Part 5 (1/2)

Agravain, sulky and swallowing, waited only a minute or two before obeying. Gaheris, hands to his b.u.t.tocks, spat furiously: ”b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Fisher-brat!”

”Both,” said Mordred equably. ”The b.a.s.t.a.r.d makes me older than you, and the fisher-brat stronger. So get in and shut up.”

Gaheris looked at Gawain, got no help there, and, s.h.i.+vering, obeyed. The twins turned their backs to Mordred, and apparently went straight to sleep.

From the other side of the chamber Gawain, smiling, held up a hand in the gesture that meant ”victory.”

Gareth, the tears drying on his face, was grinning hugely.

Mordred answered the gesture, then pulled the coverlet closer and lay down. Soon, but not before he was certain that the twins were genuinely asleep, he allowed himself to relax into the warmth of the furs, and drifted off himself into a slumber where, as ever, the dreams of desire and the nightmares were about equally mingled.

After that there was no real trouble. Agravain, in fact, conceived some kind of reluctant admiration for Mordred, and Gaheris, though in this he would not follow his twin, accorded him a sullen neutrality.

Gareth was never a problem. His sunny nature, and the drastically swift revenge that Mordred had taken on his tormentors, ensured that he was Mordred's friend. But the latter took good care not to come between the little boy and the object of his first wors.h.i.+p. Gawain was the one who mattered most, and Gawain, having in his nature something of the Pendragon that superseded the dark blood of Lothian and the perverse powers of his mother, would be quick to resent any usurper. As far as Gawain was concerned, Mordred himself stayed neutral, and waited. Gawain must make the pace.

So autumn went by, and winter, and by the time summer came round again, Seals' Bay was only a memory. Mordred, in bearing, dress, and knowledge of the arts necessary to a prince of Orkney, could not be distinguished from his half-brothers. The eldest by almost a year, he was necessarily matched with Gawain rather than with the younger ones, and though at first Gawain had the advantage of training, in time there was little to choose between them. Mordred had subtlety, call it cunning, and a cool head; Gawain had the flas.h.i.+ng brilliance that on his worse days became rashness and sometimes savagery. On the whole they met equal to equal with their weapons, and respected one another with liking, though not with love. Gawain's love was still and always for Gareth, and, in a strained and often unhappy way, for his mother. The twins lived for each other. Mordred, though accepted and seemingly at home in his new surroundings, stood always outside the family, self-contained, and apparently content to be so. He saw little of the queen, and was unaware of how closely she watched him.

One day, after autumn had come again, he went down to Seals' Bay. He came to the head of the cliff path and stood as he had so often stood, looking down into the green dip of the bay. It was October, and the wind blew strongly. The heather was black and dead-looking, and here and there in the damp places the sphagnum moss grew golden green and deep. Most of the seabirds had gone south, but still out over the gray water the white gannets hovered and splashed like sea-spirits. Down in the bay the weather had so worked on the ruined cottage that the walls, washed clear of the mud that had bound their stones together, looked more like piles of rock thrown there by the tide than like part of a human dwelling. The burned and blackened debris had been long since dispersed by wind and sea.

Mordred walked down the slope and trod deliberately over the rain-washed gra.s.s to the door of his foster home. Standing on the sill, he looked about him. It had rained hard during the past week, and pools of fresh water stood here and there. In one of them, something white showed. He stooped to it, and his hand met bone.

For a shrinking second he paused, then with a sudden movement grasped the thing, and lifted it. A fragment of bone, but whether animal or human he could not tell. He stood with it in his hand, trying deliberately to let it conjure up emotion or memory. But time and weather had done their work; it was cleansed,, sterile, indifferent as the stones on the storm beach. Whatever those people, that life, had been, it was over. He dropped the bone back in the flooded crevice, and turned away.

Before he climbed the path again he stood looking out to sea. Free he was now, in one sense; but what his whole being longed for was the freedom that lay beyond that barrier of water. Still something in his spirit beat itself against the s.p.a.ce of air that lay between the Orkneys and the mainland kingdoms that were the High Kingdom.

”I'll go there,” he said to the wind. ”Why else did it all happen as it did? I'll go there, and see what can be made of a b.a.s.t.a.r.d prince from Orkney. She can't stop me. I'll take the next s.h.i.+p.”

Then he turned his back on the cove, and went home to the palace.

7.

IT WAS NOT WITH THE NEXTs.h.i.+p, or even in the next year, that the chance came. In the event Mordred, true to his nature, was content to watch and bide his time. He would go, but not until something was a.s.sured for him. He well knew how little chance there was in the world beyond the islands for an untried and untrained boy; such a one would end - king's b.a.s.t.a.r.d or no - in penniless servitude or slavery. Life in Orkney was better than that. Then, in his third summer in the palace, a certain s.h.i.+p from the mainland put into harbour, and it became, suddenly, interesting.

The Meridaun Meridaun was a small trader newly come from Caer y n'a Von, as people now called the old Roman garrison town of Segontium in Wales. She carried pottery goods and ores and smelted iron and even weapons for an illegal market run by the small smithies back of the barracks in the fortified port. was a small trader newly come from Caer y n'a Von, as people now called the old Roman garrison town of Segontium in Wales. She carried pottery goods and ores and smelted iron and even weapons for an illegal market run by the small smithies back of the barracks in the fortified port.

She also carried pa.s.sengers, and to the islanders who crowded to the wharf to meet her, these were of more interest even than the much-needed goods. s.h.i.+ps brought news, and the Meridaun Meridaun , with her mixed cargo of travellers, brought the biggest news for many years. , with her mixed cargo of travellers, brought the biggest news for many years.

