At last, she was finished.
Within the hour, Enid’s body expelled the afterbirth. The nurse was cradling the boy-child in her arms, and staring at Myrddion as if she was in the presence of a god.
‘But for your skill, the mistress would be dead by now, my lord. May the gods love you, and you also, my lady, for I swear I could not have done what you did, not if I live to be a thousand.’
Nimue washed her hands in the hot water used to remove the birth sac from the infant. She felt sick and drained, but triumphant. As she packed clean cloth between Enid’s legs and tied it in place, Myrddion professed himself satisfied that Enid hadn’t haemorrhaged.
‘Unfortunately, Enid is not yet out of danger. When the old Jew showed me what to do in such cases, he warned me against overconfidence. A woman can suddenly start to bleed and, once the haemorrhage begins, nothing can stop it.’
‘May the gods have mercy,’ the nurse cried.
‘Has Enid organized a wet nurse?’ Myrddion asked.
The old servant nodded.
‘The child is hungry and wants feeding, so you must look after that little problem.’ He nodded to her. ‘I appreciate your assistance.’
He turned to his apprentice and smiled down at her exhausted face.
‘Should Enid wake, Nimue, you must give her three more drops of the poppy, for she must be kept still. It is essential she remains completely still.’ He smiled once more. ‘I must go now, or I will face censure from the women.’
‘But you saved her life,’ Nimue answered, her eyes shining with pride.
‘We Celts are still barbarians at heart, I’m afraid, and there are some things that are totally unacceptable to our people. The Greeks knew more about medicine than we do, and the Jews know more again, for all that they are the most despised of all races. I have heard tell that the sons of Ishmael are the finest physickers on earth. But I will be punished if I am found in this place.’
‘Then go, Myrddion, and find Gawayne. You should be the one to tell him he has a fine son,’ Nimue replied, and began to wash the sheen of sweat and blood from Enid’s supine body.
Myrddion searched the fortress for Gawayne, but the new father had vanished. The warriors guarding the fortress wall had not seen him descending to the town below, so Myrddion knew that Enid’s husband was not drinking in some vulgar tavern outside the fortress.
In all of Cadbury, there was only one place left where he could seek out Gawayne. Reluctantly, he determined to see if the warrior was closeted with Wenhaver in her apartments.
He entered the queen’s bower unannounced. If Gawayne wasn’t with the queen, he would apologize abjectly, and search further. If Gawayne was present . . . well, that possibility did not bear thinking about until he must explain his presence.
Gawayne lay naked in the queen’s embrace on her rose-coloured bed. At first, neither lover noticed his presence, so Myrddion coughed loudly, causing Gawayne to swear profusely and attempt to cover himself. Wenhaver simply lazed on her pillows, making no effort to cover her body, and stared insolently at Artor’s closest confidant.
‘You! Out! Get yourself dressed and wait for me in the corridor,’ Myrddion ordered Gawayne who sheepishly dressed and obeyed.
‘And close the door behind you,’ Myrddion added.
‘Look your fill, Myrddion Merlinus.’ Wenhaver smiled her harlot’s smile, and wriggled her wide hips on the coverlet.
Myrddion threw a light woollen robe at her.
‘Cover yourself, slut,’ he sneered. ‘Your used goods don’t tempt me in the slightest. The punishment for harlotry and treason, for such is the crime in your liaison with Gawayne, is the stake. You and Gawayne may regret this day ever began.’ He bowed with an exaggerated flourish that was worse than a slap. ‘I leave you to your vulgar amusements.’
Outside, Gawayne waited. He looked like a ten-year-old child expecting a punishment from a parent.
‘Walk with me,’ Myrddion ordered. ‘Your wife has been delivered of a large, strong son, although he nearly killed Enid in the birthing. While Nimue struggled to save the lives of your wife and child, you forgot your nobility and honour so far as to rut with the wife of the High King, your uncle. Have you no shame, Gawayne? Have you no honour?’
Gawayne was silent.
