High up in the Yorkshire Dales, near the village of Middleham

There came through the woods a great clamour, and a clattering of hooves, and that excited barking of dogs that always signalled the start of a hunt. There was dust swirling about the horses that hurried down the roughly-marked paths, dust that was cast aside into the undergrowth and into the eyes of a man who sat distracted among the bushes, and who stood at this interruption and watched as the huntsmen raced by.

Yet they seemed to slow, and within mere seconds had halted, and at the head of the party a man with a dark cloak flowing behind him jumped down from his horse. He sheathed the horn that he had winded to command his men to stop, and turned so that he faced the man in the brush, who stood in surprise, not knowing what else to do.

He regarded this man who approached him with a wary eye. Though his cloak was dark, it was deceptive as to the rich scarlet clothes that he wore beneath it, and seemed merely for protection against those brambles that snaked up and down tree trunks and, in places, across the path.

'So!' said this important-looking fellow, 'you are the hedge-wizard.'

'That's what they call me, sir,' replied the man, his voice trembling just a slight bit; he looked down at his clothes, which were torn and covered with leaves and branches, and decided that just "hedge" would probably suffice for the moment at least.

The cloaked man chuckled a little. 'They told me you had little idea of current matters, but I did not know you would be so ignorant.'

'Ignorant, sir?' he asked innocently.

'Surely you do not recognise your King?'

And at this the man started, and bowed low without really realising what he was doing. 'Sire, I'm sorry. I didn't know what you looked like.'

'Evidently. And nor did you recognise my insignia.' The man tapped the tunic he wore on top of a thin sheet of mail, which sported the emblem of a boar emblazoned in silver thread. Though he looked a bit indignant, he still smiled, for he could tell that the wizard truly had not known him on sight. 'But come! These are petty quarrels. Take that horse, there. I shall speak with you later.'

'About what, sire?' asked the wizard, curious and more than a bit worried.

'Has none told you?' The King looked amused. 'I wish to learn about magic.'

'Sire,' said the hedge-wizard in surprise.

'Say nothing now. I wish to continue this hunt.' And with that he turned away and blasted his horn once again; at this signal the men straightened up on their horses, and those who had jumped down believing that the King would be a while talking started, and mounted their horses once more.

When he was satisfied, the King turned again, briefly. 'Your name, I believe, is Merlin, is it not?'

'Yes, sire.'

'Good. Get on that horse, and I will speak with you later.'

Then the King hurried to his own steed, and mounted it, and made to set off. Merlin, somewhat bewildered, stared for a moment at the horse he had indicated – a brown mare with a white mark on her forehead, sturdy and good-tempered, he could tell on sight, but not really accustomed to hunting.

You and me both, thought Merlin with a small smile, and clambered onto the saddle with the air of one who hasn't the faintest idea what he is doing.


The English were suspicious of those who possessed magic. It was a dead or dying art, Merlin knew that, and it was perhaps this rarity, this strangeness that created fear amongst the people. In another time, another age it had been common, even accepted; now they seemed to be back in old times. And he hadn't been able to protest, and nor had he had the confidence or the energy to: for he knew that his voice would be alone, and anyway he did not much like doing magic anymore. It brought back bad memories.

It was the prejudice against magic that had made him attempt to make his abilities secret, as he had done so long ago, but somehow he had gained the name of hedge-wizard, and he did not know quite whether people therefore knew of his powers, or whether he merely had the dishevelled and strange appearance of a magician, and his occasional occupation as a physician hinted at magic. Now, however, it seemed that the King knew of this name and of his magic. Would he be tortured or executed, like so many before him? He did not think so, somehow, considering the King's actions and words. But what did he mean, learn about magic? What did he wish to know? How to do it, or merely its history?

It was with these jumbled thoughts in his mind, as well as a few fleeting memories of a blurred forest and racing horses and the killing of a boar, that he stepped into the great hall of Middleham Castle. Here was a place he had often regarded from below, or from across the dale: a magnificent castle, one that, though it had not been intended for royalty, seemed to be well-suited as one of the houses of a monarch. He had never entered it, unsurprisingly: indeed, he had rarely entered any buildings this large and this opulent in a long while.

The men who had been on the hunt began to disperse, some of them disappearing off on urgent business or whatever, and some of them meandering around the castle until they were called for tea. The King however shepherded Merlin towards a small chamber off the hall and sat him down by the fireplace, before going to change into more suitable clothes. He returned to the chamber in a simple doublet that, were it not for the jewels about his shoulders and the rings upon his slight fingers, might have given the appearance of one far less important than a King. On his head was a dark hat, which he removed out of politeness as he re-entered the room, and which he set down on the desk in the opposite corner.

Then the King came to the fire, which was lit, and sat opposite Merlin; he regarded him for a second before beginning to speak.

'I hope I have not surprised you overmuch,' he apologised. 'It must be a strange thing that I ask of you.'

'Yes, sire,' stammered Merlin.

'I am glad that I have managed to locate you, for I received notice that you were in Yorkshire, and hurried here to find you, hardly hoping that you would still be in the vicinity of my own dear Middleham.'

'Indeed, sire,' said Merlin.

His face must have given away more fear than he intended, because the King looked laughingly at him, seeming to question him. 'What troubles you?'

'I... I thought you might execute me, sire,' said Merlin, perfectly truthfully.

'Ah! Then I pity you, for I must have terrified you. Alas! that I should have such little tact. But, Merlin –' and as he tasted the name he seemed to falter a little, and there was some spark in his eyes '– I have at first but one thing to ask of you. It – it is my wife, Merlin. She is ill, and the doctors have tried all they can, and they believe that they can do nothing for her.'

'I myself am a tolerable physician,' said Merlin, as if forgetting for the moment that he was also a magician, 'but if others have failed, then –'

'There must be some spell you can use.'

Merlin furrowed his brow, and said nothing. He had seen people perish of illnesses – so many people, and though people came to him, people who did not know of his magic, or people who did not fear it, pleading for his help, they usually came too late, and managed only to heap a heavy burden of guilt upon the poor man's shoulders. He did not want to risk the King's wrath if he could not heal his Queen.

'Some spell... some potion... anything.'

'What is she ill with?'

'They say consumption.'

Merlin shuddered. Consumption was one of those difficult ones, difficult to control, difficult to stop, and immeasurably difficult to heal, with or without the help of magic. And it was a terrible disease, one that all men feared.

'Can you help her?'

Now the King leaned towards him, his eyes pleading; and within these eyes Merlin saw a deep, intense emotion – the sadness of loss, a loss he had suffered before now and which still preyed on his mind; and he was so desperate that he could not bear to lose another. Hence he had resorted to nothing less than magic.

Merlin blinked and looked away. He knew what it was to lose someone so close to you. 'I can't guarantee it, sire.'

For a moment, the King's jaw worked, as if he was going to shout out some angry comment or a curse; but he was not taken by the devil of anger, and managed to keep his composure. 'I... understand that. But please, you must try.'

'Where is your wife?'

'Come.'

Then he stood, and led Merlin from the room; Merlin saw that the confident King who had approached him in the forest was gone, and replaced by half of that man; and he knew that if he did not succeed in the task he had been set, he would perhaps destroy this fragile monarch.