Pendragon

FOUR

Caer Edyn sat on a bluff overlooking a broad expanse of shining water called Muir Guidan, an eastward-looking bay that opens onto what had come to be known as the Saecsen Sea. Lord Ectorius ruled his realm with a steady hand. Fair, generous, as ready for a feast as a fight, Ectorius was descended from a long line of Roman officers – centurions mostly, and a tribune or two as well – who had served the coastal garrisons of the eastern shores.

Ectorius was carrying on his family's ancestral trade: watching the sea for the dark, knife-shaped hulls of enemy ships.

Bluff Ector served a king, however, rather than a legate; his service was for life, not the twenty years of the Roman army; and instead of Mithras of the legionaries, he worshipped the Christ of the British saints. Apart from these minor distinctions, life for Ectorius was little different from the life his Roman forefathers would have known.

His stone-walled stronghold lay three days' journey from the place of Gathering. It was a fine ride through the Eildon hills north and east to the sea. Arthur stayed near me all the way; not from any apprehension, I think. He merely seemed glad of familiar company. We talked about the things we had seen at the Gathering: the warriors, their skill with the various weapons, the differences in styles of fighting.

Arthur had an eye for subtlety – a quality not usually associated with him in later times. But he could tell the difference between a squared bit and a round one in a horse's mouth by the way the animal behaved as its rider manoeuvred on the field. Or from which kind of wood a spear shaft was made by the way it sounded when struck on a shield.

Talking to Arthur was not like talking to another boy his age. At eight, he had already acquired a wide and practical knowledge of many subjects. He could read and write good Latin, and speak it well enough to make himself understood by even the most demanding cleric.

He also knew the craft and lore of wood and field: the various trees and shrubs and their uses; the proper herbs for simple medicines and potions; the edible wild plants and where they might be found; all the birds and animals and their habits… and much else besides.

I was responsible for this, yes. From our earliest days with him, Pelleas and I had schooled the boy in lore of every kind, filling his head with the wonders of the world around him. And Arthur, little Arthur, took to it as he took to everything else: with a fever of passion and determination.

In this, his breeding told. He had inherited all of Aurelius' ardour and intensity, and Ygerna's quick intelligence. He also had a generous portion of Uther's dauntless tenacity – which some times showed itself as courage, and otherwise as blunt bullheadedness.

He also possessed Aurelius' curious innocence in battle: the fearless forgetting which led him to attempt and to achieve the impossible. This would, of course, come to be noticed much later. But even now he could be seen to exhibit a certain disregard for his own safety. I recognized it well, and knew its source, for I had ridden with Aurelius.

In anyone else it would have been called carelessness. Or foolishness, more like. But it was never that. Arthur simply did not feel afraid. Daring, bravery, boldness, valour – these are qualities of overcoming fear.

What is it, then, when there is no fear?

As I say, we talked of the Gathering and of the year to come. I could see that Arthur was determined to make the best of his necessary exile. He liked Ectorius, and respected him as a ruler and warrior; he was eager to learn the skills Ectorius could teach him.

At dusk on the third day, we came upon Caer Edyn, approaching from the west along a wide, winding glen. At the end of the valley we began the ascent to the bluff. The fortress stood on the bare hump of an enormous rock, overlooking the better part of the bay far below.

Rock walls topped by a timber palisade and ringed by a great, deep ditch bore testimony to the fact that Caer Edyn had seen more than its share of Saecsen fighting – and survived.

In the golden light of a fiery northern sunset, the stone and timber shone as bronze; solid, invincible. And although the land around the fortress appeared comfortable enough – sheltered as it was behind the high sea bluffs – I knew the northern realm climes could be harsh and unforgiving.

Circling seabirds and the uncluttered view of the wide, empty sea made Caer Edyn appear a lonely place. Arthur felt it, too, withdrawing into himself as we climbed the narrow hill track leading to the stronghold. But any melancholy was instantly dispelled upon reaching the summit.

'Myrddin!' Arthur motioned me to him. 'Look!'

I rode to him and we sat gazing over the long, curving swathe of blue water that formed Muir Guidan. Across the bay, wooded hills, steep and dark, came down to the water's edge. Away to the north we could see smoke from a small shoreside settlement threading into the air.

'Peanfahel,' one of the warriors told us. He had stopped beside us to take in the view. 'And beyond it there,' he said, pointing farther north and west, 'that is Manau Gododdin. The Saecsen always want to settle there. We have fought in Gododdin many times, and will again.'

The man continued on his way to the caer. Other warriors were hurrying by. 'What do you think of your new home, Arthur?' I asked.

