Merlin's Sister

By J. A. Thornbury

Set amidst the ruins of Roman Britain, Merlin's Sister is not only an epic saga of sweeping battles, emotional turmoil and political intrigue, but also the intimate story of a family. Ganieda, equal to her brother in wit and wisdom, is Merlin's sounding board, sometime goad, and often verbal sparring partner. But their easy banter belie

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gavia Press
• Release date: Mar 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9780998144764

J. A. Thornbury

J.A. Thornbury has immersed herself - almost literally - in her writing. Researching her subject, she has paddled coracles and kayaks on rivers and lakes in Britain, gone spelunking in Wales, climbed mountains in Cumbria and Scotland, and participated in archaeological digs in England. A lifetime of birding and botanizing, ten years as staff artist and naturalist at the Somerset County Environmental Education Center in New Jersey, and twenty-five years as Senior Principal Exhibit Preparator at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City have given her insights into the natural world, so important to the protagonist of this tale.

Book preview

Part I

Chapter 1

The Mysterious Stranger

In a remote but pleasant corner of Cumbria, at the foot of a high mountain now covered with snow, stood a small and somewhat dilapidated cottage. Inside, sitting at a table strewn with carpentry tools, a tall and lanky dark-haired man was busily at work, sharpening a chisel on a whetstone. Behind him the door was wide open to let even more light into the very cluttered, but bright and cheerful, single room of the dwelling.

The winter had been unusually cold and snowy, but on this day, the mildest in many weeks, a brilliant sun shone in a deep blue sky, rapidly melting the snow piled high on the thatched roof of the cottage. Water dripping from the eaves and pattering on the wet snow below would have covered the sound of anyone’s approach, but the young man stepping toward the house still moved as stealthily as a cat stalking a bird. His curling honey-colored hair, tinged red in the sunlight, framed a handsome face, but a face whose expression was serious and intent. When he reached the open door, he stopped to listen before cautiously peering around the doorframe.

Withdrawing his head with a satisfied look and steadying the sword at his side, he was poised to leap through the doorway when the man at the table, not pausing for an instant from his work, said calmly, Do come in, Arthur, and pull up a chair. No dramatic entrances, please.

The young man sheepishly dropped his arms to his sides and entered. Merlin, I think you have eyes in the back of your head.

Merlin, gingerly touching a thumb to the edge of the chisel, replied, No, but the eyes in the front of my head are sharp enough to see a distinctive shadow on the wall facing me.

Grinning, Arthur grabbed the only other chair in a familiar fashion and sat astride it, his arms resting on its back. With a glance at Arthur’s sword, Merlin asked, Shouldn’t you be at military training today?

I was already. Every other day, as usual. We started before dawn this morning so Lord Ector let us off early. Lord Ector says if Cei and I are ever to make something of ourselves, we need to learn practical skills we can put to real use.

Merlin, looking mildly amused as he often did, said, Ah, more practical, for instance, than what I am teaching you?

My dear mentor, I would never suggest such a thing, Arthur replied with real fervor. I value my lessons with you more than anything else.

Thank you for your passionate response, but please do remember that your foster father is teaching you important lessons too. You must simply learn it all, said Merlin, only half in jest. Now, Arthur, if you don’t mind, since I wasn’t expecting you today, I’m going to continue with my work. Please feel free to stay, but I really want to finish this project.

As the young man settled comfortably on the chair to watch his mentor, now so much a part of his life, he found it hard to believe that only three years had passed since Merlin’s first unexpected appearance. Arthur vividly remembered the stormy night when Merlin arrived, alone and on foot, knocking at the kitchen door of the house where Arthur lived with his foster family. Arthur was surprised when Lord Ector had allowed the rather tattered-looking stranger to move into the abandoned cottage standing at the edge of a small copse about a quarter-hour walk from the main house. A cold, comfortless place to spend the night, Arthur had thought, as the stranger in his rain-soaked clothing stepped back outside to trudge up the track in the dark, carrying a little bundle which looked to be all that he owned.

The next day, when the stranger returned to the house, Ector had given him the loan of some tools and the materials he would need to fix the cottage, as well as a few pots and pans, a battered bronze kettle, a pile of straw and two blankets, which provided scant furnishings. Arthur, feeling a bit sorry for the poor man, helped him with the repairs whenever he could spare the time, but it soon became apparent to the boy that this tenant was no ordinary one. He quickly discovered that Merlin was not only a skilled craftsman, adept with tools, but also a man knowledgeable in a surprisingly wide range of subjects, who readily answered any questions that Arthur could think to ask him. The boy was happy that Lord Ector did not seem inclined to discourage him from visiting the new tenant and, in fact, one day had said to him, He’s a man of learning; it might do you and Cei a bit of good to go up there now and then.

After a while, the informal question-and-answer sessions had started to take the form of more structured lessons, and Arthur began spending as much time with his new teacher as his household duties and training-at-arms allowed. Arthur and his foster brother Cei, only two weeks apart in age, had been taught by a tutor until they were twelve. At that point Ector, not to mention Cei, decided that they had all the education they would need. Training with arms and horsemanship had continued, however, under Ector’s guidance. Ector had been a notable soldier in his time, and though his soldiering days were long past, he instructed the boys well in the military arts. Arthur was somewhat surprised, but not at all unhappy, when Ector seemed willing to allow further studies with this new unofficial tutor who had arrived so unexpectedly.

Never quite as keen on studying as Arthur, Cei went along, too, in the beginning, primarily to humor his father. Now at the age of fifteen, because he deemed himself far too mature to continue with lessons, he only occasionally accompanied Arthur. As for Arthur, beyond his eagerness to further his education, he felt himself drawn to Merlin for another reason.

