Merlin

SIX

When the cheering was over, an awful silence descended upon the battlefield; a silence instantly shattered by a heart-rending shriek. A youth thrust himself forward from the mass of captives: tall, thin – he had not yet attained his manly growth – his fair hair hung in long braids from his temples, and, beneath the dirt, his face, now distorted in grief, bore the same proud aspect as his father. There was no question whose offspring it was.

The boy threw himself upon the severed head of his father and hugged it to his breast. Gorlas, breathless and sweating from his exertion, whirled on the youth and raised his sword to strike.

'Gorlas! Hold!' Uther swung down from the saddle and strode to where they were. 'It is done. Put your sword away.'

'Not while the wolfs whelp lives,' said Gorlas, thickly. 'Let me kill him and make an end.'

'Do we kill children now, Gorlas? Look at him, he is only a boy.' The youth had not so much as glanced at the danger looming over him; he continued to wail, rocking back and forth piteously, cradling the bloody head hi his arms.

'Lieu blind me, he is Hengist's son! Kill him now or he returns to lead another murdering wolf pack when he is grown.'

'There has been enough killing for one day,' replied Uther. 'Put your sword away, Gorlas. I tell you, there is no shame in it.'

Muttering dark oaths, Gorlas sheathed the blade and contented himself with a sharp kick at the boy before him. Then he stomped off to rejoin his war band.

Uther raised the boy to his feet where he stood sullenly, his dirty face streaked with his tears. 'What is your name, boy?' Uther asked.

The youth understood him well enough and answered, 'Octa.'

'I give you the gift of your life, Octa. If you or your people ever return here again, I will take back my gift. Do you understand?'

The boy said nothing. Uther took the youth's naked arm in his glove, turned him and pushed him gently back to his place among the other captives. Aurelius, who had kept himself apart, now came forth and, placing his hands on his brother's shoulders, kissed him, and embraced him. 'Hail Uther! Duke of Britain! The victory is yours! To you belongs the triumph and the spoil!'

There was little enough spoil, and much of it of British origin. Most of what we collected from the captives and their camp had been stolen earlier in the summer by the Saecsens. But there were some handsome armbands and bracelets of red gold, and jewelled knives, all of which Uther divided among his battlechiefs, keeping nothing for himself.

When the wounded had been tended and the dead buried – or, in the case of the enemy, heaped onto impromptu pyres and set alight – the Saecsen captives were escorted to the coast: back across fields they had destroyed, back through settlements they had decimated on their way to the place of battle. At each place, the survivors came out to rail against them, pelting them with stones and dirt.

Many wanted blood for the blood the Saecsens had spilled: wives for the husbands they had lost; husbands for their dead women and children. But Uther would not be swayed. He did not allow any harm to come to the enemy under his care, though his soul writhed within him. In this, he showed the grace of an angel.

'In truth, Merlin,' he told me when it was finished, 'if I had seen what they had done, I would never have let a single Saecsen escape. I would have made them face the justice of those they had wronged, and there would not be a barbarian drawing breath in all this land tonight, I can tell you.' He paused and dashed down the rest of his wine and then slammed the cup down on the board. 'It is over, and that is something at least.'

Aurelius sympathized. 'Showing mercy to an enemy is battle's most difficult charge. But you have acquitted yourself well, Uther. For your deed this day, you have covered yourself in honour. I drink to you, brother. Hail Uther, Merciful Conqueror!'

It was the night of the day following the battle and Uther was exhausted to the point of collapse. He swayed on his feet – wine and fatigue vying to claim him – his smile thin and uncertain.

'Go to bed, Uther,' I said, holding out a cloak to him. 'Come, I will take you to your tent.'

He allowed himself to be led to his tent where he fell face first onto his pallet. His steward, a west-country youth named Ulfin, was there to help him, but I loosened his boots and belt, and covered him with the cloak. 'Douse the light,' I told Ulfin. 'Your lord will not need it tonight.'

I left Uther asleep in the dark and returned to Aurelius' tent. He was yawning while his steward unbuckled his leather breastplate. 'Well,' he said, 'it looks as if I will be High King after all.'

'You will, my lord Aurelie. There is no avoiding it.' The steward removed the armour and Aurelius scratched himself. 'A last drink, Merlin?' he asked, gesturing towards the pitcher on the board.

'It is late and I am tired. Another night we will drink together. Still, I will pour one for you, if you like.'

