Merlin's Harp (13 page)

  On that first visit I did not go into the chapel. I did so on later visits, and so I came to see the carved wooden Gods and the everburning lamp; but inside the chapel the magic pooled like a deep lake with me at its bottom, and I never stayed there long.

  We had come to Arimathea to see Merlin's old friend and schoolmate, Abbot Gildas.

  Abbot Gildas was a small, lean man whose bushy red hair was salted with white. His red eyebrows twitched, bunched, and stretched with every thought that flickered through his quick mind. Sitting cross-legged under his curving hut-wall, I could watch Gildas happily for hours as he listened to Merlin's songs, tales, and poems, and answered with his own, all the time twitching or frowning, grinning or growling. I found him endlessly entertaining.

  He sat at a table with parchment, quill and ink before him. Merlin sat on a stool beside him, Enchanter on his knee, and even when song was uncalled for, his even-length fingers wandered the strings. There was no moment of silence in Gildas's hut when we were there, but only talk, laughter, angry hisses, song, and Enchanter's rippling, tinkling comments.

  I was the only silent being there; my part was to leap up at a small gesture from either Gildas or Merlin and run out to the cookhut for more ale. Apart from this service I seemed to disappear and be forgotten, which well suited my Fey nature. I watched and listened like a Guard child in a tree, happy to receive, without giving, information.

  I was known as Merlin's servant boy, Niv. Strangely, though we returned to Arimathea several times a year for fifteen years, Gildas never seemed to expect Niv to grow up. Niv remained the eternal child, useful for ale runs. Otherwise unconsidered.

  Sometimes when Merlin told a story Gildas would bend over his parchment, dip his quill in ink and mark the parchment. Over several visits I observed this, growing more and more curious; finally one day I rose, stood at Gildas's shoulder and looked down at the ink marks. I must have thought myself truly invisible and beyond Gildas's observation.

  Merlin said, "Niv, Gildas is writing a book." I signed,
What?

  Merlin went on. "To those who can read, those ink marks speak. Monks yet unborn will read in Gildas's book of what happened in the kingdom before their time."

  I signed,
Why?

  Gildas half-turned on his stool and looked up at me. The way his nostrils quivered, I saw that he had smelled as well as seen me. Quickly I skipped back. Gildas turned back. "Merlin, this boy should learn to read."

  "You forget, friend. I have not that art myself."

"You should learn to read too!"

  Merlin began to argue that reading might destroy his memory; Gildas produced feats of memory to disprove this theory; the two men argued, and Niv sank again into his invisible corner, glad to be forgotten.

  Another time, Merlin sang for Gildas the Battle of Badon. Enchanter thrummed and drummed. Merlin's voice whispered and roared. He did not notice—but I did—how Gildas's brows and beard twitched, how his eyes flashed and his gnarled hands flexed.

  Merlin had just reached the climax, where Arthur kills nine hundred Saxons with his magic sword Caliburn, when Gildas leapt up and shouted, "Sing me no more of this Arthur!"

  Merlin looked up at him. Enchanter twanged once more and was silent. In excessively mild tones, Merlin remarked, "I have noted before now in this hut a certain lack of enthusiasm for the King. But you must write of him in your book. Arthur will be our history."

  "Not in my book!" Gildas cried. "That cursed name is not mentioned in my book!"

  "Hm," said Merlin. "And after all the tales I have told you! All that breath wasted…" As if absently he caressed Enchanter, and sweet notes drowned out Gildas's harsh breathing. "This is because of your brother, I suppose. Whom Arthur killed."

  "No! My brigand brother deserved his fate!"

  "Well. I am glad to see you so fair-minded. But why, then—"

  "You know how Arthur paid for that Badon battle! And all the other battles!"

  "Paid for…? I never thought about it."

  Neither had I. Even now, after all my experience with Humans, I am still surprised by greed, and the vast importance of pence and gold in Human affairs. Very few Humans will take a step that does not enrich them. I know this but tend to forget it because it seems so unnatural to me. In the case of war, for instance, I would suppose men would fight for their lives, homes, and freedom without being paid. I would suppose that chargers and swords and shields and lives would be given freely. But no; men will fight freely when the enemy stands at their door, but not when he waits in the next village.

  Abbot Gildas enlightened us as to Arthur's means of funding his militia. "He robbed the monasteries, brother!"

  "Ah." Merlin stroked his beard. "You monks take a vow of poverty, am I wrong?"

  "Don't be a child! Niv over there knows monks have to eat!"

  "And drink good ale." Merlin nodded.

  "And keep the tapers burning in the chapel! And keep decently clothed!"

  "So for this you leave Arthur out of history?"

  "What other revenge can I take?"

  Merlin smiled. "You surprise me, Gildas, seeking revenge!"

  "Well. I am only Human."

  "But you will find it hard to leave Arthur out entirely. You will have little history left."

  "What little I have will be a moral history!"

  "But consider, friend Gildas; Arthur—"

  "Do not name him again to me!"

