Merlin

EIGHT

I travelled south and east, hoping to strike the old Roman road that extended north of the Wall as far as Arderydd – or farther, for all I knew. This would lead me to Deva, City of Legions in the north, and the mountains of Gwynedd and the place where I had last seen my people. I had no better thought than to return to the hills and glens around Yr Widdfa where I had last seen the men searching for me. I never doubted whether there would be anyone there; I was certain of it, as I was certain of the sun rising in the east. They would search until they received word or sign that I was dead; without that they would search for ever.

I had only to cross their path. Time was growing short, however; one day soon the weather would break and the searchers would return home for the winter. Already the days were crisp and the sunlight thin. If I did not find them soon, I would have to ride all the way to Maridunum – a most difficult and dangerous journey for one alone.

By riding from before sunrise until well after sunset, I was able to traverse the wide, empty land with some speed. The main had come far north with the seasons. I did not realize how far north until I saw the great Celyddon Forest raising its black hump before me on the horizon. Apparently, we had skirted the forest to the west a year ago when travelling to winter quarters. And though the quickest route to the south lay through the forest's dark heart, I was loathe to take it.

But time was no friend to me with winter coming on. So, with my spear in my hand and my bow ready, I turned towards the forest track,.hoping to pass through in three or four days. The first day and night proved uneventful. I rode along pathways aflame with autumn colour – burning reds and golds, yellows that glowed in the falling light. Only the swish and crack of my pony's hooves in the dry leaves, and the occasional shriek of a bird or natter of a squirrel, marked our passing. Among the great stands of oak and ash, their iron-dark boles hoary and bearded with green moss, spreading elm and rowan, slender pine and massive yew, silence reigned and gave us to know with every step that we were intruders there.

The second day began with a mist that turned to a weepy, sodden rain which soon drenched me to the skin. Wet and cold, I pursued my miserable way until I came to a fern-grown clearing beside a racing stream. As I sat deciding where to cross, the rain stopped and the cloud-cover thinned so that the sun appeared a pale white disk. I slid from the pony's back, led it through the pungent fern to the water's edge and gave it to drink.

I suppose the clearing with its patch of sky above seemed a convivial place, so I started shrugging off my soaking clothing and spreading it on the rocks along the stream-bed in anticipation of the sun. And I was not disappointed.

But, as the clouds parted, I heard a crashing in the wood nearby. I dropped instinctively into my invisible posture. The noise increased, coming directly towards me, and of course I recognized the sound: a boar in full flight with a hunter right behind.

A moment later a gigantic old tusker broke through the underbrush not a dozen paces upstream. The great beast's hide was criss-crossed with scars marked in white tufts against the bristling black. And, like the battlechief that it was, the fearsome creature did not pause in its heedless, headlong flight, but plunged straight into the water, thrashed across in a frothing spray and disappeared into the wood on the other side.

Right behind came the rider. The instant the horse cleared the underbrush and leaped to the bank the sun broke through the swift-scattering cloud and a shaft of light struck like a spear heaved from on high, illuminating a most unusual sight: a mount the colour of grey morning mist – a handsome animal, long-legged and graceful, by appearances more hart than horse, white mane flying, nostrils flared to the scent of the boar. And a rider, slender and fierce, eyes wide with the excitement of the chase, hair like midnight streaming unbound behind, the sun striking the polished facets of a silver breastplate, slender arm hefting a long, silver boarspear so thin it appeared a frozen moonbeam caught in her hand.

In an instant, I knew this hunter to be the raven-haired girl I had seen while fire-gazing.

A heartbeat later, I doubted whether I had seen her at all, for the horse gathered its legs and leaped the stream as lightly as a bird taking flight. Horse and rider landed on the opposite shore and disappeared into the greengrowth on the other side, hot on the trail of the boar.

If not for the sound of the continuing chase, I might have dreamed them. But as the crackling and thumping of the hunt receded into the wood, I snatched up my clothes and threw them on again, led my pony across the stream, and rode after.

The trail was not at all difficult to follow. Still, they moved surprisingly fast, for I did not catch another glimpse of hunter or game until nearly tumbling over them in a grassy hollow in the dim forest.

The huge boar lay on its belly, legs collapsed under it, the slender shaft protruding through the massive hump of its shoulder into its chest where the leaf-shaped blade had cleft its heart; the great tusks were curved and yellow, the cunning little eyes glittered bright with bloodlust. The girl still sat her mount, and the grey horse snorted its triumph and raked the ground with a delicate forehoof.