'No… ' He shook his head, and the dark curls bobbed. 'Another night it is.' He looked at me pensively. 'Merlin, tell me – did I do right to let them go? Was it the best thing?'

'You did right, my lord. Was it the best thing? No, Aurelius, I fear it was not.'

'Gorlas was right then: they will come back.' 'Oh yes, they will come back. Trust in it,' I replied, adding, 'But they will return in any case and nothing you can do will prevent that.'

'But if I had ordered them put to the sword -' 'Do not let men like Gorlas deceive you, Aurelius, and do not deceive yourself. The barbarians were beaten yesterday, but not defeated. Killing the captives would have changed nothing – save burdening your soul with everlasting shame.'

He dragged a hand through his hair. 'Am I to live with a sword in my hand all my days?'

'Yes,' I told him gently. 'You will rule with the sword as long as you live, my king, for the man has not been born who will hold this land in peace.'

Aurelius considered this, and true to the spirit in him did not shrink from it. 'Well,' he said slowly, 'will I see him?'

I told him the truth. 'No, Aurelius, you will not.' This was harsh to him, so I sought to soften it. 'But he will know you, Aurelius, and he will revere you and win great honour in your name.'

Aurelius smiled, and yawned again. 'That, as Uther says, is something at least.'

I went to my tent through the sleeping camp. How many fewer we were tonight! The men lying on the ground around low-burning campfires might have been dead, so soundly did they sleep. Yes, all the realm slept soundly this night, thanks to these brave warriors and their comrades who now slept under the gravemounds.

In my tent, I fell on my knees to pray, saying, 'My Lord Jesu, Great Giver, Redeemer and Friend, King of Heaven, Beginning and End, hear my lament:

Three times three hundred warriors, bright was their hope, fierce their grip ea-life – three times three hundred we were, but no more, for death has claimed the hero's portion from the blood of good men.

'Three times three hundred, light of life shining full and without wavering, warm was their breath, quick their eyes – three times three hundred but no more, for tonight our sword brothers lie in silent turf-halls, cold and abandoned by their own who cannot follow where they go.

'Three times three hundred, bold in action, keen in battle, steadfast companions when the fire of battle raged – three times three hundred we were, but no more, for the raven croaks over the fields where grief has sown her seeds and watered them with women's tears.

'Merciful Jesu, Great of Might, whose name is Light and Life, be light and life to these your fallen servants. As you delight in forgiveness, forgive them; do not count their sins, rather consider this their virtue: that when the call came to defend their homeland they took no thought for themselves, but roused courage and went forth to do battle, knowing death awaited them.

'Hear me, Lord Jesu, gather our friends to your hall; seat them in your palace in Paradise, and you will not want for finer companions.'

The next day the High King struck camp and rode for Londinium, where his father had been made king, and where his own kingmaking would take place. Pelleas and I rode west to Dyfed, to find Bishop Dafyd. I had it in mind that Dafyd should officiate at Aurelius' accession – if he was as hale as Pelleas indicated, and agreeable to the journey.

Londinium had a bishop, a priest named Urbanus, who, from what I had heard in camp, was a devout if slightly ambitious young man. I had nothing against Urbanus, but Dafyd's attendance would, I thought, further strengthen Aurelius' bond with the kings of the west. Also, I had not seen Dafyd since my return from my long vigil in Celyddon, and this weighed heavily on my heart. Now that I had time to myself once more I desperately wanted to see him.

Pelleas and I rode through a land that seemed to have passed from under the shadow of a preying bird. Everywhere men breathed more freely; we were welcomed in settlements, we met traders on the road, gates and doors were opened – all this, and yet word of the Saecsen defeat could not have travelled from the battlefield. How did the people know?

I believe people living close to the land know these things instinctively; they sense fluctuations in the fortunes of men, as they sense minute changes in the weather. They see a red sunglow at dusk and know it will rain on the morrow; they taste the wind and know that frost will cover the ground when they wake. They apprehend the subtle ripples that great events cause in the atmosphere of the spirit. Thus, they knew without having to be told that some great good had come to them and they did not have to be afraid any more.

They knew, and yet they were glad to have news of the battle from us. This they would repeat to one another for many days until all – toddling child and bent-backed crone alike – could repeat it, word for word, just as it had come from my mouth.

We did not linger on the way, but sped with all haste to Llandaff, which was what men had begun calling the place where Dafyd had built his church: a sturdy rectangular structure of timber on a high stone foundation, surrounded by the smaller huts of the monks. Llandaff was a monastery like the others springing up like mushrooms all over the west country – not a few of them owing directly to Dafyd's tireless work.

