Arthur

FOUR

'Not since the Romans have ships been built in Muir Guidan,' said Arthur. 'But the shipyards are still there – I have seen them on the Fiorth near Caer Edyn. The fishermen use them for harbourage in the winter, and occasionally someone will build a boat there.'

Lot nodded, deep in thought. 'If it is as you say, it could be done.' He was silent a goodly while. There is good timber nearby?'

'More than we could ever use were we to build ten thousand ships.'

'My shipwrights would have to return here in winter to repair my own ships.'

'I will see to it, and gladly. What do you say?'

'I say you had better begin finding men to pilot your ships, for Britain will soon have a fleet once more.'

Beaming, Arthur loosed a wild whoop of pleasure, and Lot's normally icy demeanour melted under the sun of Arthur's joy. The king opened his hand towards Myrddin, as if begging the Emrys' blessing on the pact he and Arthur had just made. Myrddin gave his encouragement by way of clapping Lot on the back and saying, 'From the union of two strong lords the defeat of the enemy is enjoined. The Gifting God be praised!'

Lot then called his stewards to bring us drink and serve the meal, even though the sky was still light outside. For indeed, daylight lingers long in the northern isles – sometimes through the night. At midsummer the sun never truly sets at all!

We drank and began talking of where and how the ships could be used most effectively. I noticed Myrddin lay aside his cup, rise, and withdraw from the company. I waited until Myrddin had left the hall and then went out to him.

I found him standing in the centre of the yard, gazing at the vast northern sky. 'What is wrong, Myrddin?' I asked, as I came to stand beside him.

He answered, but did not take his eyes from the cloudless, amber sky. 'Arthur has his ships – or soon will have, and Lot has been won as an ally. What could be wrong?'

'You distrust Lot. Why?' It was merely a guess, notched and let fly. But it struck nearer the mark than I knew.

Myrddin turned his eyes away from searching the heavens and applied the same sharp scrutiny to me. 'I do not know Lot. It is hard for me wholly to trust someone I do not know.'

This I thought a reasonable answer, and true – as far as it went. But I knew Myrddin. There was more to it than that. 'He has troubled you in the past,' I said. Another guess.

'Troubled me?' Myrddin began to walk towards the fortress gate, which still stood open. I fell into step beside him. 'No, not that. But he has often confused me. You will have heard it told, I suppose, that few kings supported me for the High Kingship. It is true; only a very few. But Lot was one of them. And him with less reason than any of the others… That perplexed me – as it does to this day.'

'You suspect treachery?'

'I suspect… ' He stopped as we walked past the gates and down the track towards the sea. Upon reaching the rock shingle he stood gazing out at the dusky sea. The waves lapped at the rocks and the air smelled of salt and rotting seaweed. We stood together for a long while, and then Myrddin swung his golden gaze to me. 'You have a brain in your head,' he told me. 'What do you make of Lot? Do you trust him?'

Now it was my turn to be silent for a spell. Did I trust Lot? What did I make of him? I weighed the scant evidence for and against him in my mind. I tried to be fair.

'Well?'

'It seems to me,' I began slowly, 'that Lord Lot is unused to having people enjoy his company. He is tolerated, perhaps, and obeyed, certainly – he is king, after all. But he is not loved. Likely, he has no friends at all.'

Myrddin nodded. 'Why is this, do you think?'

Living in Orcady was part of it. Remote, isolated from the rest of the world, cut off by the sea and the barren northern wastes, it was difficult to maintain friendships and alliances with the noble houses of the south. For this reason, and others, the southern lords remained suspicious. Northerners were held in little regard in the south; they were thought to be backward, coarse and low. Little better than Picts, if no worse.

From what I had seen of Lot and his men, they were none of these things; they were simply different. Yet, despite their differences, just as civil and refined as any southern lord and his tribe. But living on their barren, sea-surrounded rocks made them severe, in the same way their limited contact with the south made them wary and brusque – always expecting the veiled insult, and finding it, whether intended or not.

