Mary Stewart - The Arthurian Saga 02 - The Hollow Hills

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Mary Stewart

THE

HOLLOW HILLS

William Morrow & Company, Inc. New York

n any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy

ing, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, withou

t permission in writing from the Publisher. Inquiries should be addressed

to William Morrow and Company, Inc., 105 Madison Ave., New York, N.Y. 10

016.

Printed in the United States of America.

- Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 72-102

ISBN 0-688-00179-3

the memory of my father

CONTENTS

BOOK 1: The Waiting

BOOK II: The Search

BOOK III: The Sword

BOOK IV: The King

The Legend Author's Note

There was a boy born,

A winter king.

Before the black month

He was born,

And fled in the dark month

To find shelter

With the poor.

He shall come

With the spring

In the green month

And the golden month

And bright

Shall be the burning

Of his star.

MS.

NORTHERN -JANGLES

BOOK I

THE WAITING

There was a lark singing somewhere high above. Light fell dazzling against

my closed eyelids, and with it the song, like a distant dance of water. I o

pened my eyes. Above me arched the sky, with its invisible singer lost some

where in the light and floating blue of a spring day. Everywhere was a swee

t, nutty smell which made me think of gold, and candle flames, and young lo

vers. Something, smelling not so sweet, stirred beside me, and a rough youn

g voice said: "Sir?"

I turned my head. I was lying on turf, in a hollow among furze bushes.

These were full of blossom, golden, sweet-smelling flames called out by the

spring sun. Beside me a boy knelt. He was perhaps twelve years old, dirty,

with a matted shag of hair, and clad in some coarse brown cloth; his cloak

, made of skins roughly -stitched together, showed rents in a dozen places.

He had a stick in one hand. Even without the way he smelled I could have g

uessed his calling, for all around us his herd of goats grazed among the fu

rze bushes, cropping the young green prickles.

At rny movement he got quickly to his feet and backed off a little, peer

ing, half wary and half hopeful, through the filthy tangle of hair. So he ha

d not robbed me yet. I eyed the heavy stick in his hand, vaguely wondering t

hrough the mists of pain whether I could help myself even against this young

ster. But it seemed that his hopes were only for a reward. He was pointing a

t something out of sight beyond the bushes. "I caught your horse for you. He

's tied over there. I thought you were dead."

I raised myself to an elbow. Round me the day seemed to swing and dazz

le. The furze blossom smoked like incense in the sun. Pain seeped back slo

wly, and with it, on the same tide, memory.

"Are you hurt bad?"

"Nothing to matter, except my hand. Give me time, I'll be all right. You

caught my horse, you say? Did you see me fall?"

"Aye. I was over yonder." He pointed again. Beyond the mounds of yellow

blossom the land rose, smooth and bare, to a rounded upland broken by grey

rock seamed with winter thorn. Behind the shoulder of the land the sky had

that look of limitless and empty distance which spoke of the sea. "I saw y

ou come riding up the valley from the shore, going slow. I could see you wa

s ill, or maybe sleeping on the horse.'Then he put his foot wrong-a hole, l

ikely-and you came off. You've not been lying long. I'd just got down to yo

u."

He stopped, his mouth dropping open. I saw shock in his face. As he spo

ke I had been pushing myself up till I was able to sit, propped by my left

arm, and carefully lift my injured right hand into my lap. It was a swollen

, crusted mass of dried blood, through which fresh red was running. I had,

I guessed, fallen on it when my horse had stumbled. The faint had been merc

iful enough. The pain was growing now, wave on wave grinding, with the stea

dy beat and drag of the tide over shingle, but the faintness had gone, and

my head, though still aching from the blow, was clear.

"Mother of mercy!" The boy was looking sick. "You never did that fallin

g from your horse?"

"No. It was a fight."

"You've no sword."

"I lost it. No matter. I have my dagger, and a hand for it. No, don't be a

fraid. The fighting's done. No one will hurt you. Now, if you'll help me onto

my horse, I'll be on my way."

