The Iron Grail (6 page)

‘I’ve heard of it. It’s where those who die at peace cross to the Land of the Shadows of Heroes; to the islands. Yes, if we could learn how to block that ford…’

Did the crow fly over him at that moment? If it did, I failed to see it.

He spoke again with his grandchildren, then despatched them with the other horsemen back to the valley of the exiles. He and I then rode steadily along the river, keeping to cover, alert for sound and movement. The land was so still it might have been what the Greeklanders called the fields of Elysia, a bright, unspoilt place; or a land called
eden
, which would have existed during my own life, but which I had never found on my long travel, though I had heard tales of it.

I became so lulled with the tranquillity and emptiness of this foray through the woodlands and sunny riverside meadows, that when the arrow came out of nowhere it was several moments before I realised what was happening.

The weapon struck Ambaros squarely in the chest, piercing his bull’s-leather jacket, sending him tumbling back over the haunches of his horse. He crashed to the ground, doubled up, the shaft snapping. A second arrow thudded into my saddle, and a third struck my shoulder, but didn’t penetrate through my own protective clothing.

I could hear the sound of horses, and gradually the eerie war cries of a skirmishing band. I opened my eyes—I should have done it before—and the tranquillity of the land fell away. And there, before us, was the ford, heavily guarded and very busy.

In that moment I glimpsed the between-world.

They had fortified the crossing, throwing up high banks of earth on each side of Nantosuelta, constructing towers and rings of the hewn trunks of trees, on each of which crouched a menacing figure, staring down at the approach from the land of the living. There was activity in the river herself, and a great bustle of ethereal figures, human and animal.

From this hive of activity, two men were riding towards us, one with a fourth arrow nocked and ready to shoot, the other with a long spear held ready to throw. I waited for the arrow, but the horseman lowered the bow and drew his sword. Ambaros had risen to his feet and had his own light javelin ready, the other hand on the dreadful wound in his chest.

I resorted to my own tricks of defence.

The hawk that stooped and struck at the nearer of the ghost riders knocked him from the saddle. The other man charged down on Ambaros, who ducked below the sword blow and tripped the horse with his spear. Shadow warrior that he was, on our side of the river he was evidently vulnerable, and Ambaros pushed the point of his knife with finality into the gap between helmet and wood-scaled cuirass. A dead man died again. But he had left his world and he would have known the danger.

It was only then that I realised how very like a Greekland helmet was the headgear of the fallen man; and on his shield: the image of Medusa.

Ambaros struggled back into the saddle, groaning loudly. He kicked the horse to a gallop, clinging on for his life as he rode back the way he had come.

I despatched the hawk, took a last look at the ford and the watchtowers that guarded it, curious and concerned by what I had seen, and followed the old warrior, away from danger.

*   *   *

The spirit boat had already gone, returning to the evergroves by Taurovinda, where she would wait either for me or for the return of Argo that the Three of Awful Boding had foreseen.

Now Ambaros faced a two-day ride to the valley. He was obstinately redoubtable. ‘The breastbone is cracked,’ he announced airily, ‘but the heart still beats. If I ride carefully there will be no further damage.’

He wouldn’t allow me access to the wound. Better to keep everything in place, he advised. The leather, the cloth, the bronze of the arrow, better not to move them until he could be properly attended to.

‘Are you in great pain?’ I asked him, thinking I could help ease it if he were.

‘Yes. But I’ve been in greater pain, Merlin. Today, looking into those children’s faces, I don’t believe there is any pain that can truly hurt me. Did you see the
life
there? That king-in-making! That queen-in-making! What a future! My daughter’s children, Merlin. Aylamunda’s children. Llew’s eyes, if she could only see them now! She would be so proud.’

‘She may well be able to see them,’ I offered, but his response was a scowl of irritation.

‘How? From where
she
is forced to wander? It is Aylamunda who is in pain, Merlin, not me.’

I didn’t fully understand, so made no further comment.

Despite his refusal to accept medicine, I gathered what plants I could that I knew to be effective in healing such wounds as he had received. Although he seemed strong on our first night below the stars, during the second day of our return journey he began to shake and perspire quite dramatically. I begged him to let me use a little charm. ‘No. If I live or die it must be at the Good God’s whim.’

