Stephen Lawhead - Merlin

The day of crossing came at last. It was wet and cold – the kind of wet cold that goes to the bones and stays long – the wind gusty and dagger-sharp. But the wind did not raise the seas against us, so we made good time and landed safely. I paid the boatman double his price, and was glad to do it.

Upon crossing Mor Hafren, we quickly entered Tewdrig's realm, sheltering the first night at the little seaside abbey at Llanteilo where the renowned Bishop Teilo had built his church and monastery. The next day, frosty cold but with a sky clear and high and bright as a flame, we rode the remaining distance to Caer Myrddin.

The sun sets early that time of year. Dusk was well upon us and the first winter stars already in the sky by the time we reached Tewdrig's stronghold. The market town stood a sad reminder of another age, abandoned now – perhaps for ever.

We urged our horses through the ruin and turned up the hill trail to the caer. Silvery smoke from many hearth fires drifted into the still night air, and the aroma of roasting meat reached us as we neared. Our arrival was foreseen, of course, and we were met at the gates by a young man with a sparse brown beard. 'Greetings, friends,' he called to us, taking up a place in the centre of the path. 'What business brings you to Tewdrig's house this cold winter's night?'

'Greetings, Meurig,' I told him, for it was Tewdrig's eldest son who confronted us. Others were gathering round, watching us with polite, but undisguised curiosity. 'You have become a man I see.'

At my use of his name, Meurig stepped closer. 'I am at your service, sir. How do you know me?'

'How should I not know the son of my friend, Lord Tewdrig?'

He cocked his head to one side. I think that my escort – a woman with a babe in arms – confused him. But one of the onlookers recognized me, for someone whispered, 'The Emrys is come!'

Meurig heard the name; his head whipped round and, laying a hand on my bridle, he said, 'Forgive me, Lord Emrys. I did not know it was you -'

I cut short his apology with a wave of my hand. 'There is nothing to forgive. But now, if we may go in – it is getting dark and the child will be getting cold.'

'At once, my lord.' He motioned some of the others forward to take our horses as we dismounted. Another ran to the hall to announce our arrival, so that Tewdrig himself met us as we crossed the yard.

'Your son has become a fine man,' I told Tewdrig when, after our greetings and after Enid and the child had been seen to, we were settled before the hearth with a steaming bowl of mulled wine in our hands. 'I did not remember him so well grown.'

'Oh, he has grown indeed, that one.' He smiled, pleased with the compliment. 'He was married a year ago and will have a babe of his own before spring.' He laughed suddenly. 'But I did not know you had taken a wife.'

'Alas, I have been too busy.'

That I can easily imagine. So tell me, what is happening in the Island of the Mighty that I should know about?'

'You will have heard of Gorlas' death,' I replied. 'A bad thing that, very bad. I was sorry to hear of it. He was a strong battlechief.'

Then you are also aware of the High King's marriage. As for the rest, you will know more than I – I have been at Ynys Avallach these many months.'

'Not with the Pendragon?' Tewdrig raised his eyebrows at this.

'Uther has his own advisers,' I explained simply. 'Perhaps, but you are -'

'No, it is better this way. I have Uther's ear when I need it, and he has mine. I am content.'

We sipped our sweet wine for a moment, feeling the warming draught thaw the cold places within. And Tewdrig waited for me to tell him why I had come. 'As it happens,' I began, setting my cup aside, 'I have come on an errand for the High King.'

Tewdrig leaned forward. 'So?'

'A matter of some importance, Lord Tewdrig. Your confidence is enjoined.'

'Whatever can be done, that I will do. For you, Myrddin Emrys, as much as for the High King. Of that you may be certain.'

'Thank you, my friend. But the thing I have come to ask will not be easily granted, and I would have you consider it carefully – perhaps discuss it with your counsellors before agreeing.'

'If that is what you wish. Although, if you deem it a virtue to come to me, I can tell you that I will refuse nothing you ask. For it is in my mind that if I could not help, you would not have come to me.'

Had he already guessed why I had come? Tewdrig was shrewd; his next words confirmed my suspicion. 'It is about the child, yes?' I nodded. 'It is.' 'Whose child is it?' 'Aurelius' and Ygerna's,' I told him. 'I thought as much,' Tewdrig mused. 'Not Uther's flesh, yet the same noble blood in his veins. So, the Pendragon did not care to have the poor babe in his house reminding him that his own brats stood no closer to the throne.'

'That is the pith of it,' I agreed. 'Yet the babe must be kept safe, for -'

Tewdrig nodded gravely. 'For he will surely be the next Pendragon of Britain!'

I assure you I can be as blind as the next man. And here is the proof: until Tewdrig said those words, I had never seriously considered that likely. Nor did I believe it now. To me, the child was merely that: an infant who must be protected from the overweening ambition of others, not the future king. My blindness was complete.

The deeds and doings of the present, I confess, occupied me more than that one little life. I saw no further. That is the simple truth, and there is no pleasure in the telling of it.

Tewdrig continued: 'Oh, I see the problem. Let Dunaut or Morcant or any of that stripe know that Aurelius has an heir, and the lad's life would not be worth a nettle.'

'He will be a danger to himself, to be sure – and perhaps to those around him as well.

'Bah! Let them try to harm that child! Just let them try and they will soon learn to fear righteous wrath.'

It was not an idle boast, for Tewdrig was no braggart. But I needed more than his loyal indignation. 'I know I need have no fear there, Tewdrig. Your strength and wisdom, and that of your people, will be most important. For the child must not only be protected, he must be nurtured and taught.'

'Gwythelyn is nearby at Llandaff. The boy will be well taught, never fear.' Tewdrig sipped his wine and smiled expansively. 'The son of Aurelius in my house. This is an honour.'

'It is an honour that must remain unsung. He cannot be Aurelius' son any more. From this day, he is merely a child fostered at your hearth.'

'I understand. Your secret is safe with me, Myrddin Emrys.'

'It is our secret now, Tewdrig,' I reminded him. 'And we will speak of it no more.'

'No more,' agreed Tewdrig, 'except to say me what is the name of the child? What is he to be called?'

Shameful to tell, I had not thought to call the infant anything. Neither Uther nor Ygerna had bestowed a name, and I had been too preoccupied with its safety to give it any consideration. But the babe must have a name…

A word is given when a word is required. And at this time, like so many others, the name came unbidden to my tongue: 'Arthur.'

Instantly, upon uttering the word, I heard again the voice of my vision: the throng in Londinium clamouring, 'Arthur! Arthur! Hail Arthur!'

Tewdrig was watching me closely, his brows knotted in concern. 'Is something amiss?'

'No,' I reassured him. 'The infant – let him be called Arthur.'

Tewdrig tried the name. 'Arthur… very well. An unusual name, though. What does it mean?'

'I believe he will have to make its meaning for himself.'

Then we must make certain he lives long enough to do so,' replied Tewdrig. He retrieved his cup, raised it, 'To Arthur! Health and long life, wisdom and strength! May he win the hero's portion at the feast of his fathers.'