The Minstrel Boy Read online

  “Definitely beats McDonald’s,” he said aloud. “Could use a bit more salt, though.”

  “You’re a very particular thief!” The voice was coolly amused, and coming as it did from right behind him, it scared him nearly to death. He struggled to get up, wincing at the pain in his head and leg.

  Not three paces behind him stood a boy of about seventeen. He was tall and strongly built, with a mane of curly brown hair down to his shoulders. He seemed to be dressed up in some kind of weird costume. But the most noticeable thing about him was his sword. It was more than four feet long and looked sharp. And it was pointed at David’s throat.

  David raised both hands and began to talk very fast. “Hey, I surrender! That thing looks loaded! Don’t carry weapons, myself,” he said, feeling giddy. He took a clumsy step backward. The other boy followed, the sword levelled at exactly the same spot on his throat. Sweat sprang out on David’s forehead.

  “Say, I guess I shouldn’t have eaten so much of your dinner,” he babbled. “I just hadn’t had anything to eat all day. And I had this accident . . .” His voice trailed away.

  “You needn’t apologize to me,” replied the boy. “I’d had my fill. But you’ll have to deal with Cabal. It’s his dinner you’ve eaten.” He gave a low whistle, and a shaggy wolfhound half as big as a horse bounded into the clearing. He stopped by the boy’s side, every hair on his back bristling. A deep, ugly growl rumbled in his throat.

  “Oh, swell,” said David. “First I crash my motorcycle into a tree that wasn’t there. Now I’m going to be sliced into pieces by a weirdo or torn to bits by a half-tame wolf.”

  The other boy frowned, as if puzzled, and the point of the sword wavered a little. “What is your motor . . . cycle?” he asked.

  “You mean, where is my motorcycle. Beats me. Must be around here somewhere, but I couldn’t find it in the dark.”

  “I asked what,” said his opponent steadily. “Never have I heard of this thing.”

  For a moment, David couldn’t believe his ears. Then, “Oh, go on and pull the other one,” he snickered. “I mean, I know you Welsh are backward. But never heard of a motorcycle? Why, it’s Hywel’s motorcycle, actually, and he’s as Welsh as you are!”

  The boy’s frown deepened, and the sword-point moved upward again. “What is Welsh?” he asked suspiciously. “Some insult?”

  “Good Lord, no! I mean, would I insult you? With that thing at my throat? It’s your nationality. This is Wales. You Welsh are the people who live here.”

  “This is Prydein. And the British are the people who live here,” returned the boy. “Except,” he added with a scowl, “for the cursed Saxons.”

  David began to feel sick again. British sounded all right. But Prydein? Saxons? The pain in his head was becoming unbearable. He reeled and felt himself falling forward. If I land on that sword, he told himself dizzily, my troubles are over! Then blackness took him.

  When he came to himself, he was lying beside the fire, wrapped in the blanket. Across the flames, the boy sat whistling tunelessly between his teeth. His sword was sheathed, but he was whetting a wicked-looking hunting knife. The great wolfhound lay close beside him, his massive head wedged against the boy’s knee. David must have made some slight movement, for Cabal’s head swung up alertly, and he growled softly.

  “Awake again, are you, thief?” the boy said. “You fainted.”

  David sat up very carefully. “I’m no thief, though I ate your dog’s dinner. My name is David, David Baird,” he said.

  “What is this accident you spoke of, David Baird?” asked the boy. “Did you fall off your horse? Or out of a tree? I heard you blundering and cursing about the woods. That’s why Cabal and I decided to circle around and have a little look at who was making all the racket.”

  “I crashed my motorcycle and hurt my head and my leg. And then I couldn’t find the motorcycle again in the dark,” said David. “I already told you that!”

  “So you did. Well, we’ll look for it in the morning. I’ve a fine curiosity to see it, whatever kind of a beast it may be. Will it wander far, left unhobbled?”

  “Oh, give it a rest!” snapped David. He was getting tired of this game of pretend. “Of course, it won’t wander off. It’s a machine, not an animal!”