I gave him water and led his horse through the winding tracks and over the ragged ground that led to the valley. By the time we entered the narrow mouth of the gorge, he was slumped over the neck of his mount; I had tied his hands around the horse to stop him falling, and applied a compress to the swelling wound.

A glimpse inside him, and I knew that it was the end for him.

I was glad to pass his dying body into the hands of his kin. They stripped him and washed him under the instruction of a druid, whose eyes blazed from the red mask of ochre with which he had covered his face and crop-haired head. He spoke the songs of the past, and invoked Sucellus the healer. Kymon stood by, solemn and contemplative, not flinching as the bronze point was finally and bloodily teased from its lodging in the old man’s breastbone.

Ambaros made no sound; his watery gaze never left that of his grandson.

‘There is a lot for us to do,’ Kymon whispered after a while. ‘And I could have done with your strength and your advice. I hope you haven’t squandered your life.’

He was angry as he turned and left the healing tent. Ambaros’s smile was wry and pained.

CHAPTER FIVE

On the Plain of MaegCatha

That night, I received a most unwelcome visit, from someone I had hoped I had left behind far away in Greek Land.

My living quarters in the Camp of Exiles were uncomfortable and spartan, a reed-layered floor below an overhang of rock that had been extended and covered with animal hides to make a passable animal shelter. The breeze curled through every gap in the stitching, and a screech owl seemed to find the top of one of the supporting poles a perfect place to make my sleep a misery. The river flowing through the gorge seemed to rush like a torrent; the new-born of the exiled clan wailed with night terrors, setting off lowing among the cattle and vigorous barking among the tethered hounds.

Restless, haunted by those shields with their glowering ikons of Medusa, I was in just the state of mind to allow the approach of the woman who was determined to cling to me.

I heard my name called; there was urgency in the summons. There are ways of crying out that alert every sense: an infant in distress; a dying man giving up the ghost; a man being murdered; a woman opening like a gate, to allow the passing of a new breath of life. And there is the cry of hurt from a woman who considers herself wronged.

‘Merlin! I know you’re there!’

The insistent, dreamy voice roused me from my hard bed, bringing me out into the starlit night. The hounds were restless, the horses too. I walked east along the stream until I could see the crouched figure, busy washing its hair.

As I stumbled blindly over the loose rocks to come down to the swirling pool where this wild woman lowered her head to beat the water with her saturated locks, I realised who she was. Or rather: whose dream she was.

Niiv turned suddenly to look at me, silver-eyed in the night, pale lips half-smiling, everything about her signalling recognition and playfulness.

‘Not sleeping well, Merlin?’

‘I was until
you
came back.’

‘Did you think I would stay away?’ She tut-tutted, shaking her head. ‘You’ll never get rid of me. I’m a very determined girl.’

‘Where are you?’ I asked the dream.

‘I don’t know exactly. Sailing towards the North Star. We have a good breeze behind us. The coastline to the east is red and rugged, covered with stones; the argonauts call it Gaul. The white cliffs of Alba are ahead of us, but not far. Argo is strong, Jason is strong, we have some fine oarsmen!’ She grinned pointedly. ‘We’ll be back with you before you know it.’

The apparition of Niiv flung back its hair. Dark hair, dyed, and a face that was a little more gaunt, but just as elfin and pretty as when I’d known her, the girl was still in fine form. But to reach for me like this, from a ship wave-tossed and struggling off the coast of Gaul, a long way south, was a waste of her limited talents.

Before I could say a word she went on, ‘You’ve been hiding from me.’

‘I’ve been in hiding. Not just from you.’

‘I’ve flown across this land ten times looking for you, but this is the first time I’ve found you.’

She still exasperated me with her recklessness. ‘You’re a fool, Niiv. Your light will extinguish like a falling star. Have you seen a big man suddenly fall over dead, for no apparent reason, his heart suddenly stopped, his head suddenly full of blood? That is your fate if you continue to be so reckless with your small talent.’

