Merlin's Ring Page 7

  Now they were alone, for Thyra, knowing all that Corenice had known, radiantly blessed them as they flew and went down to the village to seek out Flann.

  The pond was still and no ripples stirred upon it. The royal couple floated side by side upon its glassy surface without moving.

  Finally, as though such happiness as they shared could no longer be borne quietly, they soared again into the blue.

  They rose as one, in an ever-widening spiral, singing their joy—a full-toned bugling that drifted down to Flann and Thyra, lost in each other’s eyes, the boat long forgotten.

  Into the sky rose the regal pair, still“ circling, still growing smaller, until they could only be heard, calling and answering and ever rising higher until their great sweeping round brought them far out over the southern sea.

  This, their wedding—this, their nuptial flight.

  Then far, far along that distant edge of haze where ocean meets the sky—many miles away, even from their position of immense vision—both descried a serried, jagged edge of little dark points jutting up all along the southern horizon; and gliding down the long slope of air toward this mystery, they saw that the sea was full of ships.

  Harald Harfager, to please a girl who would not have him for a husband, had sworn that he would never cut his hair until he had unified Norway and made himself King. Therefore, to his friends, he became known as Harald Fairhair, but his enemies called him Harald, the Lousy.

  After the sea battle of Hafrs Fjord, he became King and married his girl and had his long locks trimmed. The defeated jarls took the remainder of their Viking dragon-ships and fled in many directions, for Christianity soon became the law of the land.

  Ingolfur Arnason and his foster brother Hjorleifur Hrod-marsson, both fierce and ruthless men, gathered together their goods and gear, their followers, with their women and children, and sailed, in two hundred ships, for Iceland, still holding for Odin and Thor.

  It was this fleet upon which the swans looked down and through their eyes Gwalchmai and Corenice examined the invaders.

  As they circled above at a safe height, beyond arrow range, they saw it to be a well-planned venture. The decks had goods stowed in every available nook, so it must be that the holds were full. There were high-prowed warships, their sides lined with shields and men at the oars, with mail shirts and arms close at hatid. These were proud ships, with gaudy sails that made a brave showing, but many of them still bore the scars of war.

  There were wallowing roundships, squat and low, deeply laden but steadily forging northward. Here there rose to the spying birds the bellowing of cattle, yonder the bleating of sheep and goats, and now and again the shrill whinny of a horse.

  A cock crowed bravely, somewhere below decks. The keen ears of the swans detected an answering chorus from his harem of hens.

  Children called out to see the beautiful visitors above them. Babies cried, mothers scolded, men shouted orders or talked from ship to ship with battle horns or six-foot lurs meant to carry sound across fjords or far out to sea. All this blended together in one vast diapason of sound rolling on in the van of the fleet

  Under it all, like a whisper, the rush of water against the sides and under the keels, the hum of wind in the taut rigging, and the steady thump of the long oars in their holes.

  Gwalchmai and Corenice looked at each other. This orderly gathering of ships had not been blown out of its way by any storm, nor were they fishermen. They were manned by fighting men, retainers of great lords, who stalked those stout decks wearing wadmal, heavy homespun tweed, meant for long use and severe weather. They were gay in long cloaks of bright reds and blues and rich in ornaments of heavy gold or cairngorms set in silver brooches.

  This was a fleet that knew where it was going—and these people were coming to stay.

  Corenice communed with Gwalchmai. There was only one possible destination for these ships if they held their course, and that was the Bay of Smokes—and only one possible end for the Culdees, the Children of God—thralldom to the Vikings!

  If the wind held, they were less than & day’s run away. The Celts must be warned. •

  The two swans beat the air with their broad wings, arching away from the fleet, seeking altitude; then, leveling off, again at an impressive height, they headed north.

  The Vikings, taking this as a good sign, followed the direction the birds had taken. With them as their leaders, the dragon-ships plowed on.

  Flann was unpleasantly surprised to see Thyra’s expression change to the long familiar, but less affectionate look. She left without looking back or giving any reason to him and went back along the path into the hills.

