Some of the men had fished successfully in a mountain- fed stream a few miles back, and now they lit fires to cook their catch. As boys and princes, neither Uther nor I was expected to take part in the cooking, and we had ridden some way away from the fires, playing a game of throwing a rag weighted with a stone for the other to catch, when we came across a tarn of some kind that cried out to be explored. It was a deep, black pool, set where no pool should be, upon a level stretch of open ground in firm, springy turf. We decided that it was a magic tarn set there by some goddess to receive the offerings of the people who had once lived nearby. It had been the custom in this land since time began to throw sacrificial offerings into pools and lakes, to propitiate the goddesses who lived in them. But now Uther decided he was going to dive down to the
bottom of this pool to find some of the treasures offered to the goddess.
The mere suggestion made me uncomfortable. Even to talk that way smacked of blasphemy, although I did not know the word at that time. Respect, however, I knew all about, and the water looked deep and very black. But even as I sat there, staring at it, Uther had slipped from his pony and begun to strip.
"Uther! Don't!" I said. "It looks too deep. It's dangerous."
"Don't be stupid, Cay. It's just a pool, and I'm hot, anyway. Aren't you coming?"
I shook my head.
"What's the matter? Are you afraid? Don't be stupid." By this time he was naked and he jumped right in, disappearing with a mighty splash. As the ripples settled, I could see him diving down, deeper and deeper, his body pale and insubstantial, and I realized that the water was not black at all, but crystal clear, and I knew that its blackness came from its great depth. I watched him climbing back up from those depths towards me until he broke the surface and flicked his hair out of his eyes, gulping for breath.
"It's deep, deep, deep, Cay, and it's cold, but it's wonderful! Come on in!"
Still I shook my head, watching him as he grinned at me, sucking in air and preparing to go down again. "Uther," I said, "you'll never reach the bottom. It's too deep. Come out."
Instead of answering me, he dived again, and I watched him dwindle smaller and smaller, until he turned and came up again, fast as a cork, to splash back to the surface. This time, however, he swam to the side and held up his hand and I pulled him out. He sat there for a while, shivering, his entire body blue and covered with goose-flesh.
"Well?" I taunted him. "Did you find any treasure?"
He shook his head, his teeth chattering.
"How deep did you go?"
He began to chafe himself with his hands, scrubbing at the goose-flesh, then he leaped to his feet and took off at top speed, running around the perimeter of the pool, screaming gleefully at the top of his voice. I decided that he was mad, but happy mad, and I took off my own clothes and leaped into the water. It was ice cold! Even today, long decades afterwards, I can recall the shock of it. As I regained the surface, gasping, Uther splashed in beside me, pulling me down again. I fought him off and regained the surface, catching my breath and looking for him below me, but he grabbed me from behind and dragged me down again, and by the time the cold finally defeated us, we were both exhausted and had to help each other up onto the bank, where we collapsed, shivering.
"It's like a well," said Uther.
"What d'you mean?"
"Deep. With stone walls. Straight down."
"Probably is a well. That'll be why the water's so clear." By this time we had stopped shivering and were beginning to enjoy the warmth of the sun.
"Want to try to reach the bottom?"
"No," I remember saying. "We'd never -"'
Uther cut me short, his hand raised, his body tensing. "What's that?"
He sat erect and twisted to look behind us. "Whoreson!" he spat. "Saxons!"
I spun and looked towards the camp. There was a battle raging there and our people were heavily outnumbered, and even as I looked I saw four blond-haired strangers running towards us, naked iron in their hands, their mouths open in yells of battle lust.
Uther was already on his feet. "Quick, Cay! Get out of here!" I scrambled for my clothes.
"Forget your clothes, grab your knife!" He was already running for his pony.
I snatched up my knife and ran for my own mount, grasping its mane and swinging myself hard up onto its sun- hot, dusty back. Both animals were galloping almost from a standing start.
"Split up," yelled Uther. "You go right!" He swung away to the left and I wheeled my pony in the opposite direction, looking back over my shoulder to see what our pursuers would do. It was obvious that they were surprised to see only two small, naked boys. It must have been our ponies that attracted them in the first place, for they could not have seen us lying by the water's edge. They had stopped running as we split up, and they stood staring after us, having no hope of catching us on foot and no great desire to tire themselves out chasing naked children. I pulled my pony to a halt and sat watching them, feeling safely distant, as they approached the tarn and found our clothes and our tores, the heavy, decorative gold collars that marked us as chief's sons.
That discovery made them decide we might be worth pursuing after all. One of them, the tallest, dropped his axe and shield, threw off his helmet and fur tunic, and came after me at a run. I sat and watched him, knowing that he could never catch my fleet-footed pony. When he was about twenty-five paces from me I swung my mount again and kicked him to a dead run. Only then did I look around for Uther, but he was nowhere to be seen. The fringe of the forest was about two hundred paces ahead of me and I aimed my pony at it like an arrow, easily outdistancing my pursuer. Then, fifty paces short of the sheltering trees, my mount tripped and fell, hurling me over his head, the distinct sound of his snapping foreleg in my ears.
I landed on my back and knocked myself out of breath completely. When I regained my senses, the pony's screaming ringing through my head, the big Saxon was close, not even breathing hard, an evil grin on his face. I watched him approach me as I struggled for breath. The pony had thrown me about eight paces. The man stopped by the screaming animal, drew a knife, and then bent over to saw at the creature's throat. The sight triggered all my survival instincts, and I came to my feet running as fast as my legs could pump. He must have been absorbed in what he was doing, because I had covered about half the distance to the trees before I heard his shout, and then I heard the sounds of his running feet, gaining on me with every stride of his long legs. Still ahead of him, I came to the edge of the trees, dodging to my left as I passed the first of them, and then swerving again, and again as I passed each successive tree, changing direction sharply all the way. I knew that I was running for my life.
I was lucky that the forest was thick, even here on the fringe, and that I was so small, for I was able to burrow at a dead run into places where my pursuer could not follow. Slowly and surely I gained distance on him, fighting my way into the thickest clumps of underbrush and worming through, until eventually I knew that he was thrashing far enough behind me to give me a breathing space.
I dove under the roots of a great, lightning-split tree and crouched there in terror, hearing the thundering of my own heart over the approaching noise of my pursuer. And then he stopped moving and I knew that he was listening for me, searching the woods around him carefully with his eyes and ears, but I did not know how close he was. The silence grew and lengthened until I could stand it no longer and I eased myself upright and cautiously raised my head. He was nowhere in sight. Then, being only eight, I did a very foolish thing. I climbed higher in order to see further, believing him gone, and there he was, looking at me from less than thirty pages away, across the top of the last thicket I had dived through. He saw me as I saw him and he plunged into the bushes towards me as I launched myself away from him, running with wings on my heels after the few moments' rest I had gained. I ran and ran, choosing the densest thickets again, unmindful of the stinging slash of brambles and nettles and springy twigs, until suddenly I broke from a screen of bushes to find myself in an open, grassy glade of huge old oak trees, their branches choked with mistletoe, the sacred berries of the Druids. I could hear him crashing too close behind me, and in panic, gathering the last of my strength, I threw myself at the biggest oak and scrambled up high into its branches, seeking to hide among the tangled mistletoe. Up and up I went until I could climb no higher, and there I crouched, hugging a branch, and watched him enter the glade.