The room became still. Myrddion knew that he had been dreaming of his beloved dead, but he wept anyway, for the hours ahead would tax his ingenuity. His only solace was that he could finally wound Uther fatally, although the blow would not be felt for many years. For a few moments, he wondered why he presumed that the child would be a boy.
Then, his decision finally made, he left his ghosts in the warm darkness and retraced his steps, stronger and more determined than he had ever been. As he extinguished the wall sconce, he swore that the lips of Mithras smiled at him.
When Myrddion returned, Lucius stared at him as if he had never seen him before. A newly born man had entered the room and bowed to the seated king, who was already drunk from the heavy red wine and his heavier sins and triumphs. Myrddion’s face was as handsome and as aristocratic as ever, but the boy had been burned out of him, leaving a man whose face was as strong and cleanly defined as a good sword. On his forehead, the white stripe of prophesy seemed wider and more pronounced.
‘How goes the queen?’ Myrddion asked. ‘Has there been any change in her condition?’
Even his voice had changed, becoming firmer and less harried than in the past, Lucius thought in amazement. He has seen his way clear to some decision. After Uther came
back with such a selfsatisfied smirk on his face, I expected the healer to return as a broken man. Instead, Myrddion has become the master rather than the fearful servant.
The bishop turned away from the grinning death’s head of Uther Pendragon and surreptitiously crossed himself for protection. Although he was a man of God, the Roman in his blood still cringed away from the creatures of darkness.
‘We’ve heard nothing, healer,’ Botha said softly, but his eyes were wary and unsettled. ‘Perhaps you should investigate.’
The captain sees the changes too, Lucius thought with relief. Good. I’m not being overly imaginative. ‘I’ll go with you, Myrddion. I promised I would pray with the queen if her condition worsened,’ he murmured. ‘Also, I must prepare for my departure from Venta Belgarum. Whatever happens, my duty to the queen is done and Glastonbury calls me home.’ He turned to Bishop Paulus. ‘Please excuse me, Paulus, if I leave you with our noble master. I’ll send word as soon as the child is born.’
Together, Myrddion and Lucius quit the room, leaving the king behind, befuddled with drink, but still very pleased with the agreement he had wrung from his healer.
Outside the queen’s apartments, the two men could hear Ygerne cry out and, for the first time, Myrddion considered the possibility that mother and child might both perish. Death in childbirth was common, and many more infants died within a few months of being born. Myrddion winced at the sound of Ygerne’s agony and wished that men were sufficiently enlightened to permit healers, regardless of their sex, to assist struggling mothers. Too often, filthy old hags earned their bread as midwives, killing as many women as they saved, through ignorance and dirty hands. At least Ygerne was spared the touch of a superstitious old woman. Ruadh would do everything possible to ensure the survival of both mother and child.
‘Uther wants me to expose the child in the forest as soon as it’s born, regardless of its sex,’ Myrddion confided baldly as Ygerne’s screams grew more insistent.
‘Why would he expect you to agree?’ Lucius asked, his forehead knitted in suspicion. Why would
Myrddion bare his soul when the stakes were so high? ‘You’re a healer, and your oath precludes infanticide.’
Myrddion stared directly at the priest with eyes that said nothing. ‘I promised to obey. I lied, of course, but Uther has always found me truthful so he never doubted my oath. What’s a bare-faced lie after the sins I’ve committed for him? It’s just one more blot on my conscience. As you can imagine, Uther thinks he has my measure. He took me to an underground cellar that was sacred to Mithras, and then threatened me, in his delicate way, with entombment if I didn’t comply. The man’s a fool! I intend to give the child to you, priest, and beg you to spirit him away to an unknown place of safety. I don’t want to know where he is taken, for I don’t trust myself to stay mute if I know where he is. Uther is too clever by far – and too ruthless. Sooner or later, I’d be forced to give the child up to him.’
‘You presume the child will be male,’ Lucius retorted. ‘It could so easily be a girl.’
‘But it’ll still be a pawn in Uther’s power game. The High King was correct in one detail when we spoke in that cold little cell under the earth. Any child of Uther Pendragon will suffer if it is raised in Venta Belgarum, or even if it’s fostered in some far-off place, if anyone should become aware of its sire and dam. I understand this truth, for I was the Demon Seed during my childhood and I suffered the taunts of children and stoning by peasants. How much worse would it
be for the child of the Dragon King? What would Uther create out of such a child? And what power would it give to any of the tribal kings if they should hold it to ransom?’