  It was not long before she returned and with her was Gwalchmai. They clung to each other fondly as they walked and Flann grunted in disgust and turned to his neglected work. The couple went directly to the stand where the long_ whale bone hung and Gwalchmai beat upon it heavily with the mallet, calling out the people.

  The Culdees came running to the sound. Men and women left their work and children forgot their play, for they knew that from this ragged alarm beat no whale had been sighted or any ordinary council called. This was an alarm and an urgent one.

  Bishop Malachi came hurrying up, his robe hiked high, to learn what was toward and behind him his chubby little wife, red-cheeked and panting, easing her tight kirtle. They paled at the dreadful tidings, but soon recovered.

  He cried, “Be of good cheer, brothers and sisters! We have been in danger before and the pirates have stayed only a little while and have gone away. We have time to gather our belongings, and seek our hiding places in the West Islands, They will go again and we can wait them out.”

  Corenice did not dare tell them how she knew, but she said—and they supposed her to be fey, for they had heard she had the gift of seeing—

  “I see this fleet like a great city moving upon us. It will settle upon these shores and never go away. If you try to outwait it, you will all die in thralldom under the whips of cruel masters. Your daughters will- be their playthings and if your sons resist, they will have the blood-eagle carved on their backs to the glory of Odin!”

  At this they marveled, for all took her ,to be a girl of the Norse and were surprised that she spoke thus against her own people. Only the Bishop sensed something unusual about her, for Tie knew her better than most, so he spoke to her kindly.

  “Tell us then what it is in your mind that we must do, for we have nowhere else to go, unless we steer for Erin or the lands of ihe Scori from whence we were driven. Surely our lot there will be no better—and we are desperate.”

  Cornenice replied, “I will let this man describe to you this land from whence he came and which has not yet been seen by any Viking raider. Then you may decide whether or no you will go there to dwell, but if you so decide, know that agreement must be made quickly for your danger will be upon you by the next sunrise. If you go there can be no turning back, for no one else shall know of this land. It is held in reserve for another people. He is the son of a King and carries this knowledge to Rome, to deliver over the whole country into the hands of whomsoever rules the Romans now.

  “Yet there is room for you too, for it is a broad holding with fine forests and much wild cattle of all sorts, and there you can live out your lives happy and undisturbed.”

  So Gwalchmai told tkem of the country of Alata, where he was born far to the westward, and of the continent of Atala to the south of it, which he knew from travelers’ tales only. Being homesick and feeling himself an exile until his mission was accomplished, he painted his descriptions with such bright colors that they sounded as though he spoke of Heaven itself.

  Then, when their faces were glowing again with hope and renewed courage, the Bishop returned from his house, where he had gone to fetch a book he treasured, for he had been early convinced that Gwalchmai spoke truth.

  As Corenice came out of her pretended trance and Gwalchmai fell silent, for his part of the work was done, the Bishop began to read a
passage from the Voyage of Saint Brandon.

  Now the Bishop loved this book. It was full of marvels and talk of holy things and a little of it was truth. He had never known how to separate fancy from fact, but he believed Gwalchmai spoke truly and it came to him that one passage he loved dearly must be true. So he told the people how the Saint, of whom they had all heard, had sailed northwestward from Mayo, on Erin. He had met with icebergs on the way and monsters, which they too had seen and knew to be walrus, and had come after forty days to a new land, which must be this Alata.

  The Saint and his people, in a curragh no better than their own, sailed coasting southerly until—he sought for this favorite passage with his finger and found it—

  “‘Then they came out of the dark mist and they saw the loveliest country that anyone could see. Clear it was and lightsome, and there was enough in it of joy, and the trees were full of fruit on every bough—and the delight that they found there could never be told.’”

  Bishop Malachi paused and his eyes were moist

  “This is the land our friend has been telling us about. This is the lovely country he wishes to give us for a home.

