Lamp Black, Wolf Grey (21 page)

“There,” she said, returning to Huw. “The wind belongs outside—let him stay there.”

The noise had awoken Brychan, whose own fear had finally conquered his pride. He trotted across the room and climbed into bed with his brother.

“Please, Megan, tell us a story. I can’t bear to listen to that fearsome noise any longer.”

“Oh, yes.” Huw brightened at the thought. “A story Megan!”

“Very well. Which one shall we have?”

“Pwll in the Underworld!” cried Brychan.

“You always choose that one,” Huw complained. “I want the one about the people turned into harvest mice.”

The boys began to clamor and argue.

“Hush now, children—you will frighten away any story that might be waiting to be told.”

They became quiet at once and sat attentive, ready to listen.

“I will tell you the story of Gelert, the noble hound whose loyalty knew no bounds.” Megan set down her candle in a small nook in the wall, tucked the boys under the covers, and curled her feet up on the bed beneath her. As she told the tale she watched the boys’ faces, seeing in them the lives of the heroes played out in the widening of a young eye or the pursing of incredulous lips.

“Once, in a land very like our own,” she began, “save for the bigger mountains and the deeper rivers, of course, there lived a fine young prince named Llewelyn ap Iorweth. He was loved and held in high regard by all those who knew him, for he was brave and honest, a man to be relied upon in times of trouble, a man to be trusted. He had fought many battles to protect his village and his people, and when he was not fighting he enjoyed his sport, in the main hunting with his beloved hounds. These were fine animals, descended from a line of dogs known for their keen noses, swift legs, and fearless hearts. And the best of these was called Gelert. Gelert was the prince’s favorite. He was a hand taller than any of the others, with strong shoulders, grizzled grey fur, and a kind eye. He had fought wolves and bears and brought down the greatest boar in the forest, even when its tusks ripped into his side.

“Prince Llewelyn loved this hound more than any other and even took him to battle with him. More than once he saved his master’s life, though the arrows and swords whistled about his ears. Some years passed, and Gelert became slower and his legs a little stiff. Still the prince kept the animal by him, though he was too old to hunt now.

“It happened that Prince Llewelyn took a wife, and very soon they had a child. The baby was all the world to the prince now, and whenever he could he would spend time with the boy, playing with him, even taking him riding with him on occasion. His wife joked that Gelert would be jealous, but Prince Llewelyn laughed at this. ‘The old hound knows I am forever in his debt,’ he told her.

“A few weeks later the village was attacked. In the battle the prince’s wife was slain. Soon after, the attackers fled. Near mad with grief, he swore to avenge his bride. He placed the baby in its crib and set Gelert to stand beside it. ‘Guard him well, faithful hound, for he is all and everything to me now.’ So saying he rode away.

“That night, with the village all disturbed and the men away, wolves came to see what was to be had. They even stole into the room where the baby slept. Gelert stood his ground. Though old he would not let the wolves approach. He fought them all, though they inflicted grievous wounds upon him. At last he chased them away. Fearing they might return, he went to the crib, and took the blankets between his teeth. With great care he lifted the infant out and carried it to a safer place where he could hide it. Then he took his position once more.

“Hours later Prince Llewelyn returned. He hurried to see his child and was horrified to find only an empty, bloodstained crib. In a fit of panic and rage he turned to Gelert, and seeing the animal covered in blood and thinking it to be that of his child, he raised his sword and cut down the poor animal. ‘You evil hound! Your jealously has made you murder my son!’ But even as Gelert lay dying a servant came running forward with the babe in his arms. ‘Master, look, the child is safe! Gelert drove off the wolves.’ Realizing too late that he had wrongly accused the faithful dog the prince fell to his knees. ‘Gelert, my most loyal friend, forgive me!’ Gelert stretched his neck out and tenderly licked his beloved master’s hand before death carried him away to the other world.”

As Megan finished her story the wind dropped momentarily, so that the end of the tale lingered in the silent space. The boys were spellbound and had quite forgotten their fear of the storm.

“Poor Gelert,” Huw whispered.

“If I had such a hound I would never doubt him for a second,” said Brychan, leaping up to stand on the bed. “I would take my sword and kill those wolves. Like this! And this! And this!” he said, slashing at imaginary beasts with a swordless hand.

“Hush now. The story was to help you sleep, not set you jumping about. Get into bed and I will fetch warm milk.”

