Myrddin offers aid and advice
“Well! Brother Myrddin!”
“Forgive me for coming to the house, Ethelmund,” the old monk said, meekly smiling. “I went to the workshop, but they told me you were here.”
“Nonsense! You’re always welcome here. Come on in out of the cold.”
Ethelmund stepped inside, and Myrddin shuffled in after him.
“You’re going to catch your death one of these days,” Ethelmund scolded him.
Myrddin chuckled delightedly. “Now, if that’s all I risk, I shall never die. I’m more worried about my death catching me!”
Ethelmund laughed. “Well, it isn’t in here by my fire, so you’re safe here. What can I do for you today?”
“I need you to make some toys for the young Prince.”
“Oh!” Ethelmund had been about to turn back to Myrddin, but his hand flew up and grabbed the mantle, stopping him in time before his face was revealed.
“That is…” The old man came up and laid a gentle hand on Ethelmund’s arm. “I don’t wish it to be a burden to you.”
“No! No, Brother.” Ethelmund put on a smile and turned to the monk. “I’ve been making toys all my life, through it all, you know. I guess it gives me a pleasure to do something that makes the little children happy. I guess I just want them to be as happy as they can, as—as long as they can.”
Myrddin touched his arm again, and somehow that feeble hand gave him the strength to hold back his tears.
“So, what sort of toys do you need? Is it for Prince Drage?”
“Oh, of course,” Myrddin chuckled. “I forget he’s not ‘the young Prince’ any longer. Sometimes he does too. They’re always jealous when a new baby comes, aren’t they?”
Ethelmund choked.
“I’m sorry, friend,” Myrddin said earnestly. “I’m not thinking before I speak today.”
“No, no. That’s not… anything. What sort of toys was it?”
“Well, I need a few more animals for his ark. I have a few particular stories I want to tell him, and I need some animals he doesn’t have yet.”
Ethelmund shook his head and chuckled. “Is there a clean or unclean beast I have not yet made for that boy?”
“I have some of the animals I need, but not all. Some of them may be a challenge for you, Ethelmund. We shall see whether you can meet it.”
“Name them.” Ethelmund smiled, thinking that it might be the sort of thing he needed to keep his mind off of everything.
“I need an owl, a bat, a snake, a spider, and a rat.”
“A rat?” Ethelmund laughed. “A spider?”
“That’s what I need. I know you can make an owl since you have made doves and ravens and chickens. And I think you can make a rat, because that’s no harder than a cat, say. But I am curious to see how you will manage the bat and the snake and the spider.”
“So am I! This might be amusing.”
“Perhaps your wife could make the snake out of something soft. Couldn’t she?”
“I—” Ethelmund held his breath, pleading with his face to remain relaxed and calm.
“How is Gunnilda?” the monk asked gently.
“She’s—she’s upstairs!” Ethelmund sobbed. He turned and slammed his fists down on the mantle. He had spoken without thinking, but he had spoken true. That one word said everything. If Gunnilda was upstairs, in her room, in the middle of the day…
“Is she unwell?” Myrddin asked.
“She’s…”
Ethelmund turned back to the monk. Those mild blue eyes seemed like wells of compassion and understanding, and Ethelmund was a thirsty man.
“Well, Brother,” he faltered, “she’s… in her bed today. She’s been thinking lately that she would be having another baby in the harvest time, and now she thinks… she thinks maybe it’s not meant to be, is what she said to me.”
The blue eyes were shining, nearly overflowing with tears and compassion and understanding.
“She said she wanted to keep to her bed today, and maybe if she just… lay still…”
“It is a difficult time,” Myrddin said after a moment. “The little one must decide whether to stay or to go, and Heaven is a pretty place. Sometimes I wonder why any of them come at all.”
“Because we need them!” Ethelmund gasped, still unthinking.
He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. The fire was hot, but it wasn’t the fire that made his heart pound so, and it wasn’t the fire that was making him say these things to the old monk.
But he could not stop himself. He grabbed Myrddin by his bony arms.
“And I’ve been so cruel to her! I haven’t wanted to be happy about her baby because I wanted to be sad about my son. Do you hear that? Can you believe that? I didn’t want to be happy! And now, sure enough, I won’t be! And now I only wish we could be! Her and me!”
He stopped and looked uneasily up at the ceiling, which was nothing less than the floor of the bedroom where Gunnilda lay.
“Do you think she heard me yell?” he whispered anxiously.
“Let’s hope so,” the monk said.
“What? No!”
“Did you ever tell her those things?”
“No, but…”
“I think a new baby at summer’s end would do you and Gunnilda some good, Ethelmund. But you can’t expect new babies to patch up problems between you and your wife.” Myrddin scratched his head and sighed. “Too many people think that, and it’s hard on the children in the end.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh! I don’t know. I suppose I was thinking about somebody else, too. But listen, my friend. Here is what we shall do. If your wife would like to see me, we shall go upstairs and pray together, the three of us, and perhaps one of the saints in Heaven will tell this little one that he’s needed and wanted here. This valley is a pretty place, too. And then I shall leave you, and you shall tell your wife what you just told me.”
“How can I?” Ethelmund whimpered.
The monk smiled. “In English, my friend. A pity you never thought of that before.”