  “From your mouth to my ear,” the other returned calmly. “You should try to sleep now. That’s the best cure for most hurts.” He poked the fire, then looked up, his eyes holding David’s steadily for a moment. “Though I may as well tell you that I had a bit of a look at you while you were out. There’s no sign of anything wrong with you.”

  Gingerly, David felt the back of his head. There was no gash, not even a bump. He glanced at his fingers. There was no sign of blood. He looked down at his leg. It looked okay too—it wasn’t bent or anything, and his jeans weren’t even ripped. Why was he in so much pain, then?”

  “I . . . I don’t understand,” he said, puzzled. “I hurt all over!”

  The other boy shrugged. “It’s best you sleep now, as I said. And happen you wake up, don’t take it into your head to wander off. The Forest Fawr can be an unchancy place for strangers.”

  Rolling up in the blanket, David tried to make himself comfortable on the hard ground. Then he raised himself on one elbow. “I almost forgot. I’ve told you my name. What’s yours?”

  “They call me Bear,” the other said.

  “Funny kind of name,” David mumbled, snuggling into the blanket. Then he noticed the owl again.

  It was perched on a branch overhead, white as a lily in the dark. It ruffled its feathers, then settled them again.

  “Drat that bird,” David thought sleepily. Then, just as he was drifting off, he heard Bear speak to it.

  “Lady of Flowers,” Bear said, “I fear you’ve been a-hunting. But why bring your prey to me?”

  “This guy is seriously weird,” thought David, and then thought no more.

  The grey light of morning woke David. At first he stared up blankly, wondering where he was. The forest was dim, and thick tendrils of mist curled between the trees. The blanket was sodden. David sat up, and a bolt of pain shot through his head. His leg still ached with the same sharp throb. With the pain came memory. The bike. The tree. Bear. Cabal. He looked around, but the clearing was empty. Even the spot where the fire had been had disappeared. Had he dreamed it? But the forest was still there. Bear had abandoned him, then. He’d have to find his own way back to the bike.

  He struggled to get to his feet. Putting weight on the leg made him cry out, sharply. It felt as though it was broken. And his head felt worse than it had the night before. Much worse.

  “Will you return my cloak now, David Baird? Or were you planning to steal that too?”

  He turned to find Bear holding a clay pot of water in one hand and a small loaf in the other. He held both out to David. “Break your fast,” he said simply. “Then we’ll look for your motor . . . cycle, is it?” Then, as David swayed on his feet, Bear added, “Here! Don’t faint on me again!” He helped David over to a mossy log at the side of the clearing.

  Handing over the blanket, David set to work on the bread, which was chewy and grainy and tasted of smoke. The water was ice cold, with a tang of bracken. “When I saw the campsite gone I thought you’d taken off and left me,” he mumbled between mouthfuls. Then he added, “Guess I couldn’t have blamed you if you had. You didn’t exactly ask for my company.”

  Bear slung the blanket about him, pinning it on one shoulder with a massive brooch. “It’s wise to leave the wood as you found it,” he said. “The trees like it. And it leaves no clue for enemies who might be looking for you.”

  The trees like it? This Bear really must be some kind of loony, David thought. Yet, for some reason, he trusted him. Perhaps it was the level glance of his hazel-brown eyes. Or the hint of laughter in their depths. Even his ridiculous name seemed to suit him somehow, brown and hardy as he was.

  “Your head still pains you?” Bear asked.

 
; David nodded. “And my leg even worse.”

  Bear looked puzzled. “Let me have another look at you, then,” he said. As his fingers probed his head and leg, David couldn’t help groaning. “So,” said Bear. “Still no signs of an injury. But you’re clearly hurting. Are you dizzy?”

  David nodded, then wished he hadn’t. It felt as if the top of his head were going to fall off!

  “The blacks of your eyes are like pinpoints,” Bear went on, peering at him intently. “So there’s something badly wrong. I’m no healer, but I know the signs. You’ll have to lie up somewhere for a while. Head injuries can be dangerous. I’ve seen it after a battle.”