On her way down to the kitchen Megan passed the great hall. The door was ajar, and as she walked on she heard voices. She would not have hesitated but the mention of a name made her stop dead in her tracks. Merlin’s name. Carefully, she crept over to the door and peered in. She could clearly see Lord Geraint sitting near the fire, a silver goblet of wine in his hand. His hounds lay at his feet, and beyond them stood Llewelyn. Megan turned her head the better to listen to their conversation.

“You think he could prove a threat, my Lord?” Llewelyn was asking.

“I cannot know. In truth, I had hoped to use him. To that end, I had set young Megan to win him over to our cause. But time has passed. He shows no sign of yielding. And now this news that he has met with Lord Idris. What may they be plotting? Why would my enemy risk journeying onto my land to see the magician without some purpose?”

“My spy was unable to listen to their conversation,” Llewelyn explained. “He told me Idris spoke of his plan to ride to the house of Twm under guise of being a merchant looking for a new horse, and so he put himself forward as escort. He was not, however, privy to the meeting itself but had to remain outside. What was said was out of his hearing.”

“It is enough that they met.”

“Do you wish me to question the girl?”

Megan shuddered at the idea of what Llewelyn’s notion of questioning might be. She thought how different this man was from the prince in her story.

“There is little point. If she has simply failed, she will be too afraid to admit to it. If, as I suspect, she has instead colluded with him and refused to do my bidding, we will only alert her to our plans. And I do not wish to have Merlin forewarned.”

“We could lock her in the castle. That way she could not reach him.”

“Remember the nature of our adversary, Llewelyn. Were the maid to learn of our plans she might have only to cast her words on the wind or talk to the sparrows to inform her lover, for all that we can know.” He tipped more wine down his throat before continuing. “No, we must be certain Merlin is not given reason to flee. It sits badly with me that he will not fight for us. How much worse would it be should he choose to ally himself with Lord Idris? I will not afford him that opportunity.”

“You want me to kill him, my Lord?”

“Yes. Tonight. And do it yourself, I trust no one else.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“And the girl’s father must be dealt with.”

Megan stifled a cry at these words. One of the hounds raised its head, looking in the direction of the doorway. It let out a low rumble.

Lord Geraint kicked the dog impatiently.

“Be silent, foolish creature,” he said, standing up and moving toward the table. “Twm showed where his allegiance lies by permitting my enemy to cross his threshold. Further, I will not be made a fool of by a maid. She will see, as will all others, that I do not make threats of no consequence. Come, Llewelyn, eat with me before you set about your errands on this wild night.”

Megan flattened herself against the wall as the men crossed the room to the long table. She waited until they were seated and engrossed in their food before creeping on to the kitchen. She fetched the jug of milk, pausing to plunge a hot poker in it for a moment. As it steamed her mind ran in a dozen directions. She had to warn Merlin. And her father. And it was clearly not safe for her to remain in the castle. While she might reach Merlin through her thoughts there was too much at stake to risk failure. And besides, she and her father would have to leave the valley. She must go at once. But she must not alarm the boys. If she did not return with their milk they would come looking for her. She sped back to their room, doing her best to appear untroubled and calm.

“Here, children, drink this down quickly.” She waited until they were in their beds before handing them the milk. She felt a sudden stab of sadness at the thought that she would never again kiss them goodnight, nor watch them ride their ponies, nor tell them a tale to calm them. She had been closer to the children than their own mother all these years and now she must vanish from their lives forever. She knew Brychan would survive without her. He was old for his years and had a confidence built on his father’s obvious love for him. But she feared for little Huw. He was so gentle and earnest, and so lacking in affection from either of his parents. Megan stroked his hair as he settled back on his pillow and wished with all her heart that she could scoop him up and take him with her. He still had a young child’s ability to slip into sleep in a second, and his breathing was steady and soft by the time Megan crept from the bedchamber.

She shut the door and went to her own room. She had time enough only to snatch up a few treasured possessions. She took her good dress and her comb and wrapped them in a wool blanket, tying the bundle together with the soft rope she sometimes used as a belt. She threw her heavy cloak around her shoulders and stole out along the hallway. She was about to descend the spiral stairs when she remembered her mother’s perfume flask. It was the only thing of her mother’s she still kept, she could not leave without it. She ran back to her room and retrieved it from under her mattress. She had gotten as far as the top stair for a second time when the sound of a heavy door opening made her freeze.

