Merlin's Mistake Read online

  “We can’t let him starve,” said Brian.

  “He won’t starve, missing a few meals,” said Maude. “He’ll just get hungry. But then so shall we, now that the mule and our provisions are gone.”

  “It’s a grievous loss,” said Brian. “But since I still have my bow and, with luck, should get us some rabbits or other game, I do not mind it as much as something else.”

  “Your sword?” said Tertius.

  “Yes,” said Brian. “Hostage or not, I won’t feel easy till I’m armed again.” He had been looking up at the hillock behind them as he spoke. “You said this was a grave mound. Who would be buried here?”

  “A king or great chieftain of some sort,” said Tertius. “I don’t think it’s one of the Old People’s barrows. Possibly a Saxon, but probably a Norseman.”

  “Would he have been buried with his weapons?”

  “Yes,” said Tertius. “As a matter of fact, several famous swords have been found in howes like this. Of course, this one may already have been opened and robbed.”

  “Suppose we see. How does one get in?”

  “Sometimes there’s an entrance and sometimes there’s not.” He too had been studying the mound. Now he pointed to a flat rock some fifteen or twenty feet above them. “Let’s try that.”

  Grass grew around the rock and at first it seemed too large and heavy for even two of them to move. But, working a thick branch under the edge of it, they were able to lever it up a few inches.

  “Yes,” said Tertius, peering under it. “There’s a hole here. This may be the entrance.”

  Propping up the raised edge with stones, they were finally able to slide the rock to one side, exposing a square opening that slanted down sharply. It was some four feet high and Brian bent down to crawl into it.

  “Wait!” said Maude from below them. “Don’t go in there!”

  “Why not?” asked Brian.

  “Because he wants you to,” she said, nodding toward Migbeg. “I saw it in his face as soon as you lifted the rock. There’s some danger in there. Something … What is it?” she demanded fiercely. “Tell me!”

  But though she threatened him with her dagger, he only shook his head as if he did not know or did not have the words to answer her.

  Tertius had been thinking, looking at Migbeg and then into the dark opening.

  “Wait here,” he said to Brian.

  Going down to the fire, he brought back a brand.

  “Here,” he said, giving it to Brian. “Hold this in front of you and below your face.”

  Bending down, Brian crawled into the hole. By the light of the torch he could see that the tunnel had been made by men, for it was roofed with slabs of stone. It was awkward going, bent over under the low ceiling but, when he was some ten or twelve paces down the passage, he saw another opening ahead of him. He also saw something else: some white bones lying just inside the second opening. He thrust the torch down to see them better—and it went out!

  “Tertius!” he gasped.

  “Come back!” said Tertius. “Quickly!”

  Brian needed no urging. His heart pounding, he crawled back out.

  “Who … or what was it?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

  “What, not who,” said Tertius. “Some gas, probably methane or marsh gas.” Brian looked at him. “An invisible vapor or exhalation that comes from decaying organic matter. It’s sometimes found in mines where it’s called firedamp.”

  “But how could it put out the torch?”

  “Because a flame needs oxygen—air—to burn. As a matter of fact, under certain circumstances, methane itself will burn or explode. It has no odor and, if you had breathed enough of it, you would have died.”

  “Oh. I saw bones at the end of the passage.”

  “That was probably why Migbeg wanted you to go in. At some time, one or more of his people must have gone in and never come out again.”

  “And there’s nothing we can do? No way …”

  “If we leave the entrance open, the air will probably clear. But I don’t know how long it will take.” Again he thought for a moment. “There’s something else we can try. Help me bring wood up here.”

  While Maude and Migbeg watched, Brian and Tertius gathered wood and built a fire at the entrance to the howe.

  “What will this do?” asked Brian.

  “Set up a convection current. The hot air, rising, will draw out the air from inside. At least, I hope it will.”

  Though some of the words Tertius used were strange to him, Brian remembered how the great fireplace at Caercorbin drew in smoke from all parts of the hall, and he thought he understood. They kept the fire burning for some time.

