Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (31 page)

The girl was free, the people glad, and Peul’s son was king.

They held a feast, splendid and fine, that year in sunny spring.

In justice did he rule the land, to Dyfed’s utter fame,

And we remember well the tale of Gowan’s greedy shame.

Merlin stilled his fingers upon the harp, yet the final notes echoed off of the standing stones before dying to a palpable hush. “Thus is ‘The Lay of Gowan and the Green Axe’ when sung by all who remember it rightly.”

With his eyes closed, Vortigern laughed in an uneven, quiet way, as if there were a joke in the song that only he could perceive. After awhile his mouth tilted strangely, showing his old teeth as the laugh went on.

“I have heard your ballad,” the High King finally said, “and I know its meaning.” Then he opened his eyes and looked to the guard behind Merlin.

“Kill him.”

A
rthur’s hand moved quickly to the hilt of his blade — only to find it missing. He had forgotten that all except for the kings had been required to disarm. Culann had Arthur’s blade, and there was no time to retrieve it now, for the guard behind Merlin raised his spear to strike. Arthur tensed his body to tackle the man, yet before he could move, the man sighed and fell back, dropping the point of the spear.

“Lord, I cannot do this,” the man said. “He has the Harp of Britain!”

Vortigern swore. “I don’t care. Kill him.”

The guard knelt down. “To kill a bard is against all the laws of these isles, and he — he is the chief bard.”

“Fool!” Vortigern said, slamming his hand on the arm of his throne. He stood and raised his voice for all to hear. “Who will kill him for me?! I offer a rich reward.”

Arthur looked out on the throng of mixed Britons and Saxenow,
and no one moved. While the British were downcast, the Saxenow watched their king.

Hengist leaned over and whispered with his daughter, then popped a thin slice of horsemeat into his mouth, chewed, and spoke. “Vortigern, do de deed yerself. Me daughter would like to see dis entertainment. After all, what is a British bard to us?”

Vortigern put on a smile for Hengist, pulled up his sagging breeches, and drew his sword. As he advanced on Merlin, Arthur knew the time to act had come.

He stepped forward and took the spear from the kneeling guard.

Vortigern saw him out of the corner of his eye and snarled.

But Arthur dropped to one knee and held the spear out upon both palms. “My lord, if I have found favor in your eyes as the avenger of your son, let me remove the bard from your presence. This deed is not worthy of you on your wedding night, nor should blood be shed in front of your guests.”

Vortigern stopped short, waggling the end of his blade.

He looked back to Reinwandt, who flicked her fingers to encourage him.

He looked toward the British nobles and seemed to weigh the sour looks upon their faces.

“My lord,” Arthur said, “I implore you to let me remove him from your presence forever.”

“Forever,” Vortigern said, a slight smile on his lips.

“Forever.”

Just then, Fodor stood up from a table to Arthur’s right. Arthur’s hands clenched on the spear. A wrong word from the envoy and all would be lost.

“Sire! May I interrupt the proceedings?”

“Eh?” Vortigern said, turning a cold, menacing gaze toward Fodor.

The envoy nearly jumped from fright, gulped, and then spoke shakily. “O renowned . . . legendary lord . . . I have new information!”

“Silence!”

Fodor pointed at Arthur and Merlin. “But — ”

“Say another word, and I will
wring your bumpy little throat
!” Vortigern sheathed his sword. Holding up his hands, he pretended to squeeze, wrench, and snap Fodor’s neck.

Fodor squeaked, but held his tongue. Glancing at Arthur, then at Merlin, he sat down, but his face turned red with anger.

Stepping back, Vortigern slumped once more upon his throne and slapped Hengist on the shoulder. “You see, the man will die, and I don’t need to get my hands any more . . . any more . . . bloody.”

Hengist shrugged and motioned for Arthur to take him out. “Begone den, get it done.”

Arthur stood, bowed, and then pointed the spear at Merlin’s chest. “Out!”

Merlin, who had already slung his harp over his back once more, raised his arms, spun on his heel toward the exit, and marched out.

Arthur felt foolish pretending to force his father outside to kill him, but it had to be done. Once they were finally behind a standing stone, well beyond the campsites of the warriors, Arthur dropped his spear and opened his arms.

Merlin hugged him. “Thank you.”

“To fulfill my promise to Vortigern, make sure you stay away and don’t get caught again. That was quite a scrape you got yourself into.”

“I’m glad we’re out of it.”

Arthur pulled back and looked Merlin in the eye. “We? I have to go back.”

“You can’t.” The line of Merlin’s mouth turned firm and he stared at Arthur with a steady, unflinching gaze.

Arthur tried to back away, but Merlin’s hands gripped his forearms. “If I don’t go,” Arthur said, “Vortigern will suspect.”

“But God revealed to me that Reinwandt is lying.”

“Of course. The Saxenow have never kept the peace, and Vortigern knows that.”

Arthur twisted away from his father’s grip, picked up the spear, and ran off toward Hen Crogmen. If he didn’t return soon, they would both be in danger. But the look on Merlin’s face haunted him as he ran past the outer camps of the warriors. Had it been shock? Or fear?