”Merlin is dead!” shouted the first man off the gangplank, big with the news, but before the crowd, pressing eagerly nearer, could ask him for details, the next a.s.serted loudly: ”Not so, good folk, not so! Not when we left port, that is, but it's true he's very sick, and not expected to see the month out....”

Gradually, in response to the crowd's clamour for details, more news emerged. The old enchanter was certainly very ill. There had been a recurrence of the falling sickness, and he had been in a coma - ”a sleep like death itself” - and had neither moved nor spoken for many days. The sleep might even now have pa.s.sed into death.

The boys, with the townsfolk, had gone down to the wharf for news. The younger princes, eager and excited at the commotion and the sight of the s.h.i.+p, pressed forward with the crowd. But Mordred hung back. He heard the buzz of talk, the shouted questions, the self-important answers; noise surrounded him, but he might have been alone. He was back in a kind of dream. Once before, dimly in shadows somewhere, he had heard the same news, told in a frightened whisper. He had forgotten it till now. All his life he had heard tales of Merlin, the King's enchanter, along with tales of the High King himself and the court at Camelot; why, then, somewhere deep in a dream, had he already heard the news of Merlin's death? It had certainly not been true then. Perhaps it was not true now....

”It's not true.”

”What's that?”

He came to himself with a start. He must, he realized, have spoken aloud. Gawain, beside him, was staring.

”What do you mean, it's not true?”

”Did I say that?”

”You know you did. What were you talking about? This news of old Merlin? So how do you know?

And what's it to us, anyway? You look as if you were seeing ghosts.”

”Maybe I am. I - I don't know what I meant.”

He spoke lamely, and this was so unlike him that Gawain stared still harder. Then both boys were shoved aside as a man pushed roughly through the press. The boys reacted angrily, then drew aside as they saw that the man was Gabran. The queen's lover called peremptorily over the heads of the crowd: ”You, there! Yes, you, and you, too... Come with me! Bring what tidings you have straight to the palace. The queen must hear them first.”

The crowd stood back a trifle sullenly, and let the news-bringers through. They went willingly with Gabran, important and obviously hopeful of reward. The people watched them out of sight, then turned back to the wharf, fastening on the next people to disembark.

These were traders, apparently; the first, by the look of the traps his man carried, was a goldsmith, then came a worker in leather, and last of all a travelling physician, whose slave followed him, laden with his impedimenta of boxes and bags and vials. To him the folk crowded eagerly. There was no doctor in these northern islands, and one went for ailments to the wise-women or - in extreme cases - to the holy man on Papa Westray, so this was an opportunity not to be missed. The doctor, in fact, lost no time in starting business. He stood on the sunny wharfside and started his rattling spiel, while his slave began to unpack the cures for every ill that might be expected to afflict the Orcadians. His voice was loud and confident, and pitched to overbear any rival attempt at business, but the goldsmith, who had preceded him off the s.h.i.+p, made no attempt to set up his stall. He was an old man, stooped and grey, whose own clothes boasted examples of a refined and lovely work. He paused at the edge of the crowd, peering about him, and addressed Mordred, who was standing near.

”You, boy, can you tell me - ah, now, I beg your pardon, young sir. You must forgive an old man whose sight is bad. Now I can see that you're quality, and so I'll beg you again of your kindness to tell me which is the way to the queen's house?”

Mordred pointed. ”Straight up that street, and turn west at the black altar stone. The track will carry you right to the palace. It's the big building you can see - but you said your sight was poor? Well, if you follow the crowd, I think most people will be going there now, to get more news.”

Gawain took a step forward. ”Perhaps you know more yourself? Those fellows with their news from court - where were they from? Camelot? Where are you from yourself, goldsmith?”

”I am from Lindum, young sir, in the south-east, but I travel, I travel.”

”Then tell us the news yourself. You must have heard, on the voyage, all that those men had to tell.”

”Why, as to that, I heard very little. I'm a poor sailor, you see, so I spent my time below. But there's something those fellows there didn't mention. I suppose they wanted to be first with the news. There's a royal courier on board. He was as sick as I, poor fellow, but even without that, I doubt if he'd have shared his tidings with ordinary folk like us.”

”A king's courier? When did he come aboard?”

”At Glannaventa.”

”That's in Rheged?”

”That is so, young sir. He hasn't disembarked yet, has he, Ca.s.so?”

This to the tall slave who stood behind him carrying his baggage. The man shook his head. ”Well, he'll be going straight up to the palace, too, you can be sure of that. If you want hot news, young sirs, you'd best follow. As for me, I'm an old man, and as long as I can follow my trade, the world can pa.s.s me by.

Come, Ca.s.so, you heard? Up that path yonder as far as the black altar stone. Then turn east.”

”It's west,” said Mordred, quickly, to the slave. The man nodded, smiling, then took his master's arm and guided him up the rough steps towards the road. The pair trudged off and were lost to sight behind the hut where the harbour master lived.

Gawain was laughing. ”Well, the palace ram has made a mistake this time! To escort a couple of tale-bearers up to the queen and not even wait to hear that there was a king's courier on board! I wonder-”

He did not finish the sentence. Some shouts and a fuss on deck indicated the approach of someone important. Presently a man came up from below, well dressed and smoothly bartered, but still pallid with sea-sickness. At his belt was a messenger's pouch, with its lock and seal. He trod importantly down the gangplank. Distracted from the physician, some of the crowd moved towards him, the boys with them, but they were disappointed. The courier, ignoring everyone, and refusing to answer any questions, climbed the steps and headed at a fast pace for the palace. As he cleared the last huts of the towns.h.i.+p he was met by Gabran, hurrying, this time with a royal escort of men-at-arms.