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Part Two
Tŷ Bryn


Merlin and Aurelia

“Tell me, Myrddin . . . Or, is it Merlin—which do you prefer?” Aurelia wonders.

“I answer to many names. I always have,” I reply with a smile. The way my names and titles increase with the years—and stories with them—amuses me. I spread my hands in deference to her. “It seems to be the way of things.”

We are sitting together on a rock beside the road, overlooking a shimmering freshwater lake nestled in a curve of the green valley stretching below us into the misty distance. While Pelleas and the carriage drivers are striving with a broken wheel hub, Brother Ruan and Mairenn have led the horses down to the lake for water. It appears we may be detained for a while; although, it seems to me that if muttering and bickering and gesturing could repair the damage, we would already be strolling the streets of Venta Silurum. Still, it is a fine day with the sun bright and high overhead and not a cloud in sight, and we are travelling south on one of those warm, gladsome days for which this part of our most-favored island is renowned.

This journey was my own suggestion. What with Uther and Aurelius urgently pursuing the campaign to win over the last of the defiant tribes and rally them to a united defense of Britain, it was clear that Aurelia could not long abide the warrior camp. Three days after her arrival, two more warbands from the south joined Aurelius’ forces and more were expected any day. The brothers were increasingly engaged in negotiating with their lords for supplies of food and weapons and planning the assault on Hengist and Horsa and the barbarian strongholds on the Saecsen Shore.

When Uther suggested that she return home to Armorica to await the outcome of the campaign to secure the throne, she complained, “There is little for me to do in Constantia—now that you and your brother are here. At all events, I want to see how you are faring—not hear about it a month later, it at all.”

Uther drew breath to make a hasty reply, thought better of it, and simply looked to me for help.

“There are difficult days ahead,” I said. “And much to be done to prepare for battle.”

“And the last thing anyone needs is an old woman poking her sharp nose into it,” Aurelia replied primly. “I understand.”

Uther denies the assertion. “It is just that we cannot—”

“Allow yourselves to be distracted.” She finished the thought for him. “I do understand, believe me. But you needn’t worry about me, my son,” she reached up and patted him on the cheek—anyone else would have lost a hand. “Now that I am here, I have it in mind to visit my old home. I would like to go to Venta and see the town of my birth once more.”

She recalled that her father had purchased a house or some land there and thought that she might pursue a claim which would provide a modest retreat. At best an unlikely prospect, I considered. Still, it could do no harm to satisfy her curiosity—if adequate safety and comfort of travel could be secured. It would hardly do for the aging mother of Britain’s next High King to fall victim to some mishap on the road. For, if he could not even protect his own mother, what hope for the rest of Britain?

“Why not allow me to accompany you?” I offered. “If I might be spared here . . .”

“Yes! What could be better?” Uther seized on the solution—not least, I think, because it would keep me out of his hair for a few days.

“You would do that?” wondered Aurelia, a little taken aback by the thought.

“It would be my complete pleasure,” I assured her.

We decided then and there that Aurelia would undertake a visit to her childhood home and that I would escort her, with Pelleas and Mairenn to look after her on the way; we would leave her in Venta in the company of a local worthy of good repute to await the outcome of the battles to come. Indeed, I was not lying when I professed myself happy to assist since it meant I would have a chance to learn more about the lives of the men who, I was more than ever certain, would be vital to Britain’s survival.

With both her sons’ enthusiastic approval, we departed at sunrise the next morning, enjoying the comfort of a legate’s carriage to smooth the journey—that is, until a wheel struck a hole in the road and the much-abused axel gave way.

So, here we are: sitting on a rock beside the ruined road, our progress delayed while the damaged axel is repaired. Aurelia, though somewhat subdued after leaving her sons behind, seems as intent on learning more about me and my kinsmen as I am about hers. “But which of your many names do you prefer?” she asks again, bending her head near to hear my answer.

“Whichever fits your fancy,” I say. “Truly, they are all one to me.”

“Then I will call you Merlin.”

“As does Uther.” I nod. “Mother and son agree.”

Before she can say what is on her mind, a loud crack rings out followed by a heavy thump as something gives way and slams onto the stone cobbles. The men shout and curse, venting their growing frustration, and ever-patient Pelleas does what he can to calm them and work continues.

