He rode into the castle courtyard after midnight. On the way to his horse’s stall, his mind touched his master’s.
I’m here.
High up in one of Camelot’s white towers, Arthur registered Merlin’s message, thought Welcome back, and reassured, slept once more.
Beside Arthur, Guinevere made a small sound in her sleep. Although the king and his wife had been married little more than a year, Arthur thought it wise not to tell her that he and Merlin often communicated telepathically. Oh, there were many reasons, but the most important was that Merlin’s main, self-imposed duty was to protect Arthur and thus Camelot, and that meant he occasionally rode away from the castle, in effect, just disappeared. He would come home after he had put a stop to the danger. The way it worked—at least Arthur thought it did—was that Merlin received information from many different sources. For all he knew, Merlin got his crucial intelligence from hawks or hares or fish or dragons or knights or peasants or magic. Merlin never elaborated. But when the wizard would say confidentially, “Sire, I have to go away for a while,” Arthur would always nod assent. He had often seen his kingdom saved because Merlin had learned a piece of crucial information and acted swiftly. Better, then, that the secret means of communication be a secret. Another reason was that Merlin’s ability to see both backward in time and the future was confusing. And the magician himself was not always sure that his visions were correct or that he created what he saw out of his fertile mind.
The wizard considered his ability to work magic a sacred trust and liked to reserve its use to those events that were desperate. Where his magic had come from, he had no idea. It seemed to come when he called upon it. That had been the case from the time he was a small boy. But he liked to settle things bloodlessly, whenever possible, negotiate things, you might say.
Example: A knight of the Table was often challenged to single combat by some cranky man who wasn’t good enough for membership in the Round Table. Arthur lost some of his best knights this way when the man proved to be better than anyone thought and ran his blade through a surprised knight. In a case like this, Merlin would first act as a negotiator, try to calm the fellow down. The wizard always tried soothing words first. That was the best way to do it, he thought, a technique that would be carried out with great success by Benjamin Franklin in his negotiations with France some 600 centuries in the future. But if the hot-headed challenger wouldn’t calm down, Merlin took another tack.
When a hostile knight continued to breathe fire and run his finger over the edge of his blade speculatively, Merlin would pipe up in his deep, melodious voice. “I say, old man, wouldn’t a glass of wine go right just about now?” Then he would take a small, corked terra cotta jug out of his saddle bag, uncork it, sniff the contents with dramatic delight, and offer the challenger a swig of the blue liquid. After a few swigs, the man’s face would smooth out, and grinning foolishly, he would say to Merlin, “Apologize to Sir Bors for me, will you, and please tell him I’m sorry I challenged him. Don’t know what I was thinking of.” The wine, of course, wasn’t wine. It was something that Merlin had picked up from a peasant in a region that would eventually become Spain. The peasant said the name was “trankwilo”—at least that’s what the name sounded like to Merlin—and swore by his first child that the blue liquid calmed humans and animals alike. The farmer liked to give it to one of his bulls that was inclined to be nasty at times.
In this way Merlin saved the knights from the many challenges to combat so tiresomely related in the Arthurian legends. The magician thus kept the knights alive to defend the realm.
But Merlin’s specialty was solving mysteries. He had been born with an insatiable curiosity to know the truth. And he was obsessed with bringing puzzles to a satisfactory close so people wouldn’t be so bothered by them. Whether it was Rob the scullion’s pig whose nose disappeared or Guinevere’s dress that vanished and was replaced mysteriously by a gown of gold tissue, these mysteries presented a challenge Merlin couldn’t resist.
The day after he got back from his latest adventure, Arthur and he were having a nice glass of wine. After Merlin had related his adventure and reassured Arthur that he could relax now that his kingdom was safe again, Arthur caught him up on the news of Camelot. They smiled over the doings of silly Sir Pellinore, Sir Lancelot’s latest love affair that had again gone sour (he didn’t seem able to keep a girlfriend), and the dinner planned that night, which was to feature, for the zillionth time, roast boar.
Back in his tower room, Merlin heard the tapping of a beak on one of the windows that faced north. A swallow was gazing at him, her face pressed against the window. When he let her in, she said in Swallow, “Well, it’s high time. I’ve been waiting for you, three days it is now. And the message so important too.” She perched on his huge plank table, and lowered her plump body so he could retrieve the message in its tiny canister. She knew her duties and told Merlin that her cousin Sylvia was willing to go with him should he need help in a new adventure. She was waiting down in the courtyard. “I can’t go with you this time, Sir,” she explained. “I’m expecting an egg.” Merlin said, “There will be a fine present when that egg hatches, Sally. Thank you for getting Sylvia.” Sally then flew away to Merlin’s huge comfortable rookery on the castle grounds to take to her nest.
