“Ector had in his veins some of the Sky Lords’ blood, though his descent from them was far in the past. He took you very willingly. It was set that I should school you, even as I myself was taught, in the lore which had come from our fathers. But I had—have—an enemy.” Merlin hesitated. Neew he now speak of Nimue? Perhaps he should so that Arthur would be warned.
“The Sky Lords whose heritage we share have their dark enemies also, of an alien breed. They wish that we not rise once more to rule here, but be forever plunged into the darkness which mankind seems ever to draw about him—the darkness of hate, killing, despair. Thus these enemies were alerted as to my birth, and they in turn produced my opposite, one who faces me ever with powers which may be as great as my own, or perhaps more. For we have never yet met in equal contest. This being, bred out of the Darkness, is she whom men call Nimue, Lady of the Lake.”
Arthur’s amazement was plain to read. “But she gave aid to Uther, she has sheltered Morgause, fostered Modred—“ Then he stopped nearly in mid-word and his expression grew intent.
“Aye,” Merlin pointed out quietly, “and this devotion to the line of Pendragon might well have two sides, Arthur.”
The King’s fist clenched where his hand rested on his knee. “I can understand your hint. You think that she has done so with a purpose which means no good to me. But as I have your word, I have her actions. She was your captor?”
“With the Power she gathered to her she kept me captive. For I was unknowing that she had found out my place of refuge until she struck. So I was held in bondage until the time of your crowning. High King. And that which you should have known from your childhood was lost to you. Then I learned what else had happened—that Morgause had tempted you—and, though I have no proof of what I say, I also believe that act was of Nimue’s doing. She could well foresee that deep trouble would come of it. As now it threatens. She also made Moored her tool—“
“He is my son,” said Arthur heavily. “In honor I cannot deny that.”
“In body he may be your son,” Merlin agreed, “but inwardly he is of the Dark. And should he set abroad this tale which so defames your name, then can he wreck all you have fought to win.”
Arthur looked down at his fist; his face was ravaged, nearly as bleak as if his spirit was broken.
“How can I prevent it?” he asked dully. The first of his anger had burned out; now he looked out from a pit of ashes. “Will any man accept the story you have told me? They will rather prate of demons and all the old fears. And I shall fall from the throne as easily as a leaf is windwhirled across the ground at the year’s end.”
“First,” Merlin answered him, “you must accept your inheritance, though it comes to you late. I shall give you the proof that all I have said is the truth. This cannot be shared with most men, to that I agree. But with it to arm you, then there will be a way to defeat Modred and the one who stands behind him.”
“This proof of yours.. . ?”
“Lies in another place. Lord King. One you must visit without even a shield bearer at your back. Alone with me.”
“Leaving Modred here to spread his poison!” Arthur said.
“You will give Modred something to shut his mouth for awhile, and yet this act shall not be strange in the eyes of your men. He is of the blood of Pendragon, therefore you shall make him regent while you go. Yet take the precaution that he has no real bidding over your war lords.
“Aye, be sure I do not give him claws, as it were!” For the first time Arthur’s expression grew lighter. “Now I must cast in my mind for an explanation of why I go forth from the court in such a manner.”
“Lord King, there are old forts long fallen into disuse in the direction we must travel. A Roman road once ran by them from a good port. Since trade now waxes, what better reason could you find for seeing if this way can once more be put to use? Take with you the men of your own shield comrades. When we reach the point nearest where you must visit, you shall fall ill of a fever and be tended by me, perhaps by one bodyservant you can trust. Have you one in whom you can set full confidence?”
Arthur nodded. “There is Bleheris who came to me when Ector fell. He first taught me how to use a sword. Though the years begin to wear upon him, he is an apt holder of secrets.”
Merlin cast his memory. Bleheris? There was a small dark man with tattooing across his forehead, not one of the tribes. He identified that vision from the past.
“The Pict?”
“Aye, he was won to Ector when he was not slain out of hand as he lay with a broken leg after a raid. And he married Flanna, who was my nurse. She chose to stay even after her service was over and Ector offered her freedom and goods, the same that you promised her. Bleheris is now my man, bound to me tighter than any battle comrade.”
Merlin nodded. “We ride then at your will, Lord King. And bring with you an open mind, for you will discover that I have not told you even half of this story which concerns us both.”
The tense anguish which had driven Arthur when he entered was gone from his face. In its place was rather an expression of anticipation, which was like the one he always wore before some trial of strength. But, as the King left the room, Merlin was left with much to consider.
Merlin had not expected Modred would blacken his own birth in order to bring down the King, Arthur’s Queen had borne no children. Merlin half suspected that the fault lay with the King. It might be that the halfbloods could not breed with mankind now for some reason. His own indifference to any woman but Nimue pointed in that direction. Though Arthur’s infatuation with the Queen had been marked enough, he was so often from court in the past that he might not have realized that their relationship was indeed sterile.
Arthur, without a direct heir by Guenevere, left only Modred of the old royal line. But that Arthur could beget a son outside lawful marriage on a woman of the tribes was a contradiction of Merlin’s suspicions. He wondered if Nimue had had a hand in that conception, for she was certainly much about the court of Uther when that secret coupling had taken place, and had taken charge of Morgause immediately after Arthur had lain with the girl. Could Modred even be Arthur’s son in truth, or rather again some halfling of the Dark Ones?
Merlin bad sensed in him any trace of the Power which could not be mistaken by those of the Old Blood. No, he thought it likely that Modred was exactly what whispering tongues and Ector proclaimed him, Arthur’s getting by his reputed half sister.
The boy could be threatening to spread such a story to bring Arthur to heel. If that were his game, though, it was none of Nimue’s planning, for Arthur was no weak fool. He had been distraught, it was true, when the story was first thrown at him, but anyone in his position would feel shock and dismay. Now that Arthur had heard the truth, and would be shown the proof, he in himself would be immune to any demands from Modred. What remained to be considered was how far Modred would go to bring down his father. Was he too young and hotheaded to realize that besmirching Arthur would also mean disinheriting himself? For just as a king among the tribes could not show any physical disability, so neither could he have his name so shamed before those he ruled.
Modred was ambitious, of that Merlin was sure. He did not think the boy would foul his own nest; he wanted too much to be Arthur’s heir. Only if the Queen should show signs of breeding in the future would he turn to telling all he believed to be the truth.
And by that time—Merlin’s slightly hunched shoulders straightened—Arthur would be fully armed. Only let him front the mirror and listen. The real truth would make him free of such devious intrigue.
So Arthur named Modred as his regent before the court, though carefully setting such secret safeguards as he could to limit any plans the black-browed stripling might have. However, Modred appeared content with the deference shown him. Nor did he appear to notice Merlin’s presence, though the priest Gildas frowned hotly at the bard from his place among those around Modred’s throne.