I wander without sense or purpose: as if the aimless movement of my limbs is atonement for sins too loathsome to utter, as if in the slow, purposeless shuffling of one foot after the other I will find some release. Ha! There is no release!
Death, you have claimed all the others, why do you not claim me?
I shout. I rave. I cry into the depths of darkness and my voice falls into a pit of silence. There is no answer. It is the unknowing silence of the grave.
It is the unyielding silence of despair, black and eternal.
I was a king. I am a king. This rock I squat upon is all that is left to me; it is all my realm. Once better lands were mine. Away in the wealthy southland I raised my throne and Dyfed nourished. Maelwys and I were kings together, after the custom of the proud Cymry of old.
All the world turns back, turns back, turns again to the old ways, the forgotten yet familiar ways. In the old ways there is certainty and solace, there is the empty form of comfort. But there is no peace.
Hear then if you will, friend Wolf, the story of a man.
There was a feast following that first victory. How my sword did shine! Oh, it was a beautiful thing. Perhaps, I valued it too much. Perhaps, I tried too hard, attempted too much. But tell me, my Lord Jesu, whoever has attempted more?
We burned the Irish warboats, throwing hi the corpses of the raiders before firing them and setting them adrift on the outrunning tide. The red flames danced and the black smoke rose to heaven and our hearts beat for joy. Maridunum was saved that day, suffering little more than a few dwellings lost and a few roofs fired. Ten of our people were killed – six of those were warriors.
Still, we had survived, and before the summer was out the first of Maelwys' new warband began arriving. We raised eighty that year. And sixty the next – Demetae and Silures; the dual clans of Dyfed produced fierce warriors.
Great Light, I see them: astride their tough ponies, oxhide shields slung over their shoulders, spearpoints burnished sharp, the bold checked cloaks fluttering from their shoulders, tores and armbands gleaming, their hair braided and bound like their horses' tails, or free-flying under their war caps, their eyes dark and hard as Cymry slate under smooth brows, and firm the set of their jaws. It was joy itself to lead such men.
We rode the circuit together, the ring of hillforts guarding our lands. And we erected timber platforms on the coastal hills for beacon fires. These were manned from the first summer on, until winter made an end of the warring season. And yes, we were attacked again and yet again – the barbarians knew that Maximus had gone, and the cream of the British troops with hun – but we were never taken by surprise.
This was a good time for Maridunum. The weather was a boon companion to the land: days full of clear skies and sunlight, and an evening's rain to quench the thirsting root. All things flourished and bore fruit. Despite constant harrassment of raiders, our herds and flocks increased; our people thrived and were content.
That first autumn of my kingship – when I was certain my place was established – I spoke openly of my love for Ganieda to my mother and Maelwys. It was decided that a messenger should be sent to take word to Custennin of my intentions. We chose six of our company and sent them north to Goddeu with gifts and letters, both for the lord, and for my bride. I would have gone myself, but it is not done that way; and besides, I was needed in Maridunum.
The day the messengers rode out was a crisp, golden day in autumn, just after Samhain. The warmth of summer had lapsed, and nights could be cold, but still the days were fair, with the fire-tint brightening summer's greens. I stood in the road and watched them out of sight, thinking that only the winter, a few grey, wet months, a little space of darkness and cold, separated me from my light, my Ganieda.
Only one winter. Then I, too, would ride out to fetch my bride from her father's hearth and bring her home.
And it was much like I imagined it to be.
I spent a restless winter, riding with the hunting bands when I could, watching clouded skies shift over the land as they brought rain and a little snow now and then. I fussed with Maelwys' hounds; bathed in the heated bath; played chess with Charis, losing more often than winning; strummed my harp and sang in the hall of an evening; and generally haunted the villa like the restless shade I was – all the time waiting for the days to shorten and trees to bud.
'Be at ease, Merlin, you are as tense as a cat about to pounce,' Charis told me one night. It was after mid-winter, just after the Christ Mass, and we were at the nightly game of chess. She always played, with either Maelwys or me as her partner. 'You cannot make the days fly faster than they will.'
That I know only too well,' I replied. 'If it had been for hoping, spring would have been with us long since.'
'You are so eager, my soul.' She looked at me over the chessboard, and I caught a hint of sadness in her voice and in her glance.
'What is it, Mother?'
Charis smiled and moved a gamepiece on the board. 'I was only thinking.'
'Yes?'
'These years have themselves flown, it seems to me. Was it so long ago that Taliesin came with his harp to my father's house?' She lifted a hand to my cheek. 'You are very like him, Merlin. Your father would be proud to see he has sired such a noble son.' She lowered her hand and pushed a gamepiece with a fingertip, then sighed. 'My work is nearly finished.'
'Your work?' I moved one of the pieces, not caring which one, or where.
Charis countered the move. 'You will be Ganieda's responsibility from now on, my Hawk.'
'You make it sound as if I were going away across the sea. I am only moving into the chambers across the courtyard.'
'To me it will be as if you have travelled to the end of the earth,' she said solemnly. 'From the day you are married, you and Ganieda are one. You will give all of yourself to her, and she to you. You will be a world together and that is as it should be. I will have no place in it.'
I knew what she was saying, but I made light of it. I did not like to think that something that would bring me such happiness would cause someone I loved such pain. I wanted everyone to share my joy, and so Charis did, but her joy was bittersweet and could be no other way.
A little later, when we bade each other good night, she hugged me more tightly, and held me more closely. It was the first of many small farewells for us that helped ease the greater.
The day did finally come when I rode out for Goddeu myself, taking a score of warriors for company. We did not fear attack on the road, but the enemy was becoming more bold with each passing season. Also, we had heard of a hard winter north of the Wall; this would send the hungry Picti and Scotti out on the war trail all the sooner.
Riding with twenty of my best was only prudent, and it would serve to set an edge to winter-dulled skills. But aside from the usual spring-swollen rivers and mountain passes that had not yet thawed, the journey proved unremarkable. Indeed, it seemed to me as if I had travelled the Goddeu road so often that I remembered every rock and bush and ford along the way.
Nor did we lack for travelling companions. For, despite the rumours of raiders of one sort or another, there were many others on the road as well. More than normal for early spring. It was as if men knew that the days of free-ranging trade over longer distances were drawing to a close and were anxious to do what they could before the end came.
Yet, there was an air of exuberance, of carefree comradeship – although that might have been my own mood colouring things for me. Oh, but it was a fine journey.
And the day I rode into King Custennin's lakeside stronghold, my heart swelled to bursting. It was a glorious day, all sun bright and adazzle with lights off the lake. Cleanswept the sky, deep and azure blue; the woodland flowers full and sweet on the gentle air; the trees absolutely piping with birdsong – it was a grand day. Every man should have such a wedding day.