These things happened leisurely, almost laughably so, each action deliberate and slow. Thus, I had time not only to react, but to plan my next move and my next, before the first had been completed. Once I fell into the uncanny rhythm of this strange way of fighting, I found that I could move with impunity among the absurdly lethargic enemy.
So, striking again and again, striking and whirling away, while my hapless opponents floundered and lurched around me, flailing uselessly, with sluggish, inept movements, I joined a bizarre and terrible dance.
The bards speak with reverence of Oran Mor, the Great Music – elusive source of all melody and song. Very few have the gift to hear it. Taliesin had the gift – or something more than that. But I heard it then: my limbs throbbed with it, my swinging arm told out its unearthly rhythm, my sword sang with its brilliant melody. I was part of Oran Mor, and it was part of me.
There came a rallying cry and Maelwys' houseguard came clattering into the square. They had ridden from the villa, where the townspeople had fled, and were hurrying to our aid now that it was clear the awaited attack would not come there.
But a few heartbeats later, I knew the battle was broken. A rising wave of exultation rose within me and I heard a high, keening call, a war chant, a victory cry, and recognized my own voice soaring up from my throat.
The reaction of the enemy was immediate. They turned to meet the source of this unnerving sound and I saw, in that extraordinary clarity, black despair fall across their features. They were undone. And they knew it.
My cry rose into a song of triumph, and I leaped to the aid of my sword brothers who were hard pressed, sweet exhilaration sweeping through me and out of my mouth in the song. No one could stand before me, and the Irish fled lest they be trampled beneath my horse's hooves or carved by my swift blade.
Now I was in one place, freeing a man being dragged to his death, now in another, snatching a weapon from a foe and flinging it to an ally. Once I saw a man falling and reached out, caught him, and hauled him back into the saddle. All the while, my voice rose in joyous celebration. I was invincible.
I saw Maelwys clear the path and ride to meet me, three of his own behind him. I raised my sword in salute as he came up, and I saw, under the sweat and blood, his face white and his eyes staring. His sword arm was gashed, but he paid it no heed.
He put a trembling hand out to touch me and I saw his mouth move, but the words were slow in coming.
'You can stop now, Myrddin. It is over.'
I grinned and loosed a wild laugh.
'Look!' he said, shaking me. 'Look around you. We have beat them back. We have won.'
I peered through the mist that had risen before my eyes. The bodies of the dead lay deep upon the square. The stench of death clawed at my throat.
I shuddered as with a sudden chill, and began to shake from head to foot. The last thing I saw was the sun bright in my eyes and the clouds swirling above me, swirling like the wings of circling birds.
I remember arriving at the villa, and the drone of hushed voices around me. I remember drinking something very bitter, and then vomiting. I remember waking cold in fire-shot darkness to the sound of steel on steel. I remember floating lost in an immense sea as booming water roared around me.
Lastly, I remember climbing up a sharp slope to stand on a wind-bitten rock ledge in a blood-red dawn…
When I awoke all was well with me once more. The battle frenzy that had come on me was gone and I was myself. My mother regarded me closely, and pressed her hand to my forehead, but allowed that whatever ailment had possessed me had vanished. 'We were worried, Merlin,' she told me. 'We thought you had been wounded, but there is not so much as a bruise on you, son. How do you feel?'
'I am well, Mother.' That was all I said. There was no explaining what had happened when I did not know myself.
After breaking fast, I heard a commotion outside and walked out into the forecourt where I found Maelwys surrounded by his houseguard – some of whom had fought with us the day before. Rarely were all of them at the villa, however, as he kept them circulating his lands, riding the borders, keeping watch.
News of the attack had summoned those who had not been present the day before, both warriors and chiefs. There were many townspeople there as well, swelling the ranks of those gathered in the forecourt.
Maelwys had been speaking to them but, when I came out, silence descended over the throng. Thinking only to join them, I came to stand beside the king. A man pushed his way to me, and I saw that it was Blaise.
He raised his staff and lifted his voice in song:
'Three thirties of bold warriors have gone down before
the thirsty blade; The blood of the vanquished is silent,
black is their mourning;
The eyes of the enemy feed the birds of death;
let each mouth make entreaty.
From the heart of the hero a champion springs -
great of skill, a giant in battle;
He has hewn the savage with sharp steel;
terrible were their war cries.
Hail him men of valour; exalt him in your midst;
let his name rise on wings of welcome!
Make homage to the Lord of your Deliverance,
who with walls of iron has defended you.
Brave men! Princes of noble birth! Make of Myrddin
a name of praise and honour.
When he had finished, Blaise lowered his hands and, stooping before me, laid his staff at my feet. Then he backed slowly away. For a moment the people stared in silence. No one moved.
Then a young warrior – the one I had saved from a fall in the battle, I think – stepped forward. He drew his sword from its sheath at his side and, without a word, laid it beside the druid's staff. Then he knelt down and stretched out his hand to touch my foot.
One by one, each of the warriors there followed their sword brother's example. They drew out their blades, knelt, and put out their hands to cover my feet. Several of Maelwys' chiefs, caught in the spell, added their swords to the pile and knelt to touch my feet as well.
It was something warriors did when vowing allegiance to a new battlechief.
But Maelwys had not been badly injured, let alone killed; he was still a skilled and able leader. I turned to the king to find he had stepped from beside me. I was standing alone before the people. What could this mean?
'Please, lord,' I whispered, 'this honour is yours.'
'No,' he declared. 'It is yours alone, Myrddin. The warriors have chosen who they will follow.'
'But -'
Maelwys shook his head. 'Let be,' he replied gently. Then, stepping behind me, he raised his hands over my head. 'Hear me, my people. Look upon the one you honour. You have made him your battlechief… ' he paused and lowered his hands to my shoulders, 'This day I make him my son, and heir of all I possess.'
What?
Blaise was there and ready. 'This is an auspicious day, lord,' he said, 'allow me to confirm you in your good intent.' So saying, he unwound the rawhide belt from around his waist and bound our hands together at the wrist.
To Maelwys he said, 'Lord and King, as your hand is bound, is it your wish to bind your life to the son of your wife?'
'That is my wish.'
'Will you honour him with sonship, bestowing him with lands and possessions?'
That I will do gladly.'