Smoothing out the wrinkles in her mantle, she gives a little rueful laugh and says, “Folk grumbled much about the roads when I was a girl. But I’m here to tell you those roads are even worse now!” She glances around at the men working on the carriage. “I do believe we’ll account ourselves fortunate to make it to Venta in one piece.”

“It seems we are to be here a little longer,” I observe. “Tell me more about you time in Armorica.”

She sighs at the thought, and then brightens. “I have a better idea. You are a bard, are you not?”

“Once upon a time, perhaps.”

“Then why don’t you tell me a story instead?”

I smile at the thought. How long has it been since anyone asked such a thing of me? “I don’t have my harp to hand,” I tell her. “A bard always sings with his harp. Maybe another time.”

She looks around at stranded carriage where the men are working. “We have time now,” she observes, adding somewhat wistfully, “and we may never have another chance. Please?”

I relent. “What tale would you hear?”

“Any you like,” she said. “You choose.”

I nod and consider which of all the old songs I know might suit the moment. “Well, since you ask, I will tell you one of my favorite stories. My father, Taliesin, was the Chief Bard to King Elphin ap Gwyddno,” I explained. “I am told by those who heard him that he sang this song often in the court of kings. I will tell you now as it was told to me.”

She folded her hands in her lap and settled herself to hear and, closing my eyes, I rekindled the memory and began:

“Taliesin, Chief Bard of Britain, accompanied his king on a circuit of his realm. They were in the Region of the Summer Stars when night came upon them and, having journeyed long, they climbed a hill, rolled themselves in their cloaks and fell asleep before the fire.

“It seemed to Taliesin that he had merely closed his eyes when he heard a sound like that of a thousand swans in flight. He stood up and looked around; camp and king were gone, and gone, too, the sacred mound. Instead, he saw a silver sea stretching out before him, shimmering in the pearl-gray dawn. On the strand was a boat, with neither oars nor sail, bearing a single passenger: a tall and slender woman dressed all in green and gold, whose grace and elegance far surpassed that of any beauty he had ever known.

“A single look and Taliesin knew he beheld one of the Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk race who held the Island of the Mighty long before mortal men wakened and walked the land. The lady beckoned him to the boat and with a sign bade him push it out into deeper water. As he obeyed, he found himself standing with one foot on the shore and one foot in the waves, and it was the time-between-times.

“The lady smiled and said, ‘Welcome, Prince Bladudd. Would you see a wonder?’ At these words, Taliesin forgot his former life; he became Bladudd and joined the lady in the boat. Off they went, gliding across the glass-smooth sea, passing far beyond the ninth wave so swiftly that no sooner had Bladudd settled back than the boat’s keel touched the shore of a mist-covered island.

“Bladudd leapt from the boat and turned to help the lady, but she had gone. He climbed a nearby seacliff, and thought he saw her walking along the grassy path, so he followed, trying to overtake her. He soon found himself approaching a caer more splendid than any he had ever seen. He slipped through the fortress gates and saw a company of Fair Folk hastening towards great hall.

“Joining the throng, Bladudd entered the hall arid hid behind a pillar. Wherever his eye strayed, he saw treasures marvelous to behold; wonders beyond Counting filled every corner and cranny of the hall. The least treasure would have been greater by far than any in his own world. At one end of the hall, on a jeweled throne, sat the king; his hair gleamed bright as a flame, and his face shone like the sun.

“Bladudd thought he would not be discovered. But as he peeped from his hiding place, up jumped the king and exclaimed, ‘There is a mortal creature among us! Come out from behind that pillar and declare yourself, Little Man!’

“Stepping forth, Bladudd greeted the king and said, ‘I am a man of noble birth. Therefore, I claim the same hospitality that you would ask of me if our places were changed: the best of meat and drink, a fair woman to be my companion, harpers to fill my ears with praises, the warmest place by the fire, and a pile of new fleeces for my bed.’

“‘Here is an arrogant guest,’ observed the king. ‘What is your purpose in visiting my realm? What do you want from us!’

“‘I swear by the gods my people swear by, that I mean no harm,’ Bladudd answered. ‘Ever and in all things I merely seek the truth. Indeed, all my takings will leave you no poorer, for I desire only a measure of your wisdom.’

