The Last Enchantment - Mary Stewart [157]
"So you told me. I still find that strange. Don't you?"
"I suppose so. But if you remember, I wasn't well that day. I suppose I had not fully recovered from that chill I caught."
"He's been with you -- how long?"
"He came in September. That makes it, what? Nine months?"
"And you have taught him all you know?"
I smiled. "Hardly. But I have taught him a good deal. You need never lack a prophet, Arthur."
He did not smile in response. He was looking deeply troubled. He walked on across the flinty turf, with the mare's nose at his shoulder, and the hound running ahead. It was quartering the acres of furze with their loads of scented yellow blossom. Wherever it went it dislodged the tiny blue butterflies in clouds, and scattered the glossy scarlet of the ladybirds. There had been a plague of them that spring, and the furze bushes held them in their hundreds, like berries on the thorn.
Arthur was silent for a space, frowning at his thoughts. Then he came, apparently, to a sudden decision. "Do you trust him?"
"Ninian? Of course. Why not?"
"What do you know about him?"
"As much as I need to," I said, perhaps a little stiffly. "I told you how he came to me. I was certain then, and I am still certain, that it was the god who drew us together. And I could not have an apter pupil. Everything I have to teach him he is more than eager to learn. I don't have to drive him; I have to hold him back." I glanced at him. "Why I would have thought you had seen the proof of his aptitude. His vision was true."
"Oh, I don't doubt his aptitude." He spoke dryly. I caught the faintest of emphasis on the last word.
"What then? What are you trying to say?" Even I was not prepared for the degree of cold surprise in my voice.
He said quickly: "I'm sorry, Merlin. But I have to say this. I doubt his intentions toward you."
Though he had signalled the blow, it still struck with paralyzing force. I felt the blood leave my heart. I stopped and faced him. Around us the scent of the gorse rose, sweet and strong. With it, unconsciously, I recognized thyme and sorrel and the crushed fescue as the bay mare put her head down and tore at a mouthful of grass.
I am not lightly made angry, least of all by Arthur. It was only a moment or two before I could say, levelly: "Whatever you have to say, you had certainly better say now. Ninian is more than my assistant, he bids fair to be my second self. If I have ever been a staff to your hand, Arthur, he will be such another when I am dead. Whether or not you like the boy -- and why should you not, you hardly know him? -- you may have to accept him so. I shall not live for ever, and he has the power. He has power already, and it will grow."
"I know. That is what troubles me." He looked away from me again. I could not judge if it was because he could not face me. "Don't you see, Merlin? He has the power. It was he who had the vision. And you did not. You say you were tired, you had been ill. But when did your god ever take that into account? This was no trivial 'seeing'; it was not something that normally you would have missed. Because of it I was already there, on the borders of Rheged, when Caw died, and was able to support Gwarthegydd and prevent God knows how much trouble among those warring princes. So why did no vision come to you?"
"Must I keep repeating it? I -- "
"Yes, you were ill. Why?"
Silence. A breeze came across the miles of downland, smelling of honey. Under it, through the immense stillness of the day, the grasses rustled. The mare cropped eagerly; the hound had come back to its master's feet and sat there, tongue lolling. Arthur stirred, and began to speak again, but I forestalled him.
"What are you saying?...No, don't answer. I know quite well what you are saying. That I have taken in this unknown boy, become infatuated, opened to him all the secret lore of drugs, and something of magic, and now he schemes to take my place and usurp my power. That he cannot be acquitted of using my own drugs against me. Is that it?"
Something of a smile touched his lips, though without