She did not turn to me at first, although I surely made a fearful din as I burst blindly through the yew hedge; her attention was absorbed in the kill. It was a prize worthy of a champion and no mistake. Mind, I have seen boars of all sizes, and I also have seen experienced spearmen quail at the sight of a charging tusker. But I have never seen a boar so big, nor a maid so coolly composed.

Was it courage or arrogance?

The exultant glimmer in her eye, the set of her jaw, the regal posture… there was power in every comely line of her. I was in the presence of a woman, however young – she could not have been above fifteen summers – who chanced everything, quailed at nothing, admitted no defeat.

Only when she had drunk deep of the sight of her kill did she deign to notice me. 'You intrude, stranger.' Her speech, after the singing Hill Folk tongue, sounded odd in my ears; but I understood, for it was very like the speech of Llyonesse.

I inclined my head, accepting her appraisal. 'Forgive me, I am indeed a stranger.'

'That,' she pointed out, 'is not your transgression.'

She crooked a leg over her mount and slipped to the ground, then walked to the boar and stood gazing at it with pleasure. 'This one fought well.'

'I do not wonder. By the look of him, many have tried to bring him down and failed.'

This pleased her. 'I did not fail.' She loosed a wild war whoop of sheer pleasure. The cry echoed through the wood and faded, whereupon she turned to me. 'What do you here?' Her manner implied that the entire forest belonged to her.

'As you see, I am a traveller.'

'As I see, you are a dirty boy in reeking wolfskins.' She wrinkled her nose imperially. 'You do not look a traveller tome.'

'Accept that I am.'

'I believe you.' She turned suddenly and, placing a booted foot against the boar's shoulder hump, pulled sharply on the spear and drew it out. The silver shaft dripped dark red blood. She observed this for a moment and then began wiping the spear on the beast's hide.

That skin will make a fine trophy,' I remarked, stepping closer.

She levelled the spear at me. 'So would yours, wolf boy.'

'Is everyone hereabouts as ill-mannered as you?'

She laughed, a light fillip in the air. 'I am admonished.' Her tone denied her words entirely. She returned the spear to its holder on her saddle. 'Will you stand there like a stump, or will you help me carry back my kill?'

Truly, I did not see how the monster before us could be carried back without a wagon, nor heaved into a wagon without the help of half-dozen brawny men. Certainly, neither horse could carry the weight. But the girl was not dismayed. She removed a hand axe from behind her saddle and directed me to start felling a few of the slender birches from a stand across the hollow from where we stood.

I did as I was told and together we began hacking the branches from the trees and lashing the clean poles together with rawhide strips to form a crude litter. The work went quickly and pleasantly for me, for I had the opportunity of observing her graceful body in motion.

She had removed her silver breastplate while I was cutting the trees and now worked beside me in a light blue riding tunic and checked kilt of the sort that many of the remote hill tribes wore. Her boots were soft doeskin, and at her wrists and throat were narrow silver bands set with blue stones. Long-limbed and slender, her skin smooth and delicate as milk, she nevertheless gave herself to her work with a passion I suspected she lavished on all things that happened to capture her interest.

We spoke little while we worked, enjoying the challenge of the task before us, and the rhythm of two people working as one. Once the poles of the litter had been secured, then came the difficult part: rolling the enormous carcass onto the platform. I brought my black hill pony to the boar, and we looped a length of rawhide around the boar's forelegs, and with one of the remaining poles as a lever half-dragged and half-rolled the huge carcass into position.

Grunting, sweating, heaving at the dead weight with all our strength, we nudged the carcass onto the Utter, where it slipped and rolled sideways onto my leg. The girl laughed and leaped to help me; as she bent near, I drank in the warm woman-scent and the light aromatic oils she used as perfume. The touch of her hands on my skin was like a dancing flame against the flesh.

I struggled free of the boar and we continued the laborious task. Some while later we finished tying down the beast, then stood looking at one another for a moment, both flushed with pride and exhaustion at our accomplishment, and dripping sweat. 'After a hunt,' she told me, amusement glimmering in eyes the colour of cornflowers, 'I am accustomed to swim.' She paused and looked me up and down. 'You could do with a bath as well, but… ' she lifted a palm equivocally, 'it is getting late.'