‘But with my small talent and your great ability, the young and the old, the new born and the ever-living, we could be wonderful together! We were made for each other, Merlin. How many times do I have to remind you? A man like you needs a companion like me. I will take nothing from you except that which you choose to give. You have me all wrong. I love you. I want to learn from you. Why are you so frightened of me?’

The river babbled beside us. I could see the glow of moonlight on the water through the crouching girl before me. She had been ageing and dying in her desperate efforts to find me, to be close again.

I could well understand why: she was a direct descendant of a Northlands woman I had known, very intimately, over a century ago. I had been aware that that snow-bound pleasure in my past would give rise to squealing flesh and blood, a daughter; but not that the daughter would lead, at last, to Niiv, who having met me once clung to me as if I were her life.

We sow the seeds of our own despair, but even knowing this, we seem to go on sowing.

‘We are related,’ this
fetch
, this living ghost of Niiv reminded me unnecessarily. ‘But not so closely that we cannot enjoy each other. Wait for me, Merlin. Watch for me. You misunderstood me in Greek Land, you wronged me badly. We can be so strong together.’

I remembered my last glimpse of her, as I had finally escaped from her clutches, a pale-faced figure with wind-blown fair hair, arms outstretched, a dead swan held by the neck in her right hand. She had screamed at me, letting me know just how much she had looked into my future.

She had seen events in my future that terrified me. She used her knowledge as a fisherman uses a knife to prise limpets from their granite home. She was determined to open my body and see the markings on my bones, where magic lay; and where death lurked, waiting for betrayal.

She was the one return to Alba that I dreaded. The Three of Awful Boding had kept the worst to themselves, it seemed.

*   *   *

The shade of the girl finally dissolved, vanishing as Niiv, on the high sea, south of Alba, grew exhausted with her dream-journey. I was glad to see her go; I was unhappy that she had at last located me, but there were other things on my mind, at the moment, and I had time to prepare for the Northlands vixen who was following my spoor.

I was more concerned with understanding the two children who had, almost without my comprehending the process, come into my charge.

Kymon had not just grown in height, he had aged in mind; he had become a determined young man. And for the first time in a long while I would have to break one of my own rules: I would influence the way he thought.

After Niiv had disappeared, I stayed by the river at the eastern end of the valley, sleeping lightly. The water was clear and cold. It murmured to me, helped me think as I dreamed. I was wide awake before dawn, and as first light streaked the starry sky I heard the sound of ponies, approaching from the caves.

Kymon and Munda rode slowly past me. I hailed them and they stopped, peering at me as I emerged from my cloak. Kymon was in his battle-harness, shield on his back.

‘Merlin?’

‘Where are you going?’

The boy pondered the question for a moment, then shrugged. ‘To Taurovinda. Where else? It’s where we live.’

‘But the fortress isn’t safe. I’ve already told you that.’

‘I have to see for myself,’ Kymon retorted. ‘I don’t expect to be welcomed by the host who live there now.’

‘Nor me,’ said Munda. ‘Why don’t you come with us, Merlin? Grandfather says you can throw hawks in people’s faces.’ She laughed at this thought. ‘All I have is a sling.’

I was furious with them. ‘Have you forgotten that you were being searched for in your hideaway? You’re in danger, you little fools! I didn’t spirit you away from Ghostland just to see you ride into Ghostland’s clutches in Taurovinda, like two pigs to the spit!’

They were going into danger, but they took no notice of me, more amused by my dishevelled appearance than concerned by my words. They were quite determined. I would not be able to persuade them by fair means, so it was now that I did a little charmed persuasion.

‘You must not try to enter the fortress!’ I stated bluntly. A shadow passed over their faces.

Kymon thought for a few moments, then scratched his chin as a man scratches his beard. ‘Perhaps you’re right. But what about a look from the distance? From the evergroves. Perhaps the Dead won’t dare enter the sacred enclosure.’

‘Very well,’ I agreed—did my relief show?—and fetched a horse from the stables after telling the High Woman Rianata, who was known as the Thoughtful Woman, where we were going. She gave her permission, though from the look in her eye she didn’t yet fully trust me.