THE hair on the back of Merlin’s neck stood on end. He turned in a slow circle seeking the source of the alarm. Deep guilt burned in his gut. Had he angered the gods by arranging for Wren a marriage that she did not want?
He hated having to compel her obedience. If only he had more time. If only he knew for sure that Arthur was ready. If only...
When he faced north, his sense of alarm increased. A familiar itch replaced the standing hair on his neck.
“Dyfrig!” he said on a loud exhale. “Arriving three weeks early. You always had a knack for knowing when you could interfere in my plans.” Merlin mastered his urge to run in the opposite direction. “I can’t avoid you any longer, so I might as well make use of your influence.”
Slowly he wound his way through the sprawling royal palace. He hugged the shadows and found nearly forgotten servants’ corridors. All the while he kept careful watch on the milling groups of soldiers and courtiers. All of them gossiped about the upcoming campaign. Little of the information they passed among themselves resembled the real situation — though he found one warrior’s idea of confronting the Saxon fleet at Dun Edin in the far North most interesting.
Had the man seen the future as Merlin had? He knew a battle would take place there — the cliff ramparts of Dun Edin were unmistakable in the vision — but not yet. Not until Arthur was Ardh Rhi and wielded a great sword of power.
Merlin escaped the palace and its gossip through a low postern. Six men across the green. He nearly ran across the commons, not bothering to dodge sheep droppings and pecking geese.
“Your Grace,” Merlin hailed the archbishop as he dismounted. Dyfrig’s entourage unloaded their baggage in front of the guesthouse attached to the largest Christian church in Venta Belgarum.
Dyfrig looked around, startled. His eyes rested on Merlin for a long moment.
Merlin held his brother’s gaze for a seeming eternity, hungering for the closeness they had once shared. They studied each other, marking the similarities of face and figure, wondering at the difference. Dyfrig had kept his lustrous black hair and beard. Merlin’s had turned gray in a single night almost fifteen years ago at Beltane, after his confrontation with the gods.
Differing experiences had shaped them and sent them on separate paths. They should have walked those paths together.
We should share everything, twin, as we shared our mother’s womb. You should be my other half, complete my thoughts and sentences, understand my dreams and ease the nightmares that haunt me in the dark of night.
Dyfrig broke their visual connection. He remained placid and unaffected by meeting his twin brother after many years of separation. He, like Merlin, had kept their close blood ties secret. Out of shame? Or had they both sought to concentrate influence in themselves, fearing their bond of birth and blood would diminish their political power?
“You are dismissed.” The churchman waved his attending priests away.
“Your Grace?” one of the aides protested.
“You are dismissed,” Dyfrig repeated firmly. His hands shook a little. So he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended.
The five black-robed men backed away from their leader, passing anxious looks among themselves.
“So you have sought me out at last,” Dyfrig said. His voice carried no inflection. But the fine muscles beneath his left eye twitched uncontrollably.
“I need your assistance,” Merlin ground out between clenched teeth. So much bitterness had built between them over the years. He hated meeting his twin like this. They should confront each other openly or not at all. Decades before they had agreed to avoid airing their differences in public.
“You may not visit our mother. Your presence would only confuse her,” Dyfrig said.
“I seek your help on another matter,” Merlin admitted, wishing he could approach the issue from a position of strength, not need. Dyfrig would never know how often he did visit their mother.
Dyfrig arched one eyebrow. Merlin tried not to mimic the action, though he was fond of the gesture.
“We must agree on the succession,” Merlin said. He needed to control this interview. He’d never succeed if he allowed Dyfrig to dictate to him.
“Uther is dying.” Dyfrig bowed his head and crossed himself, looking sad.
“Not yet. My daughter worked a miracle and routed the cancerous demon from him.”
“Blasphemy!” Dyfrig crossed himself hastily.
“That accusation depends upon which god you worship.”
“I suppose I should accept your magical meddling for the sake of Britain. No other Ardh Rhi could rule as justly or as firmly as Uther.”
“Uther has a son. Arthur.”
“More of your meddling, Myrddin?” The archbishop did not look surprised.
“Ygraina told you the story.”
“The privacy of the confessional does not allow me to answer that.”
“Whatever.” Merlin waved one hand in dismissal. “Arthur is nearly ready to learn of his heritage. He leads men well. He needs only a solid victory to earn the respect of the kings and lords.”
“But?” Again Dyfrig lifted one eyebrow in Merlin’s favorite expression.
The similarity of this man’s every move began to irk him. In anyone but his twin he’d believe him mocking. Knowing Dyfrig, perhaps it was mockery.
“Arthur needs a great symbol and ceremony to impress the reluctant ones. Five kings at least will withdraw their warbands from any candidate for Ardh Rhi except themselves. They must see for themselves that the gods favor Arthur.”
“Only one God needs smile on the next Ardh Rhi. My God. I assume you have found a symbol and arranged for a magical ritual that will impress everyone.” Dyfrig did not look impressed.
“Yes.”
“You seem to have done it all. What do you need me for?”
“We need to stand united as we preside over the ceremony.”
“No.”