The message was from one of Arthur’s far-to-the-north kingdoms, Carnigorm. “Helpcomenowlothlyladyhurry.” The wizard thought again about the need for punctuation and grammar so messages could be written clearly. Perhaps he should take time to invent them.
But then his face fell. The Loathly Lady was no laughing matter. There were many of these around in those times, and all were dangerous. The humble folk had no idea how to handle such creatures. He’d have to go right away. He sighed and dressed for the road before he went in search of Arthur. While he was pulling on his leather jerkin, he wondered what he would do without the swallows. Sentimental people in the kingdom thought the swallows migrated somewhere else once a year; they didn’t know that Merlin controlled them. He had an intricate schedule worked out so that adult swallows were always available for messenger service.
The king frowned when he heard Merlin had to leave again. “You’ll miss the roast boar,” he protested. “Is it so important?”
Merlin tried not to show his relief that he wouldn’t have to consume that tough meat for once. “Yes, sire. A Loathly Lady in Carnigorm.”
Arthur’s grin disappeared. “Didn’t Gawain meet one of those ladies one Christmas?”
“Yes, that time the Green Knight rode his horse in here and challenged you to chop off his head, Sire. Gawain was obliged to find the Green Knight one year later and let GK cut off his head. Well, we know how that came out. But many forget that there was a Loathly Lady in the knight’s castle. Sat right up on the dais with all the nobles. Turned out that she was behind the plot to expose Gawain as immoral, even though he had a spotless reputation. Sometimes you see those ladies in all their ugliness, but under the right conditions, they can turn themselves into the most beautiful of maidens.”
“Glad that didn’t work out, for Gawain’s sake,” said Arthur. “He’s a true knight.”
“I have to go to Carnigorm and see what the Lady is after and if there’s anything I can do to thwart her. Talk to you when I get back, sire.”
***
Merlin rode away from Camelot, headed toward the empty, barren place that was the north, the traditional place in tales the folk told about where evil things were located. In those days, knights named their horses and their weapons. Merlin mounted his horse Realta, which meant “star.” His horse had nickered happily when Merlin gave the name to her. It pleased him to use irony in the smallest things. In this case, the horse was an old and ugly mare that nonetheless had great vanity like women, and she gave the enchanter steady, dependable service. (The ride was bumpy, though.) He took his sword too. He had named the sword Claíomh, which meant simply “sword.” You notice that he had put some time into choosing a name for his horse because she had feelings and he didn’t want to hurt them. But his sword had no feelings, he thought, hence the practical name. It satisfied the conventions of chivalry. He put a good sharp knife with no name in his belt. Now Merlin was a practical sort; he didn’t want to depend on his magic to subdue a foe. But sometimes it did take more. He knew from the past that negotiation was rarely possible with Loathly Ladies.
After four days of travelling, during which Merlin thought about all the things he could do to bring the Loathly Lady to her knees, he finally reached a group of huts on the outskirts of Carnigorm. He knocked on the door of one of the better looking hovels, and when it was opened by a yawning bearded man who stared at Merlin as if he’d never seen the like (and of course, he hadn’t), Merlin said: “Greetings. I received a letter”—here the peasant looked blank, so Merlin said, “I heard from somebody that the Loathly Lady is visiting Carnigorm and causing a lot of bad things to happen.”
“Yah,” said the peasant.
“Where can I find her?”
“Castle Carnigorm. Be you one of hers?”
Merlin got it and hastened to say, “Nay, nay. Where is the castle?”
Merlin saw a slow smile start in the black beard and a nod of the head. The peasant stepped outside and jerked his huge thumb in a northerly direction. “Five or six hides that way.”
Merlin smiled to say thank you. The door slammed. Merlin got back on Realta, and sat for a minute, thinking how many hides equaled five or six miles, and then took off.
By the time he got to the castle, the sun showed that it was about 11:00. The castle was crudely made of huge stones and well-fortified, with iron hinges on its massive wooden doors. He decided he’d better reconnoiter first, using a useful word he’d recently invented. It meant to look over the situation so he’d make a better decision about what to do. In this case, he’d ordinarily go to a pub and find out what the locals knew, but looking around him, it was clear that there was only the castle and the hovel-dwellers to ask for help. He got off his horse, tied her where she could nibble scant the grass, ascended the castle ramp, and banged on the door. The knocker had the face of an ogre. Don’t like the looks of this, he thought.
The door slowly opened. A servant stood mute.
“I’m here to see the king of this land.”
He thought the servant wasn’t going to let him in, so he used a magic spell that made people act. The servant sprang into life and motioned him through, and escorted the wizard through a courtyard where people were going through the motions of keeping the castle going but in eerie silence, and then through a door which led to the Great Hall. At the end of the Hall, a man who looked like a king sat sunk in misery on a throne, the like of which Merlin had never seen. Arthur’s throne was a simple wooden chair, but this throne was made of highly polished wood.