He passed some campfires and found the place where the cooks had cleaned the deer. Dipping the spear tip in a pile of intestines, he coated it in blood and filth and then continued on toward Hen Crogmen. Finally, he entered through a gap in the outer wall and slipped inside as quietly as he could.

He soon found there was little need for his stealth. The crowd of British and Saxen warriors were hooting and hollering as they watched some spectacle near the front. Arthur rounded the nearest roof pillar and stopped himself, for Reinwandt was dancing before Vortigern. A Saxen was playing a very long flute, and the princess was slowly turning before the king in a teasing manner — catching his eye here, bowing to him there, and all the time smiling and winking at the crowd.

Soon the Saxen nobles began to clap in time to the dance, and the Britons joined in. Faster and faster her feet flew until she finally ended it in a whirling jump that landed her right in Vortigern’s lap.

The king laughed, his face split by a leering smile that showed his brown teeth.

Reinwandt kissed him on the cheek, played with his hair, and turned to wink once more at the audience. Then, flicking her hand inside her outer garment, she drew forth a short, shining blade and jabbed it between Vortigern’s ribs, in the direction of his heart.

Bright blood poured down Vortigern’s embroidered tunic, and the king’s mouth hung open, his lips moving as if he were trying to speak. Then he blinked at her, finally squeezing his eyes shut in pain. The room grew instantly quiet as he slumped over.

“
Wealas
worm!” she said, and spat in his face.

Instantly every Saxen in Arthur’s sight pulled a short blade from his boot and stabbed the Briton next to him. Screams, curses, and
yells filled Hen Crogmen as the weaponless Britons inside met death, either by a slice through the ribs or a deep slashing of the throat. Those few who resisted were quickly overwhelmed, and Arthur, if he trusted his disbelieving eyes, saw none of the five hundred Britons survive.

The noble closest to Arthur was slaughtered quickly, howling as his intestines spilled across the woolen mat that he lay upon.

Arthur panicked, then — for the Saxen warrior who had done the deed saw him hiding just outside the assembly and rushed at him, the knife held out before his wild eyes like a bloody trophy.

Arthur backed up, leveled his spear, and tried to strike the Saxen in the chest. But the man spun to the side and slashed out with his knife. Arthur feinted to the left then jabbed the spear back to the right and caught him in the shoulder. The man shouted as the knife dropped to the dirt. Arthur pulled the spear out and slammed the haft across the man’s forehead, and he went down, clutching his skull.

Now running toward the British camp, Arthur shouted, “The High King is murdered! Your leaders are slain!”

Of the two thousand British warriors present, the closest ones gave Arthur frozen stares. One man sat at a fire and had a grouse leg hanging from his teeth. Another’s arms were full of logs he was about to throw onto the fire. Yet another man was scribing a letter for his fellow warrior. In all, it took five heartbeats for the warriors to react, but it was nearly too late: The camped Saxen warriors had been waiting for a signal, and now they came rushing at the Britons in full, screaming mayhem.

The man with the grouse leg died with an arrow through his throat.

Arthur ripped a hunting horn from where it hung on a man’s belt. He blew it as he backed up and surveyed the situation. It all happened so fast, yet he saw it as if in slow motion. The main force was coming from the north, across the paved entrance to Hen Crogmen, while a smaller force circled around from the south. The center was
the Saxen’s weak point, because the traitorous warriors from inside were only lightly armed.

Arthur sounded the horn one more time, and then yelled as loudly as he could, “To your weapons!” But something bothered him . . . what had happened to the smaller force to the south? Arthur looked, and couldn’t see them through the darkness. Then he knew — the horses were picketed in a large field that direction.

And there it was . . . the first scream of a horse.

Arthur downed a Saxen with his spear and blew his horn once more. “To the horses!” he yelled, running as fast as he could through the chaotic battle. Many heard, but had no chance as they met a swift death at the end of a Saxen blade.

As he ran, Arthur heard pounding feet beside him. Turning his head, he expected an attacking Saxen but found Culann running next to him. The warrior held out Arthur’s sword and passed it to him by the scabbard. Arthur smiled and shoved the blade into his belt as he ran. Dwin was just behind, and Peredur as well.

“To the horses!” he yelled again, and any British who were free of direct conflict began rallying to him. Arthur led them away from the impending onrush of the Saxenow — to the horses, just over the low bank and ditch. There they found the smaller force of Saxenow busily slicing the hamstrings of their horses.

Anger flared and Arthur screamed, slamming his spear through one Saxen’s throat. He then drew his blade and slew another.

The enemy abandoned their evil task and turned to run. Many of the stragglers died, Arthur killing two more himself. When some of the British chose to give chase, Arthur called them back. But it was all confusion. Other Britons had already mounted and were fleeing for their lives into the woods. Only a small force followed Arthur.

Arthur searched the clearing for Casva, but the stallion was nowhere in sight. Praying he hadn’t fallen to the Saxen blades, Arthur grabbed the picket line of the nearest horse and flung himself onto its bare back. “Everyone mounted!” he called. “The battle is not yet lost!”