These things I thought, and told to Myrddin. 'King Lot has no friends,' I concluded, 'because he suspects everyone of trying to do him harm. No, it is not guile at work in him – it is suspicion.'

'Suspicion, yes. And there is something else: pride.'

'Suspicion and pride,' I said, 'two dogs that lie uneasily together.'

'Indeed,' said Myrddin, 'and neither one to be crossed.'

At last I thought I had discovered what Myrddin was worrying about. 'But that is not why I am uneasy,' he said.

'No?' Myrddin always does this. Just when you think you have cracked one hard nut, he pulls another from his pocket, tougher than the last. 'What else, then?'

'In truth, Bedwyr, it has little to do with Lot, and yet everything to do with him.'

That is something else he does: mutters in obscure riddles. Myrddin dearly loves enigma and paradox.

'Nothing and everything,' I observed sourly. 'We will be here all night.'

'It is Lot's father – rather, it is his father's wife.'

'Lot's mother, you mean?'

'Did I say that? No. I said Lot's father's wife. King Loth had two wives. The first was Lot's mother and she died. Loth's second wife was a woman named Morgian.'

'Speak plainly, Myrddin. Who or what is this Morgian to us?' Indeed, in all the time I had known him, I had never heard the name pass his lips. But then, there was much about Myrddin that no one knew.

Myrddin did not answer. Instead, he asked, 'Do you know why men call these islands Ynysoedd Erch – the Islands of Fear?'

I looked around at the forbidding rocks and the shadowy fortress rising above the sea. The Orcades were a forlorn and lonely place. Certainly, that was reason enough for such a name, and I told him so.

'No. It is because of her, Morgian, Queen of Air and Darkness.'

Now, I am a man who does not shrink from much. But I have always found it disturbing to invoke evil, even in jest. So, when Myrddin spoke that name, I felt a chill quaver in the air as if rising suddenly from the sea. But it was not sea air that sent the flesh creeping upon my scalp.

'You know her?'

'I do – and wish to Heaven that I did not!' The vehemence with which he spoke took me aback. I also heard something in his voice I had never heard before: fear. The Great Emrys was afraid of Morgian – whoever she might be.

'Myrddin,' I said gently, 'what is she to you?'

His head whipped round and he glared at me. His mouth was a grimace of revulsion, and his eyes were hard, bright points of pain. 'She is my death!'

The next days were given to planning how best to commence shipbuilding on the Fiorth. Arthur and Lot were to be seen head to head in Lot's chambers, or strolling the grounds of the stronghold, lost to the world in their ardent schemes and strategies. While it was clear that Lot and Arthur were becoming fast friends, it was also evident that Myrddin was less and less happy about our stay.

He made me uneasy. I would see him walking out on the wind-blown hills of the island, or sitting brooding on the rocks overlooking the sea. He rarely spoke in our company; and when he did it was only to utter a curt reply.

Arthur appeared not to notice. But I noticed.

Days passed with little to dp. Time weighed heavily on me, and I began to grow impatient to return to Caer Melyn. There, I knew, work aplenty waited for me: there were men to train, horses to break, supplies and provisions to sort and, not forgetting – irate kings to pacify. No doubt Cai and Pelleas had their hands full while I sat idle.

More and more, I found myself wishing for something to do. And in the end I got my wish. Immediately, I regretted it.

We were given no warning. A ship just appeared at dawn one morning and made for the harbour. This caused a mild stir in Lot's court and some men went down to meet it on the shingle below the caer. The ship was scarcely anchored when word came back: Irish had landed and were pushing inland to join the Picti.

Hearing this, I dashed to Lot's hall, where I knew he and Arthur were concluding their business. I entered just behind Lot's principal adviser, who called out, 'Lord Lot, Gwalcmai has returned with dire news: Sea Wolves have put ashore in numbers and are raiding inland. The Picti have welcomed them.'

