Merlin

HIC TVMVLO IACET

I traced the neatly-carved words with my fingertips and murmured, 'Here in this tomb lies Ganieda, daughter of Custennin, in the peace of Christ.'

There was no mention of the child, nor of my heart, as there might have been, for in truth both were buried with her.

All in all, it was a tranquil place, near where she had died; and if the gravesite was not much visited any more, at least it was hidden from the casual desecrations of unthinking wayfarers.

I knelt down and prayed a long prayer, and when I rose I felt peace reclaim its place in my soul. I left the grove content in heart and mind.

Then Pelleas and I returned to where our escort waited and we continued to Goddeu.

I should have known what to expect. I should have been prepared. But I was not. Too much had happened in too short a time, it seemed, and the sight of Custennin and Goddeu, unchanged, shocked me as much as the change in Maridunum had shocked me. But there he stood, bold and big as the day I first had seen him: proud monarch of Celyddon, Fair Folk king, great battlechief and ruler of a haughty people.

Like Avallach and others of their race, the years had not touched Custennin, nor would they. He even maintained the same appearance as when I knew him before – in everything, including the two black wolf-hounds crouching at his heels.

I swung down from the saddle as he approached and went to him. Without a word he gathered me in his powerful arms and crushed me to him, as I had seen him do with Ganieda countless times. 'Myrddin, my son,' he murmured in his deep voice. 'You have come back from the dead.'

'I have indeed,' I replied.

He pushed me away and held me at arm's length, looking at me. There were unshed tears in his eyes. 'I never thought to see you again… ' his eyes slid past me to Pelleas, whom he acknowledged with a nod, 'but Pelleas insisted you were still alive and he never stopped searching for you. Would that I had had his faith… '

'I only wish I could have come sooner.'

'Have you seen Ganieda's grave?'

'I have just come from there. It is a good stone.'

'Yes, I had the priests at Caer Ligal make it.'

I noticed he said nothing about his son, so I asked: 'What of Gwendolau?'

'He is buried on the field where he died. I will take you there if you like – but you will remember the place.'

'I have never forgotten it.' Nor would I ever.

'We have spoken our respect for the dead, and that is good and proper,' Custennin said. 'Now let us talk of the living. I have another son, for I have taken a wife in recent years and she has just given birth to a babe.'

This was good news and I told him so. Custennin was well pleased, for the birth of this child meant a great deal to him. 'What is his name?'

'Cunomor,' he told me, 'an old name, but a good one.'

'May he grow into the stature of his illustrious ancestors,' I said lightly.

'Come inside and rest from your journey. We will eat and drink together,' Custennin said, pulling me along with him. He held me by the arm as if he were afraid that I might disappear again if he relaxed his hold for even an instant. 'And then you will meet my new son.'

We did eat and drink together. And I greeted his son – who looked precisely like all newborn babes everywhere. I sang in Custennin's hall and fell asleep that night thinking about the first night I had sheltered under his roof: an awkward boy dressed in wolfskins, half-wild and alone, and hopelessly infatuated with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

The next morning I walked out to the place where Gwendolau was buried and I prayed for the Good God's mercy on his soul. It was evening when the reason for my visit arose. 'Well, Myrddin Wylt,' said Custennin, slapping a dog leash against his leg, 'what news of the wider world beyond this forest?'

We were walking together at the near fringe of the forest; a new dog which Custennin was training ran on ahead of us. 'There is news at last,' I replied; this was the king's way of saying that he was ready now to talk. 'Vortigern is dead.'

'Good!' He stared at the trail ahead. 'Health to his enemies!'

'Yes, and there were not a few of them.'

'Who is to be High King in his place?'

'Need anyone?' I asked, probing his mind on the subject.

He glanced quickly at me to see if I was serious. 'Oh, yes, I think so. Despite what Vortigern became, it is a good thing. Each year the Saecsen grow bolder; they take more. For each king to defend his own little patch – that is becoming too difficult. We must help one another if any of us are to survive. If a High King can make this happen, I support him.' He broke off abruptly.

'But?'

Custennin stopped walking and turned to me. 'But what we need is not another Vortigern, sitting in his mead hall, drunk on ambition and power, bloated with gold-lust, feasting the Saecsen and giving them land because he is too much a coward to confront them on the field of battle… ' He spat his venom and then paused. When he spoke again he was cooler. 'What we need is a war leader – a battlechief over all others, leading all the armies as his own.'

'A Dux Britanniarum,' I said, musing, 'Duke of Britain – supreme commander of all armies in the land.'

'Yes, that is what we need – not another Vortigern.' He started walking again.

'We would still need a High King,' I ventured, 'to keep the other kings in their place.'

'Oh, aye,' agreed Custennin, 'and to keep the war host supplied from the coffers of the kings beneath him. But on the battleground the supreme commander must wield a power above even the High King. In battle there is enough to worry about, without having to wonder whether you will offend this lord or that in some obscure way, or run out of supplies because someone did not send the aid he promised. The way we fight,' he lamented, 'it is a wonder we are still here at all.'

A plan was taking shape in my mind. 'What if I told you your thoughts could become reality?'

Custennin laughed. 'I would say you were an enchanter indeed – the Chief Enchanter of the Island of the Mighty!'

'But would you support the man?'

'How could I not? I have already said I would.' He looked at me slyly. 'Does such a man exist?'

'Not yet, but he will. Soon.'

'Who?'

'The man who killed Vortigern… men, rather. There were two of them – brothers.'

'Brothers.'

'What is more, they have already won the support of the kings of Dyfed for their claim to the High Kingship.'

Custennin mulled this over in his mind for a moment. 'Who are these remarkable men?'

'Aurelius and Uther, sons of Constantine. I believe that with the Cymry kings and the kings of the north on his side, Aurelius will be High King.'

'And the other – this Uther?'

'He could well be the battlelord you speak of.'

Custennin began to see what I was seeing. He nodded, then asked, The lords of the west will follow him?'

'They will,' I assured him. 'I have spoken to them as I am speaking to you now. On their behalf, Tewdrig sends his adviser – the one who rides with me – so that you will know that what I say is true: the lords of the west support Aurelius.'

Custennin slapped the leash sharply across his palm. 'Then the lords of the north will support him as well.' He smiled grimly. 'And by the god you serve, Myrddin, I pray that you are right.'

'Right or wrong,' I said, 'this new king and his brother are the only hope we have.'

The next day Custennin sent messengers out to his lords and chieftains to gather in Goddeu to voice their approval of his plans to support Aurelius as High King, and Uther as his supreme war leader. I could guess what Custennin's lords would think of the idea, but I did not know what Uther would say.

That, I would soon discover.