Merlin's Wood (Mythago Wood) by Robert Holdstock Page A

How is he?’
    ‘An old man, living rough. People round here look after him, clothes, barter, disgusting cider brandy. It’s hard to remember the ogre in him. In fifteen years I don’t think he’s changed a bit.’
    After a moment Rebecca said, ‘Let’s eat. I’ve bought haslet. Your favourite, if I remember.’
    Sitting across the table they ate the thick slices of brawn in silence. Rebecca was about to fetch the casserole when Martin said, ‘Where were you the night Seb died? Can you remember?’
    She sat down, quizzical, then ran a finger and thumb down an amber-beaded ringlet. ‘I was with you and your friend Peter, chasing the woman and child on the path, the ones who were running …’
    Martin felt his face go cold. Rebecca had not been with him that night. He had been with Peter, but the people on the path had been two men with staffs and unstrung longbows, one of them a heavy set man with bushy beard, the other aristocratic looking, dressed in half armour. Martin had watched Peter dancing inside them, but as usual simply ran in circles round the figures, studying them in great detail.
    He told as much to Rebecca, who said angrily, ‘Nonsense. I was there. We went back home together, climbed through the window together, and the next morning woke up to the shouting. What the hell is this, Martin? What’s going on? You’re white as a sheet. What’s frightened you? What’s going on?’
    His heart thumping, unexpectedly anxious, he said, ‘The bosker said he’d seen you by the lake in the forest the night Seb drowned.’
    Rebecca frowned for a moment. ‘What lake? Do you mean the pond?’
    ‘No, the lake at the heart, the big lake.’
    ‘There’s no big lake in Broceliande. Not that I know of.’
    ‘He says he saw you there. The night Seb died. You were dancing in the forest, behaving like a wolf.’
    ‘Like a wolf?’
    ‘That’s what he said.’
    ‘Why didn’t he speak to me, then? Why didn’t he contact me? I wasn’t afraid of him, I was the only one of you who wasn’t.’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Martin said. ‘I don’t know why he didn’t speak to you about it.’ He regretted the lie as he spoke it and so transmitted the lie instantly.
    Rebecca looked disgusted. She picked up a napkin and wiped the make-up from her face, an angry, pointed act. The years, the sunburn, the hard side of her came back. She was upset, clearly confused, aware that Martin was keeping something back from her but frightened by something deeper.
    ‘Have you seen this lake?’ she asked.
    ‘I saw it today for the first time.’
    ‘He took you there?’
    ‘For the first time. Yes. It’s a long way in, and it’s a difficult route, but I’m damned sure it wasn’t there when we were kids.’
    Rebecca stared across the table, thinking carefully. ‘Everyone knows there are ghosts on the path. So why not a lake that magically appears? Maybe it’s an adult vision. Maybe as we age we can start to see things inside the wood. It’s just that we never look.’
    ‘That’s more or less what Conrad said. He thinks he’s a lake-finder.’
    ‘Nice talent. But I still don’t understand why thinking I might have been in the forest when Seb died should make you upset.’
    She grasped the point suddenly, leaning forward on the table, beads rattling in her hair. Her eyes gleamed with a terrible, controlled fury. She spoke in a whisper. ‘Or maybe I do. You say Conrad saw a girl. He must have thought it was me – and he thinks I might have seen him … that’s right. Not a wolf at all, then … Not a wolf that killed Seb. The old bosker’s been guilty all these years, and he’s made you suspicious of me. He’s trying to implicate me.’
    Her voice rose in pitch. ‘And you believe him. You believe him. You unbelievable shit!’
    Martin said quietly, ‘Beck – I’m telling you plainly: you were not with Peter and me that night.’
    ‘Liar! You know I was.’
    ‘We were alone, Beck. The encounter you’re talking