  Battle? David shivered. “I . . . I want to go home,” he said unsteadily. Then hated himself for whining like a little kid. “Let’s find my motorcycle,” he added. “If it’s working, you could help me get it on the road.” Though he couldn’t help wondering how he could ride it with his leg the way it was.

  Bear looked surprised. “There’s no road here,” he said. “Only the old track through the forest. But let’s go and look. Lean on me.”

  With Bear supporting David, they set off in the direction he had come from. It was a painful journey, but at last they reached the glade where he had awakened. As Bear had said, there was no road, only a narrow track through a gap in the trees. And the motorcycle was nowhere to be seen.

  “It has to be here, it has to!” David cried, breaking away from Bear and stumbling into the glade.

  Bear stood watching him for a moment, then he paced back and forth across the glade, his eyes on the ground. “Nothing,” he said at last, looking back at David. “A few animal tracks, old ones. The moss torn up here, where you must have scrabbled around, and some bushes broken where you blundered through. That’s all.”

  “But it must be here!” David said wildly. “I was riding the bike down a road, see. And a tree—that one, over there, I think—just appeared out of nowhere. And I hit it. I was knocked out. When I woke up, I couldn’t find the bike in the dark. You believe me, don’t you? I swear it’s the truth!”

  Bear met his eyes for a long moment. Then, “You’d better sit down,” he said, helping him over to a flat rock at the edge of the glade. “I believe you’re telling me the truth—at least what you think is the truth. Though what it means, I don’t know. Let me look about. Cabal, stay.” He drew his sword and disappeared among the trees.

  David sank down on the rock, holding his throbbing head in both hands. The great wolfhound sat watching him, his tail brushing back and forth on the ground ever so slightly.

  After some minutes, Bear returned. “It’s no use,” he said, looking down at David. “There’s no sign of anything unusual. No one but you has been here. I could tell if someone had been, from tracks and other signs. So no one could have come and taken this thing of yours. And you said you couldn’t find it last night. It’s as if it were never here at all.”

  David gazed up at him numbly. “I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I don’t know where I am, or how to get back to Caerleon. That’s where my father is. Do you know the way, Bear?”

  Bear shook his head. “It’s a place I don’t know. But come. You’re hurt somehow, though I can’t find the cause of it. You need care. We’ll go back to my village. There’ll be help for your hurts there, and mayhap someone will have heard of Caerleon. But it’s more than a day away. Can you walk that far if I help you?”

  David shook his head, numbly. “I . . . I don’t think so. My leg hurts pretty badly.”

  Bear frowned, considering. “Yet there’s no other choice. I can’t leave you here, and it’s too far to bring help quickly. If only I’d brought a boat up the Usk. It would be shorter that way!” He shook his head, “Well, no use bemoaning what can’t be changed. Perhaps splints on the leg will help, though there seems to be no break in it.”

  Turning away, he took out his dagger and cut some rough splints from a sapling. These he bound to his patient’s leg using strips of cloth cut from David’s jeans. Another sapling provided a rough crutch.

  “It’s the best I can do, lad,” he said, as David pulled himself painfully to his feet. “I fear you’ve a bad time ahead of you.”

  David gritted his teeth, and took a few steps. The crutch helped, but not a lot.

  Before they left the glade, Bear went over to the giant oak. “Tell me, Old One,” he said, placing his palm flat against the trunk. He stood for a few moments, as though listening to something far off, then he patted the rough bark. “My thanks,” he said softly. “Bide well.”

  David watched, numbly. Bad enough to be lost in the middle of a forest that shouldn’t even be there. But with a guy who talked to the trees? He didn’t want to think about it.

  The journey to the village took them two days. For David, it was a walking nightmare. Part of it passed in a kind of sick dream. At other times, as though from far away, he heard himself yelling at Bear, telling him to leave him alone, let him rest, sleep. And trying to fight him when he was forced to go on. At night, he fell into heavy sleep, only to awake, shivering, with the terrible pain in his head and leg.

  It began to rain, and the damp added to his misery. The throb of his leg was a dull agony. As if that weren’t enough, his head seemed to be getting worse, and his vision had begun to blur. But somehow he stumbled on, one arm around Bear’s shoulders. By the end of the second day he was only half-conscious.