'Where is this?' asked Arthur.

'In Yrewyn Bay.'

This answer took me aback, for this bay is but a short distance from my home in Rheged. 'Have they attacked Caer Tryfan?' I asked, but my question went unheeded.

'What of Gwalchavad?' asked Lot.

Just then the door to the hall burst open and a young man hurried in, his bright blue-and-green cloak flying. One glance at his black hair and fierce aspect and I knew him to be Lot's kinsman. The silver tore at his throat gave me to know that he was nobly born.

'Gwalcmai!' called Lot. 'Where is Gwalchavad?'

'He has taken the warriors we had with us to follow the Sea Wolves – to keep watch on them. Have no fear, he promised to stay out of sight until we come.'

The relief in Lot's face could only be that of a father for a beloved son. This guess was proven true a moment later, when Lot turned and said, 'Duke Arthur, I present to you my son, Gwalcmai, who has just returned from Manau, where we trade.'

The young man – no more in years than Arthur or myself – inclined his head in greeting. 'Duke of Britain,' he said. 'Long have I desired to meet you – though I never expected to see you here."

'I give you good greeting, Prince Gwalcmai. What else can you tell us of this invasion?'

'The Irish entered Yrewyn Bay and came inland up the river – thirty ships we counted. They seem to be gathering their forces. I think they are waiting for something.'

'The cran tara has gone out,' said Myrddin, stepping from the shadows of the hearth. They wait for the other tribes to join them.'

Then they will not strike before midsummer. We have time yet,' replied Arthur.

'Little enough,' I observed. It was less than a month away.

Arthur turned to the king. 'Lord Lot, I will need your ships sooner than expected.'

They are yours,' Lot replied. 'And my warband with them.'

'I am yours to command, Duke Arthur,' said Gwalcmai, placing himself under Arthur's authority. 'My ship is ready and waiting in the harbour.'

Then we leave at dawn.'

We had hoped to engage the enemy before they could achieve full strength of numbers. This was not to be. Upon reaching Caer Melyn, Arthur sent messengers to the British kings, summoning their warbands. His own Cymbrogi were ready at once, of course, and Arthur sent them on ahead with Cai, Pelleas and Meurig, riding overland and taking most of the horses with them. The warbands of the other kings were slow in coming.

God save them, they were angry with Arthur for making peace with Aelle, Octa and Colgrim, and thought to punish the Duke by withholding aid. Also, they were reluctant to commit warriors to the defence of the north. After all, it is just foul moors and heather bogs – let the Irish and Picti have it. This is what they thought.

In the end, however, they were forced to uphold then-pledge to Arthur as War Leader. So, four days before midsummer, we gathered at dawn on the strand at Abertaff near Caer Dydd, men and horses, weapons and supplies. Three kings came with us: Idris, Bedegran, and Maglos.

Old Bishop Gwythelyn, and his renowned pupil Teilo, led us in a special warriors' mass. From his nearby abbey the revered Illtyd came also to give his blessing. The holy men emboldened us with heartening words from the sacred texts, and commended us to the Lord Jesu. Then we all knelt there among the windswept dunes, the sound of the surf and gulls in our ears. We knelt, each and every one of us, and prayed to the Almighty God for swift sailing and swifter victory.

When the prayers were finished, we all rose up and sang a song of praise to the Saviour God. Ah, there is nothing finer than the voices of the Cymry lifted in song, I can tell you. We were three thousand strong. And that is a mighty voice before the Throne of Light.

Then, as the sun crested the far hills across Mor Hafren and the first red-beamed rays stretched across the water, we boarded the ships and set sail for the north. Forty-five ships in all – most of them Lot's, but Arthur had found a good few others. Not since the days of the Romans had such a fleet been seen in the Island of the Mighty. This, and the first of Arthur's ships had yet to be built!

Forty-five ships! Blessed Jesu, it was a sight to behold.