‘I understand what you say, but why can’t you spirit the child away yourself? Do you fear Uther so much?’
‘Not at all, Lucius. I’m well past any personal fear of him, but if I knew where to find the child I’d be tempted to use it as a pawn at some future date. I know my nature, bishop, and I understand my weaknesses. I truly believe that a High King must control all the warring tribes of Britain and lead a concerted attack against the Saxons. I have spent my energy and my conscience towards this end and I would have no mercy on Uther’s child when the High King begins to grow old and weak – as he surely will.’
Lucius eyed the young man who stood so comfortably before him as he exposed his weaknesses for the bishop’s perusal. ‘Uther may expect you to betray him,’ he began slowly.
‘Probably. He trusts nobody and nothing, save Botha, and then only to a limited degree,’ Myrddion continued. ‘But our ruse will only fail if you are caught, and I am confident that any man who was once a commander in the legions would be a better tactician than that. It is my intention to take the child into the woods, and then wait for you at the crossroads leading towards the north. There, if you have the stomach for it, I’ll guide you to the child, or place it in the hands of any person in whom you have total trust. For your part, you must swear to me that you will never tell me where the infant is. I’ll seek it out anyway, eventually, so it’s best if you keep the infant hidden for as long as possible and as far away from Uther Pendragon as can be managed.’
Beyond the door, Ygerne screamed in a high, shrill voice as if her soul were being torn from her body. Then, while both men held their breath, they heard a strong and lusty wail from the lungs of an infant.
‘The child is born,’ Myrddion sighed. ‘Give me your answer quickly, Lucius of Glastonbury, for we have very little time in which to decide what to do. I’ll give you time to depart, but don’t dally if you choose to save the child. As you’ve said, Uther cannot be trusted.’
Myrddion gripped the prelate by the forearm
and the priest was amazed by the strength in the healer’s fingers. Such hands were made for the sword, Lucius thought, but perhaps the scalpel has served his people better.
‘Aye. I’ll take the child, but Uther will also suspect me. I’m certain he’ll order Botha to have you followed, because there’s no way he’ll trust you to keep your part in the bargain you’ve made. You can expect to be followed specifically to ensure the child is dead. I’ll need to have a considerable start if I’m to avoid any retribution.’
‘We’ll cross that particular bridge when we come to it. Square your shoulders, bishop, for now we must view the object of so much hatred. And the child is but a few moments old.’
Considering the long hours of pain and labour, the queen’s apartments seemed unnaturally tidy except for some blood-soaked cloth on the wooden floor. Exhausted, Ygerne was dozing in her great bed while Berwyn sponged her lower limbs free of blood. The queen was very pale and new creases marred the fine skin of her face from nose to jawline. The glamour and mystery that had surrounded her for all of her adult life had vanished during the terrible night of pain, leaving an ageing woman lying wanly on the heaped pillows with great purple bruises under her closed, blued eyelids.
‘The poor woman,’ Lucius whispered softly. ‘One way or another, her child will be stolen from her, so her solace will be stolen as well. She will lose everything.’
He knelt beside the bed and began to pray quietly, while Myrddion approached Ygerne and laid his hand on her brow, ignoring the infant for the moment.
In a delirium of weariness, the queen stirred before opening her wonderful eyes. Myrddion smiled gently at her, but he knew from the lack of soul in her empty irises that
she was wandering in dreams that were far more pleasant than the reality of Venta Belgarum.
‘We have a son, Gorlois. At last, I have given you your heart’s desire,’ she whispered, and Myrddion discovered that a lump had formed in his throat while tears prickled at the back of his eyes. Impulsively, he kissed the careworn face and her dreaming lips smiled.
‘Thank you, beloved,’ Myrddion whispered. ‘You have been very brave and strong, but now is the time to rest.’
‘Yes, Gorlois, I’ll sleep now.’
Myrddion left Ygerne reluctantly. Her innocence in this tragedy made his betrayal more poignant, but at least he could ensure that her child would live. The pity was that he could not tell her so.
‘Show me the babe, Ruadh,’ he ordered, and Ruadh picked up the well-wrapped infant, deftly unfurled the blanket that covered it and presented the child for the healer’s examination.
