The Hollow Hills - Mary Stewart [56]
Who sought to lay a net of gold in the marshes.
A net of gold, a net heavy as gold.
And the tide came in and drowned the net,
Held it invisible, deep, and the hunter waited,
Crouching by the water in the moon's dark.
They came, the birds fighting the dark,
Hundred on hundred, a king's army.
They landed on the water, a fleet of ships,
Of king's ships, proud with silver, silver masted,
Swift ships, fierce in battle,
Crowding the water in the moon's dark.
The net was heavy beneath them, hidden,
waiting to catch them.
But he lay still, the young hunter, with idle hands.
Hunter, draw in your net. Your children
will eat tonight,
And your wife will praise you, the cunning hunter.
He drew in his net, the young hunter,
drew it tight and fast.
It was heavy, and he drew it to shore, among the reeds.
It was heavy as gold, but nothing was there but water.
There was nothing in it but water, heavy as gold,
And one grey feather,
From the wing of a wild goose.
They had gone, the ships, the armies,
into the moon's dark.
And the hunter's children were hungry,
and his wife lamented.
But he slept dreaming, holding the wild goose feather.
King Hoel was a big, thick-bodied man in his middle thirties. During the time I had spent in Kerrec -- from my twelfth to my seventeenth year -- I had seen very little of him. He had been a lusty and dedicated fighting man, while I was only a youth, and busy with my studies in hospital and workshop. But later he had fought with my father's troops in Greater Britain, and there we had come to know and to like one another. He was a man of big appetites and, as such men often are, good natured and tending to laziness. Since I had last seen him he had put on flesh, and his face had the flush of good living, but I had no doubt he would be as stalwart as ever in the field.
I started by speaking of his father King Budec and the changes that had come, and we talked for a while of past times.
"Ah, yes, those were good years." He stared, chin on fist, into the fire. He had received me in his private chamber, and after we had been served with wine, had dismissed the servants. His two deer-hounds lay stretched on the skins at his feet, dreaming still of the chase they had had that day. His hunting spears, freshly cleaned, stood against the wall behind his chair, their blades catching the firelight. The King stretched his massive shoulders, and spoke wistfully. "I wonder, when will such years come again?"
"You are talking of the fighting years?"
"I am talking of Ambrosius' years, Merlin."
"They will come again, with your help now." He looked puzzled, then startled, and uneasy. I had spoken prosaically enough, but he had caught the implications. Like Uther, he was a man who liked everything normal, open and ordinary. "You mean the child? The bastard? After all we've heard about it, he'll be the one to succeed Uther?"
"Yes. I promise you."
He fidgeted with his cup, and his eyes slid away from mine. "Ah, yes. Well, we shall keep him safely. But tell me, why the secrecy? I had a letter from Uther asking me openly enough to care for the boy. Ralf couldn't tell me much more than was in the letters he brought. I'll help, of course, every way I can, but I don't want a quarrel with Uther. His letter to me made it pretty clear that this boy's only his heir in default of a better claim."
"That's true. Don't be afraid, I don't want a quarrel, either, between you and Uther. One doesn't throw a precious morsel down between two fighting-dogs and expect it to survive. Until there is a boy with what Uther calls a better claim, he's as anxious as I am to keep this one safe. He knows what I'm doing, up to a point."
"Ah." He cocked an eye at me, intrigued. I had been right about him. He might be well disposed towards Britain, but he was not above doing a quietly back-handed turn to Britain's King. "Up to what point?"
"The time when the baby is weaned, and grown enough to need men's company and to be taught men's arts. Four years, perhaps, or less. After that I shall take