In truth, the prospect of bathing with this beautiful young woman sent a ripple of pleasure through my loins. I did not think it so late, but she moved away without waiting for my answer, mounted her horse and rode a few paces before turning back to me. 'Well, I suppose you have earned a crust by the fire and a pallet in the stable. You had better follow me, wolf boy.'

I needed no second invitation, and likely would not have received one anyway, so took up my reins and followed. Getting the boar home was far from easy – fording the stream was the hardest part. But as the sun was touching the, western hills we came within sight of a large settlement – at least twenty fair-sized timber dwellings crouching along the shores of a deep mountain lake. On a mound at one end of the lake stood a palace consisting of a great hall, stable, kitchen, granary, and temple – all of timber.

We rode down to this settlement through the trees, and the people came running to greet us. Upon seeing the boar, they shouted and gave the lady loud acclaim, which she accepted with such poise and modesty that I knew her noble born. Her father ruled here and these were his subjects and his beloved daughter. For loved she was, I could see it on the faces of those around us – she was their treasure.

As this was so, I received a rather cooler reception. Those who noticed me at all frowned, and some pointed at me rudely. They did not like seeing a filthy foundling beside her. Indeed, with very little encouragement they would have taken up the stones at their feet and pelted me away.

Did I blame them? No, I did not.

I felt decidedly unworthy riding beside her. And looking at myself through their eyes… Well, trotting beside their beautiful lady on a shaggy pony was an even shaggier boy dressed in leather and wolfskin, looking like something fresh out of the northern wastes, which I was; foreign and certainly not to be trusted.

But the girl did not seem to mind, and took no notice of my unease. I looked this way and that, with a growing feeling that it had been a mistake to come, that I should have fared better in the forest. We rode through the settlement, along the shingle beside the lake, and up the mound to the palace. The villagers did not come up, but remained a respectful distance away.

'What is this place?' I asked as we dismounted. Servants were hurrying towards us.

'This is my father's house,' explained the girl.

'Who might your father be?'

'You will see soon enough. Here he comes.'

I turned to where she looked and saw a giant strolling towards me with great, ground-eating strides. He was as tall as any two of the Hill Folk, taller even than Avallach, and broadly built as well, with heavy shoulders, a thick chest, and limbs like yew stumps. He had long brown hair which he wore pulled back tight and bound in a golden ring. His soft boots came to his knees and his kilt bore the red-and-green checked design of the north. Two enormous black wolfhounds bounded at his heels.

'My father,' said the girl and ran to meet him. He caught her up and lifted her off her feet in a fearsome embrace. I winced, fearing the cracking of her ribs. But he set her down lightly and came to where I stood.

The giant took one glance at the boar; his eyes grew round, and he opened his mouth and laughed, so that the timbers of his house shivered and the sound echoed from the tree-clad hills. 'Well done, lass!' He clapped hands the size of platters. 'Well done, my darling girl.'

He kissed her and turned suddenly to me. 'And who might you be, lad?'

'He helped me with the boar, father,' the girl explained. 'I told him he could have supper and a bed for his trouble.' 'It was no trouble,' I managed to squeak out. 'So that is the way of it,' the man said, neither pleased nor displeased as yet, but certainly reserving judgement. 'Do you have a name then?'

'Merlin,' I replied. The word sounded strange in my ears. 'Myrddin ap Taliesin among my own people.'

'You have people, do you?' Was he mocking me? 'Then why are you not with them?'

'I was taken by Hill Folk and was not able to escape until now,' I said, hoping that answer would save further explaining. 'My people are in the south. I am going to them now.'

'Where in the south?' 'In the Summerlands and Llyonesse.' The man frowned. 'So you say. I do not recall hearing of such places myself – if places they are. What name do your people go by?'

'Cymry,' I told him.

'Them I have heard of at least.' He nodded, looking at my silver tore and the gold bracelets Vrisa had given me. They are your father's people?'

'Yes. My grandfather is Lord Elphin ap Gwyddno Garanhir who was king of Gwynedd.'

'Was?'

'He lost his lands in the Great Conspiracy and moved south.'

The huge man sighed sympathetically. 'A very bad time that. Aye, but still he was lucky – many a man lost more.' His voice was a rumble like wagon wheels going over a wooden bridge. 'Your father is a prince then.'

'My father died soon after I was born.'

'What of your mother? You did not mention her.'