‘No. Neither of you have shame or honour. Your wife was dying in agony and you were behaving like an animal. No love was involved, for I don’t believe either of you care for each other at all. Ultimately, someone must pay for your sins, Gawayne, for the gods will not be mocked. You’ve betrayed your kinsman and, even now, commoners whisper and laugh behind their hands at Gawayne’s playing the game of the two-backed beast with the queen. In the process, they laugh at Artor, who has never caused you harm. He went to war for your brother. He has never treated you with suspicion, even when your mother and your aunt tried to raise rebellion against him and gave succour to his enemies. Do you want your king to be sneered at, you fool, and made the butt of jokes?’
Gawayne looked miserable and guilty by turn. ‘You don’t understand.’
Myrddion laughed. ‘I wasn’t always old, so don’t think I am ignorant of the tricks that some women play. Do you wish to cause a war between Leodegran, Lot and Artor? Do you want the Saxons to claim all of Britain? You must begin to be a man, Gawayne. You must take your family back to the north. You will leave the queen to her amusements and run for your life, for she’ll destroy you. And if she doesn’t do it, then I will!’
‘I will go, I promise,’ Gawayne began, but Myrddion cut him short.
‘It’s time for you to welcome your son.’
‘You won’t say anything of this to Enid?’ Gawayne pleaded nervously.
‘I am not so unkind,’ Myrddion replied sadly. ‘I will say nothing to Enid, for she is truly noble, unlike the queen. Why should she suffer because of your lust? But you will leave Cadbury as soon as your wife can travel and, in the interim, you must keep away from the queen.’
Gawayne actually shuffled his feet like a youth caught out in an indiscretion. ‘Thank you, Lord Myrddion.’
The contrition on his face was real enough, but Myrddion knew in his heart that Gawayne would always be a headstrong, easily led fool whose brain was ruled by his sexual urges.
That night, the king’s adviser wrote a long letter to Artor in Latin, certain that the messenger who would bear it to Venta Belgarum would be unable to spy upon his last message to the High King.
Finally, at first light, Myrddion called Nimue to his rooms. She entered, her silver hair in an aureole around her face. He took her hand and kissed the palm.
‘Do you still believe that you love me, Nimue?’ he asked softly.
‘Neither a single night nor a lifetime of nights will weaken my love,’ she replied gravely.
‘I will become old and frail, and you will be forced to care for me,’ Myrddion warned.
‘Such care would be a pleasure to me, my lord. I have told you so.’
‘And I will die while you are still young. I will not know of the years of enforced loneliness in far-off, empty places that you will be destined to endure.’
‘As I have said, I do not care for tomorrow.’
‘Then, my love, we must leave Cadbury immediately. I’ve battled against my feelings for you for a long time and now, weakly, I submit to them. If you wish to have me, we must go, or I will change my mind for the love of Artor. I adore you, Nimue, with an old man’s final flush of passion, but I have loved my king for years beyond counting, so you should never be jealous of my devotion to him.’
He smiled at the look of joy that transfigured her face.
‘I could never resent any love you have for your king, Myrddion. How could I, when I owe Artor everything?’
‘You must prepare what supplies we need in panniers for the packhorses, for we won’t be returning to this place. Choose well. You must find wagons and hire servants. We leave as soon as possible, and our destination is wild and barren.’
‘Myrddion,’ Nimue cried, and held him tightly as if she would never set him free. Tears began to flow down her cheeks.
‘Why tears, my sweet? Do you love Cadbury Tor so well?’
‘Never! I’m happy, and I’m so joyful that I could fly.’
‘We leave at noon tomorrow. Finally, I ask that you wear your silver dress and your neck chain. Let us give Cadbury a parting that they will remember for many years to come.’
She nodded, and her face was radiant with hope. ‘May I say goodbye to Gruffydd, Odin and Percivale in a letter?’
‘Of course. But you must hurry. For Artor will try to stop us if he can, and I hope to be far to the north before he realizes that we have gone.’
So, on a wintry day when the sun intermittently broke through great banks of grey cloud, Myrddion Merlinus, believed by many to be a sorcerer and the spawn of a demon, rode out of Cadbury Tor for the last time with the Maid of Wind and Water. They were clad in silver and black, and they were smiling as the light reflected off their hair and struck sparks from the maiden’s silver dress. Three packhorses and two carts accompanied them, and the common people felt a chill come over them for no one could remember a time when Lord Merlinus hadn’t been at the king’s back.
