Merlin's Blade (3 page)

The horses reared up again.

“Give ‘em back!” Garth yelled, disentangling the leather straps from Merlin's fingers. The boy snapped the reins down as hard as he could, and the wagon shot forward. “Are they followin' us?”

“You don't know? Can't you look?”

“Why'd you talk? Why'd you let ‘em know we were hidin'?”

“It was
your
stomach that growled.”

They hit a bump, and the wagon rocked sideways. The goat tried to jump up onto the seat, his sharp hooves scraping across Merlin's leggings. Merlin pushed him down. “I was just asking who they were.”

“I don't know who they were.”

“Then why are we going so fast? Slow down.”

“ ‘Cause the horses are scared.”

Yet Merlin heard the reins snap every few moments. “You should've eaten your roasted eggs.”

“I woulda had a leg o' lamb if it wasn't for you.” The wagon picked up speed as the road bent downhill, but Garth still kept at the reins. “What was that thing we saw?”

“You tell me.”

Garth didn't answer as they careened down the hillside, slowing only enough to take the switchback corners. Merlin saw the ruddy blur of Garth's head turning, presumably to steal a glance behind them.

“Are they chasing us?” Merlin asked.

Garth scanned the hillside again. “Y-yes …
no
!”

The hollow thump of the Fowaven bridge sounded under the wheels as the wagon burst across. After they climbed up the hill beyond the bridge, Garth cracked the reins faster and faster. Mud flicked onto Merlin's face.

“Slow down, I said! This isn't our wagon, remember?”

“I know, I know … but that man wanted us to take it.”

“You told me it was Natalenya. Have you been telling the truth?”

“Yer always thinkin' about her, aren't you?”

Merlin's face felt hot. “You better not have stolen this wagon, you hear? My father and I caught a thief yesterday and sent him to Tregeagle.”

Garth hesitated before answering. “Sure … sure. I promise!”

The wagon raced by the large stone cross on the right side of the road that marked the entrance of the abbey grounds.

“Slow down!” Merlin shouted, for the horses had been worked into a lather of frenzied speed. He reached out, found Garth's jerking arms, and pulled on the reins. “Stop! Slow down!”

Confused, the horses careened to the right, off the road.

The wagon slammed over a bump, and Merlin bit his tongue.

The two jolted side to side as the beasts raced downhill. Merlin heard the sound of hammering in the distance.

Garth yanked the reins free from Merlin. “We're gonna hit the new buildin' —”

The wagon tilted on the hillside, and Merlin rammed into Garth.

“Look out!” Garth screamed.

“What?”

The shadow of a building loomed up on his right. People shouted and dove away from the thundering horses. Garth turned them aside just in time to avoid hitting the structure.

But not entirely. The back right wheel of the wagon caught a post. The wagon slammed to a stop, and the horses fell in a tangled heap.

A huge crack came from the roof, and Merlin turned his head just in time to see a support breaking away.

The whole structure trembled, then tipped and fell. It smashed into the back corner of the wagon and flipped it on its side, sending Merlin, Garth, and the livestock to the ground in a heap of limbs, hooves, and feathers. Charcoal flew everywhere, with most of it heaped in a big, dusty mound. As the soot settled, the workers and monks gathered to investigate. Abbot Prontwon found the pair and pulled them safely from the wreckage.

Merlin stood blinking at the scene around him. He could hear Garth peeling the shell off a roasted egg.

M
erlin's hand paused on the latch of the magister's front door. “Open it,” his father, Owain, said. “You've got to face up to what's happened.”

Merlin swallowed and pushed the door open, feeling upon it the bronze Roman eagle. Was it this very morning he'd had such high hopes of talking to Natalenya? And now here he was, about to stand trial before her father, Tregeagle, because Garth
had
stolen the wagon and lied about it.

How could the boy have been so thoughtless?

Merlin's father led him into the great hall. Pine logs blazed on the open hearth, scenting the air. Despite the warmth of the room, Merlin shivered, and it wasn't from the lingering chill of their evening walk. Judgment waited for him in the next room.

Merlin felt such shame for trusting Garth's lies … hah! As if
Natalenya would have given permission to take the wagon. As if she'd ever want to talk to him … the only young man in the village with a face full of scars.

Merlin felt his father's thick hand pat him on the back. “You'll get to tell your story first, since Abbot Prontwon hasn't brought that troublemaker yet.”

“Garth is my friend. Right now he's my only friend.” Merlin's back tensed, and even without clear sight, he could imagine the anger furrowing his father's brow.

