Merlin

'Certainly, but I do not think it would suit another.' Pelleas thus confirmed my own misgivings.

'So, we must look to one of the three,' I mused. 'Two,' Pelleas suggested. 'Hoel is willing, and though he is getting old, he is a strong and able lord yet. But he is too far away.'

'There is safety in distance,' I remarked. 'Safety from the casual assassin perhaps,' Pelleas agreed, 'but not from the most determined. Besides, anyone murder-bent would think of looking there first since Hoel fostered Aurelius and Uther.'

'That leaves only Tewdrig and Custennin,' I mused. 'Tewdrig is strong and loyal enough, but Dyfed is surrounded by prying eyes. Morcant and Dunaut are near, and will certainly discover that the child raised in Tewdrig's care is Uther's heir.

'While Custennin's stronghold in the north is far enough away to be free of spies, by the same token it is too far to the north to remain as secure as Tewdrig's.' I held my hands palm up, level, indicating that the balance was even between them. 'Which, then, will you choose?'

Pelleas' brow furrowed in a thoughtful frown. 'Why must we choose between them at all?' He brightened as the idea took hold inside him. 'Why not let the child be reared in both places depending on time and need?' 'Why not, indeed?'

A sound idea, that. Let the child receive the benefit of both hearths; let him learn the ways of two very different lords and kings. It was inspired.

That decided, I put the matter from me; there was nothing more to be done until the birth. I did not wish to risk sending a messenger to either king; and I could not go myself now, lest at some time in the future my visit would be remembered for what it was – the High King's counsellor arranging fosterage for his heir.

For I had no hope that Uther would succeed in keeping the birth secret. Sooner or later, word, like water in an oaken

bucket, would leak out. And across the land ambitious men would begin searching for the child.

Nevertheless, satisfied with my plan, I reckoned I need make no further arrangements – until the birth of the babe called me forth in the dead of winter. So, since there was nothing more to be done at the moment, I promptly put the matter from my mind and concerned myself with other affairs.

I will tell you the truth: I did not in those days regard the child in any special way. Despite the hints I had received – the warnings one might say – he was merely an infant that required protection. He was the son of my dead friend, true. But that was all. Other matters were more pressing, or seemed so.

I turned to these and promptly forgot all about the child.

FIFTEEN

In the black month, the bleak month, when cold winds blow snow from the ice-bound north, the month of privation and death in which winter itself dies in the Christ Mass, the babe was born. Birth from death: it is the ancient and holy way of the earth. I consulted the oaken bowl, and stayed up five nights together to view the winter-clean sky. In this way I learned that the time was near.

Pelleas and I travelled to Tintagel and waited a little way off in the woods of the deep glen for the birth. I did not like to go up to the caer itself, for my coming would be noticed and discussed.

For three days we sat wrapped in our cloaks and furs before our small fire of oak twigs and pine cones, waiting. At midnight of the third night, as we sat watching, a strange thing happened: an enormous black bear came out of the woods, padded softly round the fire, snuffling at us warily, and ambled up the trail leading to the caer.

'Let us follow,' I whispered. 'Perhaps that fellow knows something that we should also learn.'

We followed and found the bear standing on its hind legs at the edge of the wood, its blackness sharp against the moon-bright snow. The beast's nose sniffed the seawind and its great head swung towards us as we approached, but the creature did not move. It remained for some little time, standing, looking up at Uther's fortress, and then, as if making up its own slow mind, lumbered on.

'Hunger has driven it from its lair,' remarked Pelleas. 'It goes to find food.'

'No, Pelleas, it goes to honour a birth.' I still remember the look Pelleas gave me, his face white hi the moonlight. 'Come, it is time.'

By the time we reached the gates, the great bear, by some means – animal strength perhaps – had gained entrance into the caer. The gateman, no doubt asleep at his watch when the beast appeared, had run away to raise the alarm, leaving the. gate unattended. Men with torches dashed here and there in confusion while the dogs barked wildly at the ends of their leashes, working themselves into a killing frenzy.

No one saw us slip through the gates and we made our way directly to the hall, and through it to the king's chamber. Ygerna lay in the room above, her women and a midwife or two gathered with her. But Uther remained below, alone, awaiting the birth.

The sword of Maximus lay unsheathed across his knee.

Uther glanced up as we entered: guilt writ large upon his features for all to see. I had caught him and he knew it.

'Oh, Merlin, you are here. I thought you would be.' He contrived to sound relieved. The sound of the chaos outside had entered with us, and Uther seized on this to aid him. 'By the Raven, what is that commotion?'

'A bear has entered your stronghold, Uther,' I told him.

'A bear.' He appeared to ponder this as if the thing bore deep significance for him, then said, 'My wife is not delivered of the child. You may as well sit – it will likely be some time yet.'

I motioned for Pelleas to find us some food and drink, and he disappeared behind the hanging hides into the hall. I sat down in Gorlas' big chair – Uther preferred his camp chair even in chamber – and studied die High King as he sat before me.

'I am disappointed, Uther,' I told him flatly. 'Why have you gone back on your word?'

'When did I promise anything?' he flung back angrily. 'You accuse me falsely.'

'Tell me I am mistaken then. Tell me that the sword across your knee is not for the babe. Tell me you did not intend to kill it.'

Uther frowned and turned his face away. 'By God, Merlin, you hound a man!'

'Well? My apology only awaits your denial.'

'I have nothing to deny! I do not answer to you, Meddler.'

'Does Ygerna know what you intend?'

'What would you have me do?' He jumped up and threw the sword on the table.

. 'Honour our agreement.' I told him, thinking of many other things I could have said. I was trying to make it easy for him.

Still the High King resisted. As I say, once Uther fastened on a thing, he was loth to give it up. And he had had a long time to work himself up to this. He stalked around the room, glaring at me. 'I agreed to nothing. It was all your idea – I never agreed.'

'That is untrue, Uther. It was your idea for me to take the child.'

'Well, I have thought better of it then,' he growled. 'What have you to do with this anyway? What is your interest?'

'Only this: that the son of Aurelius, and a blood descendant of Constantine, should not suffer death before he has tasted of life. Uther,' I said gently, 'he is your kin. By all laws of heaven and earth it would be a grievous crime to kill the child. The deed is not worthy of you, Uther – you, who let Octa, the son of your enemy, live. How will you justify killing the son of your brother, whom you loved most dearly?'

Uther snarled. 'You twist things!'

'I say only what is, Uther. Give it up! If not for the child's sake, then for your own. Do not think to enter God's rest with this black deed on your soul.'

The High King stood unmoved, feet apart, glaring baleful-ly, his mouth a firm line. Oh, he could be difficult.