                       PROLOGUE

Men are such pathetic, lumpen things - so predictable in their appetites,
such slaves to their tedious desires and pleasures. Creatures of dull habit
and savage compulsion, they waver between one and the other, never
perceiving anything of the world beyond their animal passions. Why, the
cattle of the field know more of life.
Ah, but it is all too easy. I have long since tired of their trivial ambitions
and endeavours. Ignorant brutes, they deserve every misfortune their beast
of a god can rain down upon them.
Where is real strength? Where is true courage? Where is genuine
discipline harnessed to uncompromising volition, and both allied in total
harmony, each subject to the other? Where are such treasures to be found?
On the battlefield, in the heat of the fight? Ha! That is what men think, and
as in all else they are vastly mistaken. War is children with dirty faces
squabbling over the dungheap. In war, life - that single most precious
substance in the universe - is bartered cheap, thrown away, wasted, traded
for a prize which will not last beyond the changing of the seasons. Fools,
all of them! Blind, ignorant fools - it is pure joy tormenting them.
Only that which endures beyond time is worth having.
Well I know it. I, who have given all for the mastery of time and the
elements, know the value of life. Truly, truly, I have spent my life on the
things that endure. Not for nothing am I called the Queen of Air and
Darkness.
                                ONE


I, Gwalchavad, Lord of Orcady, write this. And no gentle labour it is. Nor
less rough the reading, I fear. Unlike Myrddin, or the brown-cloaked
clerics, I am no master of the scribbler's craft. God's truth, the sword hilt
better fits my hand than this close-pared reed. Even so, I am assured my
crabbed script will live long after the hand that framed it is dust. This
Brother Aneirin assures me, and he is wise in such things. So be it.
I was born in sight of Ynys Prydain, with my brother and twin, Gwalcmai
- both sons of noble Lot, himself a king of the Orcades. My birth, in itself,
is of small consequence. But for Arthur, I would have lived all my days in
that wild place and never travelled beyond the boundary stones of my
father's island realm; but for Arthur, my life might have passed in hunting,
fishing, and settling the squabbles of petty chieftains. I would never have
heard of the Kingdom of Summer - much less the Grail - and truly, I
would not be writing this at all.
Still, I will persist in my endeavour so you may know the way of it.
Anyone with ears has heard of Arthur and his trials and triumphs; tales
and more tales flood the land from Lloegres to Celyddon. Many bards tell
them now, and a few of the monkish kind have written them, too. A sorry
scribe I may be, though perhaps not least among these gall-stained ink-
spillers.
They speak of wars and battles, and that is right. They tell of brave men
defending the Island of the Mighty with their lives. These tales are good,
and some are even true; I take nothing away from them. But my task is
ordered differently.
See, now, it is the Grail I tell: that strange stirrer of marvels, that most
uncanny vessel of desire. Dangerous, yes, and more beautiful than words
alone can tell, it is the holiest treasure in all this worlds-realm. But for
Arthur, that precious cup would surely have been forgotten, and its healing
virtues lost through ignorance and neglect. Yet, truth be told, but for
Arthur, none of the terrors and tribulations I describe would have befallen
us. But for Arthur, the Grail was almost lost, and a flame of Heaven's pure
fire extinguished on the earth.
That is a tale few have heard, and it is worth more than all the others. Ah,
but I race before myself. Know you, the Battlehost of the Ancient Enemy
is large, and falters before nothing save the True Word. And the sound of
the clash when those two combatants met will echo through the ages, I do
believe it. Blessed among men, I was favoured to ride at my king's right
hand in the foreranks of the fight. Tremble and turn pale; sain yourself
with runes and strong prayers, call upon the company of angels, and
barken well to my warning: where great good endures, great evil gathers
close about. This I know.
Hear me! Speak of the Grail and you speak a mystery with a secret at its
heart, and I, Gwalchavad, Prince of Orcady, know the secret as none other.
If the telling gives you pleasure, well and good but I should not like cold
eyes to read it in this book.
Therefore, look to your heart; look long and hard. If you are friend to all
that is true and right, then welcome and read on. But if you would savour
the sauce of slander and shadow tricks, feast on lies, betrayals, and
seductions, you will find little to your liking here. Blessed Jesu, I mean to
tell the truth of what I know.
Thus, I begin:
For seven long years we warred against the ravaging Saecsens
- seven years of hardship and privation, misery, torment, and death. Under
Arthur's command, and with the aid of the Swift Sure Hand, we prevailed
in the end. This is well known -indeed, even small children know how the
warhost of Britain raised the wall on Baedun Hill and destroyed the bold
invader
- so I will not say more, except to point out that we had scarcely drawn
breath from our hard-fought victory at Baedun when we were beset by the
wandering Vandal horde. Fighting first in lerna, then in Britain, we chased
Amilcar, that greedy boar of battle, over most of Lloegres before he was
subdued.
A strange war, that; it lasted little more than a season, yet brought more
waste and destruction to our land than all the Saecsen battles put together.
Why is it that trouble always seems to come in threes? For with the havoc
of the Vandali came plague and drought as well. Those who grumble and
complain would do well to remember that the Pendragon had three
enemies to fight, not just one. If there is another king who could have done
better against such odds, then show me that man, I say, or shut your
mouth. There is no pleasing some people. Though many raise their voices
in accusation and make loud lament over lost lands and such, I still think
Arthur chose the better course.
The thing is over now, in any event, so it does no good to piss and moan.
If they knew the Bear of Britain at all, they would realize their miserable
whining only hardens his conviction the more.
Better a trustworthy foe than a treacherous friend, and we have seen
enough of scheming friends. The Island of the Mighty is better off without
the likes of Ceredig, Morcant, Brastias, Gerontius, Urien, and their
rebellious ilk always making trouble. The Devil take them all, I say. They
will not be missed.
Where were they - those who make such loud complaint -when Arthur
stood against the Vandal lord? Urien and Brastias thought to usurp the
High King's portion, but did I hear them offer to take the High King's
place on the blood-soaked battleground? Gerontius was ever quick to goad
the others in their petty rebellion, but did I see bold Gerontius in the
forefront of the fight?
No, I did not.
We had amassed the greatest warhost seen in Britain since Great
Constantine - twenty thousand men and fifteen thousand horses! Yet, on
that fearful day Arthur faced his foe alone, and the treasonous lords were
nowhere to be seen. Well, they made their choice. So be it. But instead of
insulting Heaven with their lament, they would do better to offer heartfelt
praise that they possess both breath and tongue to complain.
Arthur paid dearly for the peace we now enjoy. When they carried him
from the field of battle, so, too, were our hearts borne away - and the sun
and stars as well, for we walked in darkness without Arthur.
'They have taken him to Ynys Avallach,' Rhys said, his face grey with
fatigue and worry. 'If you know any prayers, say them now.' For if Arthur
would be healed, it must be in that holy place and none other. The Wise
Emrys knew best what to do. Rhys then delivered Arthur's last command.
'You are to conduct the Vandali to the north, where they will take
possession of lands surrendered by the rebel lords. Any Britons living in
these realms will be cast out and their settlements made forfeit by their
lords' treason.'
Thus they departed, leaving us to establish the peace Arthur had won. We
divided the warhost; Bedwyr, Cai, and I conducted the new Vandal
chieftain, Mercia, and his tribes to the lands Arthur had granted them in
the north. Cador and the rest of the Cymbrogi - the name is Arthur's
choice, it means companions of the heart - turned their attention to
overseeing the departure from these shores of the traitors and their
followers whose lands had fallen forfeit.