“Not anymore,” Owain said.

A servant acknowledged their presence and went to alert Tregeagle.

Merlin followed his father over to the fire. If his chances of talking with Natalenya had been remote this morning, tonight they seemed hopeless.

His heart like lead, he listened to the sound of the servant girl as she marched down one of the hallways, then knocked on a door. Tregeagle's gruff voice answered, and moments later, the servant returned to them, her footfalls across the stone floor sounding to Merlin like a drum announcing his doom.

“The master is ready to see you.”

“My sons tell a different tale. Why should I believe you?”

Merlin's father — his tas, as all fathers were called in Kernow — coughed nearby, and his presence brought Merlin a small measure of comfort. He sat up a little straighter and placed his hands in his lap. “Because, sir —”

“Because you stole my property?” Tregeagle interrupted his pacing and rapped his knuckles on the wooden table between them. “Because you marred the fine coats of my horses?”

“Because sir, if —”

“Because you knocked my son down and kicked him?”

Actually, Rondroc had knocked Merlin down first, but Merlin had already established that Tregeagle didn't want to hear anything of that sort. Maybe if he apologized for the wagon. “I'm sorry for —”

“So you admit it!” Tregeagle resumed his pacing, his tunic a white blur wrapped with a shining golden belt.

“Be fair, Tregeagle,” Merlin's father said, his deep voice echoing in the room. “He said nothing of the kind.”

Tregeagle raised his hand. “If you insist on speaking, Owain, tell me why your filthy charcoal filled the leather seats of my painted coach? Was this
your
clever idea?”

Merlin's father sighed. “You know it wasn't, magister. Our horse is lame, and my char-pile got low at the smithy. So the abbey sent Garth to help guide Merlin to fetch charcoal with my wheelbarrow —”

“For the record, what is this new boy's proper name?” Tregeagle sat down, slid a parchment onto the table, and scratched ink across the page with his quill.

Merlin spoke up. “His name is Garthwys, sir.”

“Which would that be in Latin, Garthius or Garthwysus?”

“Either, I guess. He got impatient and thought —”

Tregeagle coughed. “He
thought
? Obviously there has been precious little of that from either of you. Three wheels broken, the sides damaged, and one of the axles bent. Is this friend of yours incompetent?”

Far from it
, Merlin thought. Garth was good at most things. He could play his bagpipe. He could fish, as that had been his father's trade before Garth was orphaned. And Merlin knew he could drive horses well enough, at least when he wanted to.

Tregeagle stood again, shoving his chair into the wall with a
bang, and leaned over the table. “Use your tongue, boy, or I shall call my lictor in to cut it from your mouth.”

“Garth knows how to drive a wagon, sir.”

“Then why did the fool crash it at the abbey?”

Merlin fidgeted in his seat. “Something scared us, sir. We were bringing the coal back when we smelled roasting meat. Garth was hungry—well, he's always hungry — and he ran off into the woods and left me holding the reins.”

Tregeagle retrieved his chair and sat down again, the wood creaking loudly. “So who was roasting meat in the woods? Some vagrant?”

“I don't know, sir. I followed Garth, and we must have been near the old stone circle —”

Tregeagle clicked his teeth together. “The stone circle? It's been a long time since any of the
druidow
” — his voice betrayed a sneer — “dared show their faces around Kernow. So you held the reins. Did
you
try to drive the horses?”

Merlin clenched his fists under the table. “I'm half blind, but not half stupid. There were two men, and they had something strange with them, something heavy and dark. There were flames … blue flames. And the men drew blades on us. Garth and I ran back to the wagon all spooked. He drove the horses hard till we neared the abbey.”

What appeared to be a knife flashed before Merlin, and Tregeagle's deft hands played with it. “Scared of a blade, you say? Tell me what happened at the abbey. Any monks involved? Did anyone damage the wagon on purpose?”

Merlin swallowed, for the blade gleamed in the evening light that slanted through the shutters. “Nothing of the kind, sir. I thought we would crash, so I tried to get Garth to stop the horses. Only we left the road and —”

“How did the
dear
abbot react?” Tregeagle sharpened the knife, sliding and scraping it against a rock.

“Prontwon was irate, but Dybris calmed him down —”

Tregeagle slammed the rock on the table. “And who is this Dybris who ignores my loss? His name is not on the tax register.”

“He's a priest who has been at the abbey only a month, sir. He brought Garth along with him.”