When he reached the throne, the king didn’t look up.
Merlin waited but the king didn’t raise his head. It was bad manners to address the king like this, so Merlin stood and waited. Finally the king said, “Who are you?”
“I am Merlin. I work for King Arthur, at Camelot.”
“Yes,” said the king. “I’ve heard of him. Why are you here?”
“I received a message that you are beset by a Loathly Lady, Sire. King Arthur sent me here to find out more about it and give you aid if possible. We had a problem with one of those ladies too,” and told the King the story. “Would you like to talk about it?”
The king unbent. “Yes, I’ll tell you the story. Good of Arthur to offer help. My name is Reynauld the Second. I inherited this god-forsaken place from my father, the first Reynauld. The Loathly Lady has just about reduced me and my people to automatons.”
It seems the Lady had shown up and asked to see the King. The porter had been so awed by her beauty that he showed her into the throne room. The King was glad to see her too. Seems he couldn’t find a wife of royal blood to marry. Along with her beauty, she possessed a keen intelligence and a made-up story of her royal origins. Reynauld started the process of courtship and she seemed amenable to what her duties would be in this awful place. But she promised lots of parties and dancing and riding horses and she said gaily that she would also like to have children.
“I take it she transformed.”
“Yes, suddenly. One day—must be about thirty days now—she flew into a rage at something one of the servants did, and transformed into a screaming harpy with a twisted face. More beast than woman. Once more, she didn’t transform back, and we have had this—this thing—here in the castle with us since then. You cannot talk to her. She keeps to a room upstairs, only coming down to almost explode with rage over some imagined violation someone has performed. Of course I am the person who puts up with most of it. And I’ve tried everything I can think of. Locked doors and guards are useless. Even our armed knights mean nothing to her. They cannot subdue her. She gets out of every place we try to imprison her. Maybe your magic can do something.”
Merlin needed more details. “Does she attack anyone physically?”
“Yes. She has started doing that. She’s apparently had martial training somewhere. She beat the cook with a mace until he howled and stopped making things she didn’t like. I have no idea where she came from, how she knows how to swing a sword or any other weapon she chooses. Once that started, she’s gone at people with anything she can find to use. I’ve seen her with a dagger, a hammer, an ax.”
Merlin thought this all over. Suddenly he was hungry as a lion and asked, “Sire, can we eat something? I’ve come a long way and didn’t get a chance to eat very much on the way.”
The king, obviously embarrassed at his lack of courtesy, hurried to tell a servant to prepare something for the gentleman and himself, but warned Merlin that if the Loathly Lady heard there was a guest she would probably make an appearance at the table. “If that happens, I can’t promise you won’t be attacked. Better prepare yourself to see something so ugly you’ll never forget it.”
Merlin asked for an empty room to sit in before the meal. The king hurried away to see that food would be prepared, saying that he’d be back to escort Merlin to the dining table soon. I need to think this over, the magician said to himself. The king is so unnerved that he can’t be depended on to have my back if she attacks me. The men-at-arms are useless. As he sat quietly, he ran over all the magic remedies he had at his disposal again. Better to be prepared to do the worst to this woman or whatever she is, if she’s as bad as King Reynauld describes. As a matter of fact, he hoped she would show up at the table so he could see this creature for himself, to figure out indeed, what she really was. Human? Animal? Supernatural creature? And there was the most important decision he would have to make. Merlin possessed the power to kill. He would only do it if there was no other choice.
Meanwhile the king, feeling a little better, consulted the chef as to what would be good to serve their guest who deserved the best the chef could prepare. After all, the guest was the renowned Merlin of Camelot and King Arthur. The chef insisted he’d get something ready but he wouldn’t appear anywhere near the dining room. The king, nobly, said he’d serve it himself. He couldn’t afford to have another chef run away.
Back in the dining hall, Merlin and Reynauld made a feeble attempt at eating an indifferent ragout, and came up with a plan to get rid of the lady. This is how it went. Reynauld would ask ten of the disgraced men at arms to come into the hall, sit down at the table, and describe to Merlin what had happened when the woman first appeared. The shame-faced knights agreed that they had been mute with admiration for her beauty when they first saw her; several even thought people must be wrong about her. But all confessed that they had been mute with horror the first time she transformed. Merlin listened to their stories quietly.
They had all stopped talking when suddenly the wizard became aware of a most beautiful woman standing before the men at the table. She was gazing at Merlin with an intensity which managed to shake him a little. Oh, oh, he thought. This didn’t happen often to him. Generally he was oblivious to the women in Arthur’s court who tried to snare him. He found his usual iron resolve wavering. Stiffening his resolve, he gave her complete attention and stared right back. He wouldn’t give in to the Lady’s opening gambit. He would not be swayed.
