In "choosing" to stay with me, he had made the best of a bad job, since for the time being he was tied to the cave by his injury and by the loss of his horse, but he served me well, mastering what resentment he might yet feel towards me and his new position. He was silent still, but this suited me, and I went quietly about my affairs, while Ralf gradually fell into my ways, and we got along tolerably well together. Whatever he thought of my quarters in the cave, and the menial tasks which between us we had to do, he made it clear that he was a page serving a prince. Somehow, through the days that followed, I found myself relieved, bit by bit, of burdensome work which I had begun to take for granted; I had leisure again to study, to replenish my store of medicines, even to make music. It was strange at first, and then in some way comforting, to lie wakeful in the night and hear the boy's untroubled breathing from the other side of the cave. After a while, I found I was sleeping better; as the nightmares receded, strength and calmness came back; and if power still withheld itself, I no longer despaired of its return.
As for Ralf, though I could see that he still fretted against his exile — to which, of course, he could see no clear end — he was never less than courteous, and as time went on seemed to accept his banishment with a better grace, and either lost or hid his unhappiness in a kind of contentment.
So the weeks went by, and the valley fields yellowed towards harvest, and the message came at last from Tintagel. One evening in August, towards dusk, a messenger came spurring up the valley. Ralf was not with me. I had sent him that afternoon across the hill to the hut where the shepherd, Abba, lived all summer. I had been treating Abba's son Ban, who was simple, for a poisoned foot; this was almost healed, but still needed salves.
I went out to meet the messenger. He had dismounted below the cliff, and now clambered up to the flat alp in front of the cave. He was a young man, spruce and lively, and his horse was fresh. I guessed from this that his message was not urgent; he had taken his time, and come at his ease. I saw him take in my ragged robe and threadbare mantle in one swift, summing glance, but he doffed his cap and went on one knee. I wondered if the salute was for the enchanter, or for the King's son.
"My lord Merlin." .
"You are welcome," I said. "From Tintagel?"
"Yes, sir. From the Queen." A quick upward glance. "I came privily, without the King's knowledge."
"So I had imagined, or you would have borne her badge. Get up, man. The grass is damp. Have you had supper?"
He looked surprised. It was not thus, I reckoned, that most princes received their messengers. "Why, no, sir, but I bespoke it at the inn."
"Then I won't keep you from it. I've no doubt it will be better than you'd get here. Well then, your business? You've brought a letter from the Queen?"
"No letter, sir, just the message that the Queen desires to see you."
"Now?" I asked sharply. "Is there anything wrong with her, or with the child she bears?"
"Nothing. The doctors and the women say that all is well. But" — he dropped his eyes — "it seems she has that on her mind which makes her want to talk with you. As soon as possible, she said."
"I see." Then, with my voice as carefully neutral as his: "Where is the King?"
"The King plans to leave Tintagel in the second week of September."
"Ah. So any time after that it will be 'possible' for me to see the Queen."
This was rather more frank than he cared for. He flashed me a glance, then looked at the ground again. "The Queen will be pleased to receive you then. She has bidden me make arrangements for you. You will understand that it will not do for you to be received openly in the castle of Tintagel." Then, in a burst of candour: "You must know, my lord, there is no man's hand in Cornwall but will be against you. It would be better if you came disguised."
"As for that," I said, fingering my beard, "you will see that I'm half disguised already. Don't worry, man, I understand; I'll be discreet. But you'll have to tell me more. She gave no reason for this summons?"
"None, my lord."
"And you heard nothing — no gossip from among the women, things like that?"
He shook his head, then, at the look in my face, added quickly: "My lord, she was urgent. She did not say so, but it must concern the child, what else?"
"Then I will come." I thought he looked shocked. As he lowered his eyes, I said, sharply: "Well, what did you expect? I am not the Queen's man. No, nor the King's either, so there's no need to look scared."
"Whose, then?"
"My own, and God's. But you can go back to the Queen and tell her I will come. What arrangements have you made for me?"