“When the king heard Bladudd’s declaration, he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Think you that we part with our wisdom so lightly, Little Man?’

“‘I find it never hurts to ask,’ replied Bladudd.

“‘So be it,’ said the king. ‘Your wit and fearless tongue have won you a place, among us—though not, perhaps, the place you might have hoped. You shall tend my pigs.’

“Thus Bladudd became swineherd to the king of the Fortunate Isle. These pigs, Bladudd soon learned, were creatures of considerable merit. Their chief virtue was this: as often as they were killed and eaten they returned to life the next day. Moreover, eating the meat of these pigs preserved the Fair Folk from the ravages of age and death.

“For seven years, Bladudd watched over the wonderful pigs. In all that time he never got the chance so much as to dip the tip of his smallest finger into the juice of a roasting pig, let alone to taste any of the meat.

“Still, every day at midday the king’s servants would come and drive away as many pigs as were needed for that night’s feasting. And every morning pigs would be back in Bladudd’s care. With his pigs he walked the Fortunate Isle, met the Tylwyth Teg, conversed with them, and observed their ways. At night, he listened to the bards in the great king’s hall and began to understand their songs.

“Thus, Prince Bladudd grew in wisdom but, alas, remained discontented, for his low estate chafed him sorely. He decided to leave. On Samhain night, when the hidden ways between the worlds stand open and crossings can easily be made, he found his chance. While everyone else feasted, Bladudd left the fortress, driving nine of the wondrous pigs before him, for he wanted to bring a boon to Ynys Prydain.

“As ill luck would have it, the peerless pigs squealed as they ran. The Fair Folk king heard their piteous cries and gave chase. Bladudd fled, trying various charms to elude the mighty lord. He changed himself into a salmon and the nine pigs into silver scales upon his back, but the king took the form of an otter.

“Then he changed himself into a squirrel, and the pigs to nine nuts in a pine cone, but the king pursued him in the form of a ferret.

“Whereupon Bladudd changed himself into a heron, and the pigs to nine feathers on his neck—but the king became an eagle.

“Lastly, Bladudd changed into a wolf, and the nine pigs to burrs in his fur. But the king overtook him in the form of a hunter on horseback and, shaking his spear over them, Bladudd and the pigs were restored to their own shapes.

“‘You stole my pigs!’ railed the King of the Fair Folk.

“‘Not so, Mighty Lord,’ answered the brazen prince. ‘In truth, I have undertaken to save the honor of your name by delivering these pigs to my kinsmen as a gift from you. This I have done so that no one could think you mean and miserly.’

“The king’s face became black with anger. ‘That was ill-spoken, thief! You have no idea of the troubles your meddling would have caused if I had not prevented you. A most terrible and wearisome tribulation awaited you if these pigs ever set foot in your own lands. Yet, for the sake of the innocent I will prevent it. You can thank me for my kindness.’

“‘Then I thank you for nothing,’ snapped the insolent swineherd.

“‘You came seeking wisdom—

“‘Yes, and wisdom I received—no thanks to you.’

“‘Ah, if you had but given up your selfishness and pride, you would have received a far greater gift than even you could dream of asking.’ So saying, the great king raised the butt of his spear and struck Bladudd squarely on the head so hard that he fell down as one asleep.

“When Bladudd opened his eyes he was once more in this world’s realm, but the terrible blow had blighted him: his hair fell out, his teeth rotted, his skin became gray and scaly, his muscles withered, and his bones jutted out sharply. His handsome clothes fell from him in filthy rags. He appeared as one whom Lord Death had groomed for his own.

“Bladudd realized his state, and he mourned bitterly. Gathering his ragged clothes around him, he made his woeful way to a cave in the mountains where he dwelt alone in utter misery for seven years. In all that time, no human came near him, until one day a stranger appeared and summoned him from the shadows.

“Creeping forth, he saw an old woman possessed of neither beauty nor bearing: wall-eyed, gap-toothed, and heavy-lipped, with skin as creased and rough as old leather. Even so, she was beguiling to Bladudd for she came blithely into his presence and did not flinch or retch at the sight of him. Warmly she greeted him, showing neither fear nor disgust at his hideous deformities.