He gave me an arm as I got to my feet. We were standing at the edge of a

high green upland studded with furze, with here and there stark, solitary tre

es thrust into strange shapes by the steady salt wind. Beyond the thicket whe

re I had lain the ground fell away in a sharp slope scored by the tracks of s

heep and goats. It made one side of a narrow, winding valley, at the foot of

which a stream raced, tumbling, down its rocky bed. I could not see what lay

at the foot of the valley, but about a mile away, beyond the horizon of winte

r grass, was the sea. From the height of the land where I stood one could gue

ss at the great cliffs which fell away to the shore, and beyond the land's fa

rthest edge, small in the distance, I could see the jut of towers.

The castle of Tintagel, stronghold of the Dukes of Cornwall. The impregn

able fortress rock, which could only be taken by guile, or by treachery from

within. Last night, I had used both.

I felt a shiver run over my flesh. Last night, in the wild dark of the s

torm, this had been a place of gods and destiny, of power driving towards so

me distant end of which I had been given, from time to time, a glimpse. And

I, Merlin, son of Ambrosius, whom men feared as prophet and visionary, had b

een in that night's work no more than the god's instrument.

It was for this that I had been given the gift of Sight, and the power

that men saw as magic. From this remote and sea-locked fortress would come

the King who alone could clear Britain of her enemies, and give her time to

find herself; who alone, in the wake of Ambrosius, the last of the Romans,

would hold back the fresh tides of the Saxon Terror, and, for a breathing

space at least, keep Britain whole. This I had seen in the stars, and heard

in the wind: it was I, my gods had told me, who would bring this to pass;

this I had been born for. Now, if I could still trust my gods, the promised

child was begotten; but because of him-because of me-four men had died. In

that night lashed by storm and brooded over by the dragon-star, death had

seemed commonplace, and gods waiting, visible, at every corner. But now, in

the still morning after the storm, what was there to see? A young man with

an injured hand, a King with his lust satisfied, and a woman with her pena

nce beginning. And for all of us, time to remember the dead.

The boy brought rny horse up to me. He was watching me curiously, the w

ariness back in his face.

"How long have you been here with your goats?" I asked him.

"A sunrise and a sunrise."

"Did you see or hear anything last night?"

Wariness became, suddenly, fear. His eyelids dropped and he stared at the

ground. His face was closed, blank, stupid. "I have forgotten, lord."

I leaned against my horse's shoulder, regarding him. Times without numbe

r I had met this stupidity, this flat, expressionless mumble; it is the only

armour available to the poor. I said gently: "Whatever happened last night,

it is something I want you to remember, not to forget. No one will harm you

. Tell me what you saw."

He looked at me for perhaps ten more seconds of silence. I could not gu

ess what he was thinking. What he was seeing can hardly have been reassurin

g; a tall young man with a smashed and bloody hand, cloakless, his clothes

stained and torn, his face (I have no doubt) grey with fatigue and pain and

the bitter dregs of last night's triumph. All the same the boy nodded sudd

enly, and began to speak.

"Last night in the black dark I heard horses go by me.

Four, I think. But I saw no one. Then, in the early dawn, two more follo

wing them, spurring hard. I thought they were all making for the castle, but

from where I was, up there by the rocks, I never saw torches at the guard-h

ouse on the cliff top, or on the bridge going across to the main gate. They

must have gone down the valley there. After it was light I saw two horsemen

coming back that way, from the shore below the castle rock." He hesitated. "

And then you, my lord."

I said slowly, holding him with my eyes: "Listen now, and I will tell y

ou who the horsemen were. Last night, in the dark, King Uther Pendragon rod

e this way, with myself and two others. He rode to Tintagel, but he did not

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MaryStewartTHEHOLLOWHILLSWilliamMorrow&Company,Inc.NewYorkCopyright(c)1973byMaryStewartAllrightsreserved.Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedorutilizedinanyformorbyanymeans,electronicormechanical,includingphotocopying,recordingorbyanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,withoutpermissioninwritingfromtheP...

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