This was odd; I had never had so much attention paid to my lineage. But then, I had never before accepted lodging from a king's daughter. 'My mother is Chads, a princess of Llyonesse. My grandfather is King Avallach of Ynys Avallach.'

He nodded approvingly, but his eyes narrowed. He seemed to be weighing me, perhaps calculating how far he could throw me into the lake, and how big the splash. At last he said, 'Royalty on both sides then. Good enough.' His eyes slid past mine to his daughter and then to the carcass of the boar which his men were gutting on the spot. 'Look at this now! Have you ever seen a finer prize? We will feast on it this time tomorrow.'

With that the remarkable man turned and strode back to the great hall, the dogs trotting after him. 'My father likes you, wolf boy. You are welcome here.'

'Am I?'

'I have said so.'

'You know all about me, and I do not even know your name – or that of your father, or where I have come, or… '

She smiled slyly. 'So inquisitive.'

'It is common courtesy where I come from.'

'You seem to come from everywhere and nowhere. Nevertheless,' bowing her head imperiously, she said, 'I am Ganieda. My father is Custennin, King of Goddeu in Celyddon.'

'My greetings to the both of you.'

'Our greetings to you, Myrddin ap Taliesin,' she replied nicely. 'Will you come in?'

'I will.' I inclined my head. She laughed, the sound liquid silver on the evening air. Then, drawing her arm through mine, she pulled me away. My heart nearly burst.

I slept that night on goosedown in a sleeping room next to Custennin's great hall. I shared the room with some of the king's men, who treated me politely, but accorded me no special favour. The next morning they rose and went about their various duties and I got up and went into the great hall, now empty but for the servants carrying off last night's food scraps and spreading fresh rushes over the floor.

No one took notice of me, so I drifted out into the yard and sat down on the ledge of the well and dipped out a drink from a leather cannikin. The water was ice cold and sweet and, as I drank, I thought of the journey before me that day and found the prospect a good deal less agreeable than it had been the day before.

The dipper was still at my lips when I felt cold fingers on my neck. I hunched my shoulders and squirmed round. Ganieda laughed and slipped from my reach. 'You must have been very tired,' she said, 'to stay so long abed – and you a traveller in a hurry.'

'You are right, Ganieda.' I liked the feel of her name on my tongue. She was wearing her blue tunic and kilt of the day before, but had donned a long, fleece-lined cloak against the morning chill. The silver at her throat and wrists gleamed, and her black hair had been brushed so that it shone. 'I slept well for the first time in many days, and as a consequence I have slept too long.'

'Obviously, you are exhausted,' she volunteered matter-of-factly. 'In which case, you cannot possibly leave today. Leave tomorrow when you are better rested. That makes much better sense.' She stepped shyly forward, although there was nothing at all shy about her. 'I have been thinking,' she said seriously – not too seriously, mind you, for solemnity was no great pan of her nature either. 'What lovely eyes! Your eyes, Myrddin – '

'Yes?' I could feel the colour rising to my cheeks.

They are gold – wolfs eyes, hawk's eyes… I have never seen eyes like this in a human being.'

'You flatter me, lady,' I replied stiffly. Was this what she had been thinking?

She settled herself on the stone ledge beside me. 'Is it far where you are going?'

'Far enough.' I nodded slowly.

'How far?'

'As far as may be.'

'Oh.' She fell silent, chin in her hand, elbow resting on her knee.

'Would it make a difference if it were not so far?'

Ganieda shrugged. 'Perhaps… somehow.'

I laughed. 'Ganieda, tell me what is in your mind. What have you been thinking? I tarry with you here while I should be saddling my horse and bidding Celyddon farewell.' The last word caught in my throat. Ganieda winced.

'You do not know your way through the forest. You need someone to show you.'

'I found my way thus far without a guide. I found you without a guide.'

'Blind luck,' she answered gravely. 'My father says that it is dangerous to trust in luck too much.'

'I agree.'

'Good. Then you will stay?'

'As much as I would like to, I cannot.'

Her face clouded and I swear the sunlight dimmed. 'Why not?'

'I do have a long way to go,' I explained. 'Winter is fast approaching and the weather will not hold. If I do not wish to find my death frozen on a high mountain track somewhere, I must move along quickly.'

'Is it so important – your going home?' she asked glumly.

'It is.'

And I began to tell her how it was that I came to be journey -ing through the forest.

