‘Mordred was ever a rapist,’ Merlin said. ‘Takes after his father and grandfather in that, though I must say they were both a great deal gentler than young Mordred. Uther, now, he could never resist a pretty face. Or an ugly one if he was in the mood. Arthur, though, was never given to rape. He’s like you in that, Gawain.’
‘I am very glad to hear it,’ Gawain said and Merlin rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.
‘So what will Arthur do with Mordred?’ the Druid demanded of me.
‘He’s to be imprisoned here, Lord,’ I said, gesturing about the palace.
‘Imprisoned!’ Merlin seemed amused. ‘Guinevere shut away, Bishop Sansum locked up, if life goes on like this then everyone in Arthur’s life will soon be imprisoned! We shall all be on water and mouldy bread. What a fool Arthur is! He should knock Mordred’s brains out.’ Mordred had been a child when he inherited the kingship and Arthur had wielded the royal power as the boy grew, but when Mordred came of age, and true to the promise he had given to High King Uther, Arthur handed the kingdom to Mordred. Mordred misused that power, and even plotted Arthur’s death, and it was that plot which had encouraged Sansum and Lancelot in their revolt. Mordred was to be imprisoned now, though Arthur was determined that Dum-nonia’s rightful King, in whom the blood of the Gods ran, should be treated with honour even if he was not to be allowed power. He would be kept under guard in this lavish palace, given all the luxuries he craved, but kept from mischief. ‘So you think,’ Merlin asked me, ‘that Mordred does have whelps?’
‘Dozens, I should think.’
‘If you ever do think,’ Merlin snapped. ‘Give me a name, Derfel! Give me a name!’
I thought for a moment. I was in a better position than most men to know Mordred’s sins for I had been his childhood guardian, a task I had done both reluctantly and badly. I had never succeeded in being a father to him, and though my Ceinwyn had tried to be a mother, she too had failed and the wretched boy had grown sullen and evil. ‘There was a servant girl here,’ I said, ‘and he kept her company for a long time.’
‘Her name?’ Merlin demanded with a mouth full of cheese.
‘Cywwylog.’
‘Cywwylog!’ He seemed amused by the name. ‘And you say he fathered a child on this Cywwylog?’
‘A boy,’ I said, ‘if it was his, which it probably was.’
‘And this Cywwylog,’ he said, waving a knife, ‘where might she be?’
‘Probably somewhere very close,’ I answered. ‘She never moved with us to Ermid’s Hall and Ceinwyn always supposed that Mordred had given her money.’
‘So he was fond of her?’
‘I think he was, yes.’
‘How gratifying to know that there is some good in the horrible boy. Cywwylog, eh? You can find her, Gawain?’
‘I shall try, Lord,’ Gawain said eagerly.
‘Not just try, succeed!’ Merlin snapped. ‘What did she look like, Derfel, this curiously named Cywwylog?’
‘Short,’ I said, ‘plumpish, black hair.’
‘So far we have succeeded in whittling our search down to every girl in Britain beneath the age of twenty. Can you be more specific? How old would the child be now?’
‘Six,’ I said, ‘and if I remember rightly, he had reddish hair.’
‘And the girl?’
I shook my head. ‘Pleasant enough, but not really memorable.’
‘All girls are memorable,’ Merlin said loftily, ‘especially ones named Cywwylog. Find her, Gawain.’
‘Why do you want to find her?’ I asked.
‘Do I poke my nose into your business?’ Merlin demanded. ‘Do I come and ask you foolish questions about spears and shields? Am I forever pestering you with idiotic enquiries about the manner in which you administer justice? Do I care about your harvests? Have I, in short, made a nuisance of myself by interfering in your life, Derfel?’
‘No, Lord.’
‘So pray do not be curious about mine. It is not given for shrews to understand the ways of the eagle. Now eat some cheese, Derfel.’
Nimue refused to eat. She was brooding, angered by the way Merlin had dismissed her assertion that Arthur was the true ruler of Dumnonia. Merlin ignored her, preferring to tease Gawain. He did not mention Mordred again, nor would he talk about what he planned at Mai Dun, though he did finally speak of the Treasures as he escorted me towards the palace’s outer gate where Issa still waited for me. The Druid’s black staff clicked on the stones as we walked though the courtyard where the crowd had watched the apparitions come and go. ‘I need people, you see,’ Merlin said, ‘because if the Gods are to be summoned then there is work to be done and Nimue and I cannot possibly do it all alone. We need a hundred folk, maybe more!’
‘To do what?’
‘You’ll see, you’ll see. Did you like Gawain?’
‘He seems willing.’
‘Oh, he’s willing all right, but is that admirable? Dogs are willing. He reminds me of Arthur when he was young. All that eagerness to do good.’ He laughed.
‘Lord,’ I said, anxious for reassurance, ‘what will happen at Mai Dun?’
‘We shall summon the Gods, of course. It’s a complicated procedure and I can only pray I do it right. I do fear, of course, that it will not work. Nimue, as you might have gathered, believes I am doing it all wrong, but we shall see, we shall see.’ He walked a couple of paces in silence. ‘But if we do it right, Derfel, if we do it right, then what a sight we shall witness! The Gods coming in all their power. Manawydan striding from the sea, all wet and glorious. Taranis splintering the skies with lightning, Bel trailing fire from heaven, and Don cleaving the clouds with her spear of fire. That should scare the Christians, eh!’ He danced a pair of clumsy steps for pure delight. ‘The bishops will be pissing in their black robes then, eh?’
‘But you cannot be sure,’ I said, anxious for reassurance.
‘Don’t be absurd, Derfel. Why do you always want certainty of me? All I can do is perform the ritual and hope I get it right! But you witnessed something tonight, did you not? Does that not convince you?’
I hesitated, wondering if all I had witnessed was some trick. But what trick could make a girl’s skin glow in the dark? ‘And will the Gods fight the Saxons?’ I asked.
‘That is why we are summoning them, Derfel,’ Merlin said patiently. ‘The purpose is to restore Britain as she was in the old days before her perfection was soured by Saxons and Christians.’ He stopped at the gate and stared out into the dark countryside. ‘I do love Britain,’ he said in a voice that was suddenly wan, ‘I do so love this island. It is a special place.’ He laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘Lancelot burned your house. So where do you live now?’
‘I have to build a place,’ I said, though it would not be at Ermid’s Hall where my little Dian had died.
‘Dun Caric is empty,’ Merlin said, ‘and I will let you live there, though on one condition: that when my work is done and the Gods are with us, I may come to die in your house.’
‘You may come and live there, Lord,’ I said.
‘To die, Derfel, to die. I am old. I have one task left, and that task will be attempted at Mai Dun.’ He kept his hand on my shoulder. ‘You think I do not know the risks I run?’
I sensed fear in him. ‘What risks, Lord?’ I asked awkwardly.
A screech owl sounded from the dark and Merlin listened with a cocked head for a repeat of the call, but none came. ‘All my life,’ he said after a while, ‘I have sought to bring the Gods back to Britain, and now I have the means, but I don’t know whether it will work. Or whether I am the man to do the rites. Or whether I’ll even live to see it happen.’ His hand tightened on my shoulder. ‘Go, Derfel,’ he said, ‘go. I must sleep, for tomorrow I travel south. But come to Durnovaria at Samain. Come and witness the Gods.’