'It suits me, I think. It is more open than Caer Tryfan – more like Caer Myrddin.' He turned in the saddle to face me. 'And here I am not so far from Bedwyr. Perhaps we might see each other sometimes.'

'Perhaps,' I allowed. 'But travel to and from Rheged is still very difficult.'

'Well, some time… maybe…" He looked out across the bay and at the dark hills on the other side, as if he were looking at the Orcady Islands and wondering how to get there. Presently, he lifted the reins, coaxing his pony forward, and we continued on to the caer.

Ectorius was waiting for us as we entered the stone-paved yard. 'Welcome, my friends!' he called, his voice ringing off the stone. 'Welcome to Caer Edyn, the last outpost of the Empire!' So began our long sojourn in the north.

That first night in Caer Edyn Arthur missed Bedwyr sorely. It had been years since either of them had been without the other. He slept poorly, and woke early, finding his way to the stables to see his pony. Satisfied that all was in order, he returned and with slow steps made his way to the hall where Ectorius waited with a surprise.

'My son, Caius!' announced Lord Ectorius with noticeable pride as he presented a sturdy, stocky youth a few years older than Arthur. The boy scowled, uncertain whether to trust us. 'This is Arthur,' Ectorius told his son. 'He will be living here from now on. Make him welcome, son.'

'W-welcome, A-A-Arth-thur,' muttered Caius. Then he turned and hobbled off quickly, all but dragging his right leg behind him.

'As a babe, the lad fell from a rock and broke his leg,' explained Ectorius gently. 'The bone set poorly, so Caius has limped ever since.' His father did not mention the stutter-an affliction noticeable only when he became excited, frustrated, or, as now, anxious.

Clearly, Ectorius hoped for the best between the boys. 'It is lonely for the lad,' he explained. 'They will learn a liking for one another, I think. Yes.'

I, too, wondered how Arthur would get on with the surly Caius. But since there is no force in all the world that can make friends of two boys who do not want to be friends, I let the thing rest.

As it happened, the matter was settled quickly enough. For later that same day, Arthur induced a most reticent Caius to show him something of the land round about the caer.

They rode to the little shoreside settlement at Peanfahel, and on the way, Arthur learned a remarkable thing about his reluctant new friend: the boy could ride like a young god, or like the bhean sidhe of the hollow hills, whose horses were descended from the steeds of the Everliving on the Glass Isle in the Western Sea.

Caius had more than made up for his infirmity by learning to ride with such skill and grace that, once in the saddle, he became a wholly different person – one of those half-man-half-horse beings of the Latin books. He could coax miracles from any horse he happened to light upon; even the sorriest beast somehow performed better than its best with Caius on its back.

As the day was warm, the two stopped in the settlement to water their horses at the ford above the shore. Some children from the place were playing nearby and when the boys rode up they gathered around and, consequently, noticed Caius' crippled leg.

That was all it took. Instantly, they began to taunt and jeer. 'Cripple! Cripple!' they called, mocking his halting gait. They laughed loud and Caius lowered his head.

Arthur watched for a moment, appalled. Never had he witnessed such calculated cruelty. The jeering was bad enough, but when the older boys began throwing rocks at Caius, Arthur decided the thing had gone too far.

Balling his fists, he loosed a wild whoop and charged head down at the biggest ruffian, striking him squarely in the stomach. The startled youth fell on his back, legs kicking, with Arthur on his chest. Though the boy had three years' advantage, Arthur's size all but evened the contest.

It was a short scuffle, all told. The breath driven from his lungs – and Arthur sitting on his chest so that he could not draw another – the youth, fainting, lost consciousness for a moment.

The mocking stopped. The children looked on in astonishment. Arthur rose slowly to his feet, and, glowering with rage, demanded to know if anyone else had anything to say. No one did. The rascal came to and ran away; the rest quickly scattered. Caius and Arthur remounted and continued along the shore.

By the time they returned to the caer later in the day they were the best of friends, and Arthur had given Caius' name a Celtic cast. He was to be Cai ever after.

I suppose because he openly admired Cai's prowess as a horseman, it never occurred to Arthur to make fun of the way he walked or spoke-something too many others did, and with disheartening regularity.

But never Arthur. And for this, Arthur was rewarded with Cai's undying loyalty and devotion.

Cai, God bless him! He of the flame-bright hair and red-hot temper; whose pale blue eyes could darken as quickly as the summer sky above Caer Edyn with the storm's sharp fury; whose rare smile, when he gave it, could warm the coldest heart; whose brassy voice carried like a hunting horn through the glens as it would one day rally men on the field of battle… Cai, the dauntless; Cai, the dogged, willing to strive and go on striving long after another would have given up the fight for lost.

