"H. Warner Munn - Merlins Godson" - читать интересную книгу автора (Munn H Warner)

my grandfather was a babe in arms. The island was bled white of fighting-men, only skeletons of
garrisons remaining, but by the time of my grandfather’s entrance into the Legion firm sturdy substance
had formed upon these bare bones of organization. One might say that the brains were still Roman, but all
the flesh was British.

The Sixth fought the Picts, the Scoti and the Saxons, and although the barbarians had gained a foothold,
they were all but dislodged again and were held with their backs to the sea. Then, just as another year
might have decided the struggle, Rome called.

Men were needed—Rome itself was in peril—my grandfather followed in his father’s footsteps, into
mystery, and never returned. None of the levies returned, and his wife, left lorn with young children, my
father among them, moved west toward the mountains of Cambria and brought up her brood hi
Viriconium.

Rome sent us no more governors, no more high officials or low. Our fortresses in the west continued to
be held by the decimated Sixth, but the very best men were gone, and I do not know where even their
graves may lie.

Then the Jutes, Saxons and Angli, who had occasionally fought beside us as allies against the Picts,
turned against us, and my mother fled across the Cambrian border, looking over her shoulder at flaming
Viriconium, where my father with other brave men fought and died that Rome might be perpetuated in
Britain.

My early childhood was spent hi wandering about among the wild Cymry, whose bravery had challenged
and broken all the power that Rome could hurl against them, and which now remained the only corner of
Britain which was free from the Saxon peril and which, strangely enough, now protected the culture of
Rome. And at last I come to my own time and the story you must know.

Among these Cymry dwelt the strange man known to them as Myrdhinn, but to us across the border as
Ambrosius; a man of noble aspect and terrifying eye, of flowing white beard and majestic carriage; a man
whose very origin is shrouded in mystery.

If the tale is true, Myrdhinn was sired by a demon in the reign of King Vortigern, baptized instantly by
Blayse, the mother’s confessor, thus becoming a Christian, but retaining the demoniac powers of magic,
insight and prophecy. Others have considered him so wise that he could not be even slightly mortal, and
maintain that he was born at the age of eighty at a time co-exis-tent with the construction of Earth and has
since been growing wiser!

It is more probable, however, that he was a foundling brought up in childhood by Druids who still keep
up their ancient practices in Cambria, and taught by them their mystical lore, though he in later life
embraced Christianity. Druidism warred in his heart with Christian tenets.

It is well known that the sages of antiquity possessed knowledge lost to us in these tunes of decadence,
and locked fast in Myrdhinn’s brain were many secrets, including that of prolonged life.

I am beaten down by years, grizzled, gaunt and almost toothless, yet Myrdhinn in all the time of my
acquaintance remained the same as that of my mother’s description, when as a young woman she first
saw him among the hills of Cambria, striding along a lonely glen, hale, rugged and strong, the child Arthur
holding his hand and half trotting to keep up with the old man’s vigorous pace.