Burdened by weight of numbers, and fatigued with all the fighting we had
endured, we made our way north very slowly, leading the Vandal host,
searching out water along the way. Far easier said than done, I fear; with
each passing day the drought deepened, causing hardship from one end of
the land to the other. It broke my heart to see holding after holding
deserted -many had fled to Armorica - but worse still were the burned-out
strongholds, those which plague had ravaged and destroyed.
If the sight of so much suffering made us heart-heavy, the thought of
displacing honest British folk from their homelands brought us to despair.
Oh, it is a hard, hard thing to tell a man his home must be surrendered and
all his life's labour has come to naught because his rogue of a lord has
broken faith with the High King. Stab that man in the heart; it is kinder in
the end, I swear it.
I loathed the task set before me, and prayed for a way to evade what must
be done. Day after day, as we moved the Vandal host northward, I prayed
to God for a miracle.
Behold! My prayer was answered, not with a miracle, but with a resolution
almost as good. One night, the sixth or seventh since leaving our
encampment near the battlefield at Caer Gloiu, Mercia and his priest
approached Bedwyr's tent. Bedwyr had brought Arthur's camp chair and
tent as the sole, scant consolation of a miserable journey. We were
enjoying a moment's rest after another arduous day.
'What do they want now?' growled Bedwyr.
Like Bedwyr, I desired nothing more than to end this day of heat and dust
in good company. 'I will deal with them,' I said, thinking to send them
away; I stood to call out.
'Stay, brother.' Bedwyr sighed, changing his mind. 'As we have not had
more than a dusty glimpse of them for a day or two, we had better allow
him his say.'
Swarthy Mercia, dark hair and eyes - darker still in the fading twilight -
hailed us with his customary salute, striking his heart with his fist. The
once-captive priest, Hergest, spoke when Mercia spoke, saying,
'Greetings, friends.'
'Greetings,' Bedwyr replied bleakly. After days of herding Vandali, he was
finding it hard to muster any enthusiasm for their concerns.
'Sit down if you will,' I said, making a gesture towards courtesy. 'We
would offer you a cup to wet your throats on such a sultry day, but we
have nothing to put in it.' I said this last to discourage the appeal I knew
was coming. Every day since the beginning of this journey, one or another
of the barbarian chieftains had come before us to demand a greater water
ration - sometimes two or three on the same day. What little water we had
was shared out to all in equal measure, as I told them - each and every day.
'It is hot, yes,' said Mercia. His speech, though broken, was rapidly
improving. No doubt Hergest was a good teacher.
'Yes,' Bedwyr answered, leaning back in his chair. 'We need rain - the land
needs rain.'
'My people thirst,' Mercia said bluntly.
Bedwyr reacted irritably. 'Am I a fountain? I just said we need rain. It is a
drought, you know. Everyone is thirsty.'
Mercia gazed mildly back, undisturbed by this outburst. He glanced at
Hergest, who uttered a few harsh-sounding words in his own tongue. The
Vandal merely nodded and loosed a lengthy torrent of barbarian jabber.
When he finished, he nodded again, this time to the priest, who said, 'Lord
Mercia wants you both to know that he would be less than noble if he did
not ask for water when his people are thirsty. He intended no disrespect.'
'Very well,' Bedwyr muttered, somewhat chastened by his reply.
'Mercia also says that he is unhappy,' continued Hergest. Before Bedwyr
or I could frame a reply, the priest said, 'The source of his unhappiness is
this: rooting Britons from their homes sits ill with him. To be the cause of
such hardship does make him seem small in his own eyes.'
'I understand,' Bedwyr told him, 'but there is nothing to be done. The
hardship to the Britons has come about by the willful action of their lords
who broke faith with Arthur. The punishment is shared by all. That is the
High King's command.'
When the stalwart priest had conveyed my meaning, Mercia answered. 'I
quarrel not with Arthur's judgment. But I would offer a - ah, an
understanding,' he said, speaking through Hergest.
'Yes?' asked Bedwyr warily. 'What is this understanding?'
'Allow us to settle unclaimed lands,' suggested Mercia through his priest.
'Let stay who will, but tell them we will not possess inhabited British
holdings.'
This was unforeseen. 'And let Britons and Vandali live together in the
same realm?' I asked.
'If any care to stay,' Hergest answered. 'The Vandal would share the land
with any willing to share the land with them.'
'Is he earnest?' Bedwyr inquired, pulling on his chin.
'Indeed.' Hergest assured us adamantly. 'He has spoken to the other
chieftains, and they all agree. They would rather settle the wilderness than
displace the innocent.' He paused. 'May I explain?'
'If you can.'
'It is this way,' said Hergest. 'Arthur's generosity is more than they
expected and it has shamed them. The people of Vandalia are a proud
race, and resourceful. Because need is great, they will accept the land
Arthur has decreed for them, but their pride recoils from causing hardship
to the kinsmen of those who have befriended them.'
I shook my head in amazement. 'Hardship? Blessed Jesu, only a few days
ago these bloodlusting barbarians were plundering and burning these same
British settlements!'
'That,' Mercia spat, 'was Amilcar's doing.' Obviously, there was little love
between the defeated Vandal king and his minions.
'And is Mercia so very different?' Bedwyr asked harshly, pressing the
matter, I think, to see what sort of man the new king might be.
Without hesitation, the priest replied. 'Mercia regrets the plundering and
burning that Amilcar inflicted on this land. It was war. Such things
happen. But now that Mercia is lord of the Vandali, Hussae, and Rogatti,
he has pledged friendship with Arthur. This friendship he values greatly,
and would increase its worth by extending it to the Britons holding the
lands wherein the Vandal tribes must settle.'
I was amazed. The suggestion showed both benevolence and shrewdness.
The cunning I might have expected, but the compassion in the barbarian's
suggestion took me by surprise. I looked at Bedwyr, who looked at me,
rubbing the back of his neck.
Hergest saw our hesitation. 'Mercia does not ask that you trust him - only
that you try him.'
'It is not a matter of trust,' Bedwyr said slowly. 'The summer is far
advanced; there is no time to raise crops before winter comes. You will
require dwellings, and cattle pens, and everything else. Where will you get
them, if not from the Britons?'
When the priest had explained Bedwyr's words to him, the young chieftain
smiled. 'We are not without skill in such matters,' he replied through
Hergest. 'Besides, the wise ones among us say that this winter shall be like
those of our homeland in the southern sea. It will do us no harm.'
'Winter in the north is harsh and long,' Bedwyr told him, 'as I know only
too well.'
'Your concern does you honour, Lord Bedwyr,' Hergest answered. 'But
would not homeless Britons suffer the winter as readily as homeless
Vandali?' He lifted a hand to Mercia. 'My lord says that if we are to live
under Arthur's rule, let it be among Arthur's people.'
The young chieftain's eyes shifted from Bedwyr to me, and back again -
willing us to believe.
I regarded him carefully, uncertain what to do. Truly, they offered us a
way out of the hateful task of forcing people from their homes -
countrymen whose only sin was having unfaithful noblemen for lords.
What would Arthur do?
I was on the point of sending them away to allow us to think the thing
through when Mercia said, 'Lord Bedvyr... Lord Galahad' - that was as
much as he could make of our names -'please, I beg you, let us prove the
trust that has been granted us.'