While Ector had treated him with the same consideration as his own son Cei, Arthur had always felt there had been something missing in his life, something which he now found in Merlin’s company. It crossed his mind more than once that this man, some twenty years his senior, might, perhaps, be his own father who, for some reason, could not reveal the truth. That possibility could account for why Merlin patiently gave his time and knowledge with no thought of receiving any reward other than what Arthur considered to be a rather meager stipend of food every week from Ector’s kitchen. Amounting to no more than one loaf of bread, a bit of butter, a jug of milk, and a few scant handfuls of oats or barley, it was not enough to sustain even a man with Merlin’s modest needs. Arthur knew his teacher also bartered for food from some of the farmers in the vicinity in exchange for working in their fields, doing repairs and making tools. Still, Arthur thought Merlin’s wage rather small for not only teaching but also performing scribal duties when Ector needed a letter read or, less often, written or when Ector, or more usually his wife Drusilla, asked Merlin to read to them for entertainment.

Arthur held his tongue, though, not wishing ever to criticize his foster father who had done so much for him. And, after all, he thought to himself, Merlin was allowed to live in the cottage. He was certainly no worse off than some of the poorer people living in the nearby village or the tenants on the smaller farms. All the same, Arthur was concerned for his mentor’s welfare and so started unobtrusively to wrap pieces of his own dinner the night before his lessons to take to the cottage the next day. He was sure that it did not go unobserved, but since no one had told him not to do it, he had continued. After a while he noticed that the cook began to give him very generous portions, and once he saw his foster father wink at the cook after she had given him a particularly large piece of cake, which he duly cut into two pieces, eating one half and wrapping the other as usual. At first, Arthur was afraid it might be insulting to the pride of a man of obvious education and learning to be given food by the boy he was teaching, but Merlin always accepted the gifts with a nod of thanks. Today Arthur had brought two apples, which had kept well in winter storage, and he set the small bag on the floor at the side of the chair since the table was covered with tools and wood shavings.

What are you working on? asked Arthur curiously. Merlin, now standing, had clamped a roughly split wooden plank to the table and was shaving it down with a drawknife, the usual look of serious concentration on his face while occupied with a task.

Would you care to guess? replied Merlin.

Well, maybe it’s a handle for a tool, but then it should be round, or it could be a shelf, but it’s a little narrow. What kind of wood is it?

It’s birch – strong and pliable – the best kind to use for this purpose. Would you like to help me test the device when it’s done?

Certainly, but it might help if I knew what I’m supposed to test.

Merlin, who liked surprises, said only, Watch a little longer, and continued to shape and smooth the plank with the drawknife, letting the creamy brown curls fall to the floor to join others accumulating in a large pile at his feet. Finally, he unclamped it, sighted down its length, and seemed happy with the results of his labor, though to Arthur it still looked like just a plank.

There, that should do it, said Merlin, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. Now to make some steam.

He walked to the hearth at the other side of the room where a battered kettle was suspended by a chain to a metal tripod positioned over a pile of wood, neatly stacked and ready for a fire to be lit. Arthur enjoyed watching Merlin light a fire. Somehow the tinder always caught flame from the spark on the very first strike of steel on flint. He imagined it was one of the reasons why whispers could be heard among the people in the village describing Merlin in less than complimentary terms as a mysterious stranger with suspicious powers. Arthur, of course, paid no heed to such foolish talk, but it bothered him, nonetheless, that the villagers should speak ill of the man he most respected in all the world, even if they did so in ignorance.

As usual, Merlin soon had a bright fire blazing under the kettle. Arthur looked at the curious device connected to the kettle, which he had often seen before, consisting of a lid through which protruded a length of metal pipe that entered a long, narrow wooden box, propped up rather precariously at a slight angle on some stacked stones. Merlin removed the bung from the lower end of the box, slid two identical planks inside and tapped the wooden block securely back in place. In a few minutes when the lid on the kettle began to rattle as the water came to a boil, Merlin put a heavy stone on top to hold it down. Before long, steam was issuing from a small hole at the lower end of the box, and Merlin shoved a bucket in place with his foot to catch the drips as water began to puddle on the floor. Any guesses? he asked mildly.

Well, I can see you are steaming two planks of wood, no doubt to bend them, but I really don’t have enough clues to even guess what you might be making.

Quite true. You’ll see for yourself when the project’s finished. Now while I am waiting for the wood to become pliable, and since you are here, my dear, eager pupil, I feel compelled to give you a few more assignments to work on before our next lesson.

Taking down a stylus and two wooden tablets from a shelf, Merlin cleared a corner of the table of its clutter and sat down. The two tablets opened like a codex, and each had a layer of wax on the front. Merlin smoothed away the previous writings from the wax surface with the flat end of the stylus and began to draw a series of triangles and other geometric figures while he continued speaking. As you recall, I will be at a neighboring farm tomorrow, mending a harness and repairing a broken plough, for which my larder will be nicely replenished, I should think. This, along with your previous assignments, will help keep you busy while I’m away.

When he finished, he tucked the stylus behind one ear and handed the tablets to Arthur. There. If you would kindly calculate and fill in the measurements of the sides and angles which I have left blank. Thank you. Now for a history assignment, he said as he scanned a shelf filled with books. Ah, yes, here’s something you might find interesting. He pulled out a neatly tied and labeled roll of parchment. "This is a slightly simplified redaction of Agricola by the historian Tacitus. It’s important for you to learn our British history. You do remember Agricola, of course?"

Er, yes, just from what you’ve told me. He was governor of Britannia when…let me think…when Vespasian was emperor in Rome, I believe?

Yes, that’s right. His seven years in that office, a long term for a Roman governor, extended into the rule of Domitian, who recalled him to Rome. The biography is somewhat eulogistic; Tacitus did happen to be married to Agricola’s daughter, but I think you will get a sense that he really revered and respected his father-in-law as much as he despised and detested Domitian.