As we approached the tiny settlement we could see the good brothers going about their chores. The younger men wore homespun robes of undyed wool; their elders' garments were light brown. The women among them, for many of the monks were married, wore the same simple garb, or more traditional clothing. All were busy about some task or other – toting firewood, building, thatching, tending the fields, feeding pigs, teaching the children of the nearby settlements and holdings – and all with the same jovial zeal. The place fairly hummed with earnest contentment.

We stopped to take this in, then dismounted and entered the compound on foot. I was greeted courteously, and addressed as a king – owing to my tore. 'How may we help you, lord?' the priest asked, taking us in with frank appraisal.

'I am a friend of the bishop here. I wish to see him.'

The monk smiled pleasantly. 'Of course. As you are his friend, you will understand that will be difficult. Our bishop is very old and he is resting at this time of day, as is his custom… ' He spread his hands as if to imply that the matter was beyond his influence, as no doubt it was. 'And then there is his sermon.'

'Thank you,' I told him. 'I would not think of disturbing him. And yet I know he will wish to see me.'

Two more monks had come to greet us and stood looking on, whispering to one another behind their hands. 'Then wait if you will,' replied the monk, 'and I will see to it that your request receives due consideration.'

I thanked him again and asked whether there was a superior I might speak to while I waited. 'That would be Brother Gwythelyn.'

'I was thinking of Salach.'

'Salach? But… ' he searched my face, questioningly, 'our dear brother Salach died years ago.'

I felt the pang of sorrow I usually feel upon receiving such news. In truth, I had forgotten how old he must be. 'Gwythelyn, then. Tell him that Myrddin ap Taliesin is here.'

At the sound of my name the two looking on murmured in surprise. 'Myrddin is here! Here!' They gaped at me and then dashed away to tell the others.

'Lord Myrddin,' said the monk, inclining his head towards me. 'Allow me to lead you to Brother Gwythelyn.'

Gwythelyn was the image of his uncle, Maelwys – as happens in dynasties of strong blood lines, the family resemblance was correspondingly strong. I hesitated as he turned from the manuscript on his table to greet me. 'Is something wrong?' he asked.

'No, nothing. It is just that you remind me of someone else.'

'My grandfather, no doubt. You knew Pendaran Gleddy-vrudd?' He appraised me closely. 'May I know your name?'

The monk who had led us to Gwythelyn's cell had, in his excitement, forgotten to give my name. 'Yes, I knew Red Sword well. I am Myrddin ap Taliesin,' I said simply.

Gwythelyn's eyes grew round. 'Forgive me, Myrddin,' he said, taking my hands and squeezing them in his own. They were hands made to hold a sword, and contrary to my expectation they were not soft; long days of rough labour had made them strong and hard. 'Forgive me, I should have known you.'

'How so? We have never met.'

'No, but from the day of my birth I have heard about you. Until this moment, I confess, I thought I should know you as I knew myself.'

'And I confess that when you turned round just now I thought I was seeing Maelwys in the flesh once more.'

He smiled, enjoying the compliment. 'If I can become half the man he was I will die content.' His smile broadened. 'But Myrddin ap Taliesin ap Elphin ap Gwyddno Garanhir – you see, we all know your illustrious lineage – I had always hoped to meet you one day, and now you are here. It is true, you are a marvel to behold. But tell me, what great event brings you to Llandaff? Will you stay? We have room for you.'

'Your welcome is most heartening, Gwythelyn; worthy of your generous uncle. I can stay but a short while – a day or two, and then I must go on to Londinium.' I went on to tell him about the new High King who would be crowned very soon.

'My brother -' he interrupted, 'Tewdrig, is he..?'

'He is well and will return as soon as the High King has taken the throne. And this is why I have come: I would like Bishop Dafyd to officiate.'

Gwythelyn considered this and then replied slowly, 'It is true that Dafyd has not stepped a dozen paces outside Llandaff in as many years – but… well, we will ask him and see what he says.'

'I would not disturb his rest. I am content to wait until he has awakened.'

'Very well, he is accustomed to taking refreshment after his sleep. We will go to him then. I know he will wish to see you. Until then, perhaps you would not refuse refreshment yourself?'

We did not have long to wait, for no sooner had Pelleas and I finished eating than a young man came, saying, 'Bishop is waking, Brother Gwythelyn. I thought you would like to know.' He addressed his superior, but his eyes never left me.