'Very well,' Bedwyr said, making up his mind at once. 'Let it be as you
say. We will conduct you to unclaimed lands and there you shall make
your home. I leave it to you how to divide the realms between your tribes.
Make your settlements as you will. But there is to be no trouble between
your people and the Britons who choose to remain.'
He said this sternly, every word an implied threat. Mercia rushed forward,
knelt before him, seized his hand, and kissed it. No doubt this was a
common thing among the Vandal kind, but we are not so accustomed.
Bedwyr snatched his hand away, saying, 'Rise, Mercia. You have the thing
you seek. Go and tell your people.'
Mercia rose and stood a little apart, smiling his good pleasure. 'A wise
decision, Prince Bedwyr,' Hergest assured us; he touched a hand to his
throat and I noticed he no longer wore the iron slave ring.
'Make certain I do not live to regret it.'
'The Vandali are barbarians, it is true. They give their word rarely, but
when they do, the vow endures to the fifth generation,' the priest affirmed.
'I trust Mercia.'
'May God be good to you,' Bedwyr told him. 'I am content.'
'I am heartily glad you are content,' I told Bedwyr when they had gone. 'I
only wonder what Arthur will say when he hears what we have done.'
'I care nothing for that,' replied Bedwyr. He turned away quickly, adding,
'I pray instead he lives to hear it.'
                              TWO


Bedwyr retreated to the tent, but I remained outside, thinking, and
listening to the sounds of the camp settling in for the night. Twilight
deepened around me. I watched the dusky slope of the distant hillside
begin to glow as campfires wakened in the darkness; soon the aroma of
roasting meat stirred me.
What has become of Rhys? I wondered, thinking that he should have
returned long ago.
He and a small company of warriors had gone in search of water as soon
as we halted our day's march. We were camped in a shallow valley, and
there were streams in the surrounding hills. Finding water had become the
chief task of each and every day; we did not neglect any possible means of
filling the waterskins and jars. As we moved farther up the vale, the
streams narrowed and thinned, and the search became more difficult. We
had not located any drinking water this day, so Rhys had undertaken to
continue looking.
The rest of the Cymbrogi were nearby, having established camp at a
second place on the hillside. We did this by way of guarding the Vandal
host, yet allowing ourselves a ready retreat. For though they were no
longer armed - their spears alone filled three wagons! - there were so
many of them that we could easily be overrun. Thus, we always made two
camps a short distance apart and kept watch through the night.
'He will soon return,' Bedwyr assured me when I pointed out that it was
well past dark and still no sign of Rhys and his company. 'Why uneasy,
brother?'
'How much water remains?' The Cymbrogi also stood guard over the water
wagons, lest anyone try to steal another share.
'One day at full rations,' he replied; he had already reckoned the amount.
'We could go on half rations, but I would rather wait until Rhys returns to
make that decision.'
I left him to his rest, and returned to the campfire feeling uneasy and
troubled - though I could not think why. Perhaps I was merely tired. It
seemed like years since I had slept more than two nights in the same
place... years since I had slept without a weapon in my hand. Once Mercia
and his folk were settled, I thought, we will begin to enjoy the peace we
have all fought so long to achieve.
A pale phantom moon rose and soared like a silent spectre over the narrow
valley. I supped on something tough and tasteless - stewed saddle, perhaps
- and finished the last of my day's ration of water. I retreated to the tent
and lay down, but found the closeness inside stifling; so I took up the
oxhide and stretched out on the ground a short distance away - whereupon
I found I could not sleep for the barking of the camp dogs. I lay on my
back with my arms folded over my chest, gazing up at the heavens,
marking the slow progression of the moon, and wondering if the mutts
were always so loud.
I lay a long time before realizing that I was listening for Rhys' return. I
identified all the night sounds of the camp -horses whickering and jittery
at their pickets, the tight voices of the sentries as they moved along the
boundary, the far-off call of a night bird in a distant tree - all familiar, yet
made peculiar by my listening. Or perhaps it was something else -
something in the air making them seem that way.
I must have dozed without knowing it, for when I looked again, the moon
was well down. I heard the short, sharp challenge of a sentry, and the
expected reply. I rose at once and made my way to the picket line to see
Rhys and his band dismounting. Some of the men swayed on their feet,
exhausted by their long search.
'Good hunting?' I called, hurrying to join them.
Rhys turned when he heard me. The look on his face halted me in my
steps. 'Rhys?'
He tossed a quick command over his shoulder and then stepped near. 'We
found a spring,' he said, his voice husky and strange. Perhaps it was
merely fatigue, but I have seen terror often enough to recognize its many
guises, and I thought Rhys wore it now.
'A spring, yes,' I said, searching the steward's face for a sign. 'Good. Well
done. Is it far?'
He took my arm, wheeled me around, and started walking me away. When
we were out of hearing of the men, he said, 'No, not far. The spring is not
large, but it supplies a pool. We can get water there.' He paused,
hesitating, uncertain how to proceed.
'Rhys?'
There is something queer...'
'About the spring?'
'Yes.'
'You said it was not far -'
'Indeed, it is just beyond the hill.' He lifted a hand, but the gesture died and
he lapsed again into a hesitant silence.
'Well?' I demanded, growing impatient with his reticence. 'Speak, man.'
His reply was swift and harsh. 'I do not like it! Something queer is out
there.' He glowered at me.
'Calm yourself,' I said soothingly. 'Come to the tent. Sit down. You have
not eaten anything all day. You must be starving. Come, Rhys.'
I led him to the tent and sat him in Arthur's chair, then roused one of the
younger men who served the Dragon Flight. 'Wake you, Baram,' I said.
'Rhys has returned. Fetch food and water.'
Rhys sat slumped in the camp chair, his head bent forward, resting in his
hands. I had never seen him so. 'Food is coming,' I said, dragging up a
stool. Thinking to distract him from his thoughts, I began telling him about
our talk with Mercia and Hergest. In a little while, Baram appeared with
the food; I dismissed him to his rest once more, and served Rhys myself.
When he finished eating, he seemed in better spirits, so I said, 'Now, then,
tell me about this strange pool you have found.'
Rhys nodded, took a long draught of water, swallowed slowly, and then
began. 'We came upon it before sundown. It is no great distance from
here, and we discovered it soon after we began. There is a rocky outcrop
on the hillside, and a beech grove below. The leaves on the trees looked
fresh - not wilted like all the rest - so we rode to the place for a closer
look. The grove hides a cleft in the rocks - pass through it and you come to
the pool.'
Rhys' voice trailed off, as if he were revisiting a painful memory of long
ago. His dark eyes were downcast and he clutched the empty water jar
tightly.
'A cool place to escape the sun,' I observed, encouraging him to continue.
'It must have been a welcome find.'
He glanced at me and then away again quickly. 'We entered the grove and
rode to the pool,' he said after a moment. 'I dismounted and heard a
sound... singing - it sounded like someone singing, but though the grove
and pool are small, I could not see anyone.' He fell silent again.
'Hiding in the rocks, perhaps,' I remarked.
He paid me no heed, but sat hunched forward, his jaw bulging as he
clenched his teeth.
'Rhys,' I said softly. 'Fear for nothing, man. It is Gwalchavad beside you
now.'
After a time, he said, 'I knelt to drink. I remember stretching forth my
hand to touch the water...'
'Yes? And then?'