The woman continued to stare, trying to unnerve him. He had no doubt that when she did this, most men felt emasculated.
“Well, who are you,” she said finally, “another one of Reynauld’s idiots?”
The king, god bless him, tried to defend Merlin. “Merlin is a most renowned person. He works for King Arthur and is known throughout the land for his magic. He is always honorable, and deserves our utmost respect.”
The Lady’s face was growing distinctly uglier by the minute. “Arthur? Didn’t I visit his court one time? He seemed like a popinjay to me, and as for that woman he married, Guinevere isn’t it? That milk-faced cow. You don’t think much of me either, do you, Merlin?”
“That the best you can do?”
With that, she went into a complete transformation. Her beauty completely gone, she screamed unintelligibly at him in garbled noises that could have been curses in a language he’d never heard. He was fascinated by discovering that she was now both male and female. Animal too. As her mouth opened and shut, he saw she had grown the huge teeth of a frightening dog. The king cowered, looking any way but at her. The knights had drawn their shields but timidly.
Shrieking, she leaped up on the table. Merlin lightly sprang up on the table opposite her. Out of nowhere, a battle sword appeared in her hand. She thrust the blade at Merlin’s face with wild jabs. Every time she jabbed at him, he swung his head over to one side and she missed. Then she went completely out of control. Merlin had no doubt that she’d pick another weapon and keep after him until she finally killed him.
There was nothing else to do but use his final trick. He started to transform. All eyes were on him, including the mad ones of the Lady. He started to use a certain spell. As he said it quickly over and over, he grew taller and taller and broader and broader. Slowly and inexorably, he grew huge and powerful. He had made up his mind that he must do this; there was no other way. And he would have to destroy her. He wasn’t sure how to do that, but for the moment he had grown so tall that she was completely unable to do anything to him. He felt his head hit the high, ornamented ceiling of the banquet hall and he told himself that was enough. Stop growing, he muttered to himself. And he did.
Now he could look down on her. She was still mouthing curses interspersed with bouts of screams that were terrifying. Merlin looked down at the King and his men who were completely awed by both the Lady and Merlin’s feats of magic. It occurred to him that at this juncture, he needed to use some magic to put the King and his men to sleep. And he did. But the spell wouldn’t work with the Lady. She was neither woman nor man nor animal. On the table below, she was still making ugly noises. An idea came to him. He raised his foot, which by dint of his spell was huge by now, high above the horrid figure and brought it down on top of her several times. That did it. With a last scream, she suddenly shriveled and turned into a greasy mess. Now, he thought, to become myself again. He reversed the spell he had used on himself to grow out of all proportion and slowly and gracefully sank back to himself until he was once more standing on the table. Noticing that the mess that had been the Lady was still there, he imposed a wipe-up spell to take care of that. Taking stock, he recited a spell to awaken the King and his men. They awoke, yawning, but Merlin had cast another to erase their memories as well as those of everyone in the castle for good measure.
***
Soon it was time to leave and go back to Camelot. The King and his men had reverted to the conscientious men they should have been and the castle had recovered. When Merlin entered the courtyard, a swallow with a brilliant red breast hovered above him. “Greetings, Sylvia.”
“I’ve been waiting for you, Sir. I take it you don’t need me to carry a message?”
Merlin smiled broadly. How nice to see someone from home, after what he’d just been through.
“No, everything is fine now.”
The grooms had brought Realta out of the stable, and watched the dear old horse stand perfectly still while Merlin mounted. The grooms couldn’t help but wonder why the exalted wizard preferred this rather saggy old horse.
Merlin touched his heels lightly to his horse’s side and they rode away to the south and Camelot. Sylvia, protective to the last, had decided she’d accompany her master and his horse back home and swooped through the air in perfect circles of happiness as they left the horrid castle of King Renault and his ugly kingdom.
Maybe with that monster gone, Merlin thought, and a few other things changed, the Carnigormians can thrive. I’ll talk to Arthur when I get home and see what he thinks.
Four days later Merlin, Realta, and Sylvia came into the courtyard at Camelot. Arthur and Guinevere came down to welcome him back.
“Just in time for dinner,” said the Great King. “You’ll be delighted, Merlin. Roast boar. And you can tell us the story of Carnigorm at table.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Marilyn M. Fisher holds a PhD in British and American Literature, and has long enjoyed teaching medieval literature and mythology to her classes. She has been a college professor of literature and composition in New York and Virginia. Her study of literature from the fourteenth through the twentieth centuries has shaped her approach to writing her four novels and short stories. She’s also a voracious reader with interests in British and American history and a love of mysteries of all kinds.
