Bernard Cornwell - Excalibur

‘Good,’ he said, rocking to the boat’s motion. His long black hair flapped in the wind that was stretching the belly of our sail taut and streaming its frayed edges. The wind was also skimming the tops from the white-crested waves and driving the spray inboard, though I think more water came into the boat through its gaping seams than across its gunwales. My spearmen bailed lustily. ‘But I think Mordred lives still,’ Taliesin went on, ignoring the frantic activity in the boat’s centre, ‘and that the news of his imminent death is a ruse. But I could not swear to that. Sometimes we mistake our fears for prophecy. But I did not imagine Merlin, Lord, nor any of his words in my dream.’

Again I touched Hywelbane’s hilt. I had always thought that any mention of Merlin would be reassuring, but Taliesin’s calm words were chilling.

‘I dreamed that Merlin was in a thick wood,’ Taliesin went on in his precise voice, ‘and could not find his way out; indeed, whenever a path opened before him, a tree would groan and move as though it were a great beast shifting to block his way. Merlin, the dream tells me, is in trouble. I talked to him in the dream, but he could not hear me. What that tells me, I think, is that he cannot be reached. If we sent men to find him, they would fail and they might even die. But he wants help, that I do know, for he sent me the dream.’

‘Where is this wood?’ I asked.

The bard turned his dark, deep-set eyes onto me. ‘There may be no wood, Lord. Dreams are like songs. Their task is not to offer an exact image of the world, but a suggestion of it. The wood, I think, tells me that Merlin is imprisoned.’

‘By Nimue,’ I said, for I could think of no one else who would dare challenge the Druid. Taliesin nodded. ‘She, I think, is his jailer. She wants his power, and when she has it she will use it to impose her dream on Britain.’

I was finding it difficult even to think about Merlin and Nimue. For years we had lived without them and, as a result, our world’s boundaries had taken on a precise hardness. We were bounded by Mordred’s existence, by Meurig’s ambitions and by Arthur’s hopes, not by the misty, swirling uncertainties of Merlin’s dreams. ‘But Nimue’s dream,’ I objected, ‘is the same as Merlin’s.’

‘No, Lord,’ Taliesin said gently, ‘it is not.’

‘She wants what he wants,’ I insisted, ‘to restore the Gods!’

‘But Merlin,’ Taliesin said, ‘gave Excalibur to Arthur. And do you not see that he gave part of his power to Arthur with that gift? I have wondered about that gift for a long time, for Merlin would never explain it to me, but I think I understand it now. Merlin knew that if the Gods failed, then Arthur might succeed. And Arthur did succeed, but his victory at Mynydd Baddon was not complete. It keeps the Isle of Britain in British hands, but it did not defeat the Christians, and that is a defeat for the old Gods. Nimue, Lord, will never accept that half-victory. For Nimue it is the Gods or it is nothing. She does not care what horrors come to Britain so long as the Gods return and strike down her enemies, and to achieve that, Lord, she wants Excalibur. She wants every scrap of power so that when she relights the fires the Gods will have no choice but to respond.’

I understood then. ‘And with Excalibur,’ I said, ‘she will want Gwydre.’

‘She will indeed, Lord,’ Taliesin agreed. ‘The son of a ruler is a source of power, and Arthur, whether he wills it or not, is still the most famous leader in Britain. If he had ever chosen to be a king, Lord, he would have been named High King. So, yes, she wants Gwydre.’

I stared at Taliesin’s profile. He actually seemed to be enjoying the boat’s terrifying motion. ‘Why do you tell me this?’ I asked him.

My question puzzled him. ‘Why should I not tell you?’

‘Because by telling me,’ I said, ‘you warn me to protect Gwydre, and if I protect Gwydre then I prevent the return of the Gods. And you, if I’m not mistaken, would like to see those Gods return.’

‘I would,’ he acknowledged, ‘but Merlin asked me to tell you.’

‘But why would Merlin want me to protect Gwydre?’ I demanded. ‘He wants the Gods to return!’

‘You forget, Lord, that Merlin foresaw two paths. One was the path of the Gods, the other the path of man, and Arthur is that second path. If Arthur is destroyed, then we have only the Gods, and I think Merlin knows that the Gods do not hear us any more. Remember what happened to Gawain.’

‘He died,’ I said bleakly, ‘but he carried his banner into battle.’

‘He died,’ Taliesin corrected me, ‘and was then placed in the Cauldron of Clyddno Eiddyn. He should have come back to life, Lord, for that is the Cauldron’s power, but he did not. He did not breathe again and that surely means the old magic is waning. It is not dead, and I suspect it will cause great mischief before it dies, but Merlin, I think, is telling us to look to man, not to the Gods, for our happiness.’

I shut my eyes as a big wave shattered white on the boat’s high prow. ‘You’re saying,’ I said, when the spray had vanished, ‘that Merlin has failed?’

‘I think Merlin knew he had failed when the Cauldron did not revive Gawain. Why else did he bring the body to Mynydd Baddon? If Merlin had thought, for even one heartbeat, that he could use Gawain’s body to summon the Gods then he would never have dissipated its magic in the battle.’

‘He still took the ashes back to Nimue,’ I said.

‘True,’ Taliesin admitted, ‘but that was because he had promised to help her, and even Gawain’s ashes would have retained some of the corpse’s power. Merlin might know he has failed, but like any man he is reluctant to abandon his dream and perhaps he believed Nimue’s energy might prove effective? But what he did not foresee, Lord, was the extent to which she would misuse him.’

‘Punish him,’ I said bitterly.

Taliesin nodded. ‘She despises him because he failed, and she believes that he conceals knowledge from her, and so even now, Lord, in this very wind, she is forcing Merlin’s secrets from him. She knows much, but she does not know all, yet if my dream is right then she is drawing out his knowledge. It might take months or years for her to learn all she needs, but she will learn, Lord, and when she knows she will use the power. And you, I think, will know it first.’ He gripped the nets as the boat pitched alarmingly.

‘Merlin commanded me to warn you, Lord, and so I do, but against what? I don’t know.’ He smiled apologetically.

‘Against this voyage to Dumnonia?’ I asked.

Taliesin shook his head. ‘I think your danger is much greater than anything planned by your enemies in Dumnonia. Indeed, your danger is so great, Lord, that Merlin wept. He also told me he wanted to die.’

Taliesin gazed up at the sail. ‘And if I knew where he was, Lord, and had the power, I would send you to kill him. But instead we must wait for Nimue to reveal herself.

I gripped Hywelbane’s cold hilt. ‘So what are you advising me to do?’ I asked him.

‘It is not my place to give advice to lords,’ Taliesin said. He turned and smiled at me, and I suddenly saw that his deep-set eyes were cold. ‘It does not matter to me, Lord, whether you live or die for I am the singer and you are my song, but for now, I admit, I follow you to discover the melody and, if I must, to change it. Merlin asked that of me, and I will do it for him, but I think he is saving you from one danger only to expose you to a still greater one.’

‘You’re not making sense,’ I said harshly.

‘I am, Lord, but neither of us yet understands the sense. I’m sure it will come clear.’ He sounded so calm, but my fears were as grey as the clouds above and as tumultuous as the seas below. I touched Hywelbane’s reassuring hilt, prayed to Manawydan, and told myself that Taliesin’s warning was only a dream and nothing but a dream, and that dreams could not kill.