Tregeagle sat for a while, drumming his fingers pensively on the table. “In my opinion, what you have told me is a preposterous lie.” He bit off some cake and leaned forward, fresh honey on his breath. “Tell me. What
really
scared Garth?”

“I've already told you, sir.”

Tregeagle raised his hand as if to strike.

Merlin flinched as the shadow drew close.

His father stood. “Leave my son alone. He's told you what he knows. Get your answers from Garth.”

Tregeagle pulled his hand away. When he spoke again, something in his voice made Merlin's stomach clench with fear for his friend. “Since both of you are of no further use, I plan to do exactly that. Send the urchin in, and expect my judgment soon.”

Merlin sighed as his father guided him down the hallway to the great hall. The voice of Abbot Prontwon echoed from the room ahead. “When it's our turn — Garth, listen up — what will you say?”

Garth mumbled something, but Merlin couldn't make it out.

“Are you ready to confess what you have done?”

“Must we put him through this again?” Dybris interrupted.

“Yes, we must. The falsehoods shall stop.”

A harp sounded from some other room, and both monks quieted.

Merlin stopped walking, his heart thumping. Natalenya played the harp, but it was possible her mother, Trevenna, played as well.

“That,” Prontwon said, “is the sound of heaven, which I want Garth to hear one day in our Father's feasting hall.”

“He has told the truth. What more can we ask?”

“We love and forgive. But the magister renders justice.”

Owain prompted Merlin forward once more, and he entered the hall just as Prontwon, moving more nimbly than his bulk seemed to allow, slipped out of his chair and fell on his knees before Garth.

“Garth, hear me.” Prontwon's voice almost broke. “We will uphold you, but you must love the truth no matter the price!”

Merlin's father coughed loudly, and at the same time the harp music quieted. Merlin turned his head, trying to discover where it had come from.

Prontwon and Dybris stood. “How did it go?” the abbot asked.

In turn, Merlin took hold of their hands and gave a quick kiss to the back of each one. Then he shook his head.

“Tregeagle's in a foul mood,” Merlin's father grumbled.

Prontwon placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder. “I guessed as much. We are all sorry for the difficulty this has caused.” He turned to Garth. “Come on, boy. It is time.”

Dybris pulled the boy's arm until he stood. Garth's feet scraped down the hall as he followed the two monks.

M
erlin's father led him to the open hearth in the center of the great hall. “Sit here. I'm stepping outside for some fresh air. Call me when Tregeagle's ready to give his judgment.”

Owain's footsteps echoed across the tile, the door opened and shut, and Merlin stood alone with the fire sparking its pine aroma into the air. He closed his eyes and prayed that Christ would uphold Garth.

A harp tune echoed through the hall again.

Merlin lifted his head and listened carefully.

The beautiful notes originated to his right, from some other room. He tapped his staff across the floor until he found a wall; then he followed it with his hand. Sensing light and a draft of pleasant air, he halted before he stepped in front of the open doorway, hoping he couldn't be seen. The music lifted his spirits, and he wondered if his own mother had ever played an instrument.

The harpist sang … with Natalenya's voice, high and sweet like a bird after a rain shower as it fluttered about the bushes near the smithy.

Natalenya ceased her singing. “Dyslan, stop spying. Go away!”

Merlin froze. Did she mean him? Or was Natalenya's younger brother nearby?

He heard shuffling, the echo of the harp being set down. And footsteps.

Merlin put his back against the cold wall.

The footsteps grew louder.

He wanted to hide but couldn't, considering his poor eyesight.

Natalenya walked around the corner. Her dark hair smelled of roses, and her green dress was a beautiful blur.

“Oh … Merlin.”

“I …”

“Are you here to talk with Father about the accident?” she asked.

“Yes, I …”

“Your foot was sticking through the doorway. Come in and sit down.” She took his arm and guided him through the room to a chair, where he sat stiffly.

“I practice here in my father's library. Do you like harp music?”

“Yes, I …” He trailed off, at a loss for words now that she was speaking to him.

“My grandmother taught me that song. Grandfather died in Gaul fighting with Constantine's army. It makes me think of him.”

Swallowing hard, Merlin asked, “Would you play more?”

“Any song in particular?”

“Uh … anything you'd like to play.”

She picked up her harp and set it on her lap. “Maybe something brighter.” Her fingers struck the bronze strings, and they hummed to life.

Merlin's breathing rose and fell with the melody, but after a few lines Natalenya stopped in midsong.

“Have you ever played?” she asked.