He raised his eyes and the fear leapt out in his glance. 'I do not know!' He
stood abruptly. 'I reached towards the water and I - when I looked again, it
was night and the moon was shining in the pool.'
'Night comes quickly to these glens,' I offered halfheartedly. 'It must have
been later than you knew.'
'Am I a babe in arms to know nothing of day or night?' he shouted.
'Calm yourself, brother. I only meant -'
'I remember nothing of what happened in the grove. One moment it was
bright day, and the next I knew, it was night -and that far gone.'
I gazed at his anguished expression and tried to soothe him. 'Perhaps you
fell asleep. It was hot and you had ridden long. You were tired, and it was
cool in the shade. Overcome by your fatigue, you fell asleep, and why not?
A little nap is no bad thing. The men with you, did any of them remember
falling asleep?'
'No - they remember no more than I,' he said, his voice tense with the
effort of holding it steady. 'All I know is that the sun shone as I knelt, and
when I stood again, the sky was bright with stars and night was far
advanced. We returned at once.'
'It is disturbing, perhaps,' I granted, 'but nothing to worry over. No doubt
you make more of it than there is.'
Rhys glared defiantly. 'It is sorcery!' he growled. 'Mark me, something evil
lurks there.'
I slept ill, rising at dawn to ride with Rhys to the enchanted pool. As he
had said, it was no great distance away, lying in a narrow valley just a hill
or two away from camp. A grove of beech trees stood at one end of the
glen, dark in the shadow of the hillside. There were six men with us,
leading the wagons, for I was determined to have that water, enchantment
or no.
We dismounted at the edge of the grove and stood for a moment gazing
into its dark-shadowed heart, as into a cave or tomb. It was quiet, but not
unnaturally so.
'Do you hear?" Rhys whispered.
'It seems peaceful enough.'
'Aye, too peaceful.' He arched an eyebrow knowingly. 'There are no birds.'
'Well, it may be they have gone - ' I began.
'And this the only water nearby?' he challenged. 'The dell should be alive
with birds.'
'Stop whispering!' I told him sharply. 'If there is anyone here, they will
have seen us long ago. Come.' I started into the grove. 'Let us examine the
pond.'
Night's chill hung in the shaded depths of the grove - as if the sun's
warming rays had no power to penetrate beyond the outer branches of the
trees. We passed between the leaning boles and ducked under low-hanging
limbs, and after a few steps came to the water. My eyes gradually adjusted
to the dim light, and I saw that though the pool was not large, it was set in
a deep, rock-rimmed bowl. I made my way to the water's edge and looked
in, but could not see the bottom.
A grey rock rose from the far end of the basin like a great squatting toad. I
heard the slow rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water splashing from the rock
into the dark water.
'You see?" whispered Rhys. 'It is just as I told you.'
'It is an unlovely place, to be sure,' I replied. 'But I find nothing amiss
here.'
'No,' he answered after a moment's silence. 'Nor do I. Whatever was here
is gone now.' He turned pleading eyes to me. 'There was something.'
'I believe you, brother.'
He turned away, stricken afresh. 'I remember now - it was... it was - ' His
jaw worked as he struggled for words. 'I was suffocating - as if a hand
clenched my throat. I could not breathe. My lungs felt as if they would
burst. I remember thinking I must breathe or I will die. And then... nothing
-until I saw the moon's reflection there.' He pointed to the centre of the
rock bowl and looked up through the branches of the trees as if he thought
he might see the moon once more.
I also raised my eyes and scanned the leafy bower above us. The branches
of the close-grown trees wove a dense roof over the pool; not a scrap of
blue sky showed through anywhere.
Rhys shifted uneasily beside me. 'On my life, Gwalchavad,' he said softly,
'I thought it was the moon.' He paused. 'I saw something glowing in the
water, I swear it!'
'Did you say that you had tasted the water?' I asked and, kneeling, cupped
my hand and dipped out some water. I raised it to my nose and sniffed, but
could smell nothing unusual. I put my hand to my lips and wet my tongue.
The water was warm and tasted slightly muddy, but not at all bad for that.
'What say you?' Rhys watched me closely.
'I have tasted worse,' I replied.
Rhys squatted beside me and reached out to cup some water. As he did so,
I observed a strange mark on the fleshy part of his upper arm. 'What is
this?' I wondered. 'A wound?'
The skin was broken and discoloured - pierced by what appeared to be
small pricks at regular intervals.
'It looks like a bite,' I remarked. 'An animal of some kind. A dog, perhaps?'
Rhys looked stricken. 'I remember no bite.'
'Well,' I said, 'it is not so bad. No doubt you have forgotten.'
'Gwalchavad,' Rhys said, his voice thick, 'I would know if I were bitten by
a dog.' He craned his neck and held his arm to look at the wound. 'I would
remember.'
Once, when I was but a lad, my brother, Gwalcmai, and I had found a cave
and entered to find a sleeping bear. I still remember the awful sick dread
that overwhelmed me as I heard the slow, snuffling breath, saw the black,
shapeless mass of fur, and realized that we had stumbled into a death trap
unawares.
I felt the same feeling now: as if we had intruded on something better left
undisturbed.
Glancing around quickly, I stood. 'Let us fill the water casks and leave this
place.'
As soon as the wagons were loaded, we left the grove and hurried back to
find that the Cymbrogi had struck camp and were ready to leave on
another day's march. Seeing no good reason to tarry, Bedwyr called the
order, and Rhys raised the hunting horn and blew a lengthy, rising blast to
signal our departure. The long, disorderly ranks of Vandali began moving
once more. I watched for a moment; then, steeling myself for another
endless, scorching day in the saddle, I lifted the reins and rode on.
                            THREE


The only person I ever loved did not love me. I was young then and
foolish, I know. I wielded not a fraction of the power I now possess, or
things might have gone differently. The arrow was meant for my sister.
Does that surprise you, my sweet? How so? Charis never spared a thought
for me. She was already grown when I was born, and though we shared
the same father, Avallach the Invalid never spoke two words to me in all
the time I lived under his roof.
The beloved Briseis was dead and cold in her grave long, long before my
mother shared the great king's bed. He needed Lile; and it is true he
would have died but for her healing skill. Avallach used her, depended on
her, but he never loved her. Even in death Queen Briseis commanded
Avallach's affections, and Lile the nursemaid was merely tolerated. Poor
Lile, she wanted so to be his wife, and though he married her in the end,
she was never more than his mistress.
Even I, a barefoot grubby child with dirty hands and snotty nose, could
see that my mother was insignificant, and in my infant heart I vowed never
to allow myself to descend to insignificance.
Oh, but I would look at Charis, so beautiful and strong. The sun in its
glory was not more radiant and bright. I wanted nothing more in all the
world than to be like her, to be her. When I saw the way my father looked
at her, the way his eyes filled with love and admiration for his golden-
haired daughter, I wanted it all the more. I would have given the world
and everything in it just to have Avallach smile at me the way he smiled at
her.
He never did.
At first, we harboured some small hope that the drought would slacken its
hold the farther north we rode. That was not to be, however, for the hills
beyond the Hafren Vale were just as dusty as those we had left behind,
and the streambeds were just as dry. Nor did a single cloud ever darken
the sky. From dawn to dusk the heavens remained empty, the sun rising
and setting in a firmament of fiery white, like a ball of flame simmering in
a lake of molten iron.
