The Iron Grail by Robert Holdstock Read Free Book Online Page B

But I’ve been in greater pain, Merlin. Today, looking into those children’s faces, I don’t believe there is any pain that can truly hurt me. Did you see the life there? That king-in-making! That queen-in-making! What a future! My daughter’s children, Merlin. Aylamunda’s children. Llew’s eyes, if she could only see them now! She would be so proud.’
    ‘She may well be able to see them,’ I offered, but his response was a scowl of irritation.
    ‘How? From where she is forced to wander? It is Aylamunda who is in pain, Merlin, not me.’
    I didn’t fully understand, so made no further comment.
    Despite his refusal to accept medicine, I gathered what plants I could that I knew to be effective in healing such wounds as he had received. Although he seemed strong on our first night below the stars, during the second day of our return journey he began to shake and perspire quite dramatically. I begged him to let me use a little charm. ‘No. If I live or die it must be at the Good God’s whim.’
    I gave him water and led his horse through the winding tracks and over the ragged ground that led to the valley. By the time we entered the narrow mouth of the gorge, he was slumped over the neck of his mount; I had tied his hands around the horse to stop him falling, and applied a compress to the swelling wound.
    A glimpse inside him, and I knew that it was the end for him.
    I was glad to pass his dying body into the hands of his kin. They stripped him and washed him under the instruction of a druid, whose eyes blazed from the red mask of ochre with which he had covered his face and crop-haired head. He spoke the songs of the past, and invoked Sucellus the healer. Kymon stood by, solemn and contemplative, not flinching as the bronze point was finally and bloodily teased from its lodging in the old man’s breastbone.
    Ambaros made no sound; his watery gaze never left that of his grandson.
    ‘There is a lot for us to do,’ Kymon whispered after a while. ‘And I could have done with your strength and your advice. I hope you haven’t squandered your life.’
    He was angry as he turned and left the healing tent. Ambaros’s smile was wry and pained.

CHAPTER FIVE
    On the Plain of MaegCatha
    That night, I received a most unwelcome visit, from someone I had hoped I had left behind far away in Greek Land.
    My living quarters in the Camp of Exiles were uncomfortable and spartan, a reed-layered floor below an overhang of rock that had been extended and covered with animal hides to make a passable animal shelter. The breeze curled through every gap in the stitching, and a screech owl seemed to find the top of one of the supporting poles a perfect place to make my sleep a misery. The river flowing through the gorge seemed to rush like a torrent; the new-born of the exiled clan wailed with night terrors, setting off lowing among the cattle and vigorous barking among the tethered hounds.
    Restless, haunted by those shields with their glowering ikons of Medusa, I was in just the state of mind to allow the approach of the woman who was determined to cling to me.
    I heard my name called; there was urgency in the summons. There are ways of crying out that alert every sense: an infant in distress; a dying man giving up the ghost; a man being murdered; a woman opening like a gate, to allow the passing of a new breath of life. And there is the cry of hurt from a woman who considers herself wronged.
    ‘Merlin! I know you’re there!’
    The insistent, dreamy voice roused me from my hard bed, bringing me out into the starlit night. The hounds were restless, the horses too. I walked east along the stream until I could see the crouched figure, busy washing its hair.
    As I stumbled blindly over the loose rocks to come down to the swirling pool where this wild woman lowered her head to beat the water with her saturated locks, I realised who she was. Or rather: whose dream she was.
    Niiv turned suddenly to look at me, silver-eyed in the night,