that.”
“As to that, there’s a road setting eastward not more than four days’ ride from here, but it’s a bad one, that I do know, and after that there’s no way through the mountains till you reach Rheged. You’d be better going by Rheged. But suit yourself, and God speed to you.” A gesture towards the Myrddin image at the forge’s doorway, and he turned to gather up the kerchief with the remains of his meal.
Alexander said quickly: “I’ll go to Rheged. By Viroconium, you said? Is there good lodging there?”
“I’ve never been there,” said the smith, “but I can tell you the way to take. For the most part it’s good enough, but for the next two or three days, I’m afraid, you may find rough going. There’s been heavy rain in the hills, a cloudburst only yesterday, you could see the storm-rain from here, and I’m told the bridge is down again a day’s ride northwards, where the road crosses the river. It happens with every flood. There was a courier through here early this morning, and by what he said you must needs ride a fair way west to find a crossing. See.” And reaching for a stick he got to his feet and drew a diagram in the mud at the river’s edge. “Here. And once across, you can turn back to the east along the river’s bank, and in half a day you’ll find your road again.”
“And for lodging? They told me in Blestium that there was a monastery beside the bridge. I was planning to sleep there. If I make for that now, then follow the river along the next day, the way you’ve marked there –”
The smith shook his head. “That colt won’t run, master. The monastery’s on the far side, so you’ll miss that night’s lodging anyway. Best turn away here, where I’ve put the mark. And here –” the stick prodded into the mud again – “you’ll likely find better lodging than at any monastery. The lady’s not at home now, being as how she’s fallen foul of her good brother, and he’s had her mewed up elsewhere these two years past, but those that serve her will take you in, sure enough, and give you good lodgement. And it’s a soft place to lie, they say, for all it’s called the Dark Tower.”
If there was something sly about the smith’s grin, Alexander did not notice it. “The Dark Tower? Lady? What lady?”
“The Lady Morgan, she that’s own sister to Arthur himself. Queen Morgan, I should have said; she was Urbgen’s queen in Rheged till he put her aside over some tangle of a lover and a try at stealing the King’s sword of state, the one they call Caliburn. It was over that she fell foul of her brother Arthur, so you’d be wiser not to talk of him, young sir, when you’re a guest at the Dark Tower.”
“Yes, of course. Of course I understand,” said Alexander, who did not understand at all, but who was finding this, his first brush with the great world, and the mention of famous names, exhilarating. It is possible that, even had the ruined bridge not forced him to turn aside for Queen Morgan’s castle, he would have ridden there rather than seek lodging in the tame purlieus of a monastery. “But you said that the lady herself – the queen – would not be there?” He was careful to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
“Well, she wasn’t, last time any news came by from there,” said the smith. “But there has been other news. There’s been coming and going, and a tide of urgent messages passing, between the south-west and the parts north-west of here, up into Northgalis and then further up still, to the edges of Rheged. And there’s been talk of meetings …” Here he paused, and then spat to one side, making a sign which Alexander recognised as one his Welsh groom made against magic … “Midnight meetings, and spells, and witches flying through the air when the moon’s down, and gathering in some spot to brew evil against their enemies.”
“And you believe all that?” asked Alexander.
“As to that,” said the smith
“As to that, there’s a road setting eastward not more than four days’ ride from here, but it’s a bad one, that I do know, and after that there’s no way through the mountains till you reach Rheged. You’d be better going by Rheged. But suit yourself, and God speed to you.” A gesture towards the Myrddin image at the forge’s doorway, and he turned to gather up the kerchief with the remains of his meal.
Alexander said quickly: “I’ll go to Rheged. By Viroconium, you said? Is there good lodging there?”
“I’ve never been there,” said the smith, “but I can tell you the way to take. For the most part it’s good enough, but for the next two or three days, I’m afraid, you may find rough going. There’s been heavy rain in the hills, a cloudburst only yesterday, you could see the storm-rain from here, and I’m told the bridge is down again a day’s ride northwards, where the road crosses the river. It happens with every flood. There was a courier through here early this morning, and by what he said you must needs ride a fair way west to find a crossing. See.” And reaching for a stick he got to his feet and drew a diagram in the mud at the river’s edge. “Here. And once across, you can turn back to the east along the river’s bank, and in half a day you’ll find your road again.”
“And for lodging? They told me in Blestium that there was a monastery beside the bridge. I was planning to sleep there. If I make for that now, then follow the river along the next day, the way you’ve marked there –”
The smith shook his head. “That colt won’t run, master. The monastery’s on the far side, so you’ll miss that night’s lodging anyway. Best turn away here, where I’ve put the mark. And here –” the stick prodded into the mud again – “you’ll likely find better lodging than at any monastery. The lady’s not at home now, being as how she’s fallen foul of her good brother, and he’s had her mewed up elsewhere these two years past, but those that serve her will take you in, sure enough, and give you good lodgement. And it’s a soft place to lie, they say, for all it’s called the Dark Tower.”
If there was something sly about the smith’s grin, Alexander did not notice it. “The Dark Tower? Lady? What lady?”
“The Lady Morgan, she that’s own sister to Arthur himself. Queen Morgan, I should have said; she was Urbgen’s queen in Rheged till he put her aside over some tangle of a lover and a try at stealing the King’s sword of state, the one they call Caliburn. It was over that she fell foul of her brother Arthur, so you’d be wiser not to talk of him, young sir, when you’re a guest at the Dark Tower.”
“Yes, of course. Of course I understand,” said Alexander, who did not understand at all, but who was finding this, his first brush with the great world, and the mention of famous names, exhilarating. It is possible that, even had the ruined bridge not forced him to turn aside for Queen Morgan’s castle, he would have ridden there rather than seek lodging in the tame purlieus of a monastery. “But you said that the lady herself – the queen – would not be there?” He was careful to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
“Well, she wasn’t, last time any news came by from there,” said the smith. “But there has been other news. There’s been coming and going, and a tide of urgent messages passing, between the south-west and the parts north-west of here, up into Northgalis and then further up still, to the edges of Rheged. And there’s been talk of meetings …” Here he paused, and then spat to one side, making a sign which Alexander recognised as one his Welsh groom made against magic … “Midnight meetings, and spells, and witches flying through the air when the moon’s down, and gathering in some spot to brew evil against their enemies.”
“And you believe all that?” asked Alexander.
“As to that,” said the smith
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