I have heard of desert lands where rain falls but once a year, though I had
never known Britain to suffer so for lack of rain. Searching for water to
keep ourselves and the Vandal horde supplied became our sole
occupation. Fortunately, there are springs in the central hills where we
could refill our casks. If not for these founts deep in the earth, we might
have died of thirst.
Thus, with God's help, we were able to keep moving until reaching Afon
Treont. Though the bracken on the hills was brown and tinder-dry, and the
Treont was showing a wide band of cracked mud and lumpy stone along
either bank, there was at least good water to be had in the long lake just to
the north.
There, we paused to rest for a few days. The animals could drink their fill
from the shallows, but the better drinking water was farther out, beyond
the green, stagnant pools; we had to use boats to get it - a labour which
exhausted most of the day - and the warriors were far from pleased about
the tedious occupation.
'Ferrying water casks in coracles is like herding geese on the back of a
pig,' declared Cai. He and Bedwyr stood on the bare rock shore watching
the small round boats struggling with their loads.
'I see it keeps your tongue wet,' observed Bedwyr sourly.
'Only just,' replied Cai. He watched the tipsy boats for a moment, then
said, 'I suppose we must be moving on again soon.'
'Nay,' Bedwyr replied. 'I am thinking we will stay here.'
'But Arthur said -'
'I know what Arthur said,' declared Bedwyr edgily. 'But he could not know
how hard it is to keep these people fed and watered.'
'Rheged is still some way to the north,' Cai pointed out, rubbing his
whiskered chin.
'And I am thinking this is far enough!' Bedwyr growled. 'God love you,
Cai, but you do know how to fret a man.'
The flame-haired Cai shouldered the affront with placid acceptance. 'I
merely suggest -'
'With this damnable drought, there will be no harvest in Rheged or
anywhere else,' Bedwyr explained sharply. 'Why go all the way to Rheged
when they can just as easily starve here?' Indicating the dark-wooded hills
beyond the lake, he said, 'At least here they can get water and whatever
can be had from the forest.'
'I see your point,' replied Cai.
'You do?' asked Bedwyr suspiciously.
'It is a good plan - as good as any other.'
'Also, the settlements hereabouts are not so many that the folk will be hard
pressed by the Vandali,' said Bedwyr, continuing his argument.
'Enough! I said it was a good plan. The sooner we settle these... these
people, the sooner we can head south. I am anxious for word of Arthur.'
'And I am not?' demanded Bedwyr. 'You are the only one eager for word
of Arthur, I suppose?'
'If it is a fight you are wanting,' Cai answered gruffly, 'go argue with Rhys
- no doubt he will oblige. Two of a kind, the both of you.'
Bedwyr flared, but held his tongue. He gave Cai a dark, smouldering look
and stormed away, grumbling to himself. Cai watched him stumping along
the lakeshore. 'And take your temper with you!' he called at Bedwyr's
retreating back.
I saw what had happened. 'Do not be angry with him,' I said, moving to
Cai's side.
'Am I angry?' he shouted. 'Am I the one biting the head off anyone who
happens by? Anyway, he started it - him and his foul mood.'
'The heat,' I suggested, 'is making everyone surly.'
'Och,' agreed Cai, clucking his tongue. 'By the Holy Three, I wish it would
rain.' He turned a clear blue eye towards a sky just as clear and blue. 'Just
look at that, would you? Not a cloud anywhere - not a single cloud all
summer. It is uncanny, I tell you.' He drew a damp sleeve across his face.
'It is too hot to stand out here any longer. I am going back.'
He stalked off, leaving me to watch the labourers on the lake. The round
stones all along the shore were black where the moss had been blasted by
the sun - like skulls whose flesh had been burned to a dry crust. The
drought was, I reflected, exposing and killing much that was green and
tender. Only the tough and deep-rooted would survive. As with plants, so
with people.
Upon returning to camp, I discovered several more riders preparing to
leave. Bedwyr was sending word to the surrounding settlements. 'Never
fear, I have saved Urien's settlement for last, brother,' he informed me.
'That one will require a man of wisdom and judgment. That is why I am
sending you, Gwalchavad.'
'You are too kind.'
'As we are staying here,' Bedwyr said, 'we will let the chieftains and
headmen come to us. Why not? It saves us chasing all over Britain
bringing the bad news.'
'It saves some of us, perhaps.'
'Well,' said Bedwyr with a wry smile, 'a borrowed horse never tires.'
'What am I to tell them?'
'Ah, that is where your wisdom and judgment will be invaluable.'
First light the next morning, I called two of the younger warriors to
accompany me on my errand; they were raw, fresh-featured youths, one
named Tallaght, the other named Peredur. They were glad for a chance to
quit the coracles for a day or two, and we left as soon as the horses were
saddled, striking north and west, searching for the trail Bedwyr maintained
we would find, and which would lead us to Urien's fortress in the south
Rheged hills. As Bedwyr knew the land, I did not doubt him in the least,
but it seemed to me that we rode a long way before finding anything that
resembled the track he had described.
'Is this the trail, do you think?' wondered Tallaght doubtfully.
'We have seen no others,' I replied, looking at the narrow, overgrown track
- little more than a beaten path through thick bracken. 'It will serve until
we find another. Who knows? It may become more serviceable farther on.'
With that we rode on, eventually coming to a stand of birch trees - the
outriders, as it were, of the thickly forested hills farther on. As there was a
bit of grass showing green in the shade of these trees, I decided to stop and
let the horses graze a little before continuing on our way.
The wood was cool and it felt good to get out of the sun for a while. We
dismounted, refreshed ourselves from the waterskins, and then lay back in
the long grass to doze - an indulgence denied those enduring the swelter
and confusion of the lakeside.
It seemed as if I had just closed my eyes when Peredur nudged me. I came
awake with a start. 'Shh!' he warned, his face close to mine. 'Listen.'
There came a light, buoyant sound - such as the breeze might make of a
summer's evening, or a rill as it slips and splashes through the glen - but
the sound was made by a human voice, and I found it enchanting. Tallaght
and Peredur were sitting all hunch-shouldered, their faces tight and swords
half drawn.
'Have you never heard singing?' I said, climbing to my feet.
'Never like that,' Peredur murmured, regarding me strangely. Tallaght, too,
appeared unnerved by the sound.
'Put up your blades,' I said, 'and let us find the creature making this
delightful sound.'
The two obeyed reluctantly, and I wondered at their odd behaviour. Likely
they had fallen asleep and the singing had wakened them out of a dream.
However it was, I put the matter behind me and proceeded into the wood.
The singing seemed to drift to us in fits and starts, which made locating
the source more difficult than it might have been; just when we thought
we had found the singer, the sound would stop, only to begin again
slightly farther away.
'She is leading us into the forest,' I whispered to Tallaght after we had
chased a while. 'You and Peredur go around' - I made a circling motion
with my finger - 'I will drive her towards you, and we will catch her
between us.'
'She?' wondered Peredur.
'A maid, most certainly,' I asserted. 'I have never heard a man who could
sing like that. Now, then, let us see if we can catch this elusive songbird.
Ready?'
The two nodded, and I started ahead once more; they waited until I had
taken a few paces and then darted off the trail on the run. I proceeded at a
slow but steady pace, taking care to make more noise than necessary in
order to maintain the illusion that there were still three hunters in the
chase. Walking along, listening to the lilting song drifting back to me, and
watching the flickering patterns of sunlight on the path, I fell into a
reverie. It seemed as if I walked not in dappled forest light in the heat of
another dry day, but in the cool dawn of a fine misty morning. I fancied
that I could even smell the sweet fragrance of spring flowers as I passed,
though these were long since gone.
