'Where are we going?' Uther leaned across between the horses, and then frowned
when the druid remained silent. 'You have to tell me sooner or later… after all, I
am king… or I was last time I looked.' Jerking the reins over, he bumped the
horses together causing Merlyn to fight for his balance as his horse skittered to
the side.
'Be patient, boy,' snapped the druid, once he had managed to regain control.
'I've asked very little of you over the past few years. When we first met, you may
recall that I agreed to help you free Nineve, but you may also remember that it
was a pact. You agreed that one day you would be beholden to me. If that
memory has not escaped you, think of this journey as your repaying that debt.
Kindly do me the grace of riding with me, and enjoying my company for a few
days. Is it so much for an old friend to ask?'
They continued in silence. It was a warm day, the celebration of Beltane less
than a week behind them, with its feasting, dancing and fires of purification now
complete. The druids had all departed, satisfied that the land was now reborn and
a good harvest season assured, which only left Merlyn with his request for a few
days of Uther's time.
'Boy?' said Uther, with a smile. 'You called me, boy. Nobody has called me
that in quite some time. Do you call Arthur, "boy"?' When Merlyn didn't answer,
Uther continued. 'Well I would wager that you do and that it rankles him as
much as it once did me. Does my son progress with his studies?'
Merlyn turned in his saddle and regarded Uther with a sombre expression.
'Arthur is developing well, very well. One day, he is going to make a formidable
leader. What's more, he is a good and honest young man.' His face broke into a
rare smile. 'But then, Uther, he is your son, I would expect nothing less of him.'
'Thank you, Merlyn, that makes me happy, and it was the most you've said
all morning. Maybe, if you're feeling a bit more chatty, you can tell me where
we're going, and why the mystery?'
'Just enjoy the day, Uther,' replied Merlyn, pulling the hood of his robe over
his head. 'Just enjoy the day. There are no pressures out here. No demands or
petitions from your people, just the beauty of the land and, as you say, a mystery
to keep your mind occupied, if you so wish.'
When evening began to set in, they made camp on the fringe of the Weald.
The sun dipped below the distant hills and the ancient forest became dark and
foreboding, sending Uther searching the shadows for firewood to keep the chill
at bay. Merlyn watched, clearly amused as the King of Britons blew life into the
fire then busied himself constructing a shelter.
'Still remember how it's done then, boy?'
'Stop calling me boy, old man. Of course I remember, and I confess to
enjoying the experience more than I thought possible. I forgot about life before I
was king. The days when I had to build my own fires and was merely Usher
from the village.' He sat back and stared into the flames, lost in the memories of
another time, and then glanced around at the shadowy forest and shivered. 'These
trees hold many memories and shades of my past. I still remember Horsa chasing
us through this forest. And when Cal and I…' he lapsed into a momentary
silence before continuing, 'I hope the spirits let me sleep tonight.'
'You will sleep, Uther. Then tomorrow we shall rise early. At dawn we have
someone to meet, just a short ride from here, before we enter the forest.' Merlyn
gathered his robes around him and refused to be drawn into further conversation
when Uther tried, once again, to question him on the true reason for their
journey.
It was still dark when they broke camp the next morning, a chill mist
hanging to the edge of the trees making for an unpleasant start. For a while, they
rode in near darkness along a well-trampled path, and then dawn began to paint
the eastern sky with the first blush of the new day, slowly banishing the night
and the last residues of sleep from Uther's mind. The sun was still below the
level of the treetops as the two riders entered the village of Rudge. There was a
general bustle about the place even at this early hour, the good people of Rudge
not given to sleeping late when there was work to do in the fields. They rode
past the first few dwellings and the smell of cooking reached out to taunt them,
and Uther's stomach growled.
'We have a few things to do before we can eat, I'm afraid,' said Merlyn, 'but
our first stop is just the other side of the village… not far.' He kicked the horse
into a trot and they carried on through the village between the roundhouses and
several larger square-built structures, and then on past empty cattle pens and the
last few scattered dwellings of the village. Once back out into open country, a
narrow path led across a small meadow and down towards a collective of smaller
roundhouses in the distance. A boy of around ten summers ran out as they
approached, he was hollering and shouting happily, as he waved a stick about his
head, closely followed by a small black and tan dog. The boy stopped his game
when he saw them, but stood his ground, clearly unafraid of the two strangers as
the dog growled protectively at his side.