Ganieda was fascinated. I told her much more than I intended, and would have gone on speaking just to have her remain beside me listening. But as I was explaining the way the Hill Folk moved with the seasons, a horse came pounding up the slope of the mound towards us.

Ganieda leapt to her feet and ran to meet the rider, who swung down from the saddle to kiss her. I stood slowly, disappointment scooping me hollow like a gourd, envy twisting like a knife in my gut.

The stranger had his hand loosely round her shoulder as they came towards me. Ganieda's smile was as luminous as the love between them. I was sick with jealousy.

'Myrddin, my friend,' she said as they came up – at least I was acknowledged as a friend, which seemed to indicate some slight improvement in my status – 'I want you to greet my… '

I regarded the weasel who had stolen Ganieda's affection. He was not much to look at – a big, overgrown youth who gazed out at the world through large, unconcerned eyes the colour of hazel wands, his long legs terminating in great flat feet. Taken altogether, he was a pleasant-enough fellow, and not more than four or five years above my age, I judged.

Still, though he had height, weight, and reach on me, I would have fought him willingly and without hesitation if Ganieda had been the prize. But the contest was over and he had won her; there was nothing I could do but smile stupidly and gnaw my heart with envy.

These thoughts went through my head as Ganieda finished, saying,'… my brother, Gwendolau.'

Her brother! I could have kissed him.

What a handsome, intelligent fellow. O, happy world with such men hi it! Instantly, he improved enormously in my estimation and I gripped his arms in the old greeting. 'Gwendolau, I greet you as brother and friend.'

He grinned sunnily. 'I am your servant, Myrddin Wylt.' He laughed and flicked the edge of my wolfskin cloak with a finger.

Merlin the Wild… his joking title made my flesh crawl. I heard in it the echo of something sinister and dark. The eerie feeling passed like an arrow through a nightdark wood, as he clapped me on the back.

Ganieda explained, 'Myrddin is travelling south soon. His people are there. He has been living with the bhean sidhe in the north… '

'Really?' Gwendolau appraised me curiously. 'That explains the wolfskins at least. But how did you manage to survive?'

'My God was with me,' I offered. 'I was treated well.'

Gwendolau accepted this with a good-natured nod; then, dismissing the subject, glanced at his sister. 'Is father here?'

'He rode out early this morning, saying he would return before sunset. You are to wait for him.'

'Ahh!' He looked distracted, then shrugged. 'Well, it cannot be helped. At least I can rest until he returns. Myrddin, I give you good day. I am for my bed.' He returned his horse and led the hard-ridden animal across the yard to the stable.

'He has ridden far?' I asked.

'Yes. There is trouble on the western border of our land. Gwendolau has been warning the settlements round about.'

'What kind of trouble?'

'Indeed, is there more than one kind of trouble?'

'It is late in the year for raiding.'

'Not for the Scotti. They come across the narrows – it takes less than a day – and they row their leather boats up the Annan right into the very forest. Besides, it makes more sense to raid in autumn when all the harvests have been gathered in.'

Her words pulled me back into the world of swords and sharp conflict. I shivered at the thought of hot blood on cold iron. I looked down to the lake, mirroring blue heaven in its depths, and there I saw the image of a mighty man wearing a steel war helm and breastplate, his throat a black wound.

I recognized the man and shivered again.

'If you are cold we might go in to the fire.'

'No, Ganieda, I am not cold.' I shook my head to purge the disturbing image. 'If you will walk with me to the stable, I will leave now.'

She frowned and at that moment a raindrop splattered her cheek. She held out her hand and another drop splashed into her palm. 'It is raining,' she observed triumphantly. 'You cannot ride in the rain. Also, we will roast the boar tonight, and as you helped bring it back, you must help eat it.'

In truth, there was but a single dark cloud overhead, but the thought of the cold, wet road ahead appealed little just then. I did not want to leave, so I allowed myself to be persuaded to stay. Ganieda tugged me back into the hall to break fast on stewed meat, turnips and oatcakes..

She did not leave my side all day, but undertook to engage me in games and music – there was a chessboard with carved pieces and she had a lyre, and had learned how to play both with skill – as if to make me forget my journey.

The day sped like a hart in flight and when I looked out through the door of the hall, the sky was alight in the west, the sun through the grey clouds edging the hill-line with amber. My horse needs a day's rest, I told myself. It is no bad thing to linger here a day.