  "—The King, by fighting back Saxons, allows your monastery to flourish. Yours and all the others. Your Christian church grows like a vine in his shadow. Without his sword Caliburn in their way, the Saxons would have hung you on a tree for Odin by now."

  Gildas twitched his brows and muttered, and finally changed the subject.

  As we rode away, I suggested to Merlin, "Why do you not ask Gildas to teach you to write? There is power in that."

  Merlin growled like a bothered bear. "We are not brothers, Gildas and I."

  "He calls you so."

  "We are old friends who followed the path of wisdom together since boyhood. But there comes a fork in that path where we part company. Niviene, have you noticed the sign that some of the brothers draw in the air when they see us?"

  "The sign against evil."

  "Ah, indeed! That is a sign against the 'Father of the Lies,' the 'Prince of Darkness,' the foul fiend himself!"

  "In truth?"

  "The brothers know I am half Fey and that I deal with the Fey, who are devils."

  I felt again the familiar delight in power. "I did not know we were so dangerous! I am deeply flattered, Merlin!"

  "If they knew you were Fey…" Merlin shuddered. "For that matter, if they knew you were female…"

  "What would they do?"

  "Well…I do not think they would harm us."

  "You do not think so." Merlin's words sobered me. I felt now a prickling of unease.

  "But they would certainly cast us out of their midst forever."

  "Ah. Is that all?"

  "And they would burn herbs in Gildas's hut to purify the air. And they might burn Gildas's book, though he is the Abbot."

  "But they would not burn us."

  "I cannot be sure of that."

  So even Gildas and his brothers, who spoke softly and walked gently, almost like Fey, could turn and rend like the rest of their savage kind.

  During another visit, Gildas spoke to enlighten me. "Chivalry," he said, "is the knights' rule of life. Monks have their rule to guide them in serving God. Knights have their rule to guide them in serving their chief. Or their duke. Or their king. A knight would no more offend his king than a monk would sin against God." Gildas's red eyebrows twitched. "How is it you are so ignorant of the world, Niv? Where have you been all your life?"

  Merlin saved me from answering. He held out his mug for more ale and chuckled. "I have very cleverly combined chivalry with piety," he told Gildas happily.

  Turning to Merlin, Gildas forgot me. "How do you mean?"

  "You have heard tell of the Holy Grail."

  Gildas paused, considering all the things of which he had heard. "Hah! The grail our Lord used at the Last Supper, in which He gave his followers the first Eucharist. Brought overseas to Britain by His disciple Joseph of Arimathea and Saint Mary Magdalene. What has all that to do with chivalry?"

  Merlin grinned. "I have convinced the King to send forth his knights to find this Holy Grail. Thus I combine chivalry with piety and keep a horde of bloody-minded men busy in peacetime."

  "Hah! Hmmm." Gildas knit his brows. "If they find the Grail, how will they know it? What does it look like?"

"As you might suppose, the Holy Grail is pure gold."

"Most unlikely!"

"Inlaid with scenes from the life of the Savior—"

"Pshaw!"

  "—and guarded by angels whose heavenly song drives mad the unworthy seeker. Some knights have returned frothing mad already."

  Gildas threw his white head back, slapped his knees and laughed.

  Why did he laugh? Madness was no joke. In truth, my brother Lugh was the only frothing madman I had ever seen, but I had no wish to see more.

  Now and then, Lugh fell into wild rages in which he truly frothed, and cut about with his great sword, and reeled through the streets, roaring. Innocent Humans ran all over each other to get out of his way.

  The first time I saw this I leaned out the door of our hut, wondering what to do. Mellias, scurrying after Lugh, made violent signs to me:
Stay away! So I drew back into shadow and watched as Mellias deftl
y tripped Lugh so that Lugh fell flat, tossed Lugh's sword away, then knelt beside him, patting and murmuring. From a safe distance a Human crowd watched as Mellias helped Lugh up and led him gently away, one small arm halfway around Lugh's waist.

  Beside me, Merlin said, "That is Lugh, you know."

  I stared at him.

  He stroked his beard. "The knight, honored by all, is Lancelot."

  "Yes."

  "But Lugh lives inside Lancelot, asleep. Forgotten."

  "Ah." I began to see.

  "Now and then, Lugh wakes up, confused. Angry, because he has to sleep his life away."

Dull sorrow pressed my chin down to my breastbone.

  So why did Gildas laugh? Maybe he knew Merlin was lying about the frothing-mad grail hunters. They made a grand story, such as Merlin loved to sing, but there was no truth in it.

  Maybe Gildas was heartless, like me. He thought so little of so many folk!

Fifteen years after this conversation, as we stood before Morgan le Faye's door, I wondered what Gildas and his brothers thought of
her !
And what steps they might take against her, were she not Arthur's half sister. And I wondered if she were named in Gildas's moral history.

  In the far north of Arthur's realm you leave villages and duns behind. You ride through open country, barren but for patches of gorse and heather, where, even in sunshine, wind moans among rocks. Ravens and falcons sweep the sky in ominous patterns. Small herds of red deer flow over distant hills. The nearest village is a day's ride south.