‘Thank you, Natyn. We will come along at once.'

Dafyd's room was a clean-swept cubicle, bare of all furniture save his bed and one chair. I recognized the chair: it had once sat in Pendaran's hall; likely, Maelwys had given it to him. There was a tiny window covered with an oiled skin, through which light poured like honey, thick and golden. His bed was a straw pallet on a raised wooden frame and covered with fleeces.

On this bed sat a man who appeared to have been carved from fine alabaster. His white hair, ablaze in the light, surrounded his head like a nimbus, a halo of bright flame. On his face, so calm and serene, lingered still the beauty of his dreams. His dark eyes radiated peace to his simple world.

It was Dafyd. Much changed, much aged. Yet there was no mistaking him. He was leaner to be sure, but his flesh was firm and his teeth were good. Despite his advanced age – which must have been well past ninety, I realized with a shock – he looked robust and vital, a man in whom the fires of life burned with energy and passion and zeal.

In short, he appeared a man in whom holiness had nearly completed its transforming work.

As we entered the cell, his gaze shifted and he half rose to receive us. Then he saw me. He stopped. His mouth opened to speak, but his tongue gave no utterance. Emotions played across his features like cloud-shadows chasing over the slopes of a hill. Tears welled up in his eyes – and in mine as well.

I went to him, raised him and clasped him to my breast.

'Myrddin, Myrddin,' he murmured at last, speaking my name as he would one of his holy texts. 'Myrddin, my soul, you are alive. To see you after all these years – alive and well. Oh, but you have not altered a whit. You are the same as my memory of you. Look at you now!'

His hands patted my shoulders and arms, as if he would be reassured that I was indeed flesh and bone before him. 'Oh, Myrddin, to see you is joy itself. Sit. Can you stay? Are you hungry? Gwythelyn! This is Myrddin, of whom I have often spoken. He is here! He has returned!'

Gwythelyn smiled. 'So he has. I will leave you to speak to one another until dinner.' He closed the door silently and left us to our reunion.

'Dafyd, I wanted to come sooner – so many times I thought of you and wanted to come to you… '

'Shh, it is nothing. We are together at last. My prayer is answered. Ever I have prayed for you, Myrddin, that I might see you again before I die. And now you are here. God is good.'

'You look well, Dafyd. I had not hoped -'

‘To see me alive? Oh, aye, I am quite alive – much to the chagrin of the younger monks. I am something of a terror to them.' He winked slyly at me. 'They believe God keeps me alive just to torment them, and they may be right.'

'Latin a torment? Surely not.'

He nodded innocently. 'The mother tongue, language of scholars – a torment. But you know what students are. They complain incessantly. "Better a heart broken in love, than a head broken on Latin," they say. So, I tell them, "Fill your heads with Latin, and let God fill your hearts with love – then neither one can be broken.'"

'Was it ever any different?'

'No, perhaps not,' he sighed. 'At least you never gave me such trouble.'

'I gave you more,' I laughed.

Dafyd laughed too. 'You did! You are right, you did. Oh, when I think of the hours we spent tangled in it!' He fell silent, nodding to himself, remembering. In a moment, he shook himself, as if waking from a dream. 'Ah, well, we were young then, eh, Myrddin?'

He cupped a hand to my face in a fatherly gesture. 'But you, my golden-eyed wonder – you are young still. Look at you, a young man's face and frame. Not a grey hair on your head. You are the flower of your race, Myrddin. Praise God, my son, for your long life. He has blessed you among men.'

'What good is a blessing I cannot share?' I asked, seriously. 'I would share what I have with you, Dafyd. You are far more deserving than I.'

'Have I not been blessed also? I am well content in years, Myrddin, never fear. I am satisfied. Do not be sorry for me – and do not denigrate the gift you have been given. The Lord High God has made you as you are for a purpose. Be thankful you are knit with such strong stuff.'

'I will try.'

'You do that.' He turned and indicated his chair. 'Now sit you down and tell me all that has passed with you since last we met.'

I laughed. ‘That will take as many years as we have been parted!'

‘Then you had better begin at once.' He settled himself on the edge of his bed and folded his hands in his lap.

So I began to tell him about Ganieda's death and all that followed from it – the hole in my life, that hideous waste, the years of loss and lament. And the square of honied light slipped lightly across the floor and up the opposite wall as I spoke. I told him about Vortigern – much of which he knew already – and about Aurelius, the new High King, and Uther, his brother, the war leader.

