CHAPTER 26
ADVICE UNHEEDED
Merlin felt a cold draft of air as a warrior with a haunch of freshly killed deer entered Uther’s campaign tent. In no time he had it on a spit over the crackling fire.
Colvarth excused himself, and Merlin spent the next hour conversing with Uther, Igerna, and their daughters about life up on the moor. Eventually the conversation turned to Owain, but Merlin detected a hint of anger lingering in Uther’s voice and changed the topic to the recent appearance of the druidow.
Soon the meat was ready, and Merlin sat before the fire eating roasted venison, whose aroma filled his senses. The bone was so hot, however, that he had to hold it with the edge of his cloak. Eating it brought a warmth that eased the tightness of his stomach, and the grease felt good on his lips.
Nearby, Igerna spoke quietly to her husband. “You drink too much mead, and only on the eve of battle do I see you eat this heartily.”
“A battle? It may be. Colvarth’s prayers will soon be said, and we will hold council about these druidow.”
“And their Stone?”
“Yes.”
“What stone do you mean, Mammu?” Myrgwen asked. “Do you mean the rock you and Tas sat on today?”
“No, Myr, not that one —”
“The black one with the fire,” Eilyne said from beside Merlin. “The one the druidow dragged away after Tas … judged that scofflaw.”
“I didn’t see,” Myrgwen said, and Merlin heard her scraping a bone with her knife.
The whole family ate in silence awhile, except young Arthur, who babbled earnestly as he chewed his own meaty portion.
Even though Merlin knew better, he felt as if everyone must be staring at him and his scars. It was different to eat with a family not his own, especially the High King’s. And Colvarth’s absence only made it worse.
Eilyne broke the silence. “If that man had hurt you, I’d have —”
“Shah.” Igerna said. “Your father took care of it.”
“I’d have run to help with my knife, and —”
“Enough. Let’s not dwell on what might have been.”
Uther raised a hand. “Eilyne, your father was not in danger … but I receive your love, and who knows? One day we may need your protection.”
The tent flap opened once more, and cold rain blew across Merlin’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine.
“Colvarth, welcome!” Uther called. “You must be famished.”
The bard sat on Merlin’s left. “Not so much, my king. My stomach … is delicate tonight.”
“Eating like a bird again?”
“A bird with a … song I would say.” Colvarth’s harp strings hummed as he brought his instrument from beneath his cloak. “But first I have called your … battle chief and his chieftains here, my lord —”
The flap opened yet again, and a group of men entered.
“Merlin, I would like you to meet my war chieftains,” Uther said.
Merlin stood, reached out his hands, and greeted each warrior as he walked by.
“I’m Rewan,” the first said, and his hands tapped Merlin’s briefly before he walked on.
“I am named Bedwir, friend,” the second said, shaking Merlin’s hands.
“Sydnius, from the moor originally,” said the third, and his hands were thick and strong.
“Vortipor,” said the last as his wiry hands squeezed hard. A little too hard.
Eilyne and Myrgwen moved closer to Merlin to make room for the men, who found seats around the fire. While Merlin and the family hastily finished their meal, the men chatted about a score of flopping fish some warriors had just caught using a boat from the village.
“Did you see Sethek spear ‘em?” Bedwir asked. “He’s promised to smoke one for me.”
Sydnius burped. “Ah … been a long time since I’ve smacked lips with a good fish.”
“Vortipor,” Uther interrupted, “how long till your father comes?”
“Uh … I think he gets water down at the lake, my lord.”
Uther stood and began pacing. “Does anyone know if he received the summons?”
“Yes, my lord,” Vortipor said.
Uther swore. “Then where is he? A council of war, and my battle chief is fetching water?”
“My king?” Colvarth said. “I suggest we begin and … test his thoughts when he comes.”
“Obviously we have no choice. Daughters, time for you both to go.”
“It’s raining outside, my love,” Igerna said gently. “Couldn’t they stay in the tent? The girls won’t bother anyone if they sit out of the circle.”
“Please, Father,” Eilyne said.
“Yes, please,” Myrgwen echoed.
Uther stopped pacing and considered. “One interruption, and you will have to leave.” He sat down next to his wife. “So, with Vortigern gone, my war chieftains will have first voice. What think you of our situation?”
Rewan spoke, flipping a gleaming knife in the air and catching it again. “I say we make the villagers bow.”
“And how do we do that?” Sydnius said with a mocking tone.
Rewan pointed his knife at Sydnius. “By the edge of my blade.”
“Is that what we want? Blood could turn more of them away, and a forced allegiance is no allegiance at all.”