“Megan?” Lady Rhiannon’s voice was unmistakable. “Where are you going?”

Megan hardly dared move. What possible explanation could she give for running about the castle in the middle of the night clutching her belongings? If she did not leave now she would not reach Merlin or her father before Lord Geraint’s men. She let her bundle slip quietly from her hand down the steps in front of her, then turned to face her mistress.

“I wanted to tend to Midnight, my Lord’s destrier. He is not yet completely recovered from his illness.”

“You thought to go to the stables at this hour?”

“The wind woke me. I have attended Master Brychan and Master Huw. They are both sleeping.”

“Very well, go to the wretched animal. But see you are about your duties in the morning.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” Without waiting to be questioned further she turned and fled down the stairs, grasping her package as she passed.

She crossed the garden to the stables without need of torch or candle, as the clear sky boasted a full and luminous moon. The wind still blew with great strength, so that every tree strained at its roots as if it had somewhere else it would rather be. Inside the stall the animals dozed or chewed their hay peacefully, unbothered by the fierce weather. Megan entered the barn with such haste that she was inside before she realized there was a light still burning. Dafydd stood beside a grey mare, a lamp raised.

“Megan?”

“Oh, Dafydd.” She was thrown. She needed a horse and had planned to slip a bridle on Hazel, but she could not now do so without Dafydd’s agreement. Could she trust him? She had no choice. She stood close to him and kept her voice low, fearing others may have been kept awake by the noisy night. “I have to leave this very minute, Dafydd. And I need a horse, or I shall be too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“That I cannot tell you, for to do so would condemn you as well as myself. Only believe me that I have no choice, and that great harm with befall innocent people if I do not go now.” She watched his face, searching for some sign that he would help her. “I had thought to take Hazel,” she told him.

There was a moment of quiet between them filled only with the wailing of the wind and the creaking of the barn timbers as the weather pressed down upon them. Dafydd shook his head.

“I cannot let you do that, Megan,” he said slowly.

Megan felt despair beginning to descend.

“Hazel is no match for such a night,” Dafydd went on. “We must find you a more suitable mount. Come,” he said, leading her to another stall.

“You mean me to take Midnight?” Megan was astounded.

“He has the speed and the sureness of foot you will need in the dark and through such weather. He will go well for you—of that I have no doubt.” As he spoke Dafydd deftly saddled the horse. He took Megan’s small bundle of possessions and tied it to the pommel, then held the fidgeting animal as she sprang onto its back.

Megan looked down at her kind friend. “This will mean trouble for you,” she said.

“If time is scarce, Megan, do not waste it on fretting for me.”

For a second they looked at one another, connected in a way that every serf or slave had always been and would always be, and then Dafydd flung open the great door at the front of the building.

The wind rushed into the barn and seemed to lift horse and rider up with it as Midnight plunged forward out of the shelter of the stables and into the wild darkness outside. Megan was unprepared for the terror she felt at hurtling through the countryside at such speed with so little light. The moon’s beams showed outlines, shapes, notions of objects, but not their detail, nor a clear picture of the path on which they galloped. For all she could see she might as well be blindfolded. She had no option but to give Midnight his head, urge him forward, rely upon his superior night vision, and trust him completely. She grasped a handful of mane and sat deep in the saddle, knowing that to fall would be disastrous. She felt the power of the great horse as he flew across the uneven ground. Not for the first time she marveled at how something so strong, something possessed of such force and courage, would allow itself to bend to the will of a flimsy girl. With each stride she found a little of her usual confidence in the saddle returning. Within moments they were out of sight of the castle and heading for the woods. Megan considered the paths she could take and chose to skirt the forest, rather than enter it. It was a longer route, certainly, but she judged it a faster one. And a safer one. Midnight charged on, never slowing his pace nor questioning her instructions for a second. On they galloped, Megan’s heart pounding to the urgent rhythm of the horse’s hooves. She knew she could only be minutes ahead of Llewelyn and his men. At last the path turned upward, running along the side of the hill, climbing, climbing all the while until finally the dim shadow of the croft could be seen up ahead. Her heart quickened at the sight of the now familiar building. The recent weeks had seen her slipping away to be with her lover on every available occasion. He had come to mean so much to her in such a short time. The thought that she might be too late to keep him safe filled her with renewed terror. But by the time she reached the door of the dwelling Merlin was standing outside it as if he had sensed Megan’s approach. His wolf stood beside him.