‘Perhaps they go to join Artor,’ some citizens speculated.
‘Perhaps the maid has stolen away Lord Myrddion’s soul,’ hazarded others, who were less kindly disposed towards the forward young woman.
When they passed, the sun disappeared behind the dark clouds, and the day became grey and grim.
By the time Myrddion’s courier delivered his letter to Artor, the lovers were far away to the north, heading towards the mountains and the deserted fortress of Caer Gai. No man or woman saw them again in the west or, if they did, no word was sent to Cadbury of their discovery.
Without a single thought for the health of his horses, Artor rode to Cadbury post-haste in the vain hope that Myrddion had changed his mind. He wept late at night on the icy road when he believed no warrior could see his tears, but his bodyguard understood that Artor had been dealt a mortal blow. He drove the horses hard, almost to the point of death, but when the High King reached his fortress, he found Myrddion’s study empty and already covered in a light coating of dust.
On the desk, a simple scroll in the Roman style lay waiting, ready for Artor’s hand. He opened it and read the title. Then the High King laughed until he wept.
The scroll was the last part of Caesar’s memoirs.
Artor called for a goldsmith and ordered that a box should be made, to hang on a long neck chain. When the plain box was finished to the king’s satisfaction, he reread Myrddion’s letter, folded it into a small square, and placed it in the box. The chain hung from Artor’s neck so that the letter lay above his heart.
My lord, my friend, my son,
I am leaving you at last, and I beg you not to try to find me. I have given too many years in the saving of the west, and now I crave only peace and a chance to love, as you once loved.
I do not desert you because of Caius or because I believe that the kingdom will fail. Lady Fortuna spins her wheel and we rise or fall as she prescribes. No, I leave because I must, if I am ever to find myself again and share what is left of me with Nimue. As you know so well, all men must ultimately submit to their fates.
I am proud of the man you have become, but prouder yet of the man you are not. I have watched as you struggled with the shade of Uther Pendragon in your soul, but I promise that he will never gain the ascendancy in your nature. You learned as a young man what love truly is, and that knowledge, my lord, makes all the difference.
The west will fall when you are dead. I have studied the Saxons and the Celts, and of this I am certain. Only one Artor was born to weld the tribes together, and no other king shall rise after you have gone. Besides, the Saxons have nowhere else but here to make their home. They must adopt the west as their own, or they will starve. I predict they will not starve.
You think now that all you have endured and sacrificed is for nothing, but you are wrong. The ordinary people remember, for they are the true earth of Britain. As long as the sun rises and sets, your name will endure. This, too, I promise you.
We will not meet again in this life. But I have hope that your Christian Jesus spoke the truth, and that the soul goes on forever. Then we will embrace in the old way, without fear, or the duties of power, or misunderstandings, but in perfect trust.
Remember who you are, dear Artorex, the boy beneath the king, and I will be satisfied that I did not labour in vain.
Written in haste and love,
Myrddion Merlinus
Cadbury Tor
‘Well, that evil old witch was right,’ Gruffydd commented to his two friends. ‘When Nimue was barely seven days old, Morgan predicted that the child would steal away the mind of the kingdom. And she has done exactly that.’
‘Nimue always adored her master,’ Percivale protested. ‘And he loved her, so I see no reason for them to be denied happiness together.’
‘They have gone to the far, quiet places and the hollow oak now swallows them,’ Odin stated ponderously. ‘Artor’s kingdom will now begin to die.’
‘You’re a cheerful bastard, I must say, Odin,’ Gruffydd growled. ‘I can’t see much change in the kingdom myself. The fortresses are stronger than ever they were before, and we are still holding the Saxons at bay.’
‘But the heart of the king is broken,’ Percivale murmured. ‘Still, I will hold fast, no matter what our fates may be.’
‘And I,’ Odin echoed.
‘And me too, I suppose,’ Gruffydd said, ‘since I’m too old to be a spy again, and the spymaster has gone awandering with his fair lady.’ He would miss Nimue, his foster-daughter, the child he had found discarded and left to die in reeds near the body of her mother.
He shook himself free of the sombre mood that was settling over him and thumped the table, startling his two silent companions.