  “Try it again,” said Tertius at last. “The same way you did before, with the torch in front of you.”

  Once more Brian crawled into the opening. Though the passageway was still damp, the air did not seem as heavy and oppressive as it had before. And this time the torch did not go out. He reached the bones he had seen before: the skeleton of a small man about the same size as Migbeg. Beyond, inside the second opening, lay another skeleton. Moving carefully so as to avoid them, Brian crawled through the second opening.

  The roof above him was higher there and he stood up. He was in a square chamber, some dozen paces across and, sitting in a thronelike chair in the far corner and watching him with dark, baleful eyes was a still but menacing figure.

  For a moment Brian stood frozen, his blood running chill. Then, raising the torch, he saw that this was a skeleton too, but that of a big man clad in a ring byrny and with a strange, horned helmet on his head. What Brian had thought were his eyes were the empty sockets of his skull.

  Coins, chains and goblets of gold and silver lay in a heap before the seated figure, but Brian scarcely looked at this treasure. For lying across the dead man’s knees was a sword.

  Slowly he went forward.

  “Sir,” he said, “I know not your name or quality and ask your pardon for breaking in thus upon your rest. But my need is great. Naught else of yours, no part of your gold or silver will I touch. But, because of my great need, I ask leave to take your sword, giving you my word that I will never dishonor it.”

  He waited a moment, almost as if he expected a reply. Then, carefully, so as not to disturb those ancient bones, he drew the sword from its sheath.

  In the distance, strangely muffled, he could hear Tertius calling anxiously to him.

  “Coming,” he called in answer.

  Stepping back, he raised the sword in salute to the long dead warrior, then slipped it into his own sheath. His torch was beginning to smolder and burn more dimly, but he backed across the chamber as he would have from a royal presence or that of some great captain and only turned when he reached the low entrance.

  Tertius’s face cleared when he saw him.

  “I was about to come in after you,” he said. Then, his eyes went to the sword. “You found one.”

  “Yes,” said Brian. “As you said, it was the tomb of some long dead chieftain; a Norseman by his arms and helmet. There was treasure there too. I took none of it, but,” he glanced down at Migbeg, “there are others who might not hold their hands. So I think we should close it up again, leave it as we found it.”

  “I agree,” said Tertius.

  Together they levered the stone back over the entrance to the tomb, then went down to the camp.

  Migbeg, with Maude guarding him, still sat against the rock, and both of them looked at Brian. As always, since Maude’s hood was pulled forward, it was hard to see the expression on her face, but that on Migbeg’s was a mixture of surprise and dismay.

  “Well?” said Maude.

  Brian drew the sword from his sheath. It was the first chance he had had to examine it, and he did so now with great interest. The hilt was of sea-ivory, checked and carved in ridges to ensure a secure grip, the pommel a great knob of amber. The blade was dark with oil or grease but, when Brian wiped it with a handful of dried grass, it remained
blue-black, darker than any steel he had ever seen.

  Tertius had put on his spectacles and in addition had taken out the glass he wore around his neck.

  “May I see it?” he asked.

  Brian gave it to him and together they bent over the blade. Despite the centuries it had lain in the howe, it was unmarred, with no sign of rusting or pitting, and both its edges were still incredibly keen. Down the center of the blade ran an inscription in strange, runic writing.

  “Can you read it?” Brian asked Tertius.

  “No,” said Tertius. “But it comes from the North and the steel is probably meteoric.”

  “Meteoric?”

  “Meteors have often been found in the North. They’re greatly prized because their iron has a high nickel content and makes a magnificent steel. You’ve done well,” he said, giving the sword back to Brian. “It’s a noble blade.”

  Taking it, Brian stroked the hilt, then gripped it. It fit his hand as if it had been made for him by some master swordsmith. It not only fit, but felt as familiar as if it was, in fact, his own sword that had been waiting there in the howe for centuries for him to come and claim it again. Though a shade heavier than the sword Sir Guy had given him, it was slightly shorter and its balance was such that he felt he could wield it for hours and not tire.