“‘Who are you, woman?’ inquired Bladudd. ‘What errand brings you here?’

“‘I come from a place well known to you, and I bring you glad tidings, for I know a way to heal you if healing be a thing you desire.’

“‘Desire!’ cried the blemished prince. ‘The bards themselves have no word for the breadth of my desire to be healed. I will tell you about desire! Indeed, I have not so much as seen a woman in seven years. Seven years! Of course I desire to be healed!’

“‘Very well,’ replied the hag with a smack of her lips, ‘follow me.’ The blemished prince followed his grotesque visitor to a barren hill, and beyond the hill to a barren moor, and beyond the moor to a pool of stinking, black, bubbling mud.

“‘Throw off your rags and bathe in the pool,’ the crone told him, settling herself upon a nearby rock. ‘There is healing in the water.’

“Unhappy Bladudd peered doubtfully at the mud which heaved and sighed, exhaling foul fumes. It seemed to him more punishment than cure, but he gathered his courage and into the foul slime he slid.

“The mud was hot. It burned his skin. Tears ran from his eyes in a stream. But Bladudd, who had borne his sorry affliction with great patience, endured the pain for the sake of his desire to be healed. Still, he could not endure forever. When at last the scalding mud bath grew too hot, he pulled himself from the stinking pool to stand before the woman.

“‘This is splendid, to be sure,’ Bladudd remarked, looking indignantly down the length of his reeking mud-caked form. ‘Yet, I had hoped for more.’

“‘For that remark I should leave you as I found you,’ the crone snapped. ‘Nevertheless, your cure is almost finished.’ The gap-toothed hag pointed to a willow tree Bladudd had not observed before. ‘At the foot of that tree is a vat of water. Wash the mud from yourself and be quick about it.’

“Bladudd climbed into the vat and found the water clear and cool, soothing his mud-blistered skin. He relaxed in the water and forgot his pains. Indeed, he forgot all his former hurts and troubles. When he finally stirred to rise from the vat, he had been renewed in his mind. He looked at his poor, ravaged body and, marvel of marvels, saw that his body, too, had been renewed.

“‘I am healed!’ he cried, gazing with joy upon his firm straight limbs. ‘Indeed, I am better now than when the Lord of the Fortunate Isle smote me with the haft of his spear.’

“When the hag made no reply, the prince looked up and saw that the disagreeable old crone had vanished and in her place was a beautiful maid, lovelier than any he had ever known. Her hair was pale yellow, and braided with shimmering gold; her skin was fair and smooth as milk; her eyes were deepest blue and gleamed like gemstones; her teeth were fine and even, and her nose straight; her brow was high and noble; her neck was slender and elegant; her fingers were long, her arms supple, her breasts soft and shapely.

“‘Lady,’ breathed Bladudd in a small, awestricken voice, ‘Where is the ugly old woman who conducted me to this place? I must thank her for the mercy she has shown me.’

“The comely maid looked at Bladudd; she looked to the left and to the right also. ‘I see no other woman here,’ she replied. And, oh, her voice was like melting honey. Or, perhaps you believe that I am old and ugly?’ At this she smiled so sweetly that Bladudd’s knees trembled and he feared he might fall on his face before her. ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘I detect neither fault nor flaw in you at all.’

“‘Nor I in you,’ the lady told him. ‘But perhaps you would be more at ease if you were clothed.’

“Bladudd blushed, but espying his tatters lying on the ground, replied, ‘Alas, I would go without cloak and clothes rather than wear those filthy rags again.’

“‘Ah, well,’ mused the maid, ‘you must be accustomed to very fine clothes indeed if these be rags to you.’ So saying, she leaned from her rock and took up the discarded heap. The startled Bladudd saw that his tatters had become handsome garments once more.

“‘My clothes?’ he wondered aloud, as well he might, for he beheld cloak, siarc, breecs, and buskins more costly, more luxurious than any he had ever known. ‘Are they mine indeed?’

“‘You cannot think they are mine,’ the lady replied, smoothing her soft white silken mantle with slender hands. ‘And between the two of us,’ she added, ‘it seems to me you have the greater need.’

“The astonished Bladudd dressed himself quickly, and when he had finished, he appeared a very nobleman. ‘In truth,’ he announced, ‘I am no stranger to fine attire, but I have never owned clothes of such quality.’