  This is the safe refuge where our enemies may never come. It is far away, but I mean to spend my last days there, If I can reach it, I skall praise Ood every morning and every night for His mercy and his kindness in sending our saviors to us.

  “Now those who would come with me and my wife— gather your gear, man your ships, and—out oars for Ala-ta!”

  There was no hanging back, for there were no laggards. The Biskop’s enthusiasm was contagious. Children ran to clear the huts of goods, utensils, and food. Men and women worked together through the long evening and the short night, stopping only briefly to eat. Everything was carried down to the beack, just below the tidal mark, and piled there to be loaded.

  By morning, it could be seen that the work would not be finished in time. The three wooden curraghs, able to carry sixty people each, had long been idle in the hidden harbors of the West Islands, and muck needed to be done before tkey could sail upon a long voyage. The hide boats, having been in constant use, were in better condition, but most of these were too small

  Very distantly, those with the keener hearing could discern the sound far out to sea which brougkt them panic. It was the Viking lurs, bellowing from ship to skip, talking musically of the new land. Although the dragon-ships could not be seen from the beach, their crews must kave been able to see the snow-capped peaks that were their landfall. Soon tkey would be racing in to be first at the best land-taking, and the wind was behind them.

  The Culdees did not slacken their efforts. New cordage of stout walrus hide kad already replaced what was beyond repair. Sails of thinly scraped sealskin were ready to be run up when the lading was finished. The sheep kad been gathered for loading and some were already on board, when Corenice, with lips trembling for the first time since Gwalch-mai had met ker, said, “We are too late!”

  The striped sails were lifting over the horizon.

  Flann said, bitterly, gazing out to sea, “I would I were where I could buy a wind from a Finn. It should sink that fleet before it came an ell closer!”

  A thought occurred to Gwalchmai. “You shall have your wind, friends. My godfather was Lord of the Winds!”

  He went a little apart from the others and took off his, ring.

  In extremely tiny letters on the inner band, intertwined like braided hair, was an inscription cut -into the red gold. Following it, like a signature, was stamped a minuscule constellation no man had ever seen from earth.

  Gwalchmai, facing the sea, read out the spell in a low voice and pointed the longer part of the constellation like a spearhead at the hurrying ships. Some had already broken away from the greater mass and were far in advance of the others.

  Nothing happened at first. Then a {ittle bat appeared, fluttering erratically as though blinded by the rising sun. It circled the head of Gwalchmai and chirped at him, its fangs clashing.

  Gwalchmai whispered to it, still reading the involved script. It took a straight course out to sea toward the ships and, aiding it, an offshore breeze began to blow, increasing to a heavy wind.

  Now the distant sails were taken in and the waves took on £ sluggish majesty, as the ships forged on over the rollers, under a slate-gray sky, hindered by being “unable to-tack, but not stopped.

  Gwalchmai slipped the ring back on his finger.

  “Now you have a little more time,” he said to the Bishop.

  Out of the quiet Bay of Smokes slipped the small flotilla, heading westward with hope and faith, toward an unknown haven.

  Three little wooden ships, laden heavily. Twenty small hide curraghs seemingly fit for only ponds and lakes, but rising buoyantly, valiantly following the wake of the larger vessels. These too bore heavy loads of people and of gear, for there was no one left behind except Flann, Corenice-Thyra, and Gwalchmai, who stood upon the deck of their fishing boat, watching them go.

  Gwachmai whispered again to the winds. A strong gust bellied out the sealskin sails and pushed the ships toward the unknown west. Now they were free and exposed, but the headland still hid them from the Viking colonists. They took a northward bearing to keep the high mass of Iceland between themselves and their enemies.

  The three companions looked around reflectively. Rubbish littered the beach—stove-in curraghs, a floating oar, broken staffs, a forgotten crozier, bells, a child’s rattle, and a burst-open bale of fox furs. Because there had been no time to pick them up, a few priceless books had been discarded or left behind. They fluttered their torn leaves in the wind. There was a lost doll stretching out her wooden arms.