“No, I can't say that I —”

She slid her chair next to his.

Merlin's throat closed up.

He dropped his staff on the floor as she placed the harp on his lap. He held its smooth wood, amazed at how little it weighed.

“This is how you play.” Her warm hand touched his and angled it toward the strings.

Merlin plucked them roughly. “Not as pretty as your playing.”

“You don't have my fingernails, either.” Her laughter filled the room, and the sound felt to him like a refreshing drink from the spring after working in the heat of the blacksmith shop.

Merlin ran his fingertips across the strings and experimented with the notes. The whole harp vibrated into his chest. It would take a lot of work to play a real song.

“You've got natural talent,” she said.

“I do?”

She turned her head to listen. “Sure. What song is that?”

“I'm trying to remember … I heard it many years ago.”

“Let me give you my practice harp. It has only ten strings, but you could learn on it.”

Learn the harp? He'd never thought about music. What if he damaged it? “I'd better not. I'm already in trouble with your father —”

“I saw what happened.”

“The wagon's badly broken, isn't it?”

“I don't mean that. I witnessed what my brother Rondroc did to you. I had come to the doorway when I heard shouting. Father won't listen to me, and … I've learned not to cross him.”

“We say in the blacksmith shop, once burned, always careful. I have a few scars to prove it.” He held up his right forearm for her to see.

She hesitated, then reached out … but her soft fingertips touched the scars on his right cheek instead.

He tightened his lips and tried not to pull away.

She traced the long gouges that disfigured his eyelids and ran across his right temple and forehead. “I see you in chapel, but I've never asked what happened to your eyes. People talk, of course, but you never know whom to believe.”

“Seven years ago. The memories are painful …”

“They're faded now.”

“No, I'll always remember.” He turned away slightly, hoping the subject would change.

“I … I meant the scars have faded. And your long hair covers many of them.” She ran her fingers through his black curls. “You have an honest face, with a handsome nose. When we moved to the village a few years ago, your scars still looked red, but they aren't anymore.”

He wanted to walk out. He didn't want to talk with her about this.

“How could Rondroc be so cruel,” she said, her voice trembling, “as to knock you over? Let me look at your scalp.” She walked behind him and gently leaned his head forward, probing the area where he'd hit the rock.

“Just because I'm mostly blind doesn't mean I can't take care of myself.”

“It's a mess … All crusted over. You should get it washed.”

He turned his head away from her. “Is your brother all right? I hope I didn't hurt him.”

“I saw him pull the knife on you; he deserved the thump.” Natalenya moved across the room. “And your little monk friend was funny!”

“You mean Garth?”

“I laughed when he dumped Dyslan into the hay trough.”

Merlin suppressed his own laugh. “I didn't know whether to believe Garth, especially after he lied and told me he had permission to borrow the wagon.”

But Merlin couldn't bring himself to tell her that Garth had said
she
had given permission. And Merlin had believed it. What a daft slow wit he was. “I should have gone back to verify his story. I really should have.”

Returning to him, Natalenya removed the harp from Merlin's lap and laid in his hands what seemed to be a flat, lightweight piece of wood.

“Here's my practice harp. I don't use it anymore, so please take it.”

He felt two carved posts bending out from the top of the sound box. Shaped like a lyre, the harp had bronze strings stretched over an angled bridge. It was much smaller than Natalenya's lap harp. “I can't. Your father …”

“I bought it with my own
denarii
. It's not up to him.”

“I just can't. I'm sorry.” He held it out to her, but she didn't take it.

A loud voice bellowed from the corridor.

“That's Father,” Natalenya said. “He's angry, as always.”

“I need to go.” Merlin found his staff on the floor, stood up, and set the practice harp on the chair.

Natalenya began to say something but stopped.

“What?” Merlin asked.

“Never mind.” She walked with him toward the door. “I'm sorry for all this. I'll be praying for you.”

Tregeagle's voice called out, “Lictor Erbin!”

The rough, familiar hand of Merlin's father guided Merlin to a chair in the great hall where everyone had gathered.

“Where'd you go?” his father whispered.

“Talking. With Natalenya.”

“Garth must have had a hard time.”

Merlin took hold of his father's arm. “What am I seeing?”

“Tregeagle's at a table, and there are now three soldiers with him from the fortress. Erbin just entered. He's kind of short but strong, with black hair and beard. Got a leather jerkin. And a long whip.”

Tregeagle pounded the table. “Hear my verdict.”

Everyone went silent.