  He smelled the village before his blurred vision could make it out. The reek of it was like a blow to his nose after the moist green scent of the forest, and it roused him part-way from his stupor. The ripe smell of wood smoke, dressed hides and dung almost made him retch. When he could make out what lay before him, he gaped in amazement. This was not the trim stone village he’d been expecting. It looked to be no more than a dripping huddle of huts in a clearing by a river. He winced as a wave of shouting children and barking dogs bore down on them.

  “You’re early back, Bear!”

  “Have you caught a Saxon? Can I stick him with my spear?”

  “Quiet, the pack of you!” roared Bear. “Does he look like a Saxon? What’s the matter with your eyes? More like he’s of the Fair Folk and will ill-wish you for your rudeness!”

  The clamour stopped abruptly, and the children fell back to a respectful distance.

  “Is Emrys to house, Arianrod?” Bear demanded of a bold-faced little girl who had dared to stay closer than the rest. She nodded. “And we’ll need Branwyn. Fetch her there. Be quick!” She spun on her heel and raced off.

  As they passed through the village, men looked up, frowning, from their tasks. Women came to the doors of the huts, then called their children and pulled them inside. At last they came to a hut on the far edge of the village. Bear stopped outside the door. “Myrddin Emrys,” he called. “I bring a sick stranger to your door. May we enter?”

  “Enter, and be welcome,” said a deep voice.

  Lifting the door-flap, Bear pushed David inside, motioning him to a bed-box that held a pile of furs. Too weary to wonder or protest, David stumbled over and sank down on them.

  A tall man with a long beard streaked with grey got up from a chair. “You’ve returned,” he said to Bear. “It’s high time. But what coil is this?”

  “I fear it’s the Lady,” Bear replied.

  Emrys’ shaggy brows drew together.

  “He’s bad hurt, Emrys,” Bear hurried on. “I know he is, though I can find no actual injury. It’s as if he’s had a wicked blow to the head, and his leg pains him as if it’s broken. He’s dizzy, sick. His vision must be blurred, for he keeps walking into things if I let go of him. It’s been two days now, and I’ve had to drag him every step of the way, ranting and raving. I knew he shouldn’t be moved, but what else could I do? I couldn’t leave him there for the beasts of Forest Fawr to make a meal of.”

  “Have you sent for Branwyn? I’ll need her skills.” Emrys knelt down beside David, placing his hand on his forehead. David stared up into his deep bl
ack eyes for a moment, then closed his own. The man’s hand felt cool and dry on his burning skin. David let himself slip away into blessed darkness.

  THREE

  There’s a . . . strangeness about it, Emrys. I could feel it in the Old One. I touched it as you’ve taught me. Asked it what was amiss. I could get no clear answer, but something had happened that disturbed it. Deeply. It felt like ripples spreading in a pool. And the Lady was there. And she followed us.”

  “Didn’t he tell you what happened?”

  “He tried to, but he didn’t make much sense. He’s been delirious most of the way, babbling about his father. And someone named Jamie. There’s a darkness in him—I don’t know how else to put it. He’s been in some sort of bad trouble, I think. Quarrelled with his father as well.”

  “Kin-wrecked? Perhaps that’s what drew the Lady to him.”

  A woman’s voice. “And what of his hurts? Bear was right—I can find no wound on his head, and his leg’s not broken. Yet he’s in terrible pain, and feverish with it.”

  The voices seemed to be coming from far away. David felt as if he were swimming up from dark depths toward a distant light. But it was still too much effort to reach the surface, and he sank again into sleep.

  Much later, he felt something cool on his face and opened his eyes wearily. Very close above him was a face. A clear oval face, framed in a cloud of soot-black hair. Dark-blue eyes looked down into his, and a voice said, “Sleep, David Baird, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  How could she know my name when I don’t know hers? he wondered as he slid under the surface again. Maybe angels don’t have names.

  It seemed that only minutes passed before someone raised his head and put a bowl of something sharp-smelling to his lips. He swallowed a draught that tasted of bitter herbs. Choked. Then, “Is it the angel again?” he gasped.