The grey eyes twinkled. "Fruit and honey cakes? And sweet water from the spring? What better fare would you get, even in the King's house?"
"I wouldn't get that in the King's house at this hour of the day," I said frankly. "Thank you, sir, I'll be glad to eat with you."
He smiled. "Nobody calls me sir. And I belong to no man, either. Go out and sit down in the sun, and I'll bring the food."
The fruit was apples, which looked and tasted exactly like the ones from my grandfather's orchard, so that I stole a sideways glance at my host, scanning him by daylight, wondering if I had ever seen him on the river-bank, or anywhere in the town.
"Do you have a wife?" I asked. "Who makes the honey cakes? They're very good."
"No wife. I told you I belonged to no man, and to no woman either. You will see, Merlin, how all your life men, and women too, will try to put bars round you, but you will escape those bars, or bend them, or melt them at your will, until, of your will, you take them round you, and sleep behind them in their shadow...I get the honey cakes from the shepherd's wife, she makes enough for three, and is good enough to spare some for charity."
"Are you a hermit, then? A holy man?"
"Do I look like a holy man?"
"No." This was true. The only people I remember being afraid of at that time were the solitary holy men who sometimes wandered, preaching and begging, into the town; queer, arrogant, noisy men, with a mad look in their eyes, and a smell about them which I associated with the heaps of offal outside the slaughter-pens. It was sometimes hard to know which god they professed to serve. Some of them, it was whispered, were druids, who were still officially outside the law, though in Wales in the country places they still practiced without much interference. Many were followers of the old gods — the local deities
— and since these varied in popularity according to season, their priests tended to switch allegiance from time to time where the pickings were richest. Even the Christian ones did this sometimes, but you could usually tell the real Christians, because they were the dirtiest. The Roman gods and their priests stayed solidly enshrined in their crumbling temples, but did very well on offerings likewise. The Church frowned on the lot, but could not do much about it. "There was a god at the spring outside," I ventured.
"Yes. Myrddin. He lends me his spring, and his hollow hill, and his heaven of woven light, and in return I give him his due. It does not do to neglect the gods of a place, whoever they may be. In the end, they are all one."
"If you're not a hermit, then, what are you?"
"At the moment, a teacher."
"I have a tutor. He comes from Massilia, but he's actually been toRome . Who do you teach?"
"Until now, nobody. I'm old and tired, and I came to live here alone and study."
"Why do you have the dead bats in there, on the box?"
"I was studying them."
I stared at him. "Studying bats? How can you study bats?"
"I study the way they are made, and the way they fly, and mate, and feed. The way they live. Not only bats, but beasts and fish and plants and birds, as many as I see."
"But that's not studying!" I regarded him with wonder. "Demetrius — that's my tutor — tells me that watching lizards and birds is dreaming, and a waste of time. Though Cerdic — that's a friend — told me to study the ring-doves."
"Why?"
"Because they're quick, and quiet, and keep out of the way. Because they only lay two eggs, but still though everybody hunts them, men and beasts and hawks, there are still more ring-doves than anything else."
"And they don't put them in cages." He drank some water, regarding me. "So you have a tutor. Then you can read?"
"Of course."
"Can you read Greek?"
"A little."
"Then come with me."
He got up and went into the cave. I followed him. He lit the candle once more — he had put it out to save tallow — and by its light lifted the lid of the box. In it I saw the rolled shapes of
"I wouldn't get that in the King's house at this hour of the day," I said frankly. "Thank you, sir, I'll be glad to eat with you."
He smiled. "Nobody calls me sir. And I belong to no man, either. Go out and sit down in the sun, and I'll bring the food."
The fruit was apples, which looked and tasted exactly like the ones from my grandfather's orchard, so that I stole a sideways glance at my host, scanning him by daylight, wondering if I had ever seen him on the river-bank, or anywhere in the town.
"Do you have a wife?" I asked. "Who makes the honey cakes? They're very good."
"No wife. I told you I belonged to no man, and to no woman either. You will see, Merlin, how all your life men, and women too, will try to put bars round you, but you will escape those bars, or bend them, or melt them at your will, until, of your will, you take them round you, and sleep behind them in their shadow...I get the honey cakes from the shepherd's wife, she makes enough for three, and is good enough to spare some for charity."
"Are you a hermit, then? A holy man?"
"Do I look like a holy man?"
"No." This was true. The only people I remember being afraid of at that time were the solitary holy men who sometimes wandered, preaching and begging, into the town; queer, arrogant, noisy men, with a mad look in their eyes, and a smell about them which I associated with the heaps of offal outside the slaughter-pens. It was sometimes hard to know which god they professed to serve. Some of them, it was whispered, were druids, who were still officially outside the law, though in Wales in the country places they still practiced without much interference. Many were followers of the old gods — the local deities
— and since these varied in popularity according to season, their priests tended to switch allegiance from time to time where the pickings were richest. Even the Christian ones did this sometimes, but you could usually tell the real Christians, because they were the dirtiest. The Roman gods and their priests stayed solidly enshrined in their crumbling temples, but did very well on offerings likewise. The Church frowned on the lot, but could not do much about it. "There was a god at the spring outside," I ventured.
"Yes. Myrddin. He lends me his spring, and his hollow hill, and his heaven of woven light, and in return I give him his due. It does not do to neglect the gods of a place, whoever they may be. In the end, they are all one."
"If you're not a hermit, then, what are you?"
"At the moment, a teacher."
"I have a tutor. He comes from Massilia, but he's actually been toRome . Who do you teach?"
"Until now, nobody. I'm old and tired, and I came to live here alone and study."
"Why do you have the dead bats in there, on the box?"
"I was studying them."
I stared at him. "Studying bats? How can you study bats?"
"I study the way they are made, and the way they fly, and mate, and feed. The way they live. Not only bats, but beasts and fish and plants and birds, as many as I see."
"But that's not studying!" I regarded him with wonder. "Demetrius — that's my tutor — tells me that watching lizards and birds is dreaming, and a waste of time. Though Cerdic — that's a friend — told me to study the ring-doves."
"Why?"
"Because they're quick, and quiet, and keep out of the way. Because they only lay two eggs, but still though everybody hunts them, men and beasts and hawks, there are still more ring-doves than anything else."
"And they don't put them in cages." He drank some water, regarding me. "So you have a tutor. Then you can read?"
"Of course."
"Can you read Greek?"
"A little."
"Then come with me."
He got up and went into the cave. I followed him. He lit the candle once more — he had put it out to save tallow — and by its light lifted the lid of the box. In it I saw the rolled shapes of
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