“I find Merlin guilty of lying and of assaulting my sons. However, Merlin is found not guilty of stealing the horses and wagon due to the clear confession of Garthwysus … and the meddling of monks.”

Tregeagle scratched a stylus on a parchment as he recorded the decision.

“I find Garthwysus guilty of lying and of assaulting my sons. I also find him guilty of having stolen and damaged my property.”

“I didn't steal the wagon!” Garth said. “I told you I was just borrowin' it!”

Tregeagle ignored the outburst and continued writing on the parchment. “And now for restitution. I charge you, Owain, as the blacksmith of the village, with fixing the wagon, along with the aid of your son. The bent axle will need straightening, and much of the wood will need to be replaced. You will procure other craftsmen for their services as required.”

Merlin's father stood up, an edge in his voice. “Magister, who pays? My son is not responsible.”

Tregeagle stopped scribing. “I said nothing about Merlin's innocence regarding
damaging
the wagon. Did not your son ride in it and interfere with the reins prior to the crash? Your son holds partial responsibility, and it is clear why I put you in charge.”

“What of payment? My work is free, but I cannot pay others.”

“The monks must compensate you for some costs. Is there anything Garthwysus owns?”

Abbot Prontwon spoke up. “He owns nothing, Magister, except an old bagpipe passed down from his father.”

“Then it is forfeit.”

“Nooo!” Garth sobbed. “I did nothin' wrong!”

Merlin reached out and found Garth's hand. It was sweaty, and the boy gripped Merlin's hand firmly.

“The abbey is required to sell it and give the money to Owain.”

“You can't do that. You can't sell me pipes!”

“Costs beyond that, the abbey must find a way to pay,” Tregeagle continued.

Garth let go of Merlin's hand and lunged at Tregeagle. Owain and Dybris grabbed Garth's arms and pulled him back to his chair.

“Now his punishment for stealing the wagon —”

Prontwon stood. “Is it not enough for him to be parted from his sole inheritance and the only remaining memory of his dead father?”

“No, it is not.” Tregeagle clapped, and the thunder of it echoed in the great hall. “Repair doesn't pay for thievery. Erbin, what judgment had I decided for the imprisoned Connek?”

Erbin paused. “You know, Magister, that your judgment does not vary for thievery.”

“For the sake of our guests, what is my unwavering judgment?”

“Flogging,” Erbin said smugly.

The hall fell silent.

“In this case, Lictor Erbin, I no longer consider the testimony true regarding Connek's attempted theft.”

Merlin stood. This was too much. That foul-smelling thief had tried to steal their lamb yesterday, but Merlin and his father had caught him. “Connek
is
a thief. Everyone in town —”

Tregeagle raised his voice. “Silence!”

Merlin sat down, his lips burning to say more.

“The nerve of you, Owain, tying Connek up and sending him here for my judgment. I now deem that Connek has done no wrong. He is to be released.”

Erbin stepped forward. “I shouldn't flog him?”

“No. Instead, you will whip the young monk.”

Merlin closed his eyes. This was
his
fault. He should never have cajoled Garth into walking up the hill past Tregeagle's house. Garth hadn't wanted to go that way — he'd been frustrated that the longer path would prolong their coal-gathering task. If Merlin hadn't convinced him, none of these horrors would have occurred.

Garth blubbered. Prontwon bent over and put his arm around the boy.

Tregeagle continued. “Not the full nineteen lashes, considering his age. Nine should be sufficient to teach a lesson. Guard, go and free the prisoner.”

“Yes, sir.” One of the guards left the room.

Merlin couldn't believe Connek would be set free.

Prontwon bowed before Tregeagle. “Is there some other punishment you would accept?”

“Gold. It has been the lifeblood of the empire, and I will accept it instead of the boy's blood. Three gold coins I ask. One for every three lashes, and I will halt the judgment.”

Prontwon sputtered. “Magister, we —”

“Gold!” Tregeagle thundered. “Surely you monks have some squirreled away. Gold!”

“We are a poor abbey. We have not even one gold coin.”

“Then my judgment stands.”

“I beg you, allow me to take this punishment on his behalf.”

Tregeagle pulled Prontwon up while laughing in his face. “You fool. You think I will have it said that I flogged the abbot of Bosvenna? An absurd request, Prontus!”

Guilt and remorse battled a rising anger in Merlin's heart as he listened to the exchange. Garth had done wrong, but nine lashes? He was just a child.

Abbot Prontwon tried again, “Mercy, Magister —”