As Merlin handed him the roll from the impressive collection of books, Arthur remembered the time of the somewhat mysterious arrival of the library, not long after Merlin had installed himself in the cottage. Early one morning, in the room which he shared with Cei, Arthur heard the jingling sounds and rattle of a horse and wagon and went to the window to see who it might be. Two people in a cart pulled up at the kitchen door, and a young man jumped down to speak with the cook who, seizing the opportunity for a chat, began to talk animatedly, gesturing directions with her spoon. It was the person remaining in the cart, however, who had caught Arthur’s attention, and he found himself staring at the odd little person with very long white or light blond hair, which extended down to the seat of the cart. He had never seen such a peculiar-looking person before – neither young nor old, man nor woman. It took him a while to decide that the person was old, and a bit more time to finally decide that the person was a man.

Arthur knew that he could not be seen from where the old man was sitting, yet as he raised his head to have a better look, he was surprised and embarrassed when the little man suddenly turned to look directly at him, nodding a greeting with a slightly bemused smile. Arthur was so startled that he quickly withdrew his head from the window. Reproving himself seconds later for not simply acknowledging the greeting, he returned to the window, intending to wave to the little fellow, but when he peered out again, the young man had returned to the cart, and it was continuing up the track in the direction of Merlin’s cottage. Both men’s backs were now to him, but for some reason Arthur waved anyway, and he had the strangest feeling that the old man could see him and was smiling.

The next day, when Arthur visited Merlin, there was no sign of the two visitors, but he was astonished to see that shelves had been installed against a wall and were piled high with rolls of papyrus, parchment, and vellum, all carefully tied and labeled, along with row after row of codices, neatly stacked. Arthur did not know Merlin well yet but gazed at him with more than a little respect. When Merlin saw Arthur’s expression, he smiled and said, What do you think, Arthur?

I think you must be a great scholar. Have you read all of them? he asked with wonder.

All of them, Merlin replied, not without a little pride, and a few more besides.

It’s an amazing collection. We only have a couple of books in the house. Lord Ector doesn’t really read. Cei and I had a tutor, but he left two months ago. I read but not very well, I’m afraid.

Would you care to pursue learning to read and write? Merlin had asked. It is a useful skill, and being a scribe is a worthy profession.

You mean to become a cleric?

Not necessarily. Kings and lords, requiring such services, often employ secular scribes to read and write documents and letters. As a profession you could do far worse, and even if you don’t want to become a professional scribe, there is the value and satisfaction of being able to read books.

Arthur had taken only a moment to consider the offer before readily agreeing, though at the time he was not sure what his foster father’s reaction would be. Now, three years later, he was quite proficient not only in reading and writing, but also in mathematics and history as well. Arthur was the first to admit, though, that he would never match his master, no matter how hard he tried. It bothered him greatly, but Merlin had merely said with a shrug, Everyone has different strengths and weaknesses. Where I have weakness, Arthur, you have strength.

Pondering this statement, Arthur had trouble trying to decide where his own strength might be and, looking at his revered mentor, could not imagine him having any weakness at all unless he was speaking literally, perhaps, of physical strength, though Merlin was certainly active and fit.

Now, said Merlin, breaking into Arthur’s thoughts, I really must chase you away. I want to finish this project and then go into town later today. But before you leave, let me try to find that tonic I had promised you.

Rummaging around the disorganized little area which served as his pantry, Merlin finally found the bottle he was looking for and pulled it off a shelf sagging under the weight of a miscellaneous assortment of jars and jugs and bottles and flasks and pots.

Here, Arthur, he said, wiping the bottle with his sleeve. This is the elderberry syrup I made this past summer. It’s a good midwinter tonic, especially when you have a cold or feel as if you are getting one. Take a spoonful as is or dilute it in some water. Arthur took the bottle and thanked him, promising to dose the entire household.

Merlin followed Arthur out the door and looked up at the sky. Ah, good. I think we will have perfect conditions to test my device when you return on Saturday. A storm is coming from the northwest, which will bring about six inches of new snow. It will be clear and sunny, but very cold, with light winds out of the west.

How do you know?

Oh, I just have a feeling. That and I see a layer of high clouds coming in. Dress warmly and wear your boots.

As soon as Arthur left, Merlin carefully wrapped his tools in a piece of leather and, less carefully, swept the wood shavings onto the floor, using his sleeve. Then he clamped to the table a well-worn old board which had a series of holes drilled into it and removable pegs that fit into them, which he set into a specific configuration. Gingerly opening the box and removing the hot planks with a rag, he bent each of them into a slight s-curve around the pegs, then doused the fire.

Going back to the pantry, he searched through the shelves again until he found a particular pot. The fragrance of horehound wafted around him as he untied the waxed linen cloth that covered the pot and carefully decanted some of the red-colored liquid it contained into a small flask, never spilling a drop. Making sure that the wooden stopper was snug, he popped the flask into a bag tied to his belt and set off for the village three miles away.

Walking down the snow-covered lane, he whistled one of the tunes he had heard his friend, the bard Taliesin, sing years before, and glancing around somewhat furtively to see that no one was nearby, he started to sing the words. Merlin’s voice was a rich baritone, not beautifully trained like the clarion tenor of Taliesin, but actually much better than he himself thought. Approaching the village, he reverted to whistling. Some children building a fort in the wet snow stopped to stare at him as he passed. Smiling, he waved to them. One little girl shyly waved back until the older children whispered stern warnings to her.

Most people in the village lived their entire lives without going any further than a long day’s walk from where they had been born. A stranger was always received with suspicion, and this tall and mysterious man, who suddenly came to live near them, doubly so. Although Merlin would not have been surprised if he had been hit with a snowball or two from behind, he managed to pass by unscathed.