He drank in every word, like a child u'stening to a terrible, fascinating story. And no doubt he would have gone on sitting in awed attention on the edge of his bed had not Gwythelyn come and rapped gently on the door, to break Dafyd's reverie and rouse us to our supper. 'Dinner is being laid,' he informed us. 'I have had a special table set up for you.'

'I will hear more later,' Dafyd said, rising slowly. ‘They will be waiting for me to bless the meal. Come, let us go and eat. Although my appetite is not what it was, tonight I am hungry. See? Just beholding you once more quickens me.'

'It cheers me to hear you say that,' I replied, taking his arm. But he did not need my assistance, for where I expected bone and sagging flesh, there was firm muscle beneath my grip. He did not shuffle as old men do, but walked upright and with vigour.

He ate with vigour, too, enjoying his food, remarking once and again that my coming was a balm to him. Clearly, he enjoyed himself and enjoyed the attention I was getting. 'You cannot blame them for staring, Myrddin. They have never seen one of the Fair Folk, Myrddin, but they have all heard of you. Everyone has heard of the great Emrys. And son, you are the equal of your legend. You have the look of greatness on you.'

Gwythelyn served us with his own hand – so that he could be near to hear what we said, I suppose. Pelleas sat with us, but spoke not a word the whole time, not wishing to intrude on our conversation. When the meal was finished, Dafyd rose and, taking the holy text one of the brothers handed him, began to read out the passage. The monks, still sitting at the board, listened with bowed heads.

'Praise the Lord,

Praise the Lord from the high places,

praise him in the Halls of Light.

Praise him, all his angels,

praise him, all you hosts of heaven.

Praise him, sun and moon,

praise him, all you shining stars.

Praise him, you in the sky realms

and you waters above the skies.

Let them all praise the name of the Lord,

for he spoke forthrightly and they were created.

He established them in place for ever and ever;

he uttered a decree that will never pass away.

Praise the Lord from the earth,

you dragons, and all sea deeps,

lightning and hail, snow and clouds,

stormy winds that do his bidding,

you great mountains and all fair hills,

fruit trees and cedars,

wild beasts and all cattle,

creeping things and flying birds,

kings of the earth and all nations,

you chieftains and all rulers on earth,

young men and maidens,

old men and children.

Let them all praise the name of the Lord,

for his name alone is exalted;

his splendour is above the earth and the heavens.

He has raised up for his people a king,

the praise of all his saints… '

Dafyd paused, and, turning the pages, read again:

'But the father said to his servants, "Hurry! Bring forth the best robe and put it on him; and put a ring on his finger, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf, and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate… "

Here he stopped and closed the book reverently. Gazing at me, he finished the text: ' "For this my son was dead and now is alive again; he was lost and now is found." So, they began to celebrate.'

He raised the holy book to his lips and kissed it, saying, 'May God bless the reading of his word.'

'May God bless the hearing of his word among us,' the monks answered.

'I am happy tonight because my friend, long absent from me, has returned.' He turned and placed a hand on my shoulder. 'My son, my soul, has returned. Great is my rejoicing, great the blessing in my heart.' He lifted an admonishing hand to those before him. 'Tonight, before you close your eyes to sleep, I would have you contemplate the mystery of human love as a reflection of divine love.'

He blessed them then and sent them to their rest. The brothers trooped out of the hall and each wandered off by himself to find a lonely place to pray, as was their custom. Bishop Dafyd and I remained in the hall; chairs had been placed before the hearth for us, for the night had turned chill. Hot mulled wine in wooden cups was brought as we settled before the fire.

'Well, Myrddin, what has brought you?' Dafyd asked, when we had sipped from our drinks.

'Need it be anything more than a wish to see my friend?'

'No, it need not – with ordinary men. But you, Myrddin Emrys, are far from ordinary. Your life is not your own, you know; you serve the kingdom and its needs are yours.'

He looked at me over his cup, eyes shining like a mischievous child's in the firelight. 'Do you wonder that I say this to you? I will tell you something else: you will never rest until this realm is united and at peace.'

'That is a hard prophecy,' I told him, for I foresaw the troubled years stretching out ahead of me.

He smiled. 'Well, perhaps the Lord Jesu will bring his peace to this land with all speed.' He drank again and waited for me to speak.

I took a last draught and set the cup on the hearth. 'You ask what has brought me. Two matters, both urgent. For the first, I simply wanted to see you. It is true that I serve the Island of the Mighty and my life is not my own – Jesu knows I wear that duty like a harness – but as soon as I had a moment to myself I came straight here.'

