The carriage inched forward. The driver woke his companion, and they tried shouting, “Make way for the king’s advisor!” It had no effect.
“Tell me what it’s like, sir. What should I expect?” Anticipation showed in Petronus’s face.
But Merlin’s mood was growing darker by the minute. “Expect a crowd of superstitious fools.”
“But-”
“You have seen sketches of Stonehenge, surely.”
“Yes, sir, but-”
“Expect to be disappointed, then. For all its reputation, Stonehenge is not all that large or imposing. People always expect something on a titanic scale, like the Pyramids or the Colosseum in Rome. This is nowhere near so massive. There is a stone circle, uprights with stone lintels connecting them. Inside, there are five more of these ‘trilithons’ as they are called, uprights and lintels, forming a rough horseshoe. Then near the center is a huge stone used as an altar. And there are a few other bits of debris; they have been given fanciful names like the Heel Stone and the Slaughter Stone. But for all the whimsy, they are only rock. It is nothing to be excited about.”
“I’m excited, sir.”
“Don’t be.”
“I can’t help it. Wouldn’t you have been, when you were my age?”
“I was never your age. And even when I was, I would never have admitted it.”
In the distance ahead Stonehenge appeared, lit by scores of torches. The great stone circle glowed eerily, almost pre ternaturally. Merlin wondered why the rain did not put them out.
But the rain was easing; within a few moments it almost stopped. It had done its job; the plain was a sea of mud. They would be lucky if the carriage wheels did not become mired in it.
Then there was the sound of another carriage behind them. Merlin leaned out the window to look. It was an enormous thing, painted jet-black, drawn by a team of six black horses. On either side of the driver torches burned brilliantly. “Morgan,” he whispered softly to himself. Then to Petronus he said, “Apparently the high priestess of England is not daunted by terrible weather.”
“They say she can control it, sir. Maybe that’s why the rain is stopping now.”
“Do not be preposterous.” To the driver Merlin suggested, “The crowd will part for Morgan. Follow her carriage and we will make quick progress as far as the monument, at least.”
And the crowd did indeed part for their priestess. Merlin’s driver steered their coach behind hers. The quick forward jolt woke Nimue. She rubbed her eyes and asked what was happening.
Petronus excitedly told her, “We’re going to see Stonehenge and the equinox rites.”
Merlin grumped and kept his gaze outside.
Hordes of people surrounded the great stone monument, all of them seemingly with torches; they passed the fire one to another. The great stones glowed and shimmered in the predawn. They might have been fired by lightning. But he noticed that all the torches were outside the stone circle. Presumably the worshippers were waiting outside, away from the altar stone, in deference to their priestess.
Morgan’s coach drew to a halt just at the paved pathway that led into the heart of Stonehenge. Merlin’s stopped just behind it.
The crowd fell silent with anticipation. Slowly the door of Morgan’s carriage opened and she descended. She was dressed magnificently, in voluminous black robes embroidered with silver. Just behind her, her son Mordred emerged from the carriage, looking self-conscious, dressed like her in black and silver.
When she saw Merlin and the others get out of their carriage, she crossed to him. “What are you doing here?”
Merlin resented her tone. He put on a sarcastic grin and said, “Why, Morgan. How nice to see you.”
“I asked you what you are doing here. I can’t recall a time when you were not disdainful of the ancient, solemn rites that made England what she is.”
He was all sweet innocence. “We’ve come to see the monument. My assistant never has, you know. Surely you do not object to our visiting this sacred place?” He did not mean a word of it, and they both knew it.
“You are a sacrilegious old fool, Merlin. I will not have the equinox defiled by your presence. The ritual must be postponed.”
“Postpone the movement of the sun? Really, Morgan, I had no idea even you had that kind of power.”
“Do not be sarcastic, Merlin. You said yourself this is a holy place.”
“Please, Morgan, do go on with what you came for.” He made a sweeping gesture at the crowd. “I give you my word I will not interfere in any way. Look at the audience you have.”
“Congregation,” she corrected him.
“Congregation, then. These people have come from all over England to hear you invoke the sun god. My assistant Petronus is especially eager to witness the rites. It would be terrible of you to disappoint them all.”
She stiffened and said nothing; she was obviously turning over the options in her mind. After a moment she turned to Mordred and told him, “Signal the celebrants that we are about to begin.”
“Yes, Mother.” In a flash he disappeared into the crowd.
She clapped her hands, and from her carriage an attendant produced a high stool. He placed it in front of her. Then she held out a hand and he helped her climb up onto it. Thus towering over the crowd, she intoned, “People of England!”
Her voice thundered, quite uncharacteristically. Merlin wondered who had coached her in the way to project it.
From seemingly nowhere, a band of musicians appeared out of the throng and played a low, mournful fanfare. And the vast crowd fell silent.
“The sun is dying.” Morgan intoned the words solemnly, and they echoed across the plain.
To Nimue, Merlin whispered, “It is doing no such thing. It is merely following a course lower in the sky. It does so every year.”
“Soon enough,” Morgan went on, “it will be gone from us, only to be gloriously resurrected come springtime.” Her voice echoed across the plain. The people were rapt.
Merlin glanced at Petronus. The boy was quite caught up in the moment. He watched Morgan wide-eyed, as if her flummery made any sense. Merlin shook his head and whispered to Nimue, “I really must teach the boy more firmly.”
“And while you’re at it, why don’t you teach all the rest of them? You will never cure humanity of this, Merlin. It means too much to them.”
Morgan went on and on about the sun, the gods, the promise of a resurrected life after death, as demonstrated each year by the sun itself. Merlin wanted her to get on with it; she showed no inclination to do so.
Overhead there were occasional breaks in the clouds. They grew more and more numerous, more and more frequent, and Merlin realized that Morgan was extemporizing to kill time in hope that the sun itself might become visible.
Finally a few shafts of sunlight broke through the clouds. Morgan continued her oration. But when the sun began to disappear once again, she ended it quickly and clapped her hands another time. “Let the autumn rites begin.”
The musicians, who had obviously been rehearsed, formed themselves into a column and began to play a mournful march. Young girls with torches made a column behind them. Morgan, followed by her son, fell into place at the rear. And slowly, stately, the processional advanced into the heart of Stonehenge.
Merlin, Petronus and Nimue joined the ceremonial march. Petronus was plainly excited by the crowd, the music, the hundreds of flaming torches and the air of solemnity. Nimue’s face reflected casual interest, no more. Merlin leaned close to her and whispered, “Our young friend is almost quivering with expectation. Why aren’t you?”
“I grew up in Morgan’s household, remember? Back when I was still living as Nimue, not Colin. I have seen her preside over this sort of thing before. When I was a child, it was all very exciting. Now…”
“Are you trying to imply that Petronus is still a child?”
“Stop trying to stir up trouble, Merlin.”
The torches still shone brightly in the half-light. Glowing patterns danced on the monument’s stones as the procession moved in to the heart of the monument. The clouds overhead closed up again; the sun, which they were there to celebrate, was lost completely behind them.