Merlin

The slaughter was appalling.

In the end, the few who still lived threw down their weapons, turned and fled. But even these did not escape my vengeance. I rode them down from behind, galloping over their stumbling bodies, turning upon them again and again, until not one remained in the world of the living.

Then it was over. I sat in my saddle and gazed out over a hideous carnage. Saecsens lay thick on the ground and I screamed at them:

'Get up! Get up, you dead! Take up your arms! Arise and fight!' I taunted them. I challenged them. I screamed at them and cursed them even in death.

But there was no longer anyone to hear my taunts.

Five hundred Saecsens lay dead upon the ground and it was not enough. My grief, my hate, my rage still burned within me! Ganieda was dead and our child with her, and Gwendolau, Custennin, Baram, Pelleas, Balach, and all the brave men of my warband – all the quick and bright, their hearts beating and breath in their lungs, alive to love and light, now were stiffening corpses. My friends, my wife, my brothers were dead, and the blood price I claimed that day, mighty though it was, could not pay the debt.

Oh, Annwas, Winged Messenger, I myself slaughtered hundreds. Hundreds, do you hear?… hundreds…

And it was not enough!

I looked out on the battlefield shimmering in the heat haze of a midday sun. So still… so still… and silent – save for the croak of the circling birds; for already the carrion crows were flocking, picking at the eyes of the dead. In this I knew the stark reality of war: all men, friend and foe alike, are food for the scavenging beasts.

I saw Lord Death moving among the tumbled corpses, rubbing his fleshless hands and grinning his lipless smile as he gazed upon my wonderful work. He greeted me.

Well done, Myrddin. Such a handsome harvest; I am pleased, my son.

My horror could not be contained. Dark mist rose up before my eyes; the voices of the dead filled my ears with cries of sharp accusation. The bloody earth mocked me; sky and sun jeered. The wind laughed. I fled the field, seeking refuge in Celyddon's deep, black heart. I fled to the nameless hills, to the rock-bound mountains, to this barren outcrop with its cave and spring.

And here, Annwas, here is all Myrddin Wylt's kingdom. Here is where I have dwelt, and ever shall dwell.

Death! You have taken all the others, why have you not taken me?

THIRTEEN

I raised my head and looked out across the night-filled valleys. The storm had passed, and the stars shone brightly. The air was scented with pine and heather, and from the forest below came the bark of a hunting wolf – a single short cry in the darkness.

At my feet Wolf pricked her ears; her golden eyes flicked to mine, but she did not move. The small fire Annwas had made still burned; the pot bubbled and the cakes were baked. He sat watching me, his face sorrowful and serene.

'Do you hate me now, Annwas?' I asked in the silence of the snapping fire. 'Now that you know what I have done – do you despise me for it?'

He did not answer, but picked up a bowl and ladled stew into it and offered it out to me. 'I can hate no man,' he replied gently, offering me the bowl. 'And this is not a time for judgement.' He broke one of the little loaves he had made and handed it to me. 'We will eat now, and you will feel better.'

We ate together in silence. The food was good, and I did feel better. The fire warmed me, and the stew – how long had it been since I had meat in my stomach? – soon made me drowsy. I sopped the last of my broth with the bread and stuffed that into my mouth, then laid the bowl aside and drew my cloak around me.

'Sleep now, Myrddin,' Annwas told me. 'Sleep well.'

It seemed only an instant, but when I opened my eyes again the new-risen sun flamed the high peaks, and larksong fell golden from the sky. Annwas had the fire burning brightly and had brought water in the pot for me to drink.

'So, you are still here,' I observed, pouring water into my bowl and lifting the bowl to my mouth.

'I am,' he nodded.

'I am not going back with you," I told him bluntly.

'That will be your decision, Myrddin.'

'Then you are wasting your time. I will not leave this place.'

'As you have said. But I tell you I have not come to take you away from here.'

What did he want from me? 'Then why have you come?'

To save you, Myrddin.'

'Do I look in need of saving?'

'Your work is not finished,' he replied. 'In the world of men, affairs continue apace, and darkness covers nigh all. It has even reached these shores. Yes, the Great Darkness men have feared is here; it has gained a foothold on the Island of the Mighty.'

I glared at him, for his words disturbed me more than I liked. 'What do you expect me to do about it?'

'I tell you merely what is.' Ann was handed me half of the second loaf he had made the night before. 'What you do about it is for you to decide.'

'Who are you, Annwas Adeniawc? Why have you come to me like this?'

He smiled gently. 'I have told you, Myrddin. I am your friend.'

Then he rose and stepped to the cave entrance. 'Come with me now.'

'Where?' I demanded suspiciously.

'There is a stream in the glen below -'

'Yes?'

'We must go there.'

That was all he said. He turned and started down the trail. I watched him go for a moment, and decided that I would not go. But he stopped, turned, and beckoned me. I rose and followed.

The stream was not large, but it was running with the rain from the night before and there were deep pools round the boulders, and it was into one of these pools that Annwas led me. 'Set aside your cloak, Myrddin,' he instructed, stepping into the water, 'and your clothing.'

My clothing, as he generously called it, was little more than a filth-crusted loincloth. It fell from me as I shrugged it off. 'I have already been baptized,' I said.

'I know,' replied Annwas, holding out his hand to me. 'I just want to wash you.'

'I can wash myself.' I drew back.

'Na, na, I know, I know. But come, let me do it for you this once.'

I stepped into the cold water; my flesh prickled and I began shivering. Annwas took my hand and brought me to stand facing him. He dipped water with the bowl in his hand and poured it over me. Then he produced a chunk of soap – the hard, yellow kind such as the old Celts used to make in huge blocks for the whole clan, from which each household carved off what it needed – and he began to wash me.

He washed my arms and chest, then turned me to scrub my back. 'Sit,' he commanded, and I sat down on a nearby rock while he washed my legs and my nasty, matted hair and beard.

All this he did quickly and cheerfully, as if it were his life's chief fulfilment. I allowed him to do it, thinking it strange to be washed like this – me a grown man, being washed by another grown man.

But it did not feel strange. It felt comforting; more, it felt appropriate. This, I imagined, was how the emperors of the east came to their thrones.

Oh, it was good to be clean. Clean! How long had it been? How long?

He washed my hair and then, to my surprise – although nothing about Annwas should have surprised me by now – he brought out scissors and a razor of the Greek variety, and, kneeling before me in the water, he set about shaving me, first clipping the tangled curls short, then scraping the skin smooth with the honed edge.

When he finished he laved water over me with the bowl and then said, 'Arise, Myrddin, and go forth to meet the day.'

I stood, water streaming from me, feeling the sickness of all the sick years, the years of waste and grief and death flow away. I stood, and that sick skin sloughed from me and I was clean once more, clean and in my right mind.