He hurried, relieved, on to his own ground. "There is a small inn at a ford of the river Camel, in the valley about five miles from Tintagel. It is kept by a man called Caw. He is a Cornishman, but his wife Maeve was one of the Queen's women, and he will keep his counsel. You can stay there without fear; they will expect you. You may send messages to Tintagel, if you will, by one of Maeve's sons — it would not be wise to go near the castle until the Queen sends for you. Now for the journey. The weather should still be fine in mid-September, and the seas are usually calm enough, so —"
"If you are about to advise me that it is easier to go by sea, you're wasting your breath," I said. "Has no one ever told you that enchanters can't cross water? At least, not with any comfort. I should be seasick did I so much as cross the Severn River in the ferry. No, I go by road."
"But the main road takes you past the barracks at Caerleon. You might be recognized. And then the bridge at Glevum is guarded by King's troops."
"Very well. I'll take the river crossing, but make it a short one." I knew that he was right. To go by the main road through Caerleon and then by the Glevum Bridge would, even without the prospect of discovery by Uther's troops, put several days on my journey. "I'll avoid the military road. There's a good track along the coast through Nidum; I'll go that way, if you can bespeak me a boat at the mouth of the Ely River?"
"Very well, my lord." And so it was arranged. I would cross from the Ely to the mouth of the Uxella in the country of the Dumnonii, and from there I would find my way south-west by the tracks, avoiding the roads where I might fall in with Uther's troops or Cador's men.
"Do you know the way?" he asked me. "For the last part, of course, Ralf can guide you."
"Ralf will not be with me. But I can find it. I've been through that country before, and I have a tongue in my head."
"I can arrange for horses —"
"Better not," I said. "We agreed, did we not, that I would be better disguised? I'll use a disguise that has served me before. I'll be a travelling eye doctor, and a humble fellow like that doesn't expect to post with fresh horses all the way. Have no fear, I shall be safe, and, when the Queen wants me, I shall be there."
He was satisfied, and stayed for a while longer answering my questions and giving me what news there was. The King's brief punitive expedition against the coastal raiders had been successful, and the newcomers had been pushed back behind the agreed boundaries of the Federated West Saxons. For the moment things were quiet in the south. From the north had come rumours of tougher fighting where Anglian raiders, from Germany, had crossed the coast near the Alaunus River in the country of the Votadini. This is the country that we of Dyfed call Manau Guotodin, and it is from here that the great King Cunedda came, invited a century ago by the Emperor Maximus, to drive the Irish from Northern Wales and settle there as allies to the Imperial Eagles. These were, I suppose, the first of the Federates; they drove the Irish out, and afterwards remained in Northern Wales, which they called Gwynedd. A descendant of Cunedda held it still; Maelgon, a stark king and a good warrior, as a man would have to be to keep that country in the wake of the great Magnus Maximus.
Another descendant of Cunedda still held the Votadini country: a young king, Lot, as fierce and as good a fighter as Maelgon; his fortress lay near the coast south of Caer Eidyn, in the center of his kingdom of Lothian. It was he who
had faced and beaten off the latest attack of the Angles. He had been given his command by Ambrosius, in the hope that with him the kings of the north — Gwalawg of Elmet, Urien of Gore, the chiefs of Strathclyde, King Coel of Rheged — would form a strong wall in the north and east. But Lot, it was said, was ambitious and quarrelsome; and Strathclyde had sired nine sons already and (while they fought like young bull seals each for his square of territory) was cheerfully siring more. Urien of Gore had married Lot's sister and would stand firm, but was, it was said, too close in Lot's shadow. The strongest of them was still (as in my father's time) Coel of Rheged, who held with a light hand all the smaller chiefs and earls of his kingdom, and brought them together faithfully against the smallest threat to the sovereignty of the High Kingdom.
