“To their camp?” Lanilar asked.
“They had no camp. They circled the swamp and finally we came to the sea. There they had a ship, as long as your house and mine and two more like them.”
Artog stirred uneasily. “You had fever from your injuries?” he suggested.
“I was on that ship after I was well,” Cedmon answered. “My leg healed — badly, as you have seen — but then I walked from end to end of the ship. And later we rode on it.”
“Where to?” Lanilar asked.
“I do not know. The Winged Hats knew. They had a small round box fastened to the ship which told them which way to turn when they were in doubt.”
“Did it speak to them?”
“It did not speak, but it pointed the way,” Cedmon answered. “We rode a great distance, watching the box, and after a long time we were back here again. We stopped above the swamp, and they let me come ashore.”
“It is a marvellous tale,” Artog said doubtfully.
“They made me a gift,” Cedmon added. He took from his belt a small flat piece of metal, shiny in the firelight. “Have you ever seen such a thing as this?”
“It is like the surface of the lake when no wind blows, and makes a picture of what is above,” Lanilar said. “But it is not water.” She stared at her reflection and reluctantly handed back the steel mirror.
Cedmon pulled himself to his feet. “I thank you for the food. Now I must go to my own house.”
Artog rose and laid a hand on Cedmon’s arm. “Do not go,” he said. “For — you have no house!”
Cedmon swung about to face Artog. “I have no house! What are you saying?”
“After Dara died Talgarth saw a vision of you lying dead in the forest. He said that your spirit came to him saying that since he is your half-brother he should have your house and all your goods!”
“He is my brother, Artog. We were not friendly — he wanted Dara too, as you know, and Dara disliked even looking at him — but he is my brother. When he sees me he will give back what belongs to me. I will go to see him now.”
“I will go with you,” Artog said.
In the dancing red flicker of torches Cedmon and Talgarth faced each other before what had been Cedmon’s house. A dozen or so villagers who had recognized Cedmon stood in a half-circle around them.
“You see I am not dead, Talgarth. Your vision was false.”
Talgarth, tall, robed in white, his plumed headdress casting a gigantic shadow, regarded him calmly.
“Is it truly Cedmon?” he asked.
Cedmon took a step forward. “Look well and see.”
Talgarth stared back steadily, then touched his fingers lightly against the scars on Cedmon’s face.
“This is not Cedmon,” he said, his voice full and resonant.
“What does he mean?” a villager asked. “It is surely Cedmon, is it not?”
“What trickery is this?” Cedmon demanded.
“Tell the tale of your wanderings, Cedmon,” Artog called out. “Tell of the wonders that you saw!”
Cedmon swung away from Talgarth and retold the story of his adventures. When he had finished an uproar broke out from the villagers.
“Your vision was only partly true, Talgarth. Cedmon was near death but was saved!”
“Return his property, Talgarth! It is yours no longer!”
Talgarth raised his hand high, then stood silent and motionless. His large eyes, glinting in the firelight, raked the faces before him. The cries and murmurs of the villagers trailed into silence.
When all was quiet Talgarth lowered his arm. “You have heard the words from Cedmon’s mouth,” he exclaimed in deep tones that floated somberly on the night air. “Now I will tell you the truth. This is not Cedmon who stands before us.” His voice rolled out in a swelling volume that overwhelmed Cedmon’s protest.
“The vision I saw was truth,” Talgarth continued. “I saw Cedmon dead. He is dead. A wicked spirit has entered the body of my brother. That spirit has come here to do us great harm.”
Cedmon staggered as if struck. He knew that sometimes a human body became inhabited by a wicked spirit, but this had not happened to him, he was certain of that. What was Talgarth doing to him? He pulled a knife from his belt and made a stumbling dive at Talgarth but his rush was blocked by the villagers. “You have told your story, Cedmon,” said one. “Let Talgarth speak now.”
“These things I can prove,” Talgarth went on. “You know that when a wicked spirit enters a body it always damages the body in some way. You remember Ronad the wolf, whose body carried a devil that made him invisible for so long? And you remember, do you not, that it was only after Karmat, our Arch-Druid, made a spell that the spirit left? And was not Ronad the wolf lame because of the evil soul that broke into his body?”
“I remember Ronad the wolf,” one of the villagers said. “For a long time we saw only his tracks which proved him lame.”
“And it is true that we never saw him until Karmat had cast the spell,” another added.
Talgarth spoke again. “You see that Cedmon is lame, and scarred also, proving that the wicked spirit in his body is one of greatest evil since it had to damage the body so badly to enter. And here is more proof. Just now you heard words from Cedmon’s mouth of magic boxes and giant ships. We know that Cedmon has no knowledge of magic, therefore it is not Cedmon who speaks but the devil-spirit that now lives in his body, wishing to confuse us and gain power over us.”
“Cedmon was never lame or scarred,” someone in the crowd muttered. “And we know that those who carry wicked spirits within them are never whole of body.”
Talgarth swung his arm to point at Cedmon, tightly held by two villagers. “Look! We know my brother Cedmon was a calm and peaceful man whose speech was always reasonable. Tonight we heard words from him in tones that are not those of Cedmon. See how he struggles to attack and silence me because it is Talgarth’s eyes which can see through the body to the wicked spirit within! That is not Cedmon!” He raised his arm above his head.
“Let us drive out the spirit that is in my brother’s body!” he exclaimed. “Let us pierce that body with spears until the evil soul flees from our village!”
A few men in the group began to move ominously to ward Cedmon. Several other villagers headed for Artog cut in front of them. The two parties faced each other, and knife blades gleamed in the torch light.
“There will be no fighting among ourselves!” called out a new voice. A short-legged, heavy-set man, white-robed and with headgear even taller than that of Talgarth thrust his way forward. His huge head seemed to rest upon wide shoulders as snugly as if there were no neck between.
“It is Karmat, the Arch-Druid!” called out a villager.
The Arch-Druid strode with short staccato steps to a point between the opposing groups.
“Put away your weapons, my people.” The great round head swung back and forth like a huge ball as his eyes swept from one faction to the other.
“If Cedmon is dead and a bad spirit now lives in his body we should drive out that spirit before it does us harm — already we have come close to fighting among ourselves. Perhaps that was the spirit’s work. Should we strike our spears into Cedmon’s body, as Talgarth urges, we shall force out the wicked spirit, if it is there. But if it is Cedmon’s spirit, we have murdered one of ourselves!”
He turned toward Talgarth.
“Although only an apprentice Druid as yet, Talgarth, you have shown unusual powers. Can you cast the spell to drive out an evil spirit as I did with Ronad the wolf?”
“I can, Karmat,” Talgarth answered.