me ‘just the people of the Gods in the country of the Gods. That, Derfel, is what I want.”
“Then what of Arthur?” I asked.
“What of him? He’s a man, he’s got a sword, he can look after himself. Fate is inexorable, Derfel. If fate means Arthur to win this war then it doesn’t matter if Gorfyddyd masses the armies of the world against him. If I had nothing better to do then I confess I would help Arthur, because I like him, but fate has decreed that I am an old man, increasingly feeble and possessed of a bladder like a leaking waters king and I must therefore husband my waning energies.” He proclaimed this pathetic state in a vigorous tone. “Even I cannot win Arthur’s wars, heal Nimue’s mind and discover the Treasures all at the same time. Of course, if I find that saving Arthur’s life helps me find the Treasures, then be assured I shall come to the battle. But otherwise?” He shrugged, as though the war was of no importance to him. Nor, I suppose, was it. He turned to the small window and peered at the three stakes that had been erected in the compound. “You’ll stay to see the formalities, I hope?”
“Should we?” I asked.
“Of course you should, if Gorfyddyd allows you. All experience is useful, however ugly. I’ve performed the rites often enough, so I won’t stay to be amused, but be assured you will be safe here. I shall turn Gorfyddyd into a slug if he touches a hair of your foolish heads, but for now I have to go. lorweth thinks there’s an old woman on the Demetian border who might remember something useful. If she’s alive, of course, and kept her memory. I do hate talking to old women; they’re so grateful for company that they never stop chattering and never keep to the subject either. What a prospect. Tell Nimue I look forward to seeing her!” And with those words he was out of the door and striding across the fort’s inner compound.
The sky clouded that afternoon and a grey ugly drizzle soaked the fort before evening. The Druid lorweth came to us and assured us we were safe, but tactfully suggested that we would strain Gorfyddyd’s reluctant hospitality if we attended the evening’s feast that marked the last gathering of Gorfyddyd’s allies and chiefs before the men at Caer Sws marched south to join the rest of the army at Branogenium. We assured lorweth we had no wish to attend the feast. The Druid smiled his thanks, then sat on a bench beside the door. “You’re friends of Merlin?” he asked.