'Who are you?' Have you come to see me mother? Or is it Tilly, yer after?'
Merlyn smiled down at the boy. 'I don't know. Would your mother's name be
Elen, by any chance?'
'Course 'tis, who are you?'
'My name is Merlyn, young man. We met a few years ago when you were…
a little younger. I thought I would come to visit and see how you are doing,' The
old druid sat upright in the saddle and made a show of searching the trees and
bushes nearby, then leaned lower to whisper, '… and this fine fellow here is King
Uther Pendragon.'
The boy glanced across at Uther, and then back to Merlyn. 'Is he really? A
King?' he gasped. Merlyn nodded and was about to say more, when a woman
came out from one of the huts, drying her hands on a cloth.
'Lancelot, come back here!' The dog ran to her, wagging its tail, but Lancelot
remained where he was.
'E's a King, Mum. There's a King come to see us!' He pointed up at Uther, a
big grin spreading across his face.
'Oh spirits.' The woman's hand went to her mouth as she studied the two
visitors, her eyes flitting quickly over to Uther, before coming back to rest upon
Merlyn. 'It's you. You were the one… on that day… at his birth in the forest. It
was you, wasn't it?'
Merlyn nodded and smiled down at the flustered woman. 'Elen, may we
speak with you?'
The sounds of Lancelot attacking trees with his stick and the dog barking
excitedly by his side faded behind them as they followed Elen into the largest of
the dwellings.
A short while later they were back on the road with Lancelot and the dog
keeping pace alongside them as an escort to the edge of the Weald. It was
apparently necessary as their young guard and his dog had to defend them from
three large bushes and a vicious-looking birch tree before they had made it to the
safety of the forest. They left him savaging a holly bush with his stick, daring it
to fight back in a loud piping voice.
'What was that all about?' Uther asked, when they were beyond the boy's
hearing. 'Who is that boy? And why, by the spirits, did we promise to take him
and his mother back to Pendragon Hill?'
'There are many changes ahead, Uther. When Arthur takes the throne,
everything must be ready for him. That boy back there was born so that Arthur
could become the great leader that this land will need. Remember, there is no
such thing in life as coincidence, everything that happens, happens for a reason.
Unfortunately, most people remain unaware of the clues to life that the spirits
leave us, but it's a druid's job to notice when things happen, to untangle the clues
and make sense of them… and it's a king's job to listen to the wisdom of druids.'
Uther glanced across and was somewhat relieved to see Merlyn grinning at
him. 'Come, boy, we have one more meeting before we get to break our fast.'
The path wove through the woods with the soft light of dawn filtering down
through the green canopy. On two occasions, Merlyn stood high in his saddle
and peered about seeking direction, and then, each time apparently satisfied, led
them from the path, away from the well-trodden route. Uther's stomach
continued to complain in gurgles and rumbles, causing him to apologise as the
druid frowned in his direction.
'No, it is I who should apologise, Uther. This is taking longer to find than I
thought it would. Unfortunately, it was several years ago that I was last at this
place and… Well, I wasn't exactly myself at the time.'
'Are you telling me we're lost?' chided Uther. 'I thought that druids didn't get
lost?' His stomach growled again. 'I'm sorry. I'm not used to missing a meal.'
Merlyn fished in his bag and pulled out a hard biscuit. 'Stop apologising, and
eat this.' He threw it across to Uther. 'We're not lost, we're finding our way
perfectly well. It's just a little hard to backtrack after so many years… ahhh, yes,
this may well be what we're looking for.'
After a few paces, they could see a large clump of impenetrable brambles
looming as a dark shadow through the trees. When they got closer, Uther began
leading his mare around on a narrow animal path to the left.
'No, Uther, we're not going round we're going in. This is what we've been
looking for.' Merlyn held up his staff, and then thinking better of it, lowered it
again and turned to Uther. 'Watch the path for me, Uther. I thought I heard riders
just then.'
With a frown, Uther turned and studied the trees; he hadn't heard anything.
