the faces of the other men as they got ready, shouting for spears and calling dogs to heel. The spell of the story was still at work in us, and we were all eager to prove what heroes we were.
My master, stepping out blinking into the sunlight, tipped cold water on my imaginings. “You’ll stay here with me, Gwyn.”
“But your horse is ready, master,” I said.
“Unready her, then,” snapped Myrddin. “Do you really think I would risk my neck galloping throughthose tangle-woods? I leave hunting to the horsemen. Besides, they say that dragon’s teeth and giant’s bones may be found along this shore, and I mean to look for some. Fetch a bag, and come with me.”
I blushed hotly, half relieved and half ashamed at being kept from the hunt. Other boys laughed as I tramped back to the hall. One of the men – Owain, maybe – called out, “Let the boy come, Myrddin,” but of course my master would not relent. I knew what he was frightened of. Injuries are common on the hunting field. What if I fell, and someone tried to tend me, and discovered what I really was?
I could hear the horns sounding as I climbed the stairs to the chamber where Myrddin had been quartered (no blanket by the hearth for Arthur’s enchanter). As I rummaged through his things for the old sack he wanted I could hear the clatter of the departing horses. I felt as if they were taking something of mine away with them as they rode along the cliff-road, through the gorse.
Coming back down I found no sign of my master. Started for the beach already, one of the women told me. I went round the hall’s corner and saw Peredur Long-Knife’s daughter stood alone in a little sad garden which someone had planted in the lee of the wall: half a dozen salt-wizened shrubs, ringed by a fence of white driftwood shards like the ribs of drowned sailors stuck upright in the sandy soil.
I could have gone by, but something drew me to her. I think I sensed that she was like me somehow. Set apart from other people. I wanted to know her, so I went towards her. She still didn’t notice me. She was shadingher face with one hand while she stared at the distant shapes of the huntsmen riding up the green cliff-side into the furze.
“Not seen their like?” I asked. I remembered how she’d stared and stared at them, the night before.
She looked round, startled to find me there, then smiling. “Never! They’re so shiny! So beautiful! Is Arthur as brave as they say? He looks brave! When I saw you all coming up the hill yesterday I thought it was God’s own angels come down to earth…”
“But weren’t your father and brothers fighting men?”
“Were they? Were they? I never knew them, see. I never thought to ask. My mother doesn’t talk of them. They died before I was born. There used to be a few old men with spears to guard us against sea-raiders, when I was little. But when Saint Porroc came he made my mother send them away, and burn the spears. He said God would guard us.” Her eyes couldn’t settle on me; they kept being dragged back to the cliff-top, and the far-off brightness of the riders’ cloaks. “Saint Porroc says that men like Arthur are outcasts of God, and have no power over him. But Arthur just pushed him aside! I never saw anyone dare disobey the saint before.”
I’d forgotten about Saint Porroc and his monks. They’d not seen fit to join us in the hall the night before, and by the time I woke they’d been hidden away in the chapel, which buzzed like a bee-skep with their angry-sounding prayers.
“Who is he, this Porroc?” I asked.
The girl looked shocked.
“Saint
Porroc!” she saidearnestly. “He is a great man of God. He came here two summers back, with his disciples. We are so blessed that he chose our hall! He is very close to God, you see. He punishes his body in all manner of ways to keep himself godly. He flays himself with brambles, and he never lies down on a bed to sleep but rests himself upon a heap of fresh-cut
My master, stepping out blinking into the sunlight, tipped cold water on my imaginings. “You’ll stay here with me, Gwyn.”
“But your horse is ready, master,” I said.
“Unready her, then,” snapped Myrddin. “Do you really think I would risk my neck galloping throughthose tangle-woods? I leave hunting to the horsemen. Besides, they say that dragon’s teeth and giant’s bones may be found along this shore, and I mean to look for some. Fetch a bag, and come with me.”
I blushed hotly, half relieved and half ashamed at being kept from the hunt. Other boys laughed as I tramped back to the hall. One of the men – Owain, maybe – called out, “Let the boy come, Myrddin,” but of course my master would not relent. I knew what he was frightened of. Injuries are common on the hunting field. What if I fell, and someone tried to tend me, and discovered what I really was?
I could hear the horns sounding as I climbed the stairs to the chamber where Myrddin had been quartered (no blanket by the hearth for Arthur’s enchanter). As I rummaged through his things for the old sack he wanted I could hear the clatter of the departing horses. I felt as if they were taking something of mine away with them as they rode along the cliff-road, through the gorse.
Coming back down I found no sign of my master. Started for the beach already, one of the women told me. I went round the hall’s corner and saw Peredur Long-Knife’s daughter stood alone in a little sad garden which someone had planted in the lee of the wall: half a dozen salt-wizened shrubs, ringed by a fence of white driftwood shards like the ribs of drowned sailors stuck upright in the sandy soil.
I could have gone by, but something drew me to her. I think I sensed that she was like me somehow. Set apart from other people. I wanted to know her, so I went towards her. She still didn’t notice me. She was shadingher face with one hand while she stared at the distant shapes of the huntsmen riding up the green cliff-side into the furze.
“Not seen their like?” I asked. I remembered how she’d stared and stared at them, the night before.
She looked round, startled to find me there, then smiling. “Never! They’re so shiny! So beautiful! Is Arthur as brave as they say? He looks brave! When I saw you all coming up the hill yesterday I thought it was God’s own angels come down to earth…”
“But weren’t your father and brothers fighting men?”
“Were they? Were they? I never knew them, see. I never thought to ask. My mother doesn’t talk of them. They died before I was born. There used to be a few old men with spears to guard us against sea-raiders, when I was little. But when Saint Porroc came he made my mother send them away, and burn the spears. He said God would guard us.” Her eyes couldn’t settle on me; they kept being dragged back to the cliff-top, and the far-off brightness of the riders’ cloaks. “Saint Porroc says that men like Arthur are outcasts of God, and have no power over him. But Arthur just pushed him aside! I never saw anyone dare disobey the saint before.”
I’d forgotten about Saint Porroc and his monks. They’d not seen fit to join us in the hall the night before, and by the time I woke they’d been hidden away in the chapel, which buzzed like a bee-skep with their angry-sounding prayers.
“Who is he, this Porroc?” I asked.
The girl looked shocked.
“Saint
Porroc!” she saidearnestly. “He is a great man of God. He came here two summers back, with his disciples. We are so blessed that he chose our hall! He is very close to God, you see. He punishes his body in all manner of ways to keep himself godly. He flays himself with brambles, and he never lies down on a bed to sleep but rests himself upon a heap of fresh-cut
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