“And if we don’t,” Rewan shot back, “they’ll ignore our High King. And then they’ll refuse to pay Tregeagle their taxes, and Tregeagle won’t pay his —”
“But won’t the druidow spread the news everywhere?” Sydnius countered. “Imagine … all through the land, the High King threatens Britons at knifepoint to force fealty!”
“How about the opposite?” Bedwir asked. “Give a feast. There’s plenty of game here.”
“Are you serious?” Rewan asked.
“Really, I am. We stay a few extra days and make ‘em happy. Get that harpist to play, the pretty one we heard last night — no offense, Colvarth. Find a few more musicians, and we’ve got a dance.”
“An’ you’ll pay for the mead, now won’t you, Bedwir?” Sydnius elbowed him in the ribs.
Uther held up a hand. “And what do you suggest, Sydnius? You do not seem to like any idea.”
“I say get out. It’s just a mood they’re in, nothing more. I grew up near Guronstow, and the people up here don’t think they need outsiders for protection, being so far from the coast and all. But they’ll come begging for your help the first time they’re threatened.”
“Hmm,” Uther said. “And you, Vortipor, what would your father say?”
But Vortipor was silent.
Uther sipped some mead. “Go on. I can tell you’ve been thinking about this.”
“He would say …” Vortipor began. “He might say that we … we should make an example of one of the villagers. You killed a druid, so now take a villager who’s ignored you and let the birds eat his flesh.”
Uther laughed. “Tregeagle, yes.”
“No, no, not Tregeagle!” Vortipor said along with a curse. “Someone else. Lower down.”
“How is that different from what I said?” Rewan asked.
“You don’t force them all to give fealty. Just show justice to one and let that sink in —”
“And?” Uther interrupted.
“Maybe … after meeting with King Gorlas … we see if they’ve changed their minds.”
Merlin almost spoke but held his tongue. Vortipor’s idea was brutal. Yes, the people were culpable before God, but there was a power here that was beyond them. And how foolish everyone’s advice was. No one had considered the enchantment of the Stone.
“Colvarth,” Uther called.
The old man yawned. “Yes, my king?”
“What do you recommend? Share from your granary of wisdom.”
“From myself, but little seeds, my lord. But I have … prayed to the Almighty regarding this circumstance, and He has … reminded me concerning an old lay. I will share it, if it please you.”
Myrgwen shouted from the side. “A ballad! Colly’s going to sing a ballad.”
“Shah,” both her mother and Eilyne warned.
“What ballad will you give us?” Uther asked.
“It is … ‘The Lay of Tevdar, King of Kernow,’ ” the bard replied. “Do you … recall it, my lord?”
“I heard you play it once before. Many years ago in my father’s hall.”
“You would have been about … Myrgwen’s age.”
“I know the gist, but I have forgotten much. Go ahead. We will all enjoy it.”
“Yes, do sing, good bard.” Igerna said. “This has been a difficult day, and I would appreciate the wisdom God has given you.”
“Then,” Colvarth said, “this is how it wends.”
Merlin heard the harp strings pulse high to low as Colvarth tuned his instrument, humming. When the bard was satisfied with its sound, he began to play, and his method was unlike Natalenya’s. Where she would often comb the strings as if her harp were a horse’s mane, Colvarth struck them perfectly and with such vigor that Merlin could feel the vibration on his cheek and ear.
He closed his eyes so he could concentrate on the music, and each note appeared before his mind like a beautiful tree in a forest, with budding leaves bursting from each branch and stem. As the melody progressed, Colvarth created variations like honey flowers springing up between the trees, each blossom with a fresh and succulent scent.
The flowers reminded Merlin of Natalenya and the flower in her hair. Ah! What would she have given to hear Colvarth play? What would Merlin give if he could have her sitting beside him, holding his hand as she had done when they parted from the dock?
Colvarth raised his voice, gravelly but strong, and sang to the melody of the harp:
Come hear the river rushing down unto the salty sea.
And hearken to this olden tale of Tevdar’s sad decree.
One hundred fifty years ago upon our dearest shore,
In Kernow when the pagan ways held sway on field and moor.
Tevdar was king in Kernow, his fortress grim and bare.
And Vuron, druid — white and thin — was counsel to him there.
Dynan also, the battle chief, with golden hair, adored;
The dark king’s brother — a twin — firm of shield and true of sword.
A ship appeared upon the key, with passengers of five.
They brought the faith of Christ to preach — in Kernow for to strive.
Gwinear, and sister Piala, sailed from their Eirish shore,
With Erth and Uny, brother’s true, and sister Ia, more.