Now, the Queen's messenger told me, the King of Rheged, with Ector of Galava and Ban of Benoic, had joined with Lot and Urien to clear the north of trouble, and for the time being they had succeeded. On the whole the news was cheering. The harvest had been good everywhere, so hunger would not drive any more Saxons across before winter closed the seaways. We should have peace for a time; enough time for Uther to settle any unrest caused by the quarrel with Cornwall and his new marriage, to ratify such alliances as Ambrosius had made, and to strengthen and extend his system of defenses.
At length the messenger took his leave. I wrote no letters, but sent news of Ralf to his grandmother, and a message of compliance to the Queen, With thanks for the gift of money she had sent me by the messenger's hand to provide for my journey. Then the young man rode off cheerfully down the valley towards the good company and the better supper that awaited him at the inn. It remained now for me to tell Ralf.
This was more difficult even than I had expected. His face lit when I told him about the messenger, and he looked eagerly about for the man, seeming very disappointed when he found that he had already gone. Messages from his grandmother he received almost impatiently, but plied me with questions about the fighting south of Vindocladia, listening with such eagerness to all I could tell him of that and the larger news that it was obvious that his forced inaction in Maridunum fretted him far more than he had shown. When I came to the Queen's summons he showed more animation than I had seen in him since he had come to me.
"How long before we set out?"
"I did not say 'we' would set out. I shall go alone."
"Alone?" You would have thought I had struck him. The blood sprang under the thin skin and he stood staring with his mouth open. Eventually he said, sounding stifled: "You can't mean that. You can't."
"I'm not being arbitrary, believe me. I'd like to take you, but you must see it isn't possible."
"Why not? You know everything here will be perfectly safe; in any case, you've left it before. And you can't travel alone. How would you go on?"
"My dear Ralf. I've done it before."
"Maybe you have, but you can't deny I've served you well since I've been here, so why not take me? You can't just go to Tintagel — back to where things are happening — and leave me here! I warn you" — he took a breath, eyes blazing, all his careful courtesy collapsing in ruins — "I warn you, my lord, if you go without me, I shan't be here when you come back!"
I waited till his gaze fell, then said mildly: "Have some sense, boy. Surely you see why I can't take you? The situation hasn't changed so much since you had to leave Cornwall. You know what would happen if any of Cador's men recognized you, and everyone knows you round about Tintagel. You'd be seen, and the word would go round."
"I know that. Do you still think I'm afraid of Cador? Or of the King?"
"No. But it's foolish to run into danger when one doesn't need to. And the messenger certainly seemed to think there was still danger."
"Then what about you? Won't you be in danger, too?"
"Possibly. I shall have to go disguised, as it is. Why do you think I've been letting my beard grow all this while?"
"I didn't know. I never thought about it. Do you mean you've been expecting the Queen to send for you?"
"I didn't expect this summons, I admit," I said. "But I know that, come Christmas, when the child is born, I must be there."
He stared. "Why?"
I regarded him for a moment. He was standing near the mouth of the cave, against the sunset, just as he had come in from his trip across the hill to the shepherd's hut. He was still clutching the osier basket which had held the salves. It held a small bundle now, wrapped in a clean linen cloth. The shepherd's wife, who lived across in the next valley, sent bread up weekly to her man; some of this Abba regularly sent on to me. I could see the boy's fists clenched bone-white on the handle of the basket. He was tense, as angry and fretting as a fighting dog held back in the slips. There was something more here, I was sure, than homesickness, or disappointment at missing an adventure.
"Put that basket down, for goodness' sake," I said, "and come in. That's better. Now, sit down. It's time that you and I talked. When I accepted your service, I did not do so because I wanted someone to scour the cooking pots and carry gifts from Abba's wife on baking day. Even if I am content with my life here on Bryn Myrddin, I'm not such a fool as to think it contents you — or would do so for long. We are waiting, Ralf, no more. We have fled from danger, both of us, and healed our hurts, and now there is nothing to do but wait."
"For the Queen's childbed? Why?"
"Because as soon as he is born, the Queen's son will be given to me to care for."
He was silent for a full minute before he said, sounding puzzled: "Does my grandmother know this?"