But no longer than that, I resolved – a bit late, I admit, for it was not until I saw the sun setting that I realized that my indecision had cost me a day. A pleasant day, it is true, but a day nonetheless.

With the setting sun, King Custennin returned from his errands. He burst into the hall fresh from the saddle, his hair and cloak flying. Ganieda ran to him and he gathered her in his huge arms and spun her round.

It was clear to see that she was everything to him, and why not? As there appeared to be no other lady in that house, Custennin's daughter was his sole delight. Merely seeing her cheered him like a potent draught.

Gwendolau appeared a moment later, dressed in a silken tunic of crimson with a wide black belt. His trousers were blue-and-black checked, as was the cloak gathered over his shoulder and held with a great silver spiral brooch. His tore was silver. In all he looked the prince he was.

Ganieda returned to me as Gwendolau and her father went aside to discuss their business. They spoke for some time together – intense, arms folded, frowning – head-to-head in a corner of the hearth where the boar was roasting and sputtering over the cooking flame.

With the arrival of their lord, men began streaming into the hall. Most of them had been with Custennin, but word had gone out about the feast and there were many from the settlement invited as well. As they came in, the king and his son broke off their discussion and the lord went to greet his guests personally, embracing them heartily. Here is a man, I thought, who knows how to love his friends. What passion must he devote to his enemies?

'It is worse than I thought,' Ganieda confided. 'How do you know this?' I watched the king greeting his guests, jesting, laughing, passing horns of mead from hand to hand – the glad monarch welcoming old friends, he appeared anything but hard pressed for worry.

'I just know,' whispered Ganieda confidentially. 'He said nothing about his errand and went straight to Gwendolau without stopping for his cup. Even now he avoids drink – you see? He passes the horn but never takes a sip. Yes, the news is troubling. There will be a council tonight.'

It was as Ganieda said and, as I concentrated my attention on the scene before me, I, too, sensed the underlying current of anxiety coursing through the hall. Men talked and laughed, but too heartily and too loudly.

What have I come into? I wondered. Why am I here at all?

And I began to think of those who were waiting for me far, far to the south. It was wrong for me to linger here.

But how? I had stayed three years with Hawk Fhain and rarely felt half so much urgency as I felt now. It was different now, however. Now I stayed, I suspected, for a purely selfish reason: I stayed because I wanted to be near Ganieda. Without saying it directly, Ganieda made it clear that she wanted me to stay, too.

Ah, Ganieda, I remember it all too well.

We feasted in Lord Custennin's timber hall, aflame with light and laughter, the smoky smell of roasting meat, bright torches, eyes and jewellery gleaming, gold-rimmed horns circling among the gathered lords of Goddeu, who drank and drank, despite the example of their king, who tasted not a drop. Because of Ganieda's warning, I watched the proceedings with interest, and I was not the only one. Gwendolau watched, too – sober and intense from his seat at the high table.

When the food was finished and the chiefs called for song, Ganieda took up her lyre and sang. I thought it strange – not that she should sing, for her voice was beautiful to hear, but that a man of Custennin's wealth and influence should not have a bard or two. He might easily have kept half-a-dozen to sing his praises and the valour of his warriors.

Her song finished, Ganieda came to where I sat and tugged me by the sleeve, 'Let us go from here.'

'I want to see what is to happen."

'No, it does not concern us. Let us leave.' She meant, of course, that it did not concern me.

'Please,' I said, 'just until I know what will happen. If there is trouble here in the north, men may need to know of it where I am going.'

She nodded and sat down beside me. 'It will not be pleasant.' Her tone was hard as the flagging at our feet.

Almost immediately, Custennin got to his feet and spread out his arms. 'Kinsmen and friends,' he called, 'you have come here tonight to eat and drink at my table, and this is good. It is right for a king to give sustenance to his people, to share with them in times of peace and succour them in times of trouble.' Some of those near him banged on the board with their cups and knife handles, and shouted their approval of the scheme. I noticed that Gwendolau had disappeared from the high table. 'It is also right for a king to deal harshly with his enemies. Our fathers defended their lands and people when threatened. Any man who allows his enemy to run with impudence through his land, killing his people, destroying his crops and goods – that man is not worthy of his name.'

'Hear him! Hear him!' the chiefs cried. 'It is true!' 'And any man who turns against his own is as much an enemy as the Sea Wolf who comes in his war boat.' At this the hall went silent. The fire crackled in the hearth and the rising wind moaned outside. The trap was all but sprung, but the chiefs did not see it yet.