When he reached the main road, he turned left and walked across the market square, arriving at a wide and swiftly flowing stream fringed with ice. A bridge spanned the stream just above where it joined the river, and the blacksmith’s shop, which was his destination, stood on the other side. Crossing the bridge, Merlin found the door of the smithy wide open, but he paused to knock on the doorframe and shout a halloo. The pounding hammer blows did not stop, but when Merlin heard a hearty halloo in reply from inside, he entered into the pleasant smells and warmth of the shop.

The smith, more used to strangers in his line of business than most others in town, greeted Merlin readily and invited his guest to sit while continuing to work. Part of the fee for smithing services, Merlin knew from experience, was to sit by the side of the forge and chat for at least the better part of an hour.

What news, Merlin? the smith asked, thrusting the iron rod back into the glowing charcoal. Hey, boy, where did you go to? he yelled. He must have slunk off when you came in. Get over here!

The boy slowly emerged from a dark corner at the back of the shop, looking at Merlin with wide eyes.

He’s not going to eat you, boy. The smith shook his head. I don’t know where these people get their ideas, Merlin. I came to this village to be apprenticed to the old smith when I was eight years old. That was thirty years ago, and they still think of me as an outsider. Now pull, boy.

Merlin smiled. I’m afraid I don’t have too much local news to tell today. Everything is quiet up at Lord Ector’s, though there are some colds going around. But I have heard reports of serious and distressing news to the south. The Saxons have been leaving their treaty lands again and have renewed attacks on our fellow Britons, growing ever more bold in their raids as they move further west and north along our shores. They see we can offer no organized resistance, and what little resistance they do meet is easily overcome and swept aside as they advance ever further inland.

Warming to his subject, Merlin continued. Since the death of our last High King, the petty kings of Britain have been too busy feuding among themselves to pay attention to our real enemy, and the Saxons are all too willing to take advantage of our foolish discord. Unless we can resolve our own differences, Britain will remain in turmoil to be torn apart like a scrap thrown to a pack of hungry dogs. Our only escape from that sorry fate is to unite all the kings, all people under the banner of one High King to fight the enemies of Britannia who mean to steal from us our freedom, our country, our very lives!

The boy had stopped pulling at the bellows and was staring at Merlin with mouth agape. The smith stood at the anvil, appraising his guest.

It sounds like you know a lot about high matters, Merlin. Most people around here don’t know and don’t care about anything unless it affects them or their family.

But it will affect them, and soon, if nothing is done, cried Merlin with sudden passion, striking his fist into his hand. This apathy of the north is maddening! These people who think they are safe up here and that nothing will ever touch them will be engulfed in war before they realize what is happening, and then it will be too late!

The boy had retreated back to his dark corner. The smith was looking at his guest intently. You are so knowledgeable and outspoken; it’s no wonder you have the locals talking.

Well, I like to stay informed, as should we all. But look, I seem to have scared away your apprentice again. Merlin pulled out a bit of cloth from his bag and unwrapped a slice of honey cake, which he broke into three pieces. Here, boy, he said kindly. The boy cautiously approached and took the offered piece, retreating not quite so far this time while cramming the cake into his mouth.

Arthur keeps me well supplied with treats from Lord Ector’s kitchen. Merlin handed a piece of cake to the smith and began to chew his own thoughtfully. Yes, Arthur is a good lad and will soon make his way in the world. Perhaps I have painted too gloomy a picture. I think there will soon be cause for optimism.

You’ve news of this, Merlin?

No direct news, but a feeling that out of this turmoil a leader will emerge – must emerge – to bring us out of chaos, and a reign greater than that of Uther or even his brother Aurelius will begin.

Gods grant that, said the smith. This is good cake, by the way.

Yes it is, isn’t it? Oh, I’ve almost forgotten why I’m here. Merlin reached into the bag again and pulled out the flask. Now here’s a new supply of cough medicine, steeped in wine with honey added. You seem to be going through it rather quickly, Smithy. I hope you are only taking it for your cough.

The smith grinned somewhat guiltily. Well, it keeps coming back, he said, coughing a bit to demonstrate. Hazard of the trade, you know.

Merlin smiled and handed him the flask. Thank you, Merlin, said the smith, carefully putting it on a high shelf out of the way. Now here’s the work I did for you. He walked over to the other side of the shop, where he kept the finished pieces waiting to be picked up, and brought over two poles with pointed ends. I put the iron tips on your poles. I hope this is what you wanted.

Yes, that’s perfect.

What are those anyway – some kind of spear? You’re not expecting any of those Saxon raiders up here in the next day or two are you? the smith asked, laughing.

No, not quite.

And here’s your bag of small nails. I threw in a couple extras, and help yourself to any scraps of leather in the pile over there.

Thank you, Smithy, replied Merlin, getting up to rummage through the pile. I’ll take these pieces if you don’t mind.

Not at all, take as many as you need. Don’t feel you must rush off, Merlin. Now that you’ve walked all the way into town, you may as well stay awhile.

Merlin knowingly settled back into the chair. As the smith resumed hammering, their conversation inevitably turned to the unusual weather, followed by some local gossip provided by the smith. When Merlin judged enough time had passed so that it would not be deemed impolite for him to make motions to leave, he said, Actually, I must be getting back, Smithy. I have some work to finish at home tonight and preparations to make for a journey tomorrow morning.

So where are you off to this time, Merlin? You do move around more than anyone else in this town.

Oh, just to a farm where I’ll be doing some work, mending a harness and repairing a plough, but it’s about a ten-mile walk, so I need to make an early start of it. I promise to stay longer next week when I bring the spades I’ll be making that I’d like you to edge with iron.

I’ll hold you to that and let you go then, Merlin, the smith replied amiably. Suddenly he started to cough again, which brought a smile to Merlin’s face.

