Three hundred died in weeping wails, as they would not recant.
They clung to Christ and to His Way — king would no mercy grant.
Tevdar went to Ia’s brothers — soon Erth and Uny died.
And then to Ia, Christian fair — to murder Dynan’s bride.
But there at Pendinas so strong, brave Dynan’s fortress tall,
They saw the army of Gerrent pour forth from his great hall.
The king, he called for brave Gerrent, to single combat fight.
Sharp blades they drew, yet ere a step — Gwinear’s head fell to smite.
Tevdar’s iron helm was broken in — skull crushed in gory bed.
Vuron swiftly fled far away. Gerrent was king instead.
So ends this olden tale of woe — of Tevdar’s sad decree.
Yet Christ, he came to this great isle, with pow’r to set me free.
The notes fell away into silence. Uther stopped his pacing, but still no one spoke.
Surely, Merlin thought, the druidow and the Stone can be dealt with before bloodshed such as this occurs.
Colvarth broke the silence. “These things, my king, may be … taken figuratively. As this ballad is ordained for this telling, it is … possible the people in it represent persons here. Surely Vuron the druid would represent … Mórganthu.”
“Then who am I?” Uther inquired. “Tell me, Colvarth. Set before me the plain meaning of your riddle.”
“I intend no … riddle. But as you, Uther, are a Christian, you could be Gerrent … maybe Dynan … or maybe Gwinear. The ballad does not say, but the … bards before me have passed on the lore that Gwinear was an … Eirish prince before coming to this land.”
“Then who is King Tevdar?” Uther asked. “Who dares slay Christians?”
“These things are … mysteries known only to God. Perhaps there is no one in such a role. Surely there is … no king greater than thee on the Isle of the Mighty, and —”
The tent flap opened, interrupting Colvarth, and a man stepped through.
“Vortigern!” Uther exclaimed. “My battle chief rises from the dead.”
“Do not mock me, my lord.” Vortigern said as he stamped his feet and shook water from his cloak all over Merlin.
“We hold a council of war, and where have you been?” Uther demanded. “Your shoes and breeches are soaked. Did you wade for your water?”
“Me?” Vortigern replied. “Sure, I went for water … and found Sethek’s horse stuck in the mud.”
“Then Sethek should have gotten it out.”
Vortigern shrugged. “He was fishing.”
The High King walked up to Vortigern. “You were summoned here. Attend your duties in the future, or you will not hold them for long.”
“Yes … my lord.” But Merlin caught a subtle contempt in the battle chief’s voice.
“Sit down, Vortigern.” Uther turned and continued pacing. “Colvarth just finished a ballad, and I was about to hear from my new adviser, Merlin.”
As Vortigern found a place beside Vortipor, someone threw a few more logs on the fire, and all chatter subsided.
Merlin felt every eye looking to him.
“As the solitary resident of Bosventor present, Merlin, you know better of the druidow’ recent dealings. Tell me. Of all the advice given, which is the wisest?”
Now it was Merlin’s turn to pause as he realized his words had the ability to sway the decision of the High King … and possibly result in bloodshed. Although he had to speak, the weight of his words pressed upon his tongue.
“My lord, if I may be so bold — and no offense is meant — none of the advice your war chieftains have given would remedy the present troubles.”
Protests arose from the warriors, but Uther silenced them and told Merlin to proceed.
“The villagers are not the root of the problem. My advice to you is to heed Colvarth’s ballad, for it has revealed the true source of your trouble.”
“The druidow,” Uther stated.
“No, my lord.”
“Explain.”
“Do not the druidow follow Mórganthu?”
Uther must have looked to Colvarth, for the old man answered in the affirmative.
The High King paced again. “I will have Mórganthu slain. It is simple, what you suggest.”
“But that is not my advice, lord,” Merlin said. “The real question is whom does Mórganthu follow?”
“Is there another druid greater than Mórganthu?” Uther asked. “I will have him and Mórganthu executed.”
“In Colvarth’s ballad, Vuron did not want his pagan gods to lose power. But Mórganthu now follows his pagan gods through the Stone, my lord.”
Uther stopped pacing. “The Stone? Can this be? It is just a rock, strangely inspiring and amazing though it is.”
“This is a mystery, my lord, but the Stone is no mere rock. Somehow