'Loeter!' the king cried. 'Is this not true?' I searched the hall for the one singled out, and found him – it was not difficult, for as soon as the man's name left the lips of his king those around him drew away. 'My lord, it is true,' replied the man called Loeter, a narrow-faced hulk with a belly like a sow. He glanced about him uneasily.

'And Loeter, how do we punish those who practise treachery against their own kinsmen?'

All eyes were on Loeter now, who had begun to sweat. 'We cut them off, lord.'

'We kill them, Loeter, do we not?' 'Yes, lord.'

Custennin nodded gravely and looked to his chiefs. 'You have heard the man speak his punishment out of his own mouth. So be it.'

'What madness is this?' demanded Loeter – on his feet now, his hand on the hilt of his knife. 'Are you accusing me?' 'I do not accuse you, Loeter. You accuse yourself.' 'How so? I have done nothing.'

Custennin glared. 'Nothing? Then tell me whence came the gold on your arm.'

'It is mine,' growled Loeter.

'How came you to wear it?' demanded Custennin. 'Answer me truly.'

'It was a gift to me, lord.'

'A gift it was. Oh, yes, that is true enough: a gift from the Scotti! The same who even now lie encamped within our borders, planning another raid.'

There arose an ugly murmur in the hall. Ganieda tugged at me again. 'Let us leave now.'

But it was too late. Loeter saw the thing going against him and, drunk as he was, decided to try his hand at escape, thinking to call on the aid of his friends. 'Urbgen! Gwys! Come, we will not listen to these lies.' He turned and stepped down from the table and strode to the door of the hall, but he walked alone.

'You bargained with the Scotti; they gave you gold in exchange for silence. Your greed has weakened us all, Loeter. You are no longer fit for the company of honourable men.'

'I gave them nothing!'

'You gave them safe landfall! You gave them shelter where there should be no shelter!' Custennin roared. 'Babes sleep tonight without their mothers, Loeter. Wives weep for their husbands. House timbers smoulder and ashes grow cold where once hearth fires burned. How many more of our people will die because of you?'

'It is not my doing!' screamed the wretch, still edging towards the door.

'Whose then? Loeter, answer me!'

'I am not to blame,' he whined. 'I will not have this on my head.'

'You sold our kinsmen, Loeter. People under my care lie in death's dark hall tonight.' Custennin raised his hand and pointed a long dagger at the guilty man. 'I say that you shall join them, Loeter, and join them you will, or I am no longer king of Goddeu.'

Loeter backed nearer the door. 'No! They only wanted to hunt. I swear it, they only wanted to hunt! I was going to bring the gold to you… '

'Enough! I will not hear you demean yourself further.' Custennin stepped up onto the table and came towards him, the dagger in his hand.

Loeter turned and bolted to the door. Gwendolau was there with the two wolf hounds and men on either side of him.

'Do not kill me!' Loeter screamed. He turned to face Custennin, advancing towards him. 'I beg you, my lord. Do not kill me!'

'Your death will be more painless than any of those who went before you this day. I do not have the stomach to do what the Sea Wolves do to their captives.'

Loeter gave a terrible scream and fell down on his knees before his king, weeping pitifully and shamefully. All looked on in awful silence. 'I beg you, lord. Spare me… spare me… send me away.'

Custennin seemed to consider this. He gazed down at the cringing wretch and then turned back to those looking on. 'What do you say, brothers? Do we spare his sorry life?'

Even before the words were out of his mouth, Loeter was on his feet, his knife in his hand. As the knife flashed towards the king's back, there came a savage snarl and flurry of motion. Black lightning sped towards him…

Loeter gave one small shriek before the dogs tore out his throat.

The traitor toppled dead to the floor, but the hounds did not cease their attack until Gwendolau came and put his hands on their collars and hauled them away, blood streaming from their muzzles.

Custennin stared down at the mutilated body. 'This is what your gold has bought you, Loeter,' he intoned sadly. 'I ask you now, was it worth it?'

He made a gesture with his hand and the men before the door came and dragged the body from the hall.

I turned to Ganieda, who sat beside me, staring, her eyes fierce and hard in the light of the torches. 'He got better than he deserved,' she said softly, then, turning to me, added, 'It had to be, Myrddin. Treachery must be punished; there is no other way for a king.'