Gwinear the tall, their leader strong, asked king if they could stay,
But Vuron raised his voice and said, “Depart — be on your way.”
But king, he smiled, for he had spied Piala, pleasing maid.
And in his passion, he gave them — near his fort — land and aid.
Colvarth’s voice quieted while his fingers played on. Merlin found himself lost in the melody until the bard’s words flowed once more.
And Dynan truly fell in love — with Ia, light and fair.
Spurned gods, he gave himself to Christ, and did his troth declare.
But Tevdar followed Piala, he listened to her pray.
He feigned false interest in her Christ, to see her eyes of gray.
And in his ache, Tevdar was fey — ignored his people’s needs.
Rival kingdoms did raid their land; the king forgot his deeds.
So the people left the old gods — and turned from Vuron’s way
To hearken to bold Gwinear’s words. The druid had no sway.
Gerrent, a chieftain tough and brave, he took the wine and bread,
And bending knee to his new God, he yelled for the king’s head.
Vuron, he came and warned the king, who said a dead dog’s howl
Cannot change the courses of the moon. So Vuron left to prowl.
Colvarth added lower notes to the tune, and his voice not only quieted, but took on a darker timbre. Everyone leaned in closer to catch the words.
So walking lone to scheme, he cried, “The fool, he does not know—
The realm will fall and bring on us a never-ending woe.”
But then a plan the druid made — to rid the kingdom of
These Christians who upset the land, or wastrel king in love.
If Christians die, what did he care? The land would be so free.
If Tevdar died, he would appoint a better of his tree.
He slithered off to meet Gwinear and told him of the king—
That he would be with Piala at dusk his love to bring.
Gwinear, in anger, told Vuron, his sister she was chaste.
And Tevdar she would never wed — a pagan in distaste.
Gwinear, he planned to meet the king, no marriage to bestow.
He would decry it should not be and told the druid so.
Vuron, he crept unto the king and of Piala lied —
“She wants you, king — seek out her house at dusk and go inside.
But her brother Gwinear she fears, and so she will pretend
To protest you as through a veil, but will her love extend.”
Now the deeper notes filled in more of the melody, and Merlin could imagine Colvarth’s fingers flying across the strings. As the bard raised his voice again, someone stood, and based on the uneven pacing that commenced, Merlin guessed it was Uther.
“Now take her like great king you are, and so together go.”
The king he smiled and up he got, his strength for her to show.
At dusk Tevdar marched to her church — her dwelling by the Din.
Found her on knees in solemn prayer and entered there within.
She stood in fear, surprise, and dread, for vast unkind was he,
Who tried to take her rough away, despite her struggling plea.
Gwinear burst in, and with his staff pushed broaching king away.
Tevdar drew sword, cut off his head — poor Gwinear he did slay.
Piala fell and wept aloud and held her brother dear.
The head, it spoke a prophecy — “King Tevdar’s death is near.”
Piala rose and took his knife — the king she tried to kill.
And on king’s sword she fell and died — the poor maid’s blood did spill.
Colvarth’s old voice softened, sorrow emanating from the pulsing harp strings. And even as he slowed, the High King increased his pacing.
Vuron, he called the king to fight, for Christians would attack.
Tevdar decreed that they should die. No warrior did he lack.
On spear they lifted Gwinear’s head and hastened to the command
To kill the followers of the Way and cleanse all Kernow land.
Three hundred died in weeping wails, as they would not recant.
They clung to Christ and to His Way — king would no mercy grant.
Tevdar went to Ia’s brothers — soon Erth and Uny died.
And then to Ia, Christian fair — to murder Dynan’s bride.
But there at Pendinas so strong, brave Dynan’s fortress tall,
They saw the army of Gerrent pour forth from his great hall.
The king, he called for brave Gerrent, to single combat fight.
Sharp blades they drew, yet ere a step — Gwinear’s head fell to smite.
Tevdar’s iron helm was broken in — skull crushed in gory bed.
Vuron swiftly fled far away. Gerrent was king instead.
So ends this olden tale of woe — of Tevdar’s sad decree.
Yet Christ, he came to this great isle, with pow’r to set me free.
The notes fell away into silence. Uther stopped his pacing, but still no one spoke.
Surely, Merlin thought, the druidow and the Stone can be dealt with before bloodshed such as this occurs.
Colvarth broke the silence. “These things, my king, may be … taken figuratively. As this ballad is ordained for this telling, it is … possible the people in it represent persons here. Surely Vuron the druid would represent … Mórganthu.”
