Merlin’s hand shook. So much he was remembering now; of Trynihid’s pride when she carried her son, of the closeness between her and her husband. Grievous must have been the blow for Ector.
“May happiness of the Blessed Isle be hers…”
“We follow the Christ here, stranger.” Cei replied with a sharp note in his voice. “You wear the robe of a brother of the Church yourself, why do you speak then of the Blessed Isle?”
Still a little confused by memories and a sense of loss, Merlin looked up at the youth in near bewilderment. “My robe is but a borrowed one.” He gave the first answer which came into his head. “I am a bard.”
The longing to know of Arthur was so great he could hardly control it. Except for Cei and two menservants he had glimpsed, there appeared no others here. Had they left Arthur back in the valley? If so his plan was defeated before he could even bring it into action.
“Cei, where are you, boy?”
That voice was the same. Merlin started joyfully to his feet as Ector entered. But this was not the Ector he had known, and. fronting a stranger made him uncertain for a moment or two so he stood open-mouthed, staring like any loutish slave in the fields. The slim body he had known had thickened and gray streaked the dark hair. The face it framed was tired, with the look of a man who had to force himself at every sunrise to a day of duties he hated, and could look forward to no true rest even when that day was done.
But the eyes which met Merlin’s were the same. First they mirrored puzzlement, then recognition. But surprise overrode both of those.
“You are alive!” Ector broke the tense moment of silence. “But why did you not come?”
“I was imprisoned,” Merlin replied. “Only lately have I won my freedom.”
“You—you are changed. But you have not grown old, only—only strange,” Ector said slowly. Then he seemed to recollect that other ears were listening and he turned to his son. “Do go and find Arthur and bring him here. This lord is one he should know—“
When they were alone Ector continued: “The lad has done well enough. But, when you did not return as you had said, we could give him no more learning than we gave Cei. I know that this was not how it was to be.”
“You have given him the best you had. How can anyone fault that?” Merlin returned swiftly. “The failure was mine, not that I could have foreseen it. But tell me now, what of the Council? Have they set yet on a choice of king?”
Ector shook his head. “It is a perilous wrangle, for there are those who back Cornwall, and he has shown himself a good commander in the field. Then there are those who hold by Lot because he has wed the King’s young daughter, and he is a man of no little ambition. They may pull Britain in two between them before we see the end of this. Urien broods and plans, though he has not shared his plans with me. And the Winged Hats raid as they will. It is the bad days come again, but there is no one commander with power enough to seize the rule without dispute from the others.”
“With power …” Merlin repeated. “But if one were to give him the power… ? It seems that I have come at a moment which must be seized quickly, lest all we hope for go down into the darkness. Listen, kinsman, Arthur is of the Pendragon blood. He is Uther’s son, though the High King would have him live in hiding lest he be plucked away in childhood by just such lords as this Lot and the rest. And for him I have also the Power, or at least a symbol of it.” He turned eagerly to snatch up the wrapped sword. “We must arrange that he accept this openly before all who think to rise to the throne.”
Suddenly he became aware of Ector’s silence. Glancing up. Merlin saw a white horror on the other’s face.
“What is it? Is he maimed, unworthy in some manner by clan laws?” Merlin was chilled by the expression he saw.
“He—“ Ector moistened his lips. “He is a comely lad and— By the wounds of the Christus, had you only told me!”
“What has happened to him?” Merlin dropped the sword, reached forward to close his hand about Ector’s arm. Now he shook the northern lord, as if by force he would have an answer out of him.
“Uther—he brought to court some of his baseborn get. And one of them—Morgause—she was old for her years, hot-eyed for any man. She—she enticed Arthur to her bed a week ago!”
Merlin stood as still as one of the pillars of the Place of the Sun, his mind moving swiftly. Arthur was not Uther’s son, but if he made plain the real circumstances of the boy’s birth would one of these lords follow him? No, there would be prattling of night demons who begat him, and the same aversion Merlin had met himself in days past. Yet for a man to lie with his sister—that, too, would put a stain on Arthur for his lifetime.
“This Morgause,” he asked, “is she wed?”
“Not yet. The King was dying but when rumor of her conduct reached him he was greatly angered. He summoned a lady who was much with him because she had great healing arts—the King died slowly of a wasting sickness. Into her hands he gave Morgause, though the girl was not mindful to go quietly. .They say that she was taken away by night, bound and gagged, within a curtained horse litter. And no man knows where.”
Merlin gave a small sigh of relief. “Is it generally known that Arthur was the cause of her going?”
Ector’s frozen cast of countenance lightened a little. “No. She was free with many men. Uther himself found her in bed with one of the guard. He knew her nature. And he swore he would not have her an open shame in his court.”
“Then we are safe.” Merlin gave a sigh of relief. “There may be rumors, but with the wench out of sight they will soon be out of men’s minds. It remains that Arthur must rule. I have been given the sign,”—and his fingers moved in that old secret twisting—“that this is ordained. Now it is in my thoughts we may accomplish this so …”
He gathered up the sword once again and began to pull away its wrappings while he talked. And he saw that Ector seemed to forget the shock which had disturbed him so Profoundly, that he nodded his head in agreement as this Point and that were swiftly outlined.
“Remember,” Merlin warned when he had finished, “Myrddin is dead, Merlin lives. Arthur is best unknowing of his true heritage for now, since he has not had the training of his kin.” ‘
“It is—“ Ector was beginning when the flap of the tent was raised and a youth burst in with exuberance, as if he had been running to the encounter.
Looking at him, Merlin knew a shock nearly as deep as Ector had experienced earlier. This—this could not be Arthur!
The lad bore no -outward signs of the Old Blood at all. Taller than Ector and Merlin by several inches, his hair was the red-gold of a tribesman; his face lacked the hooded eyes and high-bridged nose, the secret-keeping mouth Merlin fully expected to see. This young giant was cast in Uther’s image. But how could that be? There was an openness about his manner, about even his features, which Merlin could not reconcile with the Old Heritage at all.
“Lord,” the boy said, smiling sunnily, “Cei said you would speak with me—“
“I wish you to meet this lord.” Ector indicated Merlin. “You were my fosterling because of him, and he has something of great import to tell you.”
Merlin moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. His eyes refused to accept this handsome boy as the Arthur he had thought of since his birth. Had he looked like the Old Race, then he himself could have confidently told the boy as much of the truth as he deemed necessary. But now, his instinctive wariness when confronted by so apparent a tribesman wavered.
“Lord?” The boy turned questioningly to him. There was an eagerness in his eyes. Perhaps all these years he had hoarded questions which could not be answered by his foster father. It would only have been natural for Arthur to wonder about his parentage. And he had had no mirror to make plain his destiny.
“I am Merlin, and I am a follower of the old knowledge.” He watched closely for any reaction, any hint that this unlikely Arthur had deduced he himself was not full kin to those about him. But there was only wonder to be read in the boy’s expression. “You are of kingly blood…” After the affair of Morgause it was perhaps: better not to make too close an identification with Uther.