He strained his ears for any telltale movements that might announce someone
coming, but there was nothing. Merlyn coughed behind him, there was a rustle
of branches and leaves, and when he turned back, Merlyn was studying him
sheepishly. The druid quickly pivoted back to the brambles.
'Oh look,' he cried, 'a path! I hadn't noticed that before… had you?'
Sure enough, slightly to the side of them was a path leading into the
brambles. Uther cast a questioning look at Merlyn, which the druid avoided as
he disappeared into the dim confines of a thorny passage. Uther followed.
For about twenty paces, they had to be careful of thorns, and then the growth
thinned and they emerged into an open glade, which Uther immediately
recognised as a druid's circle. He felt a rising sense of unease as they dismounted
and allowed the horses free reign to crop the lush grass.
Within the confines of the brambles, large stones were set at regular intervals
defining the edge of a circle, each stone rising to about waist height.
'Where are we, Merlyn… and why are we here?'
'You're perfectly safe, boy; trust me. We're going to enter the circle. You may
feel a slightly… strange feeling as we do so. Don't be alarmed. It's all perfectly
natural and nothing here will harm you, I promise.'
Drawing a deep breath, Uther stepped past the closest stone and onto the rich
green grass of the inner circle. A slight tingling travelled throughout his body
and a dry whisper filled his senses, it was almost as if the glade had suddenly
become host to a swarm of invisible flies. Gathering his resolve, he walked on,
taking comfort from an understanding look from Merlyn.
Together, they slowly made their way towards a larger stone that dominated
the centre of the circle, the distance taking far longer to cross than felt possible.
It was like walking through a fevered dream. Uther raised his eyes to look out at
the surrounding trees. They were swaying, and it was hard to focus on them.
Light reflected in splashes from the leaves in bright sparkling patterns. It was as
if they were moving within a different time and space… and there was no other
sound than the whispering of the stones.
In this dream-like state, Uther's mind returned to the day, so many years ago,
when he had leapt from a high cliff and down into the deep, green depths of the
lake near his village. He had struggled towards the surface, gagging for breath,
his ears filled with a hissing rush of bubbles. He remembered gazing up, there
had been the same strange patterns of light, reflecting on the surface above him,
guiding him to safety, the same lights he was seeing now in the trees around the
glade.
The whispering grew louder, drawing his attention back to the central stone.
It was of equal height to the other stones, was roughly square, and had a flat top
like a small table. Absently, he noticed a strange symbol standing proud on one
face. Then, unbidden, he felt his hands reach for Excalibur. He glanced at
Merlyn, and the druid nodded as he drew the sword.
'All is as it was meant to be, Uther.' Merlyn's voice echoed loud in his ears.
'This sword was a gift from spirit. It came to you at a time of need, and now you
return it for Arthur to claim when his time is right. Strike it deep!'
The whispering vibration within the circle increased to a climax, and Uther
felt little more than an observer as, clutching the sword for the last time, he
raised it over his head and stabbed down and the blade slid half its length into
the centre of the stone. He heard a rasping sound as it entered, but felt no
resistance. It was more a sensation of acceptance from the stone as the sword
slid home.
Uther found himself, one long moment later, staring at the sword embedded
almost to the hilt, as if he were waking from a dream. Glancing about, he
realised he could now see and hear properly again, the strange whispering that
had filled the glade now replaced by bird song and the breeze blowing through
the treetops.
'Try to pull it from the stone.' Merlyn gestured to the weapon, once so
familiar. Regarding it closely, Uther now felt detached, as if something more
than the sword had gone from his side. There were no feelings of remorse or
regret, and he gave the hilt only one small experimental tug, knowing he would
be unable to free it.
'It waits now for Arthur. It will be here ready for when he needs it.' Taking
Uther by the arm, Merlyn led him from the circle. They walked the horses
through the bramble path and only mounted once they were out amongst the
trees of the Weald again. They set off and Merlyn began talking of finding some
food to break their fast and of the new castle that they should build in Camulod.
Uther glanced back. There appeared to be little sign of any path into the
impenetrable brambles now guarding Excalibur and his mind immediately began
the process of questioning what had happened.
