Page 3 of Touched By Maen Llia
“Nay, ‘tis too hot to deprive you,” Bryn said, his voice hoarse.
“‘tis too hot to ride and listen to your pain. Drink,” Marcus insisted. “There’s only a little left, but we must surely be close by now.” They had been riding since sunrise, along a little-travelled route which Merlin had assured Bedivere was a shortcut, and that they would arrive before the day was done.
Bryn hesitated, then took the wine, lifted the flask in thanks and unstopped it. He drained the flask in slow swallows, then cleared his throat and sighed.
“Better?”
“Much.” He handed the flask back.
Marcus stowed it, then sat up to peer at the way ahead—what he could see of it beyond the heads and shoulders of the riders at the front of the company, underneath the great royal banner.
“Seems to me, there is not a great deal of ‘short’ in this backward route Merlin chose,” Bryn observed. His voicedidsound a little easier. “I’ve never come through hills the way we did, before.”
“You’ve been to Dyfed before?” Marcus asked, startled. Marcus had been posted to Camelot for just over a month, while Bryn had been there for nearly two years.
“Never,” Bryn admitted cheerfully. “But I’ve heard the talk before. We should have come across the Hafren by boat. Ships can reach all the way up the Afon Tywi to Maridunum itself.”
“If we’d started out at Camelot, then perhaps,” Marcus said. “But we were in Vertis.” He glanced at Bryn. “It’s not our place to question Merlin.”
“Bedivere does. All the time.”
“He’s Arthur’s War Duke. It is his place to question the worth of any plan.”
“There hasn’t been a war for ten years.”
“Clearly, Bedivere is good at his work.”
Bryn just laughed. “One day soon, that endless provincial optimism of yours will wear away.”
“And I will become like you?” Marcus asked, appalled at the idea.
“And then you will be a true citizen of Camelot,” Bryn amended. Abruptly, he began to cough again.
A horse and its rider had moved to the side of the old, solid roadway, letting the company pass by. It was Lucan, Bedivere’s brother and senior lieutenant. His lined face gleamed with sweat as he rested his hand on the flank of his horse in order to twist and watch the riders pass.
He nodded at Marcus. “He wants to speak to you.”
“Again,” Bryn muttered under his breath.
Marcus shifted uncomfortably. It was true that Merlin requested his presence at the head table frequently. “Iliketalking to Merlin,” Marcus told Bryn.
Bryn rolled his eyes.
“Hurry up,” Lucan growled. The heat was stirring tempers as well as dust. “Move up with me. Come along.”
Marcus kicked Cuno and led him out of the thick of the company, over to where Lucan was keeping pace with them. Lucan pushed his horse into a gallop, to surge ahead and reach the head of the company.
Marcus did the same, while his heart jumped about. Did Merlin have another story to tell? He hoped so. He had heard stories about Merlin all his life. Merlin and King Arthur, and Arthur’s companions—which included Bedivere, a fact that made every Corneus man and child proud. Like every boy in Corneus, Marcus had wanted to serve King Arthur since he was tall enough to hold a sword.
Yet the tales surrounding Merlin had been just as interesting to Marcus, although he could not say why. The other boys didn’t like the tales of magic and power and politics. In them, blood was rarely spilled, and blades never wielded, which made the tales about Merlin dull to their ears.
Marcus hadn’t found them so at all. And now he had spent many days of his short time at Camelot speaking to the man himself. When Merlin told stories about his long life, and the strange places he had seen, the tales were even more fascinating.
Lucan eased back into the middle of the company of horses and riders. Marcus followed him, as the company split and made way for the two of them. Up at the front of the company, the breeze from their passage was clean and clear, although still warm.
Lucan gestured that Marcus was to bring Cuno up alongside his stallion.
“Ahead,” Marcus murmured.