And then, all at once - so swiftly that it startled me - I stepped into a glade.
There, on the grass before me, sat a beautiful young woman, flaxen-haired
with tawny skin. She seemed to have fallen on the path, for she lay on one
elbow and the mushrooms she had been gathering were scattered about
her. Her mantle had risen, revealing a shapely leg. She was bare of foot
and head; her golden hair was uncombed, but long and tightly curled,
giving her the look of a wild thing.
My sudden appearance seemed to have surprised her, for she glanced up,
catching her breath as her eyes met mine. Jesu save me, those eyes! - deep
green and ever so slightly slanted, giving her a most beguiling aspect. She
was dressed poorly; her mantle was smirched, the hem ragged; there were
holes where it had been torn. Clearly, she had been digging with her
hands, for the fingers of both were filthy.
She sat in surprise for a moment, her lips half parted, as if uncertain
whether to scream. Seeing her agitation, I raised my hands to show I held
no weapons and said, 'Peace, sister. I mean you no harm.'
She looked at me curiously, but made no move to stand or speak. I moved
a step closer, and we looked at one another for a long moment. I had never
seen eyes so clear and so green.
'Are you hurt?' I asked, bending low on one knee. 'Do you need help?'
Still she made no answer.
I was about to repeat the question when Peredur and Tallaght burst into
the clearing. They were sweating and breathing hard from their run. They
looked first to the young woman and then to me; Tallaght's bewilderment
melted at once to relief, but Peredur stared, his expression growing
strange.
'We have found our singer,' I said, and motioned the two of them closer.
To the young woman, I said, 'You need have no fear. These men appear
more fierce than they are.'
Glancing at the warriors, the girl hastily pulled her tattered clothing over
her legs and began struggling to her feet.
'Allow me to help you,' I said, leaning forward and offering my hand. She
looked at my hand but did not take it. I said to the warriors, 'I think your
rough looks have stolen her voice.'
Peredur's odd expression altered; his eyes showed white all around. He
appeared distressed and confused, as if in terror for his life.
'Calm yourself, brother,' I said. 'There is no harm. See, we have upset the
lady. To disturb one so beautiful is surely a sin.' Addressing the young
woman, I offered my hand once more. With a quick glance to the others,
she took it and allowed me to raise her to her feet.
'I am Gwalchavad,' I told her, and asked, 'What are you called?' She
declined to reply, so I said, 'We are making for Urien Rheged's stronghold.
Perhaps you would kindly show us the way?'
She regarded me closely, watching my mouth, then pointed through the
trees to the west.
'And is it far?' I asked again. Without a word, she knelt and began
gathering the mushrooms she had spilled onto the path. 'Here, men, help
her. Perhaps she will lead us to the fortress.'
Tallaght stooped and commenced retrieving the mushrooms; Peredur, still
staring, made no move. 'Well? Will you stand there gaping all day? Lend a
hand,' I commanded. 'We must be getting on our way.'
He bent to the task with, it seemed to me, extreme reluctance. I could
make no sense of the lad's strange behaviour. Had he never met a beautiful
girl before? What manner of man allowed himself to be so unnerved by a
pretty face and a comely foot?
We made short work of gathering the scattered mushrooms, which she
received without a word and secured in a fold of her mantle. 'Now, then,' I
told her, 'if you would not mind leading us to the fortress? We have
business with your chieftain.'
She turned and started walking in the direction she had pointed. I started
after her, advancing only a few paces, however, when Peredur called out,
'Wait! We should not leave the horses behind.'
I suppose that in the distraction of the chase, I had forgotten about them
entirely. 'You and Tallaght fetch the horses and join us on the trail. I do
not think the settlement can be far away.'
With that I turned and continued on. The young woman walked ahead of
me, quickly, but pausing every now and then to glance over her shoulder
to see if I was still behind. She moved so swiftly, I found it a chore to keep
pace with her.
Gradually, the wood began to thin and the land to rise. And then we
stepped from the trees into the full, bright sun. Cleared land lay before us
planted in fields; the crops were withered, however, leaves and stalks dry
and rattling listlessly in the sun. Beyond the fields, squatting atop the
broad crest of the hill, stood the timber wall of the stronghold. A well-used
track emerged from the wood not fifty paces from where I walked, and
made its way to the fortress gate. I wondered how we had missed such a
well-travelled road in our search.
The young woman halted just ahead of me, gazing at the stronghold. I
moved to stand beside her, and she pointed to the place.
'I thank you for leading me,' I told her. We started across the field
together, and had just reached the trail when I heard a shout behind us and
turned; the young woman continued on without looking back.
Peredur and Tallaght emerged from the wood, leading my horse. They
rode to where I stood waiting. 'The trail led from the glade,' explained
Tallaght. 'I cannot understand how we missed it before.'
'Nor can I,' added Peredur.
'Well,' I replied, 'at least we will not have to search for it on our return.'
Taking the reins from Tallaght, I said, 'You can go ahead, if you like. I
will walk with our guide.' At this, both warriors exchanged uneasy
glances, but I ignored their odd behaviour and quickly joined the young
woman on the trail.
We walked towards the gate - a steady climb as the hill rose steeply at its
summit - and the young woman kept her eyes on the stronghold and said
nothing. Approaching the gate, we were hailed by a man brandishing a
spear. 'Greetings!' he called, hastening forward to meet us. 'I give you
good day!'
I gave the gateman my greeting, whereupon he looked at the girl beside
me and stopped in his tracks, losing control of his spear, which fell to the
ground. He bent to retrieve it and stood staring at us, his mouth agape like
a beached fish.
'We come looking for the caer of Urien Rheged,' I told the man. 'Have we
found it?'
'That you have, lord,' he replied slowly; he seemed to have difficulty
taking his eyes from the girl. For her part, she regarded the man without
expression; indeed, she seemed to look through him to the settlement
beyond. 'But if it is himself you are wanting, I must tell you he is not here,'
the man said. His attention shifted to the two warriors coming up behind
me. 'Is it far you have ridden today?'
'We have come from the Pendragon,' I answered. 'Our camp is no farther
than a short day's ride.'
'The Pendragon! - here?' cried the man. 'But our lord is gone to join him in
the south.' His eyes, fearful now, shifted quickly to me. 'Has Urien been
killed? I must tell Hwyl - I must tell him at once.'
He made to dash away then and there, but I held him. 'Stay, friend. Calm
yourself. All will be explained in good time.' I smiled to assure him we
meant no harm. 'Ah, but it is too hot to be standing here in the sun.
Perhaps there is a shady spot within.' I gestured towards the fortress. 'My
men and I could use a drink - and the horses as well.'
'Forgive me, lord,' spluttered the man. 'I am a hound for yapping on so.
Come with me, and I will lead you to Hwyl - he holds the throne while
Lord Urien is gone.'
The man turned on his heel and rushed off. I took a step or two, and
noticed that the young woman was not following. Indeed, she paid not the
least heed to the conversation that had just taken place, but was still gazing
at the fortress as if entranced by the sight.
Stepping once more beside her, I touched her arm and said, 'We are going
up now. Perhaps you could lead us.'