“‘Will you forget your sword?’ asked the lady.

“The astonished prince saw that the lady held a golden-hilted sword across her palms. ‘Is this mine also?’ he asked, suspecting trick. He had never owned such a magnificent weapon.

“‘I see no one here but you,’ the lady replied. ‘And I tell you the truth, I am well pleased with the sight.’

“Delighted, Bladudd strapped the sword to his hip and felt a very king. He gazed lovingly upon the maid. ‘Great Lady,’ he breathed, his heart swelling with love and gratitude, ‘what is your name that I might thank you?’

“The maid returned his gaze from beneath her long lashes. ‘Do you not know me at all?’ she asked.

“‘If I had ever seen you before,’ he answered, ‘I would never have let you escape my sight. And if I heard your name but once, I would live forever on the sound.’

“The maid rose from her place on the rock. She smiled and lifted her hand to Bladudd. ‘My name is Sovereignty,’ she replied. ‘Long have I sought you, Bladudd.’

“The renewed prince held his head to one side. ‘A name like no other’ he said. ‘Yet it becomes you nobly well.’ Then he took her warm hand and the holding of it filled him with pleasure. ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘will you stay with me? Before you answer, let me say I do not think I could live one more day if you removed yourself from my sight.’

“‘I will stay with you, Bladudd,’ the maid replied.

“‘Will you wed me?’ asked Bladudd, his heart beating like a struck drum.

“‘I will wed you, Bladudd,’ the fair lady vowed. ‘Truly, I was born for you, and you for me—if only you knew it.’ She pointed to the willow tree where two tethered horses now stood. So, together the maid and the unblemished prince rode to the realm of men, whereupon Bladudd and the beautiful maid were wed that very day.

“The prince’s people rejoiced at his fortuitous return and hailed him king. Lady Sovereignty placed the golden torc of kingship around her husband’s throat. From that day, Bladudd ruled wisely and well. His keen desire for truth, and his loyal wife, stood by him through all things, and through all things did Bladudd prosper his people.

“Having dreamed this dream, Taliesin awoke, and it was the time-between-times when the morning stars yet linger before the rising sun. From that day, he sang his dream wherever he went. And blessed were those who heard him.”

Finished, we both sit in silence for a moment and let the story settle. When she stirs, Aurelia regards me with an expression I have seen many times over my years as a bard: mingled amazement and wonder, tinged with a hint of reverence and, perhaps, a touch of awe. Reaching out, she places a cold hand over mine and says, “Thank you, Merlin, I don’t know how . . .” Her voice falters. “I am blessed to have heard it. Thank you.”

From behind us on the road there comes another thump, accompanied by more swearing from the drivers. “The town lies just beyond those hills to the south,” I observe. “If the carriage cannot be mended, we can send for help, or ride the rest of the way.”

Aurelia shakes her head gently. “My riding days are over, my friend,” she replies, gently and somewhat allusively. Before I can probe further, she turns an inquisitive gaze on me, and says, “But you, Wise Emrys—you do not age as others do. Why is that?”

I shrug and offer the answer I usually give when anyone asks such a question: “It is merely my Fair Folk inheritance. Those born of Llyn Llyonesse seem to carry their years more lightly. It is nothing more than that.”

“Not magic?” she wonders. “That’s what people say, you know.”

“Heaven forbid it!” I reject the notion. “Not magic, no. The secret of outlasting our years, I believe, lies in the blood of the race. Anyway, far too many gullible people put far too much faith in magic. There are things said about me you would not believe.”

“I know that only too well!” she hoots. “It is the same with me. Why, the way some tell it, I strangled my best friend so that I could steal her husband and make myself Queen of Armorica.” An old fire flares instantly, then subsides just as quickly. “Ah, but that is as far from the truth as the moon from a mushroom.”

“Life is often like that,” I agree, thinking of my own strange journey to this time and place. “And the truth of a thing is the province of but a blesséd few.”

“Yes, well, it is at least true to say that if I had never gone to Deva Vitrix, I would not be here at all,” she declares firmly. “Especially, as it was not in my mind to go there in the first place.”

“Yet, go you did. What happened to change your mind?”

“My father died.”



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