That does sound like a bad cough you have there, Smithy. It reminds me that you might be a little low on medicine by then. Perhaps I should bring another flask of it in case you might need it.

That’s a good idea of yours, replied the smith with a grin. Pleasant journey to you, Merlin.

Good day to you, Smithy, and good day to you, young lad, said Merlin with a wave. He put the poles over his shoulder, whistling as he went.

The townspeople, who by now had heard that the stranger was in town, were all managing to find something important to do outside their houses. Merlin was seemingly oblivious to their suspicious stares as he walked along, greeting everyone with cheerful hellos generally not returned. As he approached two men and a woman standing together, one of the men said hello to Merlin, who beamed with pleasure and acknowledged the greeting. When he went by, however, the other man spat on the ground and said, Why’d you say hello to the stranger, Gareth? You’ll only encourage him.

He’s an odd one, he is, said the old woman, nodding. Every time he comes into town, all the milk curdles in every home. You can ask anyone.

That’s nonsense, replied Gareth. "And anyone who says that is a fool. You two should know the story of my nephew’s accident by now. He and his younger brother were up in the fells climbing on rocks when he slipped and tumbled down, breaking his leg. The stranger was nearby gathering plants, the way he often does, and saw what had happened. When he came running toward them, my little nephew took off scared as a hare and ran all the way home, yelling that the stranger was going to steal away his brother.

Well, at that my brother came over in a hurry to get me. He had a pitchfork and I grabbed a flail, and we both ran up there to save his son. When we saw Merlin, for that’s the stranger’s name, he was coming down the mountain with my nephew in his arms. The boy’s broken leg had been set and splinted with the stranger’s staff, which he had broken in two, and the leg was bound with strips of fabric torn off his own tunic. I tell you we both felt very foolish holding the pitchfork and flail like that, but he seemed to take no notice. I took the pitchfork, and Merlin carefully put the boy into my brother’s arms. He visited the boy several times after that to see how the leg was mending. I tell you the leg was set better than any leech could’ve done it, and now my nephew’s right as rain. So don’t go around telling your old curdled milk tales. He’s a good man, stranger or not, and I’m proud to say hello to him.

Arthur finished all the assignments Merlin had given him and was looking forward to his next visit to the little cottage. It seemed to take forever for two days to go by. When Saturday morning finally arrived, it was sunny, with light winds coming out of the west. The sky was that deep shade of blue which comes only in winter and only on such cold and clear days. Arthur walked up to Merlin’s cottage, his boots scrunching through a half foot of new snow that had fallen the previous day. Wearing breeches, double wool tunics and a heavy wool cloak, he was carrying a stack of wax tablets and a roll of parchment and had a small, overstuffed bag tied to his belt.

Approaching the cottage, he could see Merlin clattering around outside the door with some sticks and planks. Wrapped around Merlin’s head in a rather eccentric manner was what appeared to be a strip of fabric from an old horse blanket which he had knotted behind his neck so that the long ends of it hung down his back. He was wearing disreputable-looking breeches which he had cross-gartered to his knees with strips of rags that he had also wound around his flapping leather boots.

Merlin, it looks like you’re dressed like a Saxon today, said Arthur with a cheerful greeting.

I’ll try to ignore that, young Arthur, Merlin sniffed. Here, let me see those, he said, pointing to the tablets. Scanning through them quickly, he nodded and handed them back. Good. Since you correctly completed your assignment, you get to help me try these out. Just put Tacitus and the tablets on the table. Thank you.

When Arthur emerged, Merlin tossed over to him one of the iron-tipped poles. Arthur grabbed it and asked, What is it, a javelin?

No, just a pole to help propel you through the snow. You’ll see soon enough.

As Arthur was examining the curious wooden disk attached near the tip of the pole, he noticed that his mentor was shivering from the cold. Arthur had only one heavy cloak for winter, but Merlin had no cloak at all, only a threadbare blanket that he had secured around his neck with a bent nail.

Merlin, would you like to wear my cloak? You look cold, he said, slipping it over his head with the fastener still attached. Arthur tossed it over to Merlin before he could object. Please keep it. It’s a gift. I just hope it’s not too short for you.

Are you sure, Arthur? It looks costly, and you’ve left the brooch on it. No, I really can’t keep it. Merlin tried to return the cloak, but Arthur gently pushed it back into his hands.

My dear mentor, it would be an honor to me if you would accept it, said Arthur, very seriously.

Then I accept it with thanks. It is very kind of you, Merlin said. Tossing the blanket inside, he slipped the cloak over his head. But we will both be warming up very soon. Here, help me bind these planks. Merlin held two of the narrow boards together while Arthur tied strips of leather around them, noticing as he did that the dark coating on the bottom of the planks had a pleasant aroma. Pine tar and beeswax, said Merlin, without being asked. After Merlin shouldered one pair and handed the other to Arthur, they set off at a brisk pace toward the high fells to the south.

It was almost noon when they reached the top of the highest mountain in the vicinity and stopped to survey the brilliant, snow-covered scene around them. In the valley far below, they could just make out the little cottage with its curl of smoke, snuggled next to the copse of snow-covered trees sparkling in the sun. The house and outbuildings of Ector’s estate were hidden behind a hill, but further to the northwest they could see the low-lying land bordering the distant coastline. To the east, nestled among the mountains, was a frozen lake, while to the south, in the sun’s glare, rose the rugged high fells of the interior. The wind was blowing more strongly at the top of the mountain, but the climb had warmed them, and the view was so spectacular that Arthur, feeling hungry, asked Merlin hopefully, This seems like a good place for lunch, doesn’t it? We could eat now before we cool off too much. I brought some bread and cheese in this bag.

And I have two apples that a very thoughtful young man gave me the other day.

