The crystal cave - Mary Stewart [14]
I thought of the dark cave in the hypocaust, and the sky remote at the top of the shaft. "No one told me. I swear it." When he made a sound of impatience and worry I looked straight at him and told him as much of the truth as I dared. "I have heard things, I admit it. And sometimes people talk over your head, not noticing you're there, or not thinking you understand. But at other times" -- I paused -- "it's as if something spoke to me, as if I saw things...And sometimes the stars tell me...and there is music, and voices in the dark. Like dreams."
His hand went up in a gesture of protection. I thought he was crossing himself, then saw the sign against the evil eye. He looked shamefaced at that, and dropped the hand. "Dreams, that's what it is; you're right. You've been asleep in some corner, likely, and they've talked across you when they shouldn't, and you've heard things you shouldn't. I was forgetting you're nothing but a child. When you look with those eyes -- " He broke off, and shrugged. "But you'll promise me you'll say no more of what you've heard?"
"All right, Cerdic. I promise you. If you'll promise to tell me something in return."
"What's that?"
"Who my father was."
He choked over his beer, then with deliberation wiped the foam away, set down the horn, and regarded me with exasperation. "Now how in middle-earth do you think I know that?"
"I thought Moravik might have told you."
"Does she know?" He sounded so surprised that I knew he was telling the truth.
"When I asked her she just said there were some things it was better not to talk about."
"She's right at that. But if you ask me, that's her way of saying she's no wiser than the next one. And if you do ask me, young Merlin, though you don't, that's another thing you'd best keep clear of. If your lady mother wanted you to know, she'd tell you. You'll find out soon enough, I doubt."
I saw that he was making the sign again, though this time he hid the hand. I opened my mouth to ask if he believed the stories, but he picked up the drinking horn, and got to his feet.
"I've had your promise. Remember?"
"Yes."
"I've watched you. You go your own way, and sometimes I think you're nearer to the wild things than to men. You know she called you for the falcon?"
I nodded.
"Well, here's something for you to think about. You'd best be forgetting falcons for the time being. There's plenty of them around, too many, if truth be told. Have you watched the ring-doves, Merlin?"
"The ones that drink from the fountain with the white doves, then fly away free? Of course I have. I feed them in winter, along with the doves."
"They used to say in my country, the ring-dove has many enemies, because her flesh is sweet and her eggs are good to eat. But she lives and she prospers, because she runs away. The Lady Niniane may have called you her little falcon, but you're not a falcon yet, young Merlin. You're only a dove. Remember that. Live by keeping quiet, and by running away. Mark my words." He nodded at me, and put a hand down to pull me to my feet. "Does the cut still hurt?"
"It stings."
"Then it's on the mend. The bruise is nought to worry you, it'll go soon enough."
It did, indeed, heal cleanly, and left no mark. But I remember how it stung that night, and kept me awake, so that Cerdic and Moravik kept silent in the other corner of the room, for fear, I suppose, that it had been from some of their mutterings that I had pieced together my information.
After they slept I crept out, stepped past the grinning wolfhound, and ran along to the hypocaust.
But tonight I heard nothing to remember, except Olwen's voice, mellow as an ousel's, singing some song I had not heard before, about a wild goose, and a hunter with a golden net.
4
After this, life settled back into its peaceful rut, and I think that my grandfather must eventually have accepted my mother's