‘The son of Uther Pendragon’s loins,’ Myrddion whispered. ‘Ave, little one, for so much rests on your tiny shoulders.’
The boy was very large, but not chubby like most newborns. Berwyn had washed away the blood and mucus that stained his vigorous, squirming limbs and cleaned out the questing mouth that already contained the swelling buds of several teeth that threatened to break through the gums. The boy was abnormally long and had no hair, except for a fine down of reddish-blond fuzz that was so like Uther’s hair colour that Myrddion caught his breath. Then the child opened his eyes and Myrddion would have crossed himself had he followed the Christian faith.
The boy could not yet focus his vision, but his eyes were struggling already to pierce the fogs of birth and feed the brain that lay beneath the large skull. But the wonder of the baby was the colour of those eyes – clear, transparent and grey, like winter skies before a storm.
Lucius examined the child with disquiet from over Myrddion’s arm. ‘He has raptor’s eyes, like the wolf or the sea shark. Will the Lord High God have mercy on us
if we save the life of a danger more potent than Uther Pendragon?’
But the babe tried to smile, or grimace, and the sweetness of that unconscious expression softened the hearts of both men at a glance.
‘His mother smiles thus, so perhaps she is born anew in the heart of this child,’ Bishop Lucius whispered softly. ‘I will pray that it proves to be so.’
The two men whispered together while Myrddion nursed the squirming child. Ruadh could tell from the set of her master’s shoulders that he was tense and expectant by turn, and her heart sank.
As Myrddion rewrapped the babe’s long body, the little creature gripped his hand tightly. The small fingers wrapped around his thumb with amazing strength and determination for one so newly born, and Myrddion wondered if the child held his heart in the same way. This strange little creature would never set him free until death took him.
‘I must spirit him away to a safe place, Ruadh,’ Myrddion hissed so that Willa and Berwyn couldn’t hear him. ‘Please tell Uther Pendragon that his son has been stillborn and that Myrddion Merlinus remembers the Temple of Mithras. The High King will understand.’
‘You can’t kill this child, master. He’s too important – I know he is. If I must, I’ll try to stop you, I swear it, although your strength is far greater than mine.’ Ruadh was so desperate that her eyes were filled with tears and she clutched at her master’s cloak with balled fists.
Gently, Bishop Lucius prised her fingers away from Myrddion’s cloak and set him free of her grasp. With
the babe in the crook of his arm, the healer moved swiftly across the room and out into the dark corridor.
‘Be quiet, daughter, for Myrddion is saving the life of the boy with the fiction of exposure. I will take the babe from him at the crossroads on the Roman road, so do as the healer demands and then keep your mouth firmly shut. These little girls,’ he indicated Willa and Berwyn with one hand, ‘are not strong enough to carry such knowledge.’
As Ruadh hiccuped with distress, and the first tears in many years began to pour down her cheeks, Bishop Lucius raised her chin and kissed her forehead. ‘Be brave, daughter, and tell the High King nothing but what your master told you to say. I have trusted you overmuch with the life of this child, but Myrddion’s plan depends on your ability to lie to Uther Pendragon. Wait for a little and allow him time to depart safely, in case Uther tries to betray him. Can you withstand questioning by the High King?’
‘Watch me, master! If it will save the babe, I’ll convince Uther Pendragon that the sky is falling. And I’ll wait. You’ll also need time to leave the city, and I can use the queen’s condition as an excuse. The poor thing! She is at peace now, but she’ll soon begin to weep.’
‘You must keep the girls safe by explaining that the child is sickly, and that Myrddion is trying to revive it. The fiction that it dies will then be believed, for many infants succumb to death during the first day. Willa and Berwyn will only remain alive if they know nothing of what is really happening. I must go now, or Myrddion will be waiting overlong.’
‘God bless you, Bishop Lucius – and the Mother – for this child belongs to her more than to Uther or Ygerne. The little thing has a destiny, I know it.’
After Lucius had hurried away from the birthing room, Ruadh explained the fiction of the child’s weakness to Willa and Berwyn, and all three waited patiently with the sleeping queen until the morning sun began
to sink into afternoon. Then, with real repugnance and anxiety, Ruadh made her way to Uther’s rooms. Botha admitted her to the king’s bedchamber grudgingly, but reasoned that her message concerned the birth of Uther’s heir.