With that, Merlin cleared the snow from a large rock. Just as they were sitting down, a red grouse startled them as it burst from a nearby mound of snow-covered heather. They watched the stiff-winged bird fly down the slope, uttering its strangely human-sounding cries, until it disappeared from view. Merlin took a bite out of the hunk of bread that Arthur had handed him.

What I propose that we do after lunch, if you are agreeable to the idea, is to secure these wooden planks to our feet and then, pushing off with the pole, go down the slope in about the same direction as that grouse just did. What do you say?

Arthur whistled and said with admiration in his voice, That is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Of course I’ll do it!

As Arthur ate his lunch, he decided that even after three years it was still very difficult to fully understand Merlin’s personality. Sometimes he gave such an impression of aged and hoary wisdom that Arthur found himself looking at him twice, as though he might have been deceived all these years in thinking Merlin to be a man perhaps only in his mid-thirties. At other times he seemed so childlike that Arthur thought of him more as a playful younger brother, interested mostly in having fun. He could not imagine anyone else doing the things that Merlin did, certainly not any adult.

Merlin smiled broadly as though he had heard Arthur’s thoughts. Taking a final bite of apple, he tossed the core off to the side down the slope. Now for some fun, he announced, jumping to his feet. He untied the planks, laying them side-by-side, the curved-up ends with their nicely carved points to the front. Leather straps were nailed to their center, and Merlin, stepping onto the middle of one of the planks, buckled a strap over the toe of his boot and fastened another around the back of his heel. Arthur did the same. After securing the second plank to his other foot, Merlin tentatively tried to move but found that the planks slid backward as readily as forward and ended up falling face first in the snow.

Not a very auspicious start, he observed, getting back to his feet with care and brushing himself off. Be careful, Arthur; these things are slippery. Let me try first. If I make it down this slope without breaking my neck, follow what I do. Be sure you avoid that steep drop to the right, and don’t go too far down the mountain.

Merlin set off down the slope at an angle so that his descent was not too steep, struggling not to fall. It was an exhilarating feeling, sliding down the mountain not quite in control. As he started picking up speed, he put the pole between his legs, pushing down with his right hand while pulling up with his left so that it would dig into the snow and slow him down. Suddenly he heard Arthur’s voice behind him saying, That looks dangerous. Be careful you don’t fall down and geld yourself, Merlin.

What an impudent young thing it is, said Merlin with feigned indignation.

Watch this, Merlin, shouted Arthur, heading directly down the slope. He shot past on Merlin’s right, causing several more grouse to fly. Merlin watched with alarm as the boy sped down the hill heading toward a rocky ledge.

Look out, Arthur! he cried as the boy neatly executed a turn, easily avoiding the rocks. Merlin meanwhile, not concentrating on where he was going, crashed into a small birch sapling and fell head over heels, ending up in an awkward-looking heap with legs and arms at what seemed to be impossible angles to his body. Arthur came to a stop as soon as he could, untied the planks and raced back up the slope to his mentor.

Are you all right? he shouted in alarm.

Yes, I am fine and, I assure you, quite intact. I just don’t seem to be able to extricate myself from this tangle. Arthur quickly undid the straps and helped Merlin to his feet.

You seem to be a natural at this, Arthur, as usual, Merlin observed, brushing the snow off his clothes.

Are you sure you are all right, Merlin? asked Arthur, still concerned.

Only my pride has been damaged and that is mendable.

Arthur retrieved the planks he had left behind and returned to Merlin’s side. As they started to climb back to the top of the mountain together, Arthur asked, Did you think up these things yourself, Merlin?

No, actually I learned about them from a Norse trader of my acquaintance. My home was in a port town, and I often had occasion to speak to traders passing through. I found them to be most informative.

What did he call them?

"They are called ‘ski,’ a Norse word cognate with the Latin verb scindere, meaning ‘to split.’ "

Ah, you mean as in to split one’s head open when one crashes into a tree? asked Arthur with a grin.

Humph, very humorous, Arthur. No, I believe as in to split wood during their construction so the grain runs along their length to give them strength. Though in my case your usage might be closer to the truth.

And he showed you how to make them?

No, but he told me how they were made. And he was quite proud to have me know that he was very adept at using them. I suspect that since the seas are too hazardous for sailing in the winter, he had plenty of time to practice. Of course, they have much more snow than we have. I’ve been waiting to try this for years. This is the first winter with enough snow to do so. He told me that where he lives, ski-running is something of a universal pastime. Everyone uses ski to get around in the winter. They use them for hunting and warfare, as well as for sport.

I wish we had snow more often. I think they’re great fun.

Keep them on hand for when there is snow. They’re yours, Arthur.

Are you sure, Merlin?

I’m certain. Consider them a fair exchange for all the honey cakes you’ve been giving me.

They both had several more runs down the slope, and after reaching the top once again, Arthur asked, Shall we have another go, Merlin?

Your enthusiasm puts me to shame, but if you don’t mind, I’ll just sit down on this rock again and watch you for a while. But please have as many runs as you like; it’s not often that we have the opportunity.

Merlin wrapped himself in the cloak and watched as Arthur, pushing off with the pole, was making clever turns to control his speed and maneuver around obstacles. Merlin shook his head in admiration as the boy disappeared from sight down the mountain. After a few minutes, Arthur came bounding up the slope again, pole and ski over his shoulder. He was about to do another run when he noticed that his mentor was starting to shiver, even wrapped in the cloak, so he thoughtfully suggested that they head back.

Do you think a hot drink and a bowl of soup is in order after today’s outing? suggested Merlin.

I do indeed. That sounds good. Merlin, why don’t we ski-run back to your cottage? It’s mostly downhill. It’ll be faster and more fun.

Merlin was slightly apprehensive as he strapped the ski back to his feet but didn’t want to disappoint Arthur. Arthur turned as he pushed off with his pole. I bet you can’t catch me! he challenged, swooping down the slope.

