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now he led me onto a track that led between the trees where pigs rooted for beechmast among the newly
fallen leaves. Tell Arthur what I suggest, Aelle said. Tell him he can have the throne rather than you if
that s what he wants, but whichever of you takes it, you take it in my name.
I shall tell him, Lord King, I said, though I knew Arthur would scorn the proposal. I think Aelle knew
that too, but his hatred of Cerdic had driven him to the suggestion. He knew that even if he and Cerdic
did capture all southern Britain there would still have to be another war to determine which of them
should be the Bretwalda, which is their name for the High King. Supposing, I said, that Arthur and you
attack Cerdic together next year instead?
Aelle shook his head. Cerdic s spread too much gold among my chiefs. They won t fight him, not
while he offers them Dumnonia as a prize. But if Arthur gives Dumnonia to you, and you give it to me,
then they won t need Cerdic s gold. You tell Arthur that.
I shall tell him, Lord King, I said again, but I still knew Arthur would never agree to the proposal for
it would mean breaking his oath to Uther, the oath*that promised to make Mordred King, and that oath
lay at the taproot of all Arthur s life. Indeed I was so certain that he would not break the oath that,
despite my words to Aelle, I doubted I would even mention the proposal to Arthur.
Aelle now led me into a wide clearing where I saw that my horse was waiting, and with it an escort of
mounted spearmen. In the centre of the clearing there was a great rough stone the height of a man, and
though it was nothing like the trimmed sarsens of Dumnonia s ancient temples, nor like the flat boulders
on which we acclaimed our Kings, it was plain that it must be a sacred stone, for it stood all alone in the
circle of grass and none of the Saxon warriors ventured close to it, though one of their own sacred
objects, a great bark-stripped tree trunk with a crudely carved face, had been planted in the soil nearby.
Aelle led me towards the great rock, but stopped short of it and fished in a pouch that hung from his
sword belt. He brought out a small leather bag that he unlaced, then tipped something onto his palm. He
held the object out to me and I saw that it was a tiny golden ring in which a small chipped agate was set.
I was going to give this to your mother, he told me, but Uther captured her before I had the chance,
and I ve kept it ever since. Take it.
I took the ring. It was a simple thing, country made. It was not Roman work, for their jewels are
exquisitely fashioned, nor was it Saxon made, for they like their jewellery heavy, but the ring had
probably been made by some poor Briton who had fallen to a Saxon blade. The square green stone was
not even set straight, but still the tiny ring possessed an odd and fragile loveliness. I never gave it to your
mother, Aelle said, and if she s fat, then she can t wear it now. So give it to your Princess of Powys. I
hear she is a good woman?
She is, Lord King.
Give it to her, Aelle said, and tell her that if our countries do come to war then I shall spare the
woman wearing that ring, her and all her family.
Thank you, Lord King, I said, and put the little ring in my pouch.
I have one last gift for you, he said and put an arm on my shoulders and led me to the stone. I was
feeling guilty that I had not brought him any gift, indeed in my fear of coming into Lloegyr the thought had
not even occurred to me, but Aelle overlooked the omission. He stopped beside the boulder. This stone
once belonged to the Britons, he told me, and was sacred to them. There s a hole in it, see? Come to
the side, boy, look.
I walked to the side of the stone and saw there was indeed a great black hole running into the heart of
the stone.
I talked once with an old British slave, Aelle said, and he told me that by whispering into that hole
you can talk with the dead.
But you don t believe that? I asked him, having heard the scepticism in his voice.
We believe we can talk to Thunor, Woden and Seaxnet through that hole, Aelle said, but for you?
Maybe you can reach the dead, Derfel. He smiled. We shall meet again, boy.
I hope so, Lord King, I said, and then I remembered my mother s strange prophecy, that Aelle
would be killed by his son, and I tried to dismiss it as the ravings of a mad old woman, but the Gods
often choose such women as their mouthpieces and I suddenly had nothing to say.
Aelle embraced me, crushing my face into the collar of his great fur cape. Has your mother long to
live? he asked me.
No, Lord King.
Bury her, he said, with her feet to the north. It is the way of our people. He gave me a last
embrace. You ll be taken safe home, he said, then stepped back. To talk to the dead, he added
gruffly, you must walk three times round the stone, then kneel to the hole. Give my granddaughter a kiss
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