Powys's levy stayed on the hill, too scared to cross the ghost-fence, while beside them were gathered more than a hundred Irish warriors. Those men began to walk south, aiming to walk around the fence's vengeful ghosts. In a half-hour, I thought, those Blackshield Irish would be joining Cuneglas's final attack and so I went to Nimue. “Swim the river,” I urged her. “You can swim, can't you?” She held up her left hand with its scar. “You die here, Derfel,” she said, 'then I die here."
"You must'
“Hold your tongue,” she said, 'that's what you must do,“ and then stood on tiptoe and kissed me on the mouth. ”Kill Gundleus for me before you die,“ she pleaded. One of our spearmen began singing the Death Song of Werlinna and the rest of them took up the slow, sad melody. Cavan, his cloak blackened by blood, was hammering the socket of his spearhead with a stone, trying to tighten the shaft's fit. ”I never thought it would come to this," I said to him.
“Nor me, Lord,” he said, looking up from his work. His wolf-tail plume was bloodsoaked too, his helmet dented and there was a rag bandaged about his left thigh.
“I thought I was lucky,” I said. “I always thought that, but perhaps every man does.”
“Not every man, Lord, no, but the best leaders do.”
I smiled my thanks. “I would have liked to have seen Arthur's dream come true,” I said.
“There'd be no work for warriors if it did,” Cavan said dourly. “We'd all be clerks or farmers. Maybe it's better this way. One last fight, then down to the Otherworld and into Mithras's service. We'll have a good time there, Lord. Plump women, good fighting, strong mead and rich gold for ever.”
“I shall be glad of your company there,” I told him, but in " truth I was utterly bereft of joy. I did not want to go to the Otherworld yet, not while Ceinwyn still lived in this one. I pressed the armour at my chest to feel her small brooch and I thought of the madness that would never now run its course. I said her name aloud, puzzling Cavan. I was in love, but I would die without ever holding my love's hand or seeing her face again.
Then I was forced to forget Ceinwyn for the Blackshield Irish of Demetia, instead of walking around the fence, had decided to risk the ghosts and cross it. Then I saw why. A Druid had appeared on the hill to lead them through the spirit line. Nimue came to stand beside me and stared up the hill to where the tall, white-cowled and white-robed figure strode long-legged down the steep slope. The Irish followed him, and behind their black shields and long spears came Powys's levy with its mixed weaponry of bows, mattocks, axes, spears, single-sticks and hayforks.
My men's singing faded away. They hefted spears and touched their shield-edges on each other to make sure the wall was tight. The enemy, who had been readying their own shield-wall to attack ours, now turned to watch as the Druid brought the Irish down to the valley. lorweth and Tanaburs ran to meet him, but the newly come Druid waved his long staff to order them out of his path and then he pushed his robe's hood back and we saw the long, plaited white beard and the swinging pigtail of his black-wrapped hair. It was Merlin.
Nimue cried when she saw Merlin, then she ran towards him. The enemy moved aside to let her pass, just as they parted to let Merlin walk towards her. Even on a battlefield a Druid could walk wherever he wanted, and this Druid was the most famed and powerful in all the land. Nimue ran and Merlin spread his arms to welcome her and she was still sobbing as at last she found him again and threw her thin white arms around his body. And suddenly I was glad for her.
Merlin kept one arm around Nimue as he strode towards us. Gorfyddyd had seen the Druid's arrival and now galloped his horse towards our part of the battlefield. Merlin raised his staff in greeting to the King, but ignored his questions. The Irish war-band had stopped at the hill's foot where they formed their grim black wall of shields.
Merlin walked towards me and, just as on the day when he had saved my life at Caer Sws, he came in stark, cold majesty. There was no smile on his dark face, no hint of joy in his deep eyes, just a look of such fierce anger that I sank to my knees and bowed my head as he came close. Sagramor did the same, then suddenly our whole battered band of spearmen was kneeling to the Druid. He reached out with his black staff and touched first Sagramor and then me on the shoulders. “Get up,” he said in a low, hard voice before turning to face the enemy. He took his arm from around Nimue's shoulders and held his black staff level above his tonsured head with both hands. He stared at Gorfyddyd's army, then slowly lowered the staff, and such was the authority in that long, ancient, angry face and in that slow, sure gesture that the enemy all knelt to him. Only the two Druids stayed standing and the few horsemen remained in their saddles.
“For seven years,” Merlin said in a voice that reached clear across the vale and right up its deep centre so that even Arthur and his men could hear him, “I have searched for the Knowledge of Britain. I have searched for the power of our ancestors that we abandoned when the Romans came. I have searched for those things that will restore this land to its rightful Gods, its own Gods, our Gods, the Gods who made us and who can be persuaded to come back to help us.” He spoke slowly and simply so that every man could hear and understand. “Now,” he went on, “I need help. I need men with swords, men with spears, men with hearts unafraid, to go with me to an enemy place to find the last Treasure of Britain. I seek the Cauldron of Clyddno Eiddyn. The Cauldron is our power, our lost power, our last hope to make Britain once again into the island of the Gods. I promise you nothing but hardship, I will give you no reward but death, I shall feed you nothing but bitterness, and will give you only gall to drink, but in return I ask for your swords and your lives. Who will come with me to find the Cauldron?” He asked the question abruptly. We had expected him to talk of this sprawling blood-letting that had turned a green vale red, but instead he had ignored the fight as though it was irrelevant, almost as if he had not even noticed that he had strayed on to a battlefield. “Who?” he asked again.
“Lord Merlin!” Gorfyddyd shouted before any man could respond. The enemy King pushed his horse through the ranks of his kneeling spearmen. “Lord Merlin!” His voice was angry and his face bitter.
“Gorfyddyd,” Merlin acknowledged him.
“Your quest for the Cauldron can wait one short hour?” Gorfyddyd asked the question sarcastically.
“It can wait a year, Gorfyddyd ap Cadell. It can wait five years. It can wait for ever, but it should not.” Gorfyddyd rode his horse into the open space between the spear-walls. He was seeing his great victory jeopardized and his claim to be the High King threatened by a Druid, and so he turned his horse towards his men, pushed back the cheek pieces of his winged helmet and raised his voice. “There will be time to pledge spears to the Cauldron's quest,” he called to his men, 'but only when you have punished the whoremonger and drowned your spears in his men's souls. I have an oath to fulfill, and I will not let any man, even my Lord Merlin, deflect that oath's keeping. There can be no peace, no Cauldron, while the whore's lover lives.“ He turned and stared at the wizard. ”You would save the whore-lover by this appeal?"
“I would not care, Gorfyddyd ap Cadell,” Merlin said, 'if the land opened and swallowed Arthur and his army. Nor if it engulfed yours as well."
“Then we fight!” Gorfyddyd shouted, and he used his one arm to drag his sword free of its scabbard.
“These men' he spoke to his army, but pointed the sword towards our banners 'are yours. Their lands, their flocks, their gold and their homes are yours. Their wives and daughters are now your whores. You have fought them this far, would you now let them walk away? The Cauldron will not vanish with their lives, but your victory will vanish if we do not finish what we came here to do. We fight!” There was a heartbeat of silence, then Gorfyddyd's men stood and began to beat their spear-shafts against their shields. Gorfyddyd gave Merlin a triumphant look, then kicked his horse back into his men's clamorous ranks.