Oh is that so, young Arthur? We’ll see about that! shouted Merlin in reply as he pushed off vigorously. Throwing caution to the wind, he followed his young protégé straight down the mountain, his new cloak flapping wildly behind him in the breeze.

Merlin was still feeling a bit sore and bruised two days later when he pulled a book off the shelf and unrolled it on the table, sitting down to read while he waited for Arthur to arrive for his lesson. When Arthur entered with a cheerful greeting, he glanced over Merlin’s shoulder and asked, Is that Greek?

Yes.

Do I have to learn that, too?

No, I don’t think so, not unless you want to.

I’d rather not, actually.

No, I don’t think it is really necessary for you. You’ll have plenty of things to keep you occupied soon.

Around here? I doubt it, Merlin. I don’t know what I’ll be doing in the future. Maybe work for Cei eventually. I’m not a scholar like you, Merlin. I want to be more like you. I do try, you know.

Just be yourself, Arthur, and you’ll do fine.

Smiling, Arthur sat down at the table, and Merlin handed him a stack of wax tablets on which he had scribed Arthur’s lessons. The boy was working on them for over an hour and was starting to struggle over his declensions of Latin nouns when, in frustration, he used the end of the stylus he was holding to rub out all the words he had just inscribed on the tablet.

Merlin lifted an eyebrow and cocked his head at Arthur. Shall we take a break for some lunch? he asked.

Oh yes, please, Merlin, was the eager reply.

Merlin brought out spoons and two wooden bowls from the pantry and went to the hearth where some barley porridge had been simmering over a low fire. He put two steaming bowls of porridge on the table along with a jug containing a dark brown liquid which had been kept warm by the hearth. Then he fetched a bowl filled with green leaves and set it and two cups on the table. Sitting opposite Arthur, he poured the evil-looking brown fluid from the jug into the cups and pushed one of them over to Arthur. Arthur took a sip and wrinkled his nose. Merlin, what is this? It’s awful!

Merlin looked disappointed. You don’t like it?

No, not really. It’s bitter.

Perhaps it just needs some milk. Here, let me get the jug. Reaching down, Merlin picked up a jug that had been sitting in a bowl of water next to him on the floor and poured some of the milk it contained into Arthur’s cup.

There, try it now, he said, looking at Arthur with anxious anticipation. The fluid in the cup was now the color of mud, and Arthur, taking a small sip, decided not to disappoint Merlin and pronounced it much improved.

Yes, I like it with a little milk myself, agreed Merlin. "Be sure to drink it while it’s still hot. Oh, and, of course, you want to know what it is. Dandelion roots, dug and washed and then roasted before the fire, ground in a mortarium with a pestle and steeped for ten minutes in boiling water," said Merlin proudly.

I’ll make a note of the recipe, replied Arthur without too much enthusiasm.

Help yourself to some watercress. It’s good for you, especially this time of year, after eating dried and salted food all winter. It’s growing nicely in the spring down the road.

Arthur’s reaction to the watercress was similar to his reaction to the dandelion decoction.

How can you eat this stuff, Merlin?

I told you it was good for you, not good tasting, replied Merlin somewhat peevishly. I happen to like it myself, he said, helping himself to a big handful.

The porridge is good, added Arthur brightly.

Humph, sounds like you’re trying to humor me, replied Merlin huffily. I suppose after one of my delicious meals, Latin won’t seem so bad after all.

Once lunch was eaten and the dirty dishes added to an already teetering pile, Arthur continued with his lessons. As the day wore on, he frequently turned from his work and glanced over to Merlin. His teacher, resting his chin on his fist, was immersed in a book and deep in thought.

As Arthur looked at his mentor from the side, he unconsciously began to trace out his own profile with a forefinger, as though hoping that his features might match Merlin’s more closely. Merlin’s forehead, however, was much higher and Merlin’s nose much longer, with a curious concavity at the bridge, then a bit of an arch and finally a droop at the tip, not at all like his own straight, not-too-long nose. Merlin’s lips were rather thin compared to his own fuller lips, and his cheekbones were in no way as pronounced and angular as his teacher’s. Their chins, though – their chins were similar in being quite prominent, and their eyes, yes, their eyes were very much alike – at least they were the same color.

Feeling Arthur’s glance, Merlin said without looking up, Is there something you would like to ask me, Arthur?

Are you married, Merlin? Arthur heard himself blurt out.

Merlin, startled, looked closely at the boy before replying, Do you see my wife at my side? No, I am not fortunate enough to be able to say I am married.

But did you ever, I mean, were you ever… the boy faltered.

In love? finished Merlin. Yes, I have been in love. He paused. What is it that you want to know, Arthur?

Are you my kinsman, Merlin? was finally all Arthur could dare ask.

Merlin fell silent for a moment and looked at Arthur wistfully. He finally took a breath and hoped that what he would say next would not change the bond that had formed between them. No Arthur, I am in no way related to you that I know of.

He could see the disappointment in Arthur’s face, though the boy tried to hide it.

But Arthur, I have loved you since before you were born.

For some reason Arthur felt a shiver when Merlin made this cryptic remark. He turned it over in his mind, trying to understand it. Somehow, it seemed unbefitting to ask a further question.

Is it enough, Arthur? Merlin asked with some anxiety in his voice.

Yes, Merlin, it is enough, Arthur replied, looking into his teacher’s eyes and smiling.

Chapter 2

Deployments

One day in late winter, Lord Ector suddenly announced to the boys that they would have fewer household duties than before. Seeing as how you two are almost grown men now, as he had put it. This pronouncement suited Arthur, allowing him to devote more time to his studies with Merlin, while Ector began to show Cei how to manage the estate which he would someday own.