She gave a shudder, as with cold, and came to herself once more. She
looked at me, nodded, and proceeded to follow the gateman. I fell into step
behind her, and the two warriors came after. We passed through the gates
and into the foreyard of the caer. It was a large fortification, well provided
with numerous storehouses and dwellings. People occupied with their
daily chores paused in their work to observe us; a few called greetings.
Most, if not all, regarded the young woman beside me with looks of
unguarded curiosity.
The gateman ran before us into the hall, reappearing a moment later with
another man, tall and slender and, despite the grey in his thinning hair,
alert and ready-handed.
'Greetings in the name of the Pendragon,' I said. I told him who it was that
addressed him and presented the two warriors with me. 'We have come to
speak to the chieftain here, and secure his aid.'
'I am Hwyl.' The man stepped before me. 'Urien's chieftain I am, and I
give you good greeting, Lord Gwalchavad.' He held out his arms to me by
way of welcome. It is an old Celtic custom that when two friends or
kinsmen meet, they grip one another by the arms and look into each
other's eyes to exchange their greeting. We do this in the north and in the
islands, too, although I did not expect to receive such a welcome here. But
then, I thought, they did not yet know of Urien's banishment; our reception
might sour when they heard what I had to tell them.
Turning his eyes to the young woman, he gave her an appraising look and
said, 'I would greet your friend, but you have not told me her name.'
'I had hoped you could tell me,' I replied. 'As we found her within shout of
the stronghold, I assumed she was one of your people.'
'My people?' wondered the chieftain, much surprised. 'But you are
mistaken. I am certain we have never seen her before.'
                             FOUR


Hwyl appeared unsettled by the simple suggestion that the young woman
might belong to his tribe. 'Know you, I would remember her,' he stated
firmly, 'if I had ever seen her before -and I have not.' He shook his head
emphatically. 'She is not of our folk.'
'Well,' I said, 'perhaps some of your people know her. No doubt she comes
from a holding nearby.'
'Perhaps,' allowed Hwyl reluctantly. Addressing the girl, he asked, 'Do you
have kinsfolk hereabouts?'
Although she turned her eyes towards him as he spoke, she gave no other
sign that she had heard the question. He asked again and received again
the same uncomprehending stare.
'See, now,' said Hwyl, beginning to lose patience, 'this reluctance is
unseemly. We have asked kindly, and expect an answer. We mean you no
harm.'
'Please,' I said to Hwyl, 'I believe she is mute. She has not said a single
word since we found her.' Seeking merely to reassure her, I reached out
and touched her gently on the arm. 'May God have mercy on her soul, it is
a pity.'
However light, my touch produced an astonishing result. The young
woman pulled her arm away as if my fingertips had burned her flesh. She
held the arm stiff and close to her, staring wild-eyed as she backed away
from me, rubbing the place my hand had touched. She took three steps and
began trembling and shaking all over. Her eyes then rolled up into her
head, showing nothing but white. Meanwhile, her mouth framed a scream,
but no sound emerged. She then collapsed, falling to the ground, where
she began thrashing and rolling, as if in unbearable agony.
I was beside her in two steps. 'Bring water!' I shouted, kneeling over her.
'Hurry!'
Hwyl sent the gateman scrambling away for water. I called to Peredur and
Tallaght, 'It is the heat. We must get her out of the sun.'
'Bring her into the hall,' suggested Hwyl, going before me.
By the time the two warriors had dismounted, I was already striding for
the entrance. It took all my strength to hold her, for the tremors threatened
to throw us down at every step. I could feel the muscles of her back and
arms, stiff and tight as iron bands. Somehow, I reached the doorway and
stumbled in.
Owing to the high roof and lack of windholes, the hall was dimly dark and
much cooler. Along one side of the great room was a series of wicker
partitions separating a number of sleeping places. I carried the stricken
young woman to the first of these and lay her down on the straw pallet,
and then stood helplessly watching the convulsions coursing through her
body.
Two women from the settlement entered and rushed to the young woman's
side. One of the women carried a water jar, and the other some rags.
Kneeling down in the straw, the first cradled the young woman's head in
her lap while the other wet the cloth and began applying it gently to her
forehead. This produced a soothing effect and, in a moment, it appeared
the more violent of her spasms had passed; the girl closed her eyes and lay
back, still trembling and shaking somewhat, but quieter.
'Go about your affairs,' said the woman with the water jar. 'We will look
after her and bring word of any change.'
I thanked her kindly and, leaving the young woman to the elder women's
care, summoned Tallaght and charged him to tend the horses. But Hwyl
interposed, saying, 'Please, have no care for the beasts. Get will see your
mounts watered and rested. Join me at table. We will share a cup instead.'
Thus we settled with Hwyl at the far end of the hall where a table stood
beside a long hearth next to a large chair made of oak and covered with
the hides of three or four red stags. A young boy appeared as soon as we
sat down; he carried a bowl of ale, which he placed on the table. He
looked to the chieftain for approval and, receiving it in the nod of his
elder, turned and ran away.
'That is Ffinn, my young nephew; I am teaching him to serve in the hall,'
explained Hwyl. 'All those of an age have gone with Urien to fight the war
in the south, but as you are here, no doubt they will be returning soon.'
Lifting the bowl, he took a drink and passed it to me, saying, 'Welcome,
my friends. The comfort of this hearth is yours for as long as you care to
stay.'
I drank - the brew was cool, dark, and sweet - and with great reluctance
passed the bowl to Tallaght. 'Your welcome cheers me,' I told the
chieftain. 'It is too long since I have tasted ale so good. Already I am
regretting that we cannot stay longer.'
He offered the cup around once more, and said, 'Be it short or long, your
stay is more than agreeable. We have had no word from the south at all.'
A quick, sharp thrust is best, I thought, drawing a deep breath. 'Word is
not good,' I told him. 'The war is over, but the price has been high.'
'I feared as much,' remarked Hwyl grimly. 'Is Urien dead?'
'No,' I answered, grateful for the opportunity to set the matter in a different
light. 'No, he is not dead - though perhaps he might prefer it.'
Suspicion clouded Hwyl's features. 'Death is more than enough for most
men, I find.'
'Hwyl,' I said, 'your lord has been banished from Britain.' I let that sink in
a moment before explaining. 'Urien broke faith with the High King and
joined a faction that rebelled against Arthur. The rebellion was crushed,
and the leaders exiled to Armorica along with any who would go with
them. Urien will not be returning to Rheged.'
Hwyl, staring at the empty board before him, was shaking his head and
muttering to himself. I might have let him find out later at the council, but
I know if I were in his place, I would wish to learn the worst as soon as
possible so that I could warn the settlement and begin making plans.
'I am sorry to bear such bad tidings,' I continued, and then drove the blade
home: 'The lands of all who joined in the rebellion are forfeit to the High
King, and he has given them to another.'
The chieftain raised his eyes at this. His face was ashen with shock and
dismay. But his reply surprised me. 'Bad tidings, you say,' he mused,
shaking his head ruefully, 'and that is only the half of it.' He looked at me
as if staring hopelessness in the face. Then, turning once more to the
contemplation of his barren table, he said, 'God's truth, I always feared the
worst.'
'Did you, now?'
'Alas, Urien is no steady man; as a boy he was a flighty lad -so unlike his
father. I always hoped he would come to a better nature, but no - he has
grown reckless, headstrong, and inconstant. Unhealthy in any man, such
character is perilous in a ruler. Even so, I hoped...' He looked at me with
sad, haunted eyes, his mouth quivering, his voice thick. 'That we took him
for our lord I do most deeply regret.'
