Merlin's castle was not overly large, and as far as Wilbur could see after he got inside, most of it was under ground. He and the old man were in a great damp chamber, the walls of which were solid rock. The room was filled with Merlin's jugs, with tripods from which boiling kettles hung, and with great black cats which prowled everywhere. The door was of solid oak and immovable. Wilbur knew; he had tried it once when Merlin had gone out.
At the moment Merlin and he were sitting facing each other on a pair of stone couches. They had been sitting so for some hours and the silence was wearing Wilbur down.
"So Arthur is going to be king," he said at last, in an effort to start a conversation. "He looks like a fine boy."
"He is," Merlin agreed. "Chivalrous and all that. It was foreordained. That's why I had to get back. I knew he was going to be along that road today, and I knew he was going to pull out that sword."
"I thought you said he had a fault."
"What a fault," Merlin sighed. "He's got your trouble, but in reverse. He was born without fear. It's a bad thing for a king to be like that. He'd lead his people into sure death. You heard what he said this afternoon. Even odds of fifty to one mean nothing to him."
For the first time Wilbur saw the whole thing. Until now he had entertained a faint hope that Merlin might not really want his eye. But this was the clincher. The Elixir of Caution! Desperately he cast about for a means of escape. There was none. And Merlin was watching him with an eagle eye.
"Maybe," Wilbur offered weakly, "a few drops of my blood would do the trick. You don't want Arthur to get too timid."
"Nice of you to think of it," Merlin said. "But I really couldn't fool with that recipe."