climbed out and gathered dirt to place over her body, Eilyne screamed.
“Nooo!” She pushed Colvarth away, embracing her mother and weeping. Myrgwen stood at the edge of the grave, her face having lost all expression and her eyes glassy.
Colvarth tried to comfort Eilyne, but it was a long time before the girl’s furious grief was stilled.
Together, the three gently covered the queen’s lifeless form, watering the earth with their tears. Colvarth was already composing a worthy tale of her life and a lament over her death.
“O God,” he spoke aloud. “Let Thy Day of … Judgment and Resurrection come! Yes, come, O Lord Jesu.”
As he scratched the last of the soil over the grave and picked up the silver box, he realized Uther may have truly received a godly vision.
But why had the king acted so strangely? And how had these Eirish warriors known the royal family was staying on the island?
Slow as Colvarth considered himself in his old age, his suspicions finally roused.
Picking up his torch, he searched the inside of the tower and found Uther’s discarded mead skin. Colvarth threw away the stopper, sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. Pouring a droplet of the liquid on his finger, he tasted it and was surprised how its sweetness preceded the slightest touch of bitterness.
Was there something wrong with it? A poison, perhaps?
Colvarth dropped to his aching knees in prayer, for Uther and his son, and when he rose, the light of the torch seemed brighter.
Who had given the drink to Uther? Ah, yes, now he remembered.
Vortigern.
Before he left with the girls beside him, Colvarth laid upon the grave a thick branch of old, weathered applewood, scrawled with a message written in both Latin and Ogham:
Here lies Igerna myr Vitalis,
High Queen of the Britons and the faithful wife
of High King Uther mab Aurelianus,
buried along with her two daughters, Eilyne and Myrgwen,
and her young son, Arthur.
“Why did you write that?” Eilyne asked as they climbed out from the doorway. “It’s not true.”
“Because,” Colvarth said, “though I am … old and slow, the nose of this fox can still smell a wolf. It is my plan that you two be kept safe, and may the … goodly God help our Arthur too.”
Owain wanted to weep at the death of his friend, to mourn, yell, and thrash about, but events occurred too quickly. As Owain lay tied next to Uther’s body, still upon the Stone, the last howls of Vortigern’s battle horn died, and his warriors stormed onto the field.
Then three things happened at once.
First, panic set in among the villagers and druidow. The guardians next to the wicker cages ran to join the battle, but not before dropping their torches into the tinder. The flames ignited the wood and began to spread.
Second, Vortigern attacked Mórganthu, who picked up the sword of the High King and fought back. So deft was Vortigern, however, that Mórganthu would have died if not for the arrival of a brightly dressed Eirish warrior. With gray-streaked hair and a long beard covering a silver torc, the warrior swung at Vortigern from the side. Realizing his danger just in time, the battle chief parried the blow and backed away.
Last, a druid in a green cloak and blue tunic appeared at Owain’s side with a long iron blade of good quality. Owain’s body tensed as the sword hovered over him.
“Get it over with,” Owain said. “Your dark arts can’t touch my soul.”
“Shah,” the man whispered. “I’m just trying to see the ropes. You want me to free you or not?” He sliced off the cords binding Owain’s arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Cutting your bonds. Name’s Caygek.”
A thrill went through Owain. Freedom!
“Hold still. By Crom, these are tight.”
“You don’t even know who I am …”
“You’re Owain, the village blacksmith, and Merlin’s father. I know that much. And I, like some of the other druidow, know these sacrifices are wrong.”
Owain looked to the wicker cages. The flames had climbed high on one side, while the other smoked and hissed. Dark forms moved nearby. “My son! And the monks — are you freeing them?” he shouted.
“Your son is sitting up over there, and yes, we have water. Now quiet,” Caygek hissed. “You’ll bring death upon us all.”
Owain spotted Merlin near a large rock. To Owain’s joy, his son stood up shakily and began to make his way toward the Stone — just as another man ran toward them from the crowd, clutching something to his chest.
Owain jerked his head, expecting Mórganthu or one of the