'It's time we built a fortress from stone,' continued Merlyn, breaking into
Uther's thoughts. 'The Romans left us plenty of material at Camulod. Of course,
the Saxons pulled most of their buildings down when they fought the Iceni, but
the stone remains. It would make a fine place for the Pendragons to rule from,
and there are now masons among us able to construct it. I happen to know that
Berin is very keen to oversee the project.'
As Merlyn chattered happily, Uther rode in silence with a growing feeling
that his time was now over. He had brought the land to a relative peace, the
tribes united under a ruling council over which he presided. The Saxon invaders
had, for the time being, become peaceful settlers. True, their numbers were
growing, and there were now Angles, Jutes, and Gauls joining them, but there
were representatives from each group sitting at the large round council table, and
a peace was holding while they all called themselves Britons.
Then, of course, there was Arthur. The boy had been the centre of his
happiness ever since his birthing, one storm-lashed winter night. He had grown,
as Merlyn was quick to point out, to be a fine young man who would become a
strong, formidable king able to lead and inspire generations, there was nothing
remaining for Uther Pendragon to resolve. Maybe it was time for Usher to return
and see the land, to run free, and to live.
* * *
Calvador Craen stopped his pacing and glanced round at his audience. 'So
there you have the conclusion of this tale. Arthur, as I'm sure you all know, went
on to be one of the greatest kings this land has ever known, while Uther decided
to slip away and live some time as Usher, the village boy who had once been
burned out of his village. However, there was a problem for Usher.'
Cal crouched down and laid his hands upon the old storyteller's knees.
'When Merlyn saved your life, Uther, he interfered with more than just your
death. Do you remember what Nineve said before you fought Horsa for the final
time? She said that two would begin, unsure of their future… that another would
remain without knowledge of his past… and that the vanquished would walk the
shores of the shadowland, without hope of past, present, or future.
'Well, both Merlyn and Nineve paid their price for their parts that day, by
starting the incarnation of their lives in ignorance of who they really were, the
druids had to awaken them. Horsa, even now, walks the shadowland as the
vanquished, and you…' He sighed, and then stared into the old storyteller's eyes,
searching for the friend he once knew so well.
'The final judgment of the spirits that day was that you would remain in the
land you so loved without any knowledge of your past. Uther, you have walked
this land now for more than a thousand years, unaware of who you are, or ever
were. Arthur and his knights searched for you for nearly thirty years without
ever finding a trace of where you had gone.' Calvador Craen stood up and stared
into the fire. 'Merlyn entered the shadowland in search of me. I don't know how
he did it but the spirits allowed me to return here to find you.' As he turned back,
there were tears in his eyes. 'I'm sorry it took so long, Uther… I came here to
guide you back to spirit, to those that love you and have waited for you all this
time.' Both old men glanced across to the fire as if hearing more than the
crackling flames.
'Help me up, Cal.' Uther held up an arm and Calvador Craen gently pulled
him to his feet where he swayed for a moment brushing loose tobacco strands
from his waistcoat before addressing his audience for the final time. 'My name,
is Uther Pendragon… you have known me as Usher Vance. Mine, as you now
know, has been a long and some would say interesting life.' Brushing back a
strand of long silver-grey hair, the old storyteller gazed about again at the small
audience of attentive faces and smiled. 'I'm sorry, my friends, but I must now
depart your company. I thank you for listening to my story. I hope that this
evening will leave you with stories enough to fill your midwinter eves for many
years to come.'
The two old friends turned towards the fire and, as they did, they began to
fade. It was as if their bodies slowly changed to grains of sand and, grain by
grain, were being blown away upon a breeze. The ghostly figures walked
forward, the fire flared as they passed through, and then died back down to
nothing as they vanished, leaving the gathering strangely silent before the cold
dead ashes.
* * *
Now, so many years later, you can still go back to that village on midwinter's
eve and join the villagers as they gather around the fire; it's a tradition. However,
just you mind that as they tell stories about that night and the price that Uther
Pendragon paid for their land, you don't take to sitting in the old leather chair by
the fire. You see; it always remains vacant on midwinter's eve. Out of respect for
the old storyteller, and the hope that one day he might just return.