There was no indication that any had been this way during the months of his absence. And he had come for only one reason. Myrddin unbuckled the belt which supported the sword and, taking that inside, hid the weapon in the darkest comer of the cave behind the largest of the installations. He noted that the majority of those were silent now. Only one still had a run of lights back and forth across its surface. For a long moment he stood before the mirror, seeing only his own reflection. Truly he looked older than his years now—a man as old as Uther had been when he had last seen him. His face was secret, closed, and the soberness of his choice of tunic and cloak made him a dark and brooding figure. Perhaps this was how a sorcerer was meant to appear in a world which relished light and color, the glitter of gems and the burnished wealth of gold.
He went again into the outer world. Vran was working on a few last beakfuls of the pork. And Myrddin found another lump for the raven before he mounted.
“Little brother,” he said, and at his words the raven stopped its fierce tearing of the meat, looking up at him with beads of eyes which seemed more knowing than any Myrddin had ever seen set in a bird skull. “Farewell, keep safe. When I return you shall- feast again.” .
So promising, he turned the horse toward the valley of the clan house, tugging at the lead so the pack pony followed.
It was well past Samain and the winter wolf had fastened his cruel ice jaws on man’s world when Myrddin came into the room where High King Uther sat by a fire which roared mightily and yet gave little heat beyond the small radius of the hearth. The King was alone as Myrddin had guessed, for the symbol he had sent was one which Uther would know and, knowing, he would not want any to share his inner secrets.
“So you come again, sorcerer,” was his curt greeting. There was no welcome in either his face or his tone. “I have not summoned you.”
“Events have summoned me. Lord King,” Myrddin returned. “I served your desire and asked for no payment—“
Uther set his horn of wine down on the tabletop nearby with force enough to make its metal binding ring out. “If you value your life, sorcerer, keep a still tongue in that ugly head of yours!” he flared.
“I speak not of the past. Lord King, that is your own affair. What I must ask is of the future.”
“All men whine and beg at a king’s throne. What are your demands—gold, silver, a lordship?” Uther sneered. Yet his eyes were uneasy, wary, as if he did not like what he saw when he looked at Myrddin. He was even a little awed by the other’s composure. “I want a fosterling, Lord King.”
“A fosterling—“ Uther’s mouth gaped wide in startlement. Then his eyes narrowed threateningly. “What plot is this, sorcerer?”
“No plot. Lord King. There will be a child born shortly to one whom you greatly love. This child is a threat to you in a small way. To have such ever under your eyes—“
Uther pushed up from his chair in a half-leap in Myrddin’s direction. His hand had swung up as if to smash full into the younger man’s face. Then he stopped, mastering that flare of rage.
“Why do you want this child?” he demanded harshly. “Because I am responsible in part for its birth. Lord King. I am a man of the Power; as such I betrayed much I believed in to aid you on that night. Now in conscience I must pay for my interference with events. The child will be safe; it shall be gently fostered. Men will forget it lives. There will be no more whispers in your court. You and your lady queen will be lighter of heart. If it remains here, though, there will be those who would use the child as a tool for revolt. Those who followed Goloris are not all dead even if they are now silent.”
Uther’s face grew thoughtful. He strode back and forth along the edge of the hearth, his face tense with concentration.
“Sorcerer, there is wisdom in what you say. I would have this coming baby apart from the court, both for the sake of my lady and for its own safety. As you have said, there are those who have not taken kindly to events in the past. Perhaps if the child is male they will cherish the idea of a new lord in years to come. My lady believes it is— she thinks—“ Uther’s voice sank. “She sometimes thinks it was forced on her by a demon in her husband’s guise. She fears its coming as if it will be born a monster. Take it if you will, sorcerer, and do not let me know where it will be fostered, or by whom. It is better forgot for the good of all.”
“Well enough.” Myrddin relaxed inwardly. He had carried his point without tedious argument. “I am lodged at the Sign of the Rowan. Let me know the hour of the birth and I shall come and go—no man or woman being the wiser.”
At Uther’s assertive nod he left the room. There was much to be done. For all his power and knowledge he could not travel north with a newly born infant in the dead of winter. But he had deliberately chosen his inn with an eye to that matter. The wife of the host had recently given birth and was suckling a fine healthy child, the place was clean beyond most of its sort and Myrddin had the means within himself to silence questions and provide answers men could be brought to believe. Now he only had to wait.
9.
The message came to Myrddin on the eve of the Feast of Briganta. He had already made his own provisions for the care of the child. In the slave market he had ransomed one of the small, dark, Pictish women taken on a raid across the ancient wall of the Romans. She had borne a dead child three days earlier and was so sunk in despair that the dealer asked no great price. But Myrddin, using the powers of the mirror, was able to communicate with her, promising her eventual freedom if she would take care of the baby he would bring her. She might not have believed the truth of his promise, but she did not protest when he took her back to the inn, asked that she be given water to wash and then provided her with a plain woolen tunic and a cloak perhaps warmer than any she had ever known.
The child was a son, even as Myrddin had been sure.
And, since there had been no name given him, just as Lugaid had once named him, standing in place of the father who should have held the babe in his arms, so did Myrddin look down into that small red face and call him after the name the mirror had spoken: “Arthur.”
Three weeks later he hired a horse litter and made contact with a levy of men riding to reinforce the northern borders, that they might ride with a measure of protection through lands which were still debatable. Thus they journeyed to Ector’s holding where he was welcomed as kin come home. Ector pressed Myrddin to stay there also. But such an uneasiness had ridden with the younger man since he had left the King’s house that he would not agree. The sooner he was well away from here, the less chance there would be of any secret man of the King or the King’s enemies tracing Arthur.
Myrddin doubted that Uther would mean the boy any fatal harm, but the High King would doubtless be a happier man if he should lose this unwanted child overseas. And there were still many ties with families in Lesser Britain. Among those Uther could find someone to hide Arthur past any finding.
“When he is ready for schooling,” Myrddin had returned in answer to Ector’s urging, “then shall I come.” For he was certain that Arthur must be given those same sources of knowledge which had shaped his own life. “Until then, forget that he is not truly of your blood kin.”
And Trynihid, holding her own son Cei to her full breast, smiled.
“Kinsman, he shall abide safe.”
Ector nodded vigorously. “Blood oath on that if you wish—“
Myrddin smiled in return. “Kinsman, what need of oaths between those of one blood? I have no doubt that you will make him a true fosterling of this house.”
Thus he rode in the early spring, heading south, but setting to a path which would take him again to the Place of the Sun, for he was very lonely. Perhaps in Lugaid he could find a certain companionship. Such a way would also confuse his trail for anyone who followed, for he could not rid himself of the feeling that he was indeed the object of a hunt.