  “I’ve done better than well,” he said, raising it high and admiring its dark gleam. “It’s an even finer sword than my old one. I shall call it Starflame.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was now close to noon. Migbeg watched them as they saddled up and, noting his look, Brian said, “What shall we do with him?”

  “He shall come with us,” said Maude. “You have a sword now, but that does not mean we still do not need a hostage.”

  Brian turned to Tertius and he nodded. “It might be better,” he said.

  “Very well,” said Brian. “He can ride with me.”

  “That would be very sensible,” said Maude ironically, “to have him riding with you if you should have to use your precious sword.”

  “What then?”

  “I will take him. Gracielle can carry double as well as Gaillard. But first …” She knelt before Migbeg, fixing him with her red-rimmed eyes. “Houses,” she said, sketching one with her hands. “Which way?” She pointed in several directions, looking at him enquiringly. Raising his bound hands, Migbeg pointed southeast.

  “Very good,” she said. “How far?” She pointed to the horses, then to the sun. “One day’s journey?” She held up one finger. “Two?”

  Migbeg held up one finger.

  “Ah,” she said. “See what love and kindness can do? There are times when he seems almost human.”

  Remembering how she had overawed Migbeg with her dagger the night before, Brian smiled. She was a strange creature, he decided. But having become accustomed to her sharp tongue, he was not sorry that she was with them.

  Lifting Migbeg to the saddle in front of Maude, Brian and Tertius mounted also, and they set off southeast. They rode that way all afternoon, following the river, which remained sluggish and fringed with marshes. The feeling that they were being watched remained strong; and when they came to a range of low hills, they began to catch glimpses of those who watched them: furtive figures who could be seen for a moment against the skyline, but who disappeared as they drew near.

  When the first of these figures appeared, Brian loosened Starflame in its scabbard, but Maude said, “They will not attack.” And Brian saw that she rode with her dagger ready in her hand, close to Migbeg’s side.

  Just before dusk, when they were thinking they would have to spend still another night on the heath, they saw a thin column of smoke ahead of them. Taking the spyglass from his saddlebag, Tertius peered through it and said, “He did not mislead us. It’s a farmstead.”

  They rode on and soon came within sight of it: a goodly farm and byre surrounded by fields and pastures and with water meadows that ran down to the marshes that lay to the south.

  They reined in their horses and, looking at Migbeg, Brian said, “Though he may have begun by doing ill, in the end he did well by us. I think we should let him go now. Agreed?”

  “He did not help us by choice,” said Maude. “I think he would have liked nothing better than to cut our throats. Still, unless we cut his, I do not know what else we can do with him, so … yes, I agree.”

  When Tertius nodded too, Brian dismounted and lifted Migbeg from Maude’s horse. His dark eyes widened as Brian drew his dagger, but he stood there proudly and stoically. Then, as Brian cut the rope that bound his wrists and pointed to the heath, he stared in amazement.

  Smiling at him, Brian handed him the stone axe that had hung from his saddlebow and pointed again toward the heath. Migbeg took his axe and stood there a moment longer looking at him. Then he turned and, though it was clear his impulse was to run, he walked off slowly. But he had not gone a dozen paces before he stopped and faced them once more. He studied them each in turn. Then, apparently making up his mind, he threw back his head and gave the quavering call he had given the night before. Immediately there was an answering call from a nearby rise. Brian stiffened, wondering whether it had been a mistake to release him after all, and again reached for Starflame. Raising his voice, Migbeg addressed the unseen watchers in his strange guttural tongue. There was silence, then a single voice with a note of protest in it, answered. Frowning, Migbeg spoke again, angrily and with authority. Again there was silence. Then a row of figures appeared on the crest of a hill some two hundred yards away. Some were dressed, like Migbeg, in sheepskin tunics, some wore short leather kilts, and one held the pack mule by his halter.