  They embarked in their own boat and raised the lug-sail. The wind filled it roundly, but the knorr, being able to tack, sailed off upon a course that would keep them also out of sight, but would hi the end bring them to Norway.

  The Viking fleet was very close. Then“ horns echoed against the mountains by the time the Culdee squadron was hull down upon the horizon. Gwalchmai could no longer see them.

  “I promised my father that I would return with a great army and a noble array of Roman sail to take and hold Alata,” he said, in self-contempt. “I cannot yet go home and what have I sent?”

  “Two hundred and seventy-nine of the Children of God!” said Flann.

  s

  ‘The Spae-wife

  There was debate as to the direction in which they should travel. Gwalchmai, who was commissioned to seek out the Emperor of Rome to deliver the message from his father, and who must now do so verbally, wished to reach Rome in the quickest and most direct way. He hoped to avoid hindrance or trouble on his journey.

  He would have preferred to travel by land rather than risk further danger by sea.

  Flann, on the other hand, liked well his new freedom and although he had little expectation of convincing the otKers, Erin now tugged at his heartstrings. There he could forget Thyra and her,unpredictable moods. He had little doubt that she would cling, in the future, to this fascinating and glamorous stranger. She had rescued him and in some - strange way she belonged to him.

  Flann was resigned to the thought, but very unhappy. He wanted to go home and the shortest way was by sea.

  Thyra also voted for a voyage, but to the Faroes, her birthplace. To her mind, when not influenced by Core-nice, the islands were her native land. Norway she feared, for there was still fighting going on. Because of her father’s family ties in high places, she must inevitably be forced to choose sides in. the quarrel between the jarls and the King. Either way she would be forced into a marriage for political purposes and her mind had been made up since the death of Biarki. But of that, she kept her own counsel.

  Corenice was the only one who did not need to make a decision. Her point of view was very simple. Wherever Gwalchmai went, she would go.

  To settle the question, Gwalchmai, as the one chiefly concerned, must decide.

  While thinking, they had been running south o
n a long tack. The Viking fleet was out of sight and presumably had landed, but if they were to come about and make for the Norwegian coast they might meet laggards and perhaps be captured. Possibly it would be better to set a course for the Faroes and tarry there until sure that the seas were safe.

  He turned the ring absently on his finger. He studied it, considering the course. The stone, a magnificent fire-opal, the size of a hazelnut, was cut cabochon and the convex surface caught the sun, flashing rays of red and green into his eyes.

  This bezel, for it was engraved intaglio with Merlin Am-brosius’ monogram, had an M and A intertwined so that the bar of the A formed a Christian cross, with the central V of the M. It was held in the thick gold hoop by a surrounding ring marked by the Druidic mistletoe and sickle.

  He knew that the jewel could be used as a speculum and although he had never tried to foresee the future or had need to determine a course of action in that manner, he knew the principle of scrying and it was obvious he could obtain help in no other way. Had he known that the stone had been mined in the Faroes, the thought might have deterred him. Perhaps it too might like to go home! So indeed it seemed to prove.

  Bidding all to silence, he concentrated his vision and “his thoughts upon the gleaming opal. There was nothing to distract him but the wind in the rigging and the slap of waves against the sides of the boat

  The sounds grew fainter. The outside world receded from him. The bright colors of the stone became dim. A milky cloud swept over it.

  The cloud eddied and swirled hi the depths of the opal. It was a thickening fog—it took on shape as it hardened into form. It was a face, looking up at him as from a deep well, but it was not his own reflection. Merlin’s face, as he remembered it as a little boy!

  The bearded lips parted, smiling, and he heard a voice infinitely far and as tiny as the hum of a midge say: “Go to the Spae-wife at Brendansvik and you will be told what to do.”

  Then a piece of driftwood struck the side of the boat with a sullen thump. The sound interrupted his trance-like reverie. The face disappeared into cloud and the cloud became a tenuous wisp and vanished. He was back in the world again and the stone gleamed only red and green.