We spent those first bright days of autumn discovering Caer Edyn and the surrounding lands. Arthur made a game of it: seeing how far he could ride out of sight of the Rock, as he called it, before attempting to find his way back. Pelleas and I rode with him sometimes; more often, Cai went.

It was, he quickly learned, a strange land, full of surprises. The first was the large number of people living in the narrow, creased valleys that seamed the rugged hills. There were hundreds of these glens, each with its own smallholding or settlement. We soon came to expect them: a few rock-and-turf houses; long streamside fields for rye, oats, and barley; a pen for cattle and sheep; the round hump of a stone granary; an oven or two burning wood or pungent peat. Little clumps of people were sown all through the land, separated one from the other by the high, bleak hills.

There were woodlands aplenty, as well, and the hunting was good: boar and bear, hart, deer, wild sheep and hare, and various kinds of fowl – some, like the grouse, not found in the southlands. Eagles and hawks abounded, and there were fish of endless variety from river, lake, and sea.

In short, Arthur very soon came to view Caer Edyn and its lands as something of a paradise – and certainly less a place of exile than he first expected. It would have been perfect, but for the unspeakable winter.

However we weathered it and revelled in the short, brilliant spring. In all, Caer Edyn provided a splendid home for a boy. At my prodding, Ectorius sought and secured the services of a tutor for Arthur and Cai – one of the brothers from the new-built abbey at Abercurnig. Thus the Latin resumed, as well as reading and writing, under the indulgent rule of Melumpus.

Added to this, Ectorius began instructing Arthur in kingcraft: all the skills necessary to the sustaining of a kingdom and the effective leadership of men. Weapons practice continued, growing ever more demanding as the lads' skill increased.

Thus life settled into an easy rhythm of leisure and learning, work and play. The seasons passed and Arthur ceased longing for Bedwyr. He applied himself to his various lessons with diligence, if not fervour, becoming an able scholar.

In all, it should have been a good time for me. But I was not content. Thoughts of the Cran-Tara gnawed at me, and I could not shake them. As winter closed on us, I began to feel trapped on the rock of Caer Edyn. There were, I imagined, events taking place in the wider world – events of which I knew nothing. After years of activity, my enforced seclusion chafed me now. Day by day, I receded into myself, keeping my own counsel. And on the cold, grey days of wind and rain I paced the hall before the hearth, my mood, I fear, as cheerless as the day.

At last, it came into my mind that the small kings, led by Dunaut and Morcant, had discovered our hiding place and were even now moving against us. Although I knew Ector would receive ample warning of any enemy moving along the borders of his realm, I worried over this, and fear – irrational, yes, but potent all the same – coiled around my heart.

Pelleas watched me and worried. 'Master, what is it?' he asked at last, unable to bear my stormy restlessness any longer. 'Will you not speak?'

'I am suffocating here, Pelleas,' I told him bluntly.

'But Ectorius is a most-generous lord, he -'

'That is not my meaning,' I snapped. 'I am troubled and can get no peace. I fear, Pelleas, we have made a mistake in coming here.'

He did not doubt me; neither did he understand. 'We have had no word of any disturbance in the south. I might have thought that would cheer you.'

'Far from it!' I cried. 'It has only made me suspicious. Make no mistake, Dunaut and his ilk never rest. Even now they are scheming how to seize the throne – I can feel it.' I struck my chest with my fist. 'I feel it and it fills me with fear.'

The fire fluttered as the wind gusted under the door. A hound beside the hearth lifted his head and looked around slowly, then laid his muzzle back on his big paws.

A chance occurrence, signifying nothing; I do not believe in omens. Still, I felt a chill touch my spine, and it seemed as if the light in the hall dimmed.

'What will you do?' Pelleas asked after a moment.

A long silence stretched between us. The wind moaned and the fire cracked, but the strange feeling did not return. An ocean wave flung upon a rock, it had receded once more.

When I made no answer Pelleas said, 'What is your fear: that the petty lords will find us here, or that they no longer care to search?'

Staring into the fire, I saw the flame-shapes shifting and colliding and it seemed to me that forces were gathering, power was massing somewhere and I must find it to direct it aright. 'Both, Pelleas. And I cannot say which disturbs me more.'

His solution was simple: 'Then we must go and see how matters stand in the south. I will ready horses and provisions. We will leave at daybreak.'

I shook my head slowly, and forced a smile. 'How well you know me, Pelleas. But I will go alone. Your place is here. Arthur needs you.'

'Far less than he needs you,' he replied tartly. 'Ectorius is most competent and able. He will discharge his duties towards Arthur with all honour – whether we remain or no.'

In truth, I did not actually care to spend a winter in the wild alone, so I relented. 'Have it your way, Pelleas. We go! And may God go with us.'