Merlin

I hugged her tightly to me. 'Take me with you,' she whispered.

'Oh, yes. At once,' I answered. 'We can live in a wooded bower on walnuts and gooseberries.'

Her laughter was full and free. 'I detest gooseberries!'

Taking my arm she spun me around and pushed me towards the path leading back up the hill. 'I will not live on nuts and berries in a mud hut with you, Myrddin Wylt. So, you get on that sorry horse of yours and ride away at once. And do not come back until you have won me a kingdom!'

Ah, Ganieda, I would have won the world for you if you had asked!

It was high summer when we rode into Maridunum. Beltane had come and gone while we were on the road. We had seen the hilltop fires bright under the stars, and had heard the mysterious cries of the Hill Folk drifting on the midnight wind. But there was no midsummer fire for us, nor did we think it wise to join in the celebration at one of the nearby settlements. More and more, Christian folk kept away from the old customs as the paths of the new ways and the old diverged.

Of course, many of Maelwys' people had become followers of the Christ – especially since Dafyd's coming. But there were some with us who observed the old ways, so to make up for the missed revel, I played the harp and sang.

And it came to me while I was singing – watching the ring of faces around the night's fire, their eyes glinting like dark sparks, gazing raptly as the song kindled and took light in their souls – it came to me that the way to men's souls was through their hearts, not simply through their minds. As much as a man might be convinced in his mind, as long as his heart remained unchanged all persuasion would fail. The surest way to the heart is through song and story: a single tale of high and noble deeds spoke to men more forcefully than all of blessed Dafyd's homilies.

I do not know why this should be, but I believe it to be true. I have seen the humble folk crowd into the chapel -in the wood to receive the mass. In all sincerity they kneel before the holy altar, mute, reverent, as they should be, but also uncomprehending.

Yet I have seen the eyes of their souls awaken when Dafyd reads out, 'Listen, in a far country there lived a king who had two sons… '

Perhaps it is how we are made; perhaps words of truth reach us best through the heart, and stories and songs are the language of the heart.

However it is, I sang that night and the men listening heard a song they had never heard before: a song of that same far-off country Dafyd told about. I had begun making songs, although I did not often sing them before others. This night I did and it was welcomed.

When we finally reached Maridunum, it was market day and the old stone-paved streets were awash with bleating, clucking, squealing livestock and their shouting handlers. We were wearily pushing our way through the confusion when I heard a voice ring out, saying: 'Behold, you Briton men and women! Behold your king!'

I craned my neck, but with the market swirling round the horse's flanks I could see nothing. I rode on.

Again the voice proclaimed. 'Sons of Bran and Brut! Listen to your bard. I tell you your king passes by, hail him in all respect.'

I reined the horse to a halt and turned in the saddle. A way parted through the crowd and a bearded druid stepped into view. He was tall and gaunt, with his blue robe hanging over his shoulder. His mantle was bound at his waist with rawhide and a leather pouch dangled from this crude belt. He held his staff raised as he came forward, and I saw that it was of rowan.

He approached. The others riding with me also stopped to watch.

'Who are you, bard?' I asked. 'Why do you call after me the way you do?'

'For the giving of a name, a name is required.'

'Here among these people, I am called Myrddin,' I told him.

'Well spoken, friend,1 he said. 'Myrddin you are, but Wledig you will be.'

The flesh of my scalp prickled at his words. 'I have given my name,' I told him, 'I will hear yours, unless something prevents you.'

His brown face wrinkled in a smile. 'Nothing prevents me, but I am not in the habit of giving my name where it is already known.'

He stepped slowly closer. The men behind me made the sign against evil with their hands, but the druid ignored them; his eyes never left my face. 'Tell me now that you do not know me.'

'Blaise!'

I was out of the saddle and into his arms before another word could be spoken. I gripped his shoulders hard, feeling the solid muscle and bone beneath my hands. It really was Blaise in front of me, though I had to touch him to believe it. He was much changed. Older, thinner, tough as a pine knot, his eyes blazing like pitch torches.

'Blaise, Blaise,' I shook him and pounded him on the back, 'I did not recognize you, forgive me.'

'Not recognize the teacher of your youth? Teh, Myrddin, are you going soft in the head?'

'Let us say that a satirizing voice from the market throng was the last thing I expected.'

Blaise shook his head gravely. 'I was not satirizing you, my lord Myrddin.'

'And I am no lord, Blaise, as you well know.' His talk made me uncomfortable.

'No?' He threw back his head and laughed. 'Oh, Myrddin, your innocence is beyond price. Look around you, lad. Who is it that men's eyes follow when he rides by? Who do they speak of behind their hands? What tales are winging through the land?'

I shrugged in bewilderment. 'If you are talking about me, I am sure you are mistaken. No one takes notice of me.' I said this into virtual silence, for the market had grown very quiet as the crowd watched, catching every word.

'No one!' Blaise raised a hand to the throng around us. 'In the day of trouble, these people will follow you to the grave and beyond – and you call them no one."

'And you talk too much – and too loudly. Come with us, you disagreeable druid, and let me stop your yammering with bread and meat. A full belly will make you sensible.'

'It is true I have not eaten for many days,' Blaise allowed. 'But what of that? I am used to it by now. Yet, I would welcome a drink to wash the dust from my throat, and a long talk with my good friend.'

That you shall have, and all else besides.' I climbed into the saddle, put down a hand to him and pulled him up behind me. And we rode on to Maelwys' villa together, chattering all the way.

There was the usual ceremony at our arrival, the usual greetings and welcomings – which I would have found gratifying, but for the fact that they kept me from my friend. There was so much we had to say to one another, and yet now that we were together all the urgency and longing I might have felt in his absence, but did not, suddenly sprang into being. I had to talk to him now!

Be that as it may, it was still some time before we could speak together alone – indeed, I began to think it had been more private in the market-place!

'Tell me, Blaise, where have you been? What have you been doing since last I saw you? Have you travelled? I heard there was trouble within the Brotherhood, what news of that?'

He sipped his watered wine and winked over the rim of his cup. 'If I had remembered that you were this inquisitive, I would not have acknowledged you in the square.'

'Do you blame me? How long has it been? Five years? Six?"

'If a day.'

'Why did you call out to me in front of everyone like that?'

'I wanted your attention.'

'And that of every man, woman, child, and beast in Maridunum as well apparently.'

He shrugged good-naturedly. 'I only spoke the truth. I care not who hears it.' Blaise laid aside the cup and leaned towards me. 'You have grown well, Hawk. All the promises of childhood are being fulfilled, I can see it. Yes, you will do.'

'I seem to be growing into my saddle. I tell you, Blaise, I have seen more of this Island of the Mighty than Bran the Blessed himself in these last years.'