“Not into Uther, no. They never saw him; he was still with the Duchess. I was outside with my servant Cadal — you remember Cadal? — guarding the doors. Cadal killed Jordan, and I killed Brithael.” I smiled, wryly, with my stiff mouth. “Yes, you may well stare. He was well beyond my weight, as you can see. Do you wonder I fought foul?”
“And Cadal?”
“Dead. Do you think otherwise that Brithael would have got to me?”
“I see.” His gaze told again, briefly, the tally of my hurts. When he spoke, his voice was dry. “Four men. With you, five. It's to be hoped the King counts it worth the price.”
“He does,” I said. “Or he will soon.”
“Oh, aye, everyone knows that. Give him time only to tell the world that he is guiltless of Gorlois' death, and to get him buried with honour, so that he can marry the Duchess. He's gone back to Tintagel already, did you know? He must have passed you on the road.”
“He did,” I said dryly. “Within a yard or two.”
“But didn't he see you? Or surely — he must have known you were hurt?” Then my tone got through to him. “You mean he saw you, like that, and left you to ride here alone?” I could see that he was shocked, rather than surprised. Gandar and I were old acquaintances, and I had no need to tell him what my relationship had been with Uther, even though he was my father's brother. From the very beginning, Uther had resented his brother's love for his bastard son, and had half feared, half despised my powers of vision and prophecy. He said hotly: “But when it was done in his service — ”
“Not his, no. What I did, I did because of a promise I made to Ambrosius. It was a trust' he left with me, for his kingdom.” I left it at that. One did not speak to Gandar of gods and visions. He dealt, like Uther, with things of the flesh. “Tell me,” I said, “those rumours you were talking of. What are they? What do people think happened at Tintagel?”
He gave a half-glance over his shoulder. The door was shut, but he lowered his voice. “The story goes that Uther had already been in Tintagel, with the Duchess Ygraine, and that it was you who took him there and put him in the way of entering. They say you changed the King by enchantment into a likeness of the Duke, and got him past the guards and into the Duchess's bedchamber. They say more than that; they say she took him to her bed, poor lady, thinking he was her husband. And that when Brithael and Jordan took her the news of Gorlois' death, there was 'Gorlois' sitting large as life beside her at breakfast. By the Snake, Merlin, why do you laugh?”
“Two days and nights,” I said, “and the story has grown already. Well, I suppose that is what men will believe, and go on believing. And perhaps it is better than the truth.”
“What is the truth, then?”
“That there was no enchantment about our entry into Tintagel, only disguise, and human treachery.”
I told him the story then, exactly as it had happened, with the tale I had given the goat-herd. “So you see, Gandar, I sowed that seed myself. The nobles and the King's advisers must know the truth, but the common folk will find the tale of magic, and a blameless Duchess, better to believe — and, God knows, easier — than the truth.”
He was silent for a while. “So the Duchess knew.”
“Or we would not have got in,” I said. “It shall not be said, Gandar, that this was a rape. No, the Duchess knew.”
He was silent again, for rather longer. Then he said, heavily: “Treachery is a hard word.”
“It is a true one. The Duke was my father's friend, and he trusted me. It would never have occurred to him that I would help Uther against him. He knew how little I cared for Uther's lusts. He could not guess that my gods demanded that I should help him satisfy this one. Even though I could not help myself, it was still treachery, and we shall suffer for it, all of us.”
“Not the King.” He said it positively. “I know him. I doubt if the King will feel more than a passing guilt. You are the one who is suffering for it, Merlin, just as you are the one who calls it by its name.”
“To you,” I said. “To other men this will remain a story of enchantment, like the dragons which fought at my bidding under Dinas Emrys, and the Giants' Dance which floated on air and water to Amesbury. But you have seen how Merlin the King's enchanter fared that night.” I paused, and shifted my hand on the coverlet, but shook my head at the question in his face. “No, no, let be. It's better already. Gandar, one other truth about that night must be known. There will be a child. Take it as hope, or take it as prophecy, you will see that, come Christmas, a boy will be born. Has he said when he will marry her?”
“As soon as it's decent. Decent!” He repeated the word on a short bark of laughter, then cleared his throat. “The Duke's body is here, but in a day or two they'll carry him to Tintagel to bury him. Then, after the eight days' mourning, Uther is to marry the Duchess.”
I thought for a moment. “Gorlois had a son by his first wife. Cador, he was called. He must be about fifteen. Have you heard what is to become of him?”
“He's here. He was in the fight, beside his father. No one knows what has passed between him and the King, but the King gave an amnesty to all the troops that fought against him in the action at Dimilioc, and he has said, besides, that Cador will be confirmed Duke of Cornwall.”
“Yes,” I said. “And Ygraine's son and Uther's will be King.”
“With Cornwall his bitter enemy?”
“If he is,” I said wearily, “who is to blame him? The payment may well be too long and too heavy, even for treachery.”
“Well,” said Gandar, suddenly brisk, gathering his robe about him, “that's with time. And now, young man, you'd better get some more rest. Would you like a draught?”
“Thank you, no.”
“How does the hand feel?”
“Better. There's no poison there; I know the feel of it. I'll give you no more trouble, Gandar, so stop treating me like a sick man. I'm well enough, now that I've slept. Get yourself to bed, and forget about me. Good night.”
When he had gone I lay listening to the sounds of the sea, and trying to gather, from the god-filled dark, the courage I would need for my visit to the dead.
Courage or no, another day passed before I found the strength to leave my chamber. Then I went at dusk to the great hall where they had put the old Duke's body. Tomorrow he would be taken to Tintagel for burial among his fathers. Now he lay alone, save for the guards, in the echoing hall where he had feasted his peers and given orders for his last battle.
The place was cold, silent but for the sounds of wind and sea. The wind had changed and now blew from the northwest, bringing with it the chill and promise of rain. There was neither glazing nor horn in the windows, and the draught stirred the torches in their iron brackets, sending them sideways, dim and smoking, to blacken the walls. It was a stark, comfortless place, bare of paint, or tiling, or carved wood; one remembered that Dimilioc was simply the fortress of a fighting man; it was doubtful if Ygraine had ever been here. The ashes in the hearth were days old, the half-burned logs dewed with damp.
The Duke's body lay on a high bier in the center of the hall, covered with his war cloak. The scarlet with the double border of silver and the white badge of the Boar was as I had seen it at my father's side in battle. I had seen it, too, on Uther as I led him disguised into Gorlois' castle and his bed. Now the heavy folds hung to the ground, and beneath them the body had shrunk and flattened, no more than a husk of the tall old man I remembered. They had left his face uncovered. The flesh had sunk, grey as twice-used tallow, till the face was a moulded skull, showing only the ghost of a likeness to the Gorlois I had known. The coins on his eyes had already sunk into the flesh. His hair was hidden by his war helm, but the familiar grey beard jutted over the badge of the Boar on his chest.