'I did not say that for you to chide yourself. It was on my heart, that is all.'

'No doubt it was a word I needed to hear,' I assured him. 'But it brings me to the second reason for my visit: the High King.'

'Yes, the High King. Is he a worthy man?'

'He is; and the more I know of him, the more I feel that he is sent of God.'

'As you were.' Dafyd leaned back in his chair. The firelight playing over his features made him appear insubstantial, as if he were made of some finer, yet more ephemeral material; a momentary being. I realized he would not long remain in the world of men.

I must have been staring at him, for he said, ‘The Champion, oh yes. Why do you look at me so? Hafgan always maintained as much.'

The memory came in a rush: Hafgan standing beside this trembling boy, and calling to the Learned Brotherhood to bear witness, saying, Before you stands the one whose coming we have long awaited, the Champion who will lead the war host against the Darkness…

'Ah, Hafgan,' Dafyd was saying. 'His name has not passed my lips in many years. That man possessed a soul, Myrddin; a very great soul indeed. The discussions we had! Jesu bless him. What a reunion it will be!'

The good bishop made it sound as if he were merely going on a day's journey to visit his friend. Perhaps that was how he saw it.

'What do you know of the Champion?' I asked gently. 'What can you tell me?'

'What can I tell you about the Champion?' he continued. 'That he will be a man to save the Britons, that he will come when we most have need of him, that his will be a rule of righteousness and justice.' He paused and eyed me sharply. 'Are you suggesting that Hafgan was mistaken?'

I sighed and shook my head. 'I cannot say. Hafgan believed; it could be he saw in me what he wanted to see. Or perhaps he saw through me to another.'

'Myrddin,' Dafyd's voice was soft and comforting as a crooning mother's, 'have you lost your way?'

I pondered this. The fire crackled in the hearth as the pine knots popped and scattered sparks at our feet. Had I lost my way? Was this the source of my confusion? Until just now I had never doubted…

'No,' I answered at length, 'I have not lost my way – it is just that so many ways open before me that sometimes I hardly know which way to choose. To decide for one is to decide against another. I never imagined it would be this hard.'

'Now you know,' Dafyd said gently. 'The higher a man's call and vision, the more choices are given him. This is our work in creation: to decide. And what we decide is woven into the thread of time and being for ever. Choose wisely, then, but you must choose.'

Great Light, help me! I am blind without you.

'Well, I have said enough,' Dafyd said, settling back once more. 'You were telling me about the High King.'

'Aurelius, yes; he is High King, although he has yet to take the throne. I do not know how Vortigern received his kingship, but in elder times the chieftain would be blessed by the clan's druid, and I thought… '

'You wish me to consecrate this king as I consecrated you?' Dafyd saw the implications of this at once, and the idea delighted him. 'Myrddin, you are a far-thinking man,' he said approvingly. 'Of course, I will be your druid. Although you could do it yourself just as well. When will he come here?'

'He is going to Londinium,' I replied. 'It is where his father was crowned.'

'There is a church in Londinium, and a bishop – Urbanus, I know him well, a zealous servant of our Lord.'

'He will serve most admirably, no doubt,' I said lamely.

He read my expression. 'But as Aurelius will require the continued support of the western kings, it might help to bolster that support with well-placed pride. Tewdrig would feel better if his own bishop consecrated this new king.'

'And not Tewdrig only.'

'Yes, I see that and I agree. Very well, we will go to him and do what we can to give him a proper kingmaking. Is Aurelius a Christian?'

'He is willing.'

That is half the battle. As Jesu himself said, "He who is not against us, is for us." Eh? If Aurelius is not against us, we will go to him. And I will enjoy the journey. Urbanus will not mind my coming; he will take account of my years and yield this favour to me.'

"Thank you, Dafyd.'

He rose slowly and came to me. He placed his hands on my head. 'In my heart I have long carried you, most beloved son. But the time is soon coming when you must go your way alone. Be strong, Myrddin. Be the hope of our hope. The people will look to you, they will believe and follow you – though I fear the church will not love you for it. But remember the church is only men, and men can become jealous of another's favour. Do not hate them for it.'

He took my hands and raised me from my chair. 'Kneel,' he said, 'and let an old man give you his blessing.'

I knelt before him on the hearth, and Dafyd, Bishop of Llandaff, renewed the blessing he had given me long ago.