  This last one came down the hill toward them, leading the mule, and gave the halter to Migbeg. Walking back to them, Migbeg in turn gave the halter to Brian. Not only were the saddlebags with their provisions still on the mule but, thrust into one of them, was Brian’s sword. Brian drew it out. Though Sir Guy had given it to him and at first he had felt lost without it, now it did not seem as much his own sword as Starflame. He glanced at Tertius. But, reading his thought, Tertius shook his head.

  “I am not yet an armiger,” he said. “It would be of no use to me.”

  “In that case,” said Brian, “here.” And reversing the sword, he held it out to Migbeg. Again Migbeg stared at him uncomprehendingly.

  “Yes,” said Brian. “I give it to you. Take it.”

  Slowly Migbeg reached for the sword. He examined it, feeling its keen edge. Then, his face alight, he thrust it through his belt. Stepping forward, he put his left hand on Brian’s shoulder and with his right gripped his wrist. Brian did the same and for a moment they stood, looking into one another’s eyes. Then Migbeg stepped back, saluted Brian—and after him Maude and Tertius—and went trotting off, followed by the man who had brought the mule.

  “Well,” said Maude. “I do not know what good it will do you, but you have made a friend.”

  “That’s not why I did it,” said Brian. “Though he came as a thief and would have killed us if he could, he was a brave man.”

  They waited until Migbeg reached the top of the ridge where his men surrounded him, patting and embracing him. Finally breaking free of them, he waved to the three below. They waved back and went on again.

  When they reached the stead, the farmer stood outside the house, waiting for them. By his dress and bearing, he was a franklin or yeoman: a big, sturdy man with a brown beard and a pleasant, open face. His young wife stood by him and, holding her hand, was a golden-haired, blue-eyed girl of about six.

  “Greetings,” said the farmer. “I am Diccon of the Holm. Who are you and whence do you come?”

  Brian gave their names, saying, “We were last of Meliot.”

  “Though that is far distant, I have heard of it,” said Diccon. “But how did you come here? Not across the heath?”

  “Yes.”

  “And had you no trouble with the Old Ones?”

  “We had some,” said Brian. �
�But it ended well.”

  “Then you are braver and more knowing travelers—or perhaps luckier—than most. For there are few who dare come that way.”

  “You have had trouble with them too, then?”

  “No. My father’s father worked out a peace with them, and they have observed it ever since. I would hear of your dealings with them, but there will be time for that. For you will eat and stay the night with us, will you not?”

  Glancing at the others, Brian thanked him and said that they would, and they followed him into the house. A fire burned in the hearth, and a wonderful smell came from the huge iron pot that hung from a crane over the coals. They sat them down on benches and Diccon listened with great interest while Brian told them of their adventures on the heath. He nodded when Brian mentioned Migbeg’s name, telling him that he was—as they had thought—an important chieftain and saying he was glad that things had turned out as they had. For, as he had mentioned before, his family had been at peace with the Old Ones, giving them food when they needed it during hard winters and sometimes trading with them for furs and skins.

  During this time, while Diccon’s wife was busy with the pot, the child had been observing them with grave, candid eyes. Now she came, not to Brian or Tertius, but to Maude and said, “What’s your name?”

  “Maude.”

  “I’m Amy. May I sit with you?”

  Maude looked at her for a moment, startled. Then, “If you like,” she said.

  Despite the harshness of Maude’s voice and her apparent indifference, Amy sat next to her on the bench and remained with her all through supper.

  The stew that Diccon’s wife, Nan, served them was as good as it had smelled, a welcome change from the game and salt meat they had been eating since they left Meliot. Afterward Brian asked Diccon about the Knight with the Red Shield, and Diccon said that while he had heard of him, as he had of Meliot’s grave plight, he knew nothing about him. There was something in his look, however, that made Brian say, “Do not tell me that you have suffered at the hands of the Black Knight also.”