“Then who am I?” Uther inquired. “Tell me, Colvarth. Set before me the plain meaning of your riddle.”
“I intend no … riddle. But as you, Uther, are a Christian, you could be Gerrent … maybe Dynan … or maybe Gwinear. The ballad does not say, but the … bards before me have passed on the lore that Gwinear was an … Eirish prince before coming to this land.”
“Then who is King Tevdar?” Uther asked. “Who dares slay Christians?”
“These things are … mysteries known only to God. Perhaps there is no one in such a role. Surely there is … no king greater than thee on the Isle of the Mighty, and —”
The tent flap opened, interrupting Colvarth, and a man stepped through.
“Vortigern!” Uther exclaimed. “My battle chief rises from the dead.”
“Do not mock me, my lord.” Vortigern said as he stamped his feet and shook water from his cloak all over Merlin.
“We hold a council of war, and where have you been?” Uther demanded. “Your shoes and breeches are soaked. Did you wade for your water?”
“Me?” Vortigern replied. “Sure, I went for water … and found Sethek’s horse stuck in the mud.”
“Then Sethek should have gotten it out.”
Vortigern shrugged. “He was fishing.”
The High King walked up to Vortigern. “You were summoned here. Attend your duties in the future, or you will not hold them for long.”
“Yes … my lord.” But Merlin caught a subtle contempt in the battle chief’s voice.
“Sit down, Vortigern.” Uther turned and continued pacing. “Colvarth just finished a ballad, and I was about to hear from my new adviser, Merlin.”
As Vortigern found a place beside Vortipor, someone threw a few more logs on the fire, and all chatter subsided.
Merlin felt every eye looking to him.
“As the solitary resident of Bosventor present, Merlin, you know better of the druidow’ recent dealings. Tell me. Of all the advice given, which is the wisest?”
Now it was Merlin’s turn to pause as he realized his words had the ability to sway the decision of the High King … and possibly result in bloodshed. Although he had to speak, the weight of his words pressed upon his tongue.
“My lord, if I may be so bold — and no offense is meant — none of the advice your war chieftains have given would remedy the present troubles.”
Protests arose from the warriors, but Uther silenced them and told Merlin to proceed.
“The villagers are not the root of the problem. My advice to you is to heed Colvarth’s ballad, for it has revealed the true source of your trouble.”
“The druidow,” Uther stated.
“No, my lord.”
“Explain.”
“Do not the druidow follow Mórganthu?”
Uther must have looked to Colvarth, for the old man answered in the affirmative.
The High King paced again. “I will have Mórganthu slain. It is simple, what you suggest.”
“But that is not my advice, lord,” Merlin said. “The real question is whom does Mórganthu follow?”
“Is there another druid greater than Mórganthu?” Uther asked. “I will have him and Mórganthu executed.”
“In Colvarth’s ballad, Vuron did not want his pagan gods to lose power. But Mórganthu now follows his pagan gods through the Stone, my lord.”
Uther stopped pacing. “The Stone? Can this be? It is just a rock, strangely inspiring and amazing though it is.”
“This is a mystery, my lord, but the Stone is no mere rock. Somehow it lives, plots, and hates. And it desires to enchant not just Bosventor, but every Briton.”
Exclamations of surprise burst from those around the fire.
“All of the Britons?” Uther asked as he knelt before Merlin and looked him in the face. Merlin blinked at the smell of mead as Uther’s words softened. “How do you know these things?”
“I have touched the Stone, my lord. The Stone hates the Christ whom I serve, and so it tried to slay me. Yet I live.”
“I have faced the armies of chiefs and kings, but never have I fought such evil.” Here the king lowered his voice. “Colvarth, is this beyond me?”
The bard cleared his throat. “I think not, my Lord, although … I cannot know for sure.”
“Can it be destroyed?”
Merlin had pondered this question and spoke up. “The Stone will oppose you because you claim the Christ, and Mórganthu now hates you because you slew his son. There is danger. But perhaps God sent you here at just this time to defeat it, on Beltayne before the enchantment spreads. Both strength and caution are needed, my lord, for Mórganthu has Eirish warriors in his service.”
“Warriors? How many?”
“I have personally met at least six, but I don’t know their true number.” Merlin stood, and there before them all, he proclaimed, “My lord, take your men and ride to the druidow’ camp. There you will find the Stone in the center of the Gorseth Cawmen. Scatter the druidow and cover the Stone with animal skins. Then take it away to be destroyed. But heed well this warning: no one should touch the Stone or look at it. To do so is perilous.”
