The Road to Avalon Read Free Page B

looking straight ahead, “How old is this Cai?”
    “Ten. A year older than you.”
    Nine. The old man sounded very positive about that. “He’s big for his age,” Merlin was going on, “but very nice. You won’t have to worry about Cai.”
    Arthur was not worried about any boy. He had learned long ago to take care of himself with other boys. He said, a little gruffly, “I don’t know how to read. Or write.”
    “Of course you don’t. How should you?” Merlin responded easily. “That will come first, naturally. I think I shall start by giving you lessons with Morgan. Morgan is my daughter. She’s eight and it’s time she learned to read and write too.”
    Lessons with a girl. Well, he would take lessons with a dog if he had to. He would do anything to learn to read.
    And no matter what happened, or what the old man’s motives were, at least Merlin had taken him away from him.
    It was late in the afternoon of a golden spring day that Arthur first saw Avalon, of the apple trees. The orchards were in bloom and they rode in through a magnificent canopy of blossoms, pink and white against the green grass and the cobalt sky. For a brief moment Arthur found himself wondering if the old man might be one of the fairy folk taking him to an enchanted world beyond the earth.
    Merlin was watching his face. “Arthur,” he asked gently. “Do you never smile?”
    Arthur stiffened and just then the house came into view.
    It had been built as a palace, Merlin had told him, and it looked like a palace to Arthur. The single-story house was built of gray stone and stretched out on three sides of a great cobbled courtyard. “The main part of the house is the wing in front of us,” Merlin was saying as they rode into the courtyard. “That wing,” and he gestured to their right, “is mainly bedrooms, and this opposite wing contains the baths.” He halted his horse and shouted. In a minute a man came running.
    “Welcome home, my lord”.
    “Thank you, Marcus. Take the horses to the stable, please.”
    The stocky brown-haired man nodded and picked up both sets of reins. He glanced once at Arthur before he led the animals away.
    “Come,” said Merlin, and strode toward the great front door. Arthur followed.
    The large double door opened into an imposing vestibule. Beyond the vestibule was a great mosaic-tiled room, with a marble dais at one end. The throne room of the princes of the Durotriges, Arthur thought with a mixture of derision and awe. He followed Merlin across the room and into another room that opened off it. This room was much smaller and distinctly more cozy. It was furnished with wicker chairs and leather stools, and an old couch leaned against the far wall. This floor too was of varicolored mosaic tile.
    “Sit down,” Merlin said, and gestured to one of the wicker chairs. “I’ll find Ector and be right back.”
    Arthur sat warily on the edge of the indicated chair.
    A long time seemed to pass. Then a voice spoke to him in Latin from the doorway and he looked up to find a small girl regarding him solemnly.
    “I don’t speak Latin,” he said shortly.
    The child came into the room. “I’m Morgan,” she said in British. “Who are you?”
    “Arthur,” he replied, and looked at Merlin’s daughter.
    Her gown had grass stains on the skirt and her hair was hanging untidily down her back. It was light brown and it badly needed a comb. He looked at her face and met the biggest, most luminous brown eyes he had ever seen. The child crossed the room and pulled up a stool next to his chair. “Was that your pony Marcus brought to the stable?” she inquired, seating herself.
    “Yes.”
    “He’s nice. We can give him an apple later, if you like.”
    He didn’t know that ponies liked apples. “You must have a lot of extra apples,” he commented, and she laughed.
    There was a heavy step outside the door, and then Merlin was back, bringing with him a tall broad-shouldered man with graying brown hair and a