'I am sorry it has come to this,' I told him.
Hwyl, struggling to hold himself, simply nodded; he was too overcome to
speak. Peredur extended the bowl to me, indicating that I should give it to
the chieftain, which I did. Hwyl accepted the ale and braced himself with a
last, long drink.
'It is bad for you, I will not deny it,' I said when he had finished, 'yet it
need not be the ruin you fear.'
'No?' His interest pricked. 'If there is some way to avert the judgment,
lord, I beg you to tell me.'
'There is,' I assured him, 'if you will abide it.' I then extended the small
hope I had brought with me. 'The man who has been given these lands is
not willing that any should be cast out. He has said that any who wish to
stay in their settlements may do so, and has vowed that the protection he
affords his own people will be extended to all who remain in his realm.'
Thinking he saw the answer to his troubles, Hwyl seized the proposition at
once. 'Then we will stay! By God, we will stay.'
'Wait until you have heard all,' I cautioned. 'You may have different
thoughts when I tell the rest.'
Hwyl, unwilling to throw aside the promise so quickly embraced, said,
'Tell me, then. It can be no worse than I have heard already.'
'It is this: the man of whom I speak is not a Briton.'
'No?' A frown of concern creased his brow. He imagined the worst, and
confronted it head-on. 'Is he Irish, then?'
'He is not Irish, either,' I said. Peredur and Tallaght knew what was
coming and tensed as if to meet a blow. There was no way to say
otherwise, so I told him the blunt truth. This man is the lord and leader of
the enemy we have been fighting in the south.'
'Blessed God in Heaven,' breathed Hwyl, aghast at such harsh justice.
I allowed him to grapple with this, wishing we had another cup or two to
help digest this meal of stones. 'His name is Mercia, and he is lord of the
Vandali, who have been conquered. The enemy king who made war on
Britain has been vanquished, and in exchange for peace, his lords have
sworn fealty to Arthur Pendragon. It is Mercia's desire to occupy unsettled
lands; he purposes that his people should raise their own settlements and
strongholds. What is more, this Mercia has vowed that he will take
nothing that is not given freely, and will strive for peace between his
people and the Britons who remain under his care.'
Hwyl was silent for a time, coming to terms with what I had said. 'We can
stay - that is certain?' he asked finally.
'Mercia has made this promise -1 cannot honestly vouch for its certainty.
But you need not answer me now. Hold council with your people,' I
advised. 'Summon the other chieftains and talk to them.'
'If we left our lands, where would we go?'
'There is no provision for you elsewhere.'
'So that is the way of it,' concluded Hwyl bitterly. 'It is either remain and
be ruled by an enemy, or become like the Picti and wander the hills
knowing neither hearth nor home.'
I did not allow his budding anger a chance to flower. 'Yes, that is the way
of it. In the Pendragon's name, you and your chieftains are summoned to a
council of all whose lands are forfeit,' I informed him. 'You are to deliver
your decision then.' I signalled to Peredur and Tallaght that it was time to
go. The two rose at once, and I instructed them to ready the horses.
'Will you not stay the night?' asked Hwyl, but the warmth of hospitality
had grown cool. His shoulders were slumped now, as if under the weight
of his grief and the hard judgment he must endure.
'We have disturbed the peace of this place more than enough,' I answered.
'I think we should leave you to your deliberations.'
Hwyl did not disagree, but merely nodded and said, That might be best.'
I told him when and where the council would be held, and then took my
leave of him. He walked with me out of the hall, passing by the place
where the young woman lay. The two looking after her rose as we
approached. 'She is sleeping soundly now,' the elder woman reported.
'Was it the sun?' I asked.
'Aye, it was,' the woman replied. 'Nor, I surmise, has she had a bite to eat
for a good few days.'
'She was gathering mushrooms when we found her.'
The woman regarded me suspiciously. 'Those? Even one of those would
kill a horse,' she explained as if I should have known better.
Hwyl asked, 'What would you have us do with her?'
'Might she stay here?'
'She does not belong here,' said Hwyl firmly. 'That much I know.'
'Her people may be searching for her,' the woman offered. 'But she is in no
wise fit to travel.'
'Perhaps,' I suggested, 'you could take care of her for a few days and bring
her with you when you come to the council. There will be people from
other settlements in the region; someone may know her.'
'That we will do,' Hwyl replied. 'Now I bid you farewell.'
'I wish our meeting had been otherwise,' I told him. 'I am sorry.'
The chieftain shook his head. 'Urien has brought this calamity upon us, not
you. I must speak to the people and decide what is to be done. We will
come to the council and give our answer."
We left the settlement then, all thoughts of ale vats far behind us, and rode
as far as we could before daylight left us. We made rough camp along the
way, and slept under the stars. I was long awake, however, thinking about
the young woman we had found, and the strangeness of that finding. But
stranger things were to come.
                               FIVE


Rejoining the Cymbrogi next day, we found the entire lakeside camp in an
uproar. We rode into the midst of a throng, shouting and clamouring
outside the tent. Everyone was so excited that it took some moments
before I could make myself heard. Finally, leaning down from the saddle,
I seized the shoulder of the nearest warrior. 'Why this turmoil?' I
demanded. 'What trouble?'
'Trouble!' he cried, twisting around to see me. 'There is no trouble, Lord
Gwalchavad,' he replied, grinning, 'unless you think the happy return of
our Pendragon a quarrelsome thing.'
'Arthur returned?' I wondered. 'So soon?' Handing the warrior the reins of
my horse, I left him to care for the animal as a reward for his impudence,
and pushed my way nearer the tent. I caught sight of Cai, attempting to
subdue the enthusiasm of the crowd with an inadequate supply of gestures
and grimaces.
Pressing my way to him, I said, 'Where is he?'
'Ah, Gwalchavad! Thank God you are here. I could use another hand.'
They say Arthur has returned -'
'Aye,' he confirmed. 'He lies within' - Cai indicated the tent behind - 'and
might welcome a mote of peace and quiet.' Turning once more to the
crowd, he frowned. 'Listen to them now!'
He made to renew his efforts at silencing the clamorous Cymbrogi, but I
restrained him. Putting my hand flat on Cai's chest, I demanded, 'But is he
well, brother? Just tell me that.'
'See for yourself,' he replied, brushing off my hand. 'For if you will not
help, at least get out of the way.'
Cai's reply gave me little direction for my expectation. I stepped quickly to
the tent and reached to withdraw the flap, not knowing whether I should
find a king more dead than alive. The mood of the warriors was high, but
as downcast as they had been since the High King was taken away, they
might have easily mistaken Arthur's return - holding it a thing more
hopeful than was otherwise warranted. Crowds, I know, have a way of
believing only what they want to believe.
Oh, but I had seen the wound. Men who sustain such injury, even if they
survive, rarely recover their full vigour - as many a battle-scarred veteran
will attest. Though I am no healer, I know whereof I speak, for ever since I
was old enough to throw a spear without falling off my horse, I have
followed my king into the fight and have seen the crippled and dying
afterwards. May God have mercy, I have myself sent to the Judgment Seat
more men than I can remember.
Yes, I had seen Arthur's wound: deep it was, and brutal. The blood ran
dark in hot, pulsing rushets. When they carried him from the field, his skin
was pale as that of a corpse, his hair lank, and his eyes sunk back in his
skull. As I say, I was no stranger to that appearance. Still, I never thought
to