Silence filled the tent as Uther resumed pacing back and forth.
Merlin, feeling awkard to have spoken so boldly, sat down. His face felt the heat of the fire, and he began to sweat. What would Uther do? Surely he’d reject Merlin’s advice, coming from someone so young and inexperienced in matters like these.
Vortigern commented on how hungry he was and began to eat a hunk of venison. For a long while his chewing and Uther’s pacing was all that could be heard.
Finally, Uther began walking around the circle, pausing now and then as if deep in thought. When he passed behind Merlin, he stopped.
Merlin held his breath, waiting for the king to speak. He wanted to leave the council and make his way home in the rain. He had made a mistake, and now Uther would reject his service for what it was — that of a fool.
But Uther placed a hand on his shoulder. It was strong, steady, and reassuring. “This plan of yours, Merlin, this I will do.” Uther grasped Merlin’s hand and bade him stand.
But Vortigern stood too and interrupted Uther. “My High King, grant me the boon of leading your men on this mission.”
“And what of me?” Uther picked a log from a pile at the edge of the tent and slammed it sparking onto the fire. “Am I infirm that I cannot —”
“I think only of the safety of my sister, your wife, as well as your children.”
“You are a fool, Vortigern! Of course I would leave some of our warriors to guard them.”
“How many would you leave?”
“Five … perhaps ten.”
“That would weaken our forces considerably. We are battling not one man but many, and there are an unknown number of Eirish warriors. Uther, listen to me. No warrior will guard your family better than you. I urge you, my lord, to stay with them in a safe place and send forth the rest of us.”
“My family is safe here … Igerna, you agree with me on this?”
Merlin did not hear a response, but Vortigern spoke for her.
“You see, my lord … my sister is concerned. It is not her habit to be so near a battle. Your children are in danger. Stay with them.”
Young feet pattered to Uther, and his two daughters clasped their father around the waist.
“Please, Tas,” Eilyne said, “don’t let them hurt us!”
Uther said nothing, and Vortigern continued.
“Your heir, my lord, is worthy of your personal protection. Arthur is in grave danger, is he not?”
“I’ll protect him,” Myrgwen cried. “I’ll die with him if I have to.”
Uther turned. “Colvarth? What do you say?”
The bard spoke from beside Merlin. “I know not the better course, my king. This is … for you to decide.”
“Merlin,” Uther asked. “What is your opinion? Shall I go with my warriors or stay with my family?”
“My king,” Merlin said, distrust for Vortigern rising in his throat. “I stand by what I have said. You are here for a reason. Lead your men.”
“Please, oh, please, Father, don’t leave us!” Myrgwen nearly shrieked.
“Vortigern … if I follow your plan, where would we go?”
Vortigern walked behind Merlin and opened the tent flap. Uther stood beside him after extricating himself from his daughters.
“There, my lord,” Vortigern said. “The island in the marsh with the old tower. The locals call it Inis Avallow.”
“Yes, the tower.” Uther opened the flap farther so he could see, and Merlin felt a chill breeze blow through his hair.
“There your family will be safe under your watch while I scatter these traitorous druidow. The men already borrowed a fishing boat from the village. You can use that to take your family across.”
“The light from the tower … Did you see it just now?” Uther asked.
“Eeeh … I saw nothing.”
“Wait … I see an entire stone fortress there,” Uther exclaimed. “The tower is just part of it! The walls grew out of the ground before my eyes, with beautiful stonework surrounded by blooming orchards … and there is a man in the window beckoning me.”
“My Uther,” Igerna said from his side — she had walked there so silently Merlin hadn’t heard her. “I see nothing but the ruined tower. You have been drinking too much —”
“I have not. There — do you not see him?”
“There is no such man,” Igerna said. “Come, sit down by the fire again.”
“No. Do not speak like that. You have made it fade from my vision. But the light is still flashing … from the window there at the top. Vortigern, surely you see this?”
“I do not, my lord.”
“What is this I have seen? Surely something is there! I had desired to explore its ruins before, but now I must go.”
Merlin felt uneasy with the king’s tone. What had come over Uther? Had the Stone enchanted him without Merlin knowing?
Vortigern coughed. “My lord, you could explore the ruins … yes … while I lead the warriors and do as your young adviser … Merlin … has suggested. Just after the evening meal, before dark. I will take the men to raid the druid camp after you are all safely on the island.”
Again Merlin heard a hint of disdain in his voice, but Uther didn’t seem to notice.
The High King’s hand found Merlin’s shoulder. “It is a good plan.”
Merlin bit down on his tongue, unconvinced.