"I think she suspects that the child's future lies with me. When I last spoke with the King, on that night at Tintagel, he told me he would not acknowledge the child who would be born. I think this is why the Queen has sent for me."
"But... not to acknowledge his eldest son? You mean he will send him away? Will the Queen agree? A baby — surely they would never send it to you? How could you keep it? And how can you even know it will be a boy?"
"Because I had a vision, Ralf, that night in Tintagel. After you had let us in through the postern gate, while the King was with Ygraine, and Ulfin kept guard outside the chamber, you diced with the porter in the lodge by the postern. Do you remember?"
"How could I ever forget? I thought that night would never end."
I did not tell him that it had not ended yet. I smiled. "I think I felt the same, while I waited alone in the guardroom. It was then that I saw — was shown — for certain why God had required me to do as I had done, shown for sure that my prophecies had been true. I heard a sound on the stairs, and went out of the guard-room onto the landing. I saw Marcia, your grandmother, coming down the steps towards me from the Queen's room, carrying a child. And though it was only March, I felt the chill of midwinter, and then I saw the stairs and the shadows clear through her body, and knew it was a vision. She put the child into my arms and said, 'Take care of him.' She was weeping. Then she vanished, and the child too, and the winter's chill went with her. But this was a true picture, Ralf. At Christmas I shall be there, waiting, and Marcia will hand the Queen's son into my care."
He was silent for a long time. He seemed awed by the vision. But then he said, practically: "And I? Where do I come into this? Is this why my grandmother told me to stay with you and serve you?"
"Yes. She saw no future for you near the King. So she made sure you would be near his son."
"A baby?" His voice was blank. He sounded horrified, and far from flattered. "You mean that if the King won't acknowledge the child, you'll have to keep it? I don't understand. Oh, I can see why my grandmother concerns herself, and even why you do, but not why she dragged me into it! What sort of future does she think there is in looking after a king's bastard that won't be acknowledged?"
"Not a king's bastard," I said. "A king."
There was silence but for the fluttering of the fire. I had not spoken with power, but with the full certainty of knowledge. He stared, open-mouthed, and shaken.
&nb
sp; "Ralf," I said, "you came to me in anger, and you stayed from duty, and you have served me as well and as faithfully as you knew how. You were no part of my vision, and I don't know if your coming here, or the wounds that held you here with me, were part of God's plan; I have had no message from my gods since Gorlois died. But I do know now, after these last weeks, that there is no one I would sooner choose to help me. Not with the kind of service you have given till now: when this winter comes it isn't a servant I shall need; I shall need a fighting man who is loyal, not to me or to the Queen, but to the next High King."
He was pale, and stammering. "I had no idea. I thought... I thought..."
"That you were suffering a kind of exile? In a way, we both were. I told you it was a waiting time." I looked down at my hands. It was dark now outside the cave; the sun had gone, and dusk drew in. "Nor do I know clearly what lies ahead, except danger and loss and treachery, and in the end some glory."
He sat quiet, without moving, till I roused myself from my thoughts and smiled at him. "So now, perhaps, you will accept that I don't doubt your courage?"
"Yes. I'm sorry I spoke as I did. I didn't understand." He hesitated, chewing his lip, then sat forward, hands on knees. "My lord, you really don't know why the Queen has sent for you now?"
"No."
"But because you know that your vision of the birth was a true one, you know that you will go safely this time to Cornwall, and return?"
"You could say so."
"Then if your magic is always true, might it not be because I go with you to protect you that you make the journey safely?"
I laughed. "I suppose it's a good quality in a fighting man, never to admit defeat. But can't you see, taking you would only be taking two risks instead of one. Because my bones tell me I shall be safe, it doesn't mean that you will."
"If you can be disguised, so can I. If you even say that we must go as beggars and sleep in the ditches... whatever the danger..." He swallowed, sounding all at once very young. "What is it to you if I run a risk? You are to be safe, you told me so. So taking me can't endanger you, and that's all that matters. Won't you let me take my own risks? Please?"