Military instruction and practice with arms for both boys continued as before under Ector’s tutelage. Time and time again, they clashed with swords and spears, threw javelins, shot arrows, hurled lead and stone missiles with slings, built defensive works, tore down defensive works, marched long distances across rugged terrain with heavy gear and vaulted onto the backs of horses in full battle dress. The boys were competitive and, though spirited, the competition was usually good-natured and a fairly even match. Cei generally excelled Arthur with spear and javelin and in speed and accuracy, while Arthur had more skill with sword and horse and greater strength and endurance.

On one particularly cold and blustery day, however, both boys finally thought to question why they kept doing the same things over and over, in all seasons, all weather, and sometimes even at night. Ector explained to them, Time was when there were proper rules to war which everyone pretty much followed. Start at dawn, stop before dusk to pull off your wounded and bury your dead. And no one fought in the winter or at night. But these Saxons have no rules, being uncivilized treacherous barbarians, so you have to be prepared for anything with them. At night, in the winter, nothing’s too underhanded for them. Now as for all this drilling and practicing, you boys should know you have to keep doing things over and over again to make them become second nature to you. In battle, you can’t think, you’ve got to react. If you have to take the time to think, you’re going to wake up on some battlefield some day and find yourself dead. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Now that’s not to say thinking and planning and strategy don’t come into it. They do, and they’re important, too. They’re what a leader does before and during the battle, deciding how and when and where to best deploy his troops. To do this he has to consider a lot of things, for instance, the number of the enemy and their condition. Are they fresh, or have they just come off a long march? Who’s their leader and what tactics has he used in the past? How many cavalry, how many infantry? Now with these Saxons, you usually don’t have many mounted men, but I’m just supposing in general about what a leader needs to consider. Then, too, is it going to be an open engagement or are they behind defensive works; are they well supplied, or are their supply lines drawn thin?

"Then there’s what I call conditions of nature. For instance, what’s the terrain like – are you charging uphill or downhill; are there natural defensive features like cliffs or marshes or a river nearby? Then, too, what are the weather conditions – hot or cold, rainy or clear? Which way is the sun? Is it at your back or are you going to be squinting into it? Is the ground slippery from rain the night before? Some of these things sound small, but sometimes an entire battle can be lost or won by a few such little things. A leader’s got to consider everything and more, the advantages and disadvantages to each side, figuring them carefully, and then making a decision and sometimes he’s got to do it fast.

Most important of all, a leader’s got to inspire confidence and trust in his soldiers. Once he’s got their loyalty, why they’ll do anything for him, even laying down their own lives if they have to, because a leader makes them great by his own greatness.

The boys were listening to Ector with rapt attention, and he nodded at them approvingly.

Now one or the other or both of you could very well be a leader some day and then it’ll all be up to you, so it’s right that you pay attention. Now Merlin up there can tell you about the famous leaders of the past from the history books – Alexander the Great, Hannibal, Julius Caesar and such, and that is all very well and good. But I tell you, if you really want to learn what it takes to make a good leader, talk to an old soldier who’s been in the front lines, battle after battle, a good old veteran with more than a few scars to be proud of. He’s the one who can tell you a thing or two about leadership and battles because he’s seen it all, the best that men can do and the worst, sometimes in the same day, sometimes in the same minute. In the heat of battle – that’s where you learn about comradeship and self-sacrifice. I’ve met a lot of men in my day, good loyal comrades who would do anything for a brother soldier.

Ector stopped for a moment as he seemed to get a little misty-eyed with remembrance. He pulled out a square of cloth and blew his nose into it before tucking it back under his belt as he muttered, Damned cold weather makes my nose run. I don’t think this blasted winter is ever going to end. Now, where was I? Oh yes.

He continued. Our good King Aurelius – now there was a leader! I fought under Aurelius’s banner to get rid of that Saxon-loving, king-killing usurper Vortigern. Then, in his proper place as High King and rightful heir to good King Constantine, Aurelius got after those land-grabbing, Briton-murdering, Saxon dog invaders. Those are days to remember, boys, when great deeds and feats of arms were done daily, and we Britons had those Saxons yelping back to their treaty lands with their tails between their legs faster than you could believe. Would that we could have thrown those curs off the cliffs into the British Sea to swim back to the God-cursed shores they came from! Ector exclaimed as Cei and Arthur grinned at each other.

Yes, those were fine days then. Under Uther Pendragon, too, though he didn’t have the head for strategy like his brother Aurelius. But what a battle arm that man had! He had the strength of ten men and courage to spare. He wasn’t a bad king, but he was a better fighter. And both brothers poisoned by those wily dog Saxons. First Aurelius, then Uther just a few years later. Couldn’t kill either of them in a fair fight so they used the coward’s way. That’s what I mean when I say they don’t obey the civilized rules of war. Now it’s a dangerous time for us Britons with no High King to lead us. Just lots of greedy little kings fighting each other, trying to grab power that none of them deserve. I don’t know what’s happening to our country these days, said Ector sadly, shaking his head. It’s not what it was, I can tell you that. Luckily for us we don’t have one of those greedy little kings but our own good and wise King of Cumbria.

Ector stopped and asked, Now where was I? Cei and Arthur looked at each other, trying to think how to reply, when Ector remembered what he wanted to say. Listen to an old veteran! Listen to him and do what he says. His advice will keep you alive. That and a little luck! Now enough with hearing me talk; let’s see what you boys, I mean you men, can do with some weapons in your hands! What I want you to do today is some drilling, using weapons that are different from each other. Let’s start with spear against sword and shield. All right, men, arm yourselves, he said pointing to the pile of weapons they had brought out.

When Arthur chose a sword and shield and Cei a spear, Ector nodded. "Just like I thought, you two picked out the weapons you’re best at. Now trade ’em! I want you to practice using weapons you’re less good with. Arthur, you take the spear and give Cei the sword and shield. That’s right. Now, always check to see that the