Lawhead, Stephen Pendragon Cycle 02 Merlin

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grave. He waited outside the little grove with the horses while I went in alone, as into a secluded chapel
to pray.
I will not say that the sight of that small mound lying in the wooded glade, now much overgrown with
woodbine and vetch, did not move me: I wept to see it, and my tears were sweet grief to me.
A single grey stone stood over the mound where her body lay in its hollowed-oak coffin. The stone, a
single slab of slate, had been worked, its surface smoothed and trimmed, and an elaborate cross of
Christ incised on its face. And, beneath the cross, the simple legend in Latin:
HIC TVMVLO IACET
GANIEDA FILIA CONSTENTIVS
IN PAX CHRISTVS
I traced the neatly-carved words with my fingertips and murmured, 'Here in this tomb lies Ganieda,
daughter of Custennin, in the peace of Christ.'
There was no mention of the child, nor of my heart, as there might have been, for in truth both were
buried with her.
All in all, it was a tranquil place, near where she had died; and if the gravesite was not much visited any
more, at least it was hidden from the casual desecrations of unthinking wayfarers.
I knelt down and prayed a long prayer, and when I rose I felt peace reclaim its place in my soul. I left
the grove content in heart and mind.
Then Pelleas and I returned to where our escort waited and we continued to Goddeu.
I should have known what to expect. I should have been prepared. But I was not. Too much had
happened in too short a time, it seemed, and the sight of Custennin and Goddeu, unchanged, shocked me
as much as the change in Maridunum had shocked me. But there he stood, bold and big as the day I first
had seen him: proud monarch of Celyddon, Fair Folk king, great battlechief and ruler of a haughty
people.
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Like Avallach and others of their race, the years had not touched Custennin, nor would they. He even
maintained the same appearance as when I knew him before in everything, including the two black
wolf-hounds crouching at his heels.
I swung down from the saddle as he approached and went to him. Without a word he gathered me in his
powerful arms and crushed me to him, as I had seen him do with Ganieda countless times. 'Myrddin, my
son,' he murmured in his deep voice. 'You have come back from the dead.'
'I have indeed,' I replied.
He pushed me away and held me at arm's length, looking at me. There were unshed tears in his eyes. 'I
never thought to see you again. . . ' his eyes slid past me to Pelleas, whom he acknowledged with a nod,
'but Pelleas insisted you were still alive and he never stopped searching for you. Would that I had had his
faith. . . '
'I only wish I could have come sooner.'
'Have you seen Ganieda's grave?'
'I have just come from there. It is a good stone.'
'Yes, I had the priests at Caer Ligal make it.'
I noticed he said nothing about his son, so I asked: 'What of Gwendolau?'
'He is buried on the field where he died. I will take you there if you like but you will remember the
place.'
'I have never forgotten it.' Nor would I ever.
'We have spoken our respect for the dead, and that is good and proper,' Custennin said. 'Now let us
talk of the living. I have another son, for I have taken a wife in recent years and she has just given birth to
a babe.'
This was good news and I told him so. Custennin was well pleased, for the birth of this child meant a
great deal to him. 'What is his name?'
'Cunomor,' he told me, 'an old name, but a good one.'
'May he grow into the stature of his illustrious ancestors,' I said lightly.
'Come inside and rest from your journey. We will eat and drink together,' Custennin said, pulling me
along with him. He held me by the arm as if he were afraid that I might disappear again if he relaxed his
hold for even an instant. 'And then you will meet my new son.'
We did eat and drink together. And I greeted his son who looked precisely like all newborn babes
everywhere. I sang in Custennin's hall and fell asleep that night thinking about the first night I had
sheltered under his roof: an awkward boy dressed in wolfskins, half-wild and alone, and hopelessly
infatuated with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
The next morning I walked out to the place where Gwendolau was buried and I prayed for the Good
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God's mercy on his soul. It was evening when the reason for my visit arose. 'Well, Myrddin Wylt,' said
Custennin, slapping a dog leash against his leg, 'what news of the wider world beyond this forest?'
We were walking together at the near fringe of the forest; a new dog which Custennin was training ran
on ahead of us. 'There is news at last,' I replied; this was the king's way of saying that he was ready now
to talk. 'Vortigern is dead.'
'Good!' He stared at the trail ahead. 'Health to his enemies!'
'Yes, and there were not a few of them.'
'Who is to be High King in his place?'
'Need anyone?' I asked, probing his mind on the subject.
He glanced quickly at me to see if I was serious. 'Oh, yes, I think so. Despite what Vortigern became, it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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