“Britain needs to see us united in order to stand together against the Saxons. We are a fractious lot and do not tolerate each other easily. The Merlin and the Archbishop united will present a powerful symbol. Combined with the artifact of power...”
“No.” Silence stretched between them again. Finally Dyfrig spoke again. “l will preside over my own ceremony recognizing Arthur as Ardh Rhi, if he is indeed the best man to succeed his father. When you are baptized, you may stand before me.” Dyfrig pushed past Merlin to mount the three steps to the guesthouse.
“Do not dismiss me so easily, Brother.” Merlin captured Dyfrig’s arm with one hand, holding him firmly with fingers made strong from years of playing the harp and wielding weapons.
“You dare lay hands on me!” Dyfrig’s anger drained his face of color. “I shall never stand on the same dais as you and preside over the same ceremony with you, a heathen. You deserted our mother in her greatest time of need. You persist in defying my authority as head of the church...”
“I walk the path of my destiny. You were afraid to walk anywhere but behind our mother’s skirts.” A cold lump of calculation replaced the aching longing and burning anger that Dyfrig always generated in Merlin.
Dyfrig set his mouth in a determined expression Merlin knew well from seeing his own reflection in other men’s eyes.
“Be warned, Dyfrig. I shall make Arthur the next Ardh Rhi, and all of Britain will recognize my power. You shall be left standing in the cold. But because you refuse this gesture of unification, our struggle for peace will be all the harder. Many Britons, Christians and Old Believers alike, will die in the struggle. You and your god will reap no glory in this.”
“We shall see, Myrddin. Only when Britain is united behind the cross can it withstand the onslaught of evil from the Saxon invaders. Standing united with you and your kind will diminish the power of Britain bound together by the Church. My God does not need glory. We need prayer and faith to glorify Him. My God shall triumph in the end.”
“A thousand years from now, my name shall be linked with Arthur’s when the bards sing of his triumphs.”
“A thousand years from now neither of us will be alive to care.” Dyfrig broke free of Merlin’s grasp and retreated majestically into the guesthouse.
Merlin touched his torc. A spell of compulsion sprang to his lips.
Then he remembered when he’d last used this bit of magic. Wren. He’d compelled his daughter to marry a man she loathed.
He couldn’t do this again. If he had to do it over, he’d have found another way to persuade Wren to accept Carradoc’s protection. But he didn’t have time to try another route and he needed Wren in the North guarding Arthur’s great symbol of power.
“I hope, brother, that your pride does not bring Britain down because you refuse to stand on the same dais with me.”
o0o
I fled Morgaine’s presence. If I stayed longer, I might begin to think as she did. I couldn’t murder anyone, not even Carradoc.
Perhaps I could not break the spell myself. Balance. I’d have to balance the strength of the spell with the strength of my love for Curyll. If I married him tonight, before the scheduled wedding with Carradoc, the spell would cease to exist.
I found Curyll drilling his men on horseback. Massive steeds thundered back and forth across an open field, their trencher-sized hooves throwing up clods of earth and grass with each pounding step. The ground vibrated beneath my feet as I watched from the protection of a small grove of alders.
Lancelot rode beside Curyll. For the first time since they had grown up, I had a chance to study the two men side by side. As close as brothers, they were never far from each other. Where Stinger fought best, one on one, Curyll looked at the tactics of the entire battle. Stinger’s brilliance with weapons saved Curyll many a hard blow as they fought back to back.
Now they charged and wheeled their horses in unison. Curyll signaled the troop silently. Stinger kept individuals in line with shouted orders.
Stinger was the most beautiful man I had ever encountered, a beauty in no way effeminate. I, like most women, could stare at his profile for hours. But his beauty put him beyond the dreams and desires of ordinary women. On the other hand, Curyll presented a handsome if coarser and more rugged picture. I cherished his humped nose and scar as evidence of his strength. I knew that Morgaine and I were not the only women who lusted after Curyll.
My eyes continually sought Curyll’s rugged profile and sandy-gold hair. Lancelot’s beautiful face and near perfect proportions seemed almost artificial next to the man I loved.
When the horses had reduced the moist field to a sea of mud, Curyll deigned to notice me. He dismissed his troops and reined in beside me.
“Did you see that, Wren? Not once did they break formation. And the way they pivoted on my command! The Saxons have nothing to match our cavalry.” He dismounted and led his horse into the shade of the alders. Steam and dust rose from the beast’s black hide as Curyll patted his neck.
Curyll should have ridden a white horse. Every vision of his future had shown me a white horse named... Taranis for the god of thunder.
At the sight of me, the black horse rolled his eyes and jerked at the tightly held reins.
I held out my hand for him to show I carried nothing that would hurt him. He settled a little.
Wary of his huge feet and snapping teeth — this was a warhorse, trained to defend his master with the only weapons at his disposal — I grasped the sides of his long face and blew gently into his nostrils. He snuffled a moment, gathering my scent into his limited memory. Only then did he calm down and allow me to stroke him.
“Your magic is strong, Wren. Gwyntmor doesn’t like anyone. Not his grooms, not me, no one. But he seems to love you,” Curyll laughed.
The horse lifted his tail and let loose a noisy wind but produced nothing substantial.
“Gwyntmor, great wind,” I crooned to the now docile horse. I almost wept. A black horse named for a strong wind instead of a white horse called Thunder. If my vision of Curyll on a white horse had been false, then so, too, might my vision of the Goddess be. A husband and children by Curyll.
The horse nuzzled my hand as if seeking more pets or a treat.
“I wanted to name him Taranis. But the other name seemed more appropriate.” Curyll caressed the horse’s cheek lightly. He had to jerk his hand away to avoid a nasty nip.
I scratched behind Gwyntmor’s cheeks and reached up — way up — to fondle his twitching ears. He bent his head nearly to the ground to accommodate my small height.
“Maybe I’ll have to change his name to Pussy Cat.” Curyll tried the same caress and nearly lost a finger to the horse’s wicked teeth. “Hey!” He slapped Gwyntmor on the nose in reprimand. “Remember who brings you apples and makes sure the lazy grooms feed you.”
Gwntymor curled his lip at Curyll but didn’t snap again. He turned his head into my caress, ignoring his master.
“Is there something you wanted, Wren?” Curyll asked. His eyes followed his men back toward the stables.
“You’ve heard that the army marches day after tomorrow?” I couldn’t look him in the eye. I tried. The Merlin’s compulsion forced me to approach the issue of marriage in a roundabout way.
“Of course I’ve heard. Why do you think I was drilling my men so hard?”
“Da rides beside Ardh Rhi Uther as adviser and healer.”
“Good choice on Uther’s part. The Merlin is one of the wisest men alive. He’ll also be valuable in the hospital after the battle.”
“I had thought I would go with Da. I have followed him across the length and breadth of Britain all my life.”
“The army is no place for a woman, unless she’s a pros... a camp follow... a woman of low reputation.”
Like Nimuë, Carradoc’s oldest daughter.
“I know about prostitutes, Curyll. I also know that women are forced into that profession because they have no man to protect them and other men see a women alone as easy prey. Some consider a woman is alone by choice and wants to sell her body to any and all.” I grieved for the protection and status women lost with the coming of the Romans and then the Christians.
“Like on Samhain,” he said so softly I almost didn’t hear him.
I buried my face in the horse’s neck rather than look at Curyll. Without a husband, I would soon be a woman alone, unprotected.
I couldn’t marry Carradoc.
I had to marry Carradoc.
“I did not choose to become the victim of men playing at invoking demons.” Had they only been playing? Memories of the power that rose from the bonfire as they danced and mutilated themselves chilled me. And what of the other figure I had glimpsed off to the side? One of their members at least tried to work magic. “I do not choose to be left alone when the army marches. But I will be.”
“What is your father doing about that?” Curyll grabbed my chin and forced me to meet his gaze.
I gulped back sudden tears. “Da has found me a husband. A man I do not love and do not wish to marry.” But I would marry him unless I broke the compulsion spell.
“The only wise solution. You must marry someday, Wren. You are old enough and pretty enough to attract any man.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I said I don’t love Carradoc and I find marriage to him repulsive. He’s old and his daughters dislike me already.”
“Lord Carradoc is a fine warrior, well respected, and wealthy. He’ll take care of you, Wren.”
“There is only one man I wish to marry, Curyll.” I tried putting all of my love for him into my eyes.
He dropped my chin and returned his attention to the horse. “Marry Carradoc, Wren. It’s a good match.” He grabbed the saddle horn, ready to remount.
“What about you, Curyll?”
“Princess Morgaine and I plan to announce our betrothal as soon as I return from battle.” He vaulted into the saddle.
“Why Morgaine? She’s older than you, a widow with a young son. And I don’t think you love her.”
“Princess Morgaine is Ygraina’s daughter. Uther loves her as one of his own. Marriage to her gives me a name, estates, prestige, things I have no chance of winning on my own. I intend to return from this war a hero and respected warrior, but without Morgaine I will have nothing! She chooses a partnership with me rather than be used by Uther in his political games. We can help each other. We need each other.”
“What of your dreams, Curyll? Morgaine is selfish and hungry for power.” Dark power that would have to be contained. “She will use you in her own games, not help you. You’ll never see your ideals of justice and law for everyone if you marry her.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Curyll, she dabbles in magic. She doesn’t care for balance and limits, only power. She’s dangerous.” She’ll kill you! My heart screamed for him to listen. I had no proof. Only innuendo and suggestion. He’d accept nothing but hard evidence.
“I know she has magic, Wren. She won’t need it after we help each other.”
“Curyll, I think she killed her first husband. She suggested I use her methods to get rid of Carradoc.” I hated voicing unfounded suspicions. He left me no choice.
“Wren, I know you are disappointed and jealous. But I won’t listen to your made-up tales.”
“I have never lied to you, Curyll. And I have never broken a promise.”
“Give up, Wren. Marry Carradoc. It’s for the best. We were never meant to belong to each other. Your father showed me a different destiny for both of us within his scrying bowl.” He kicked his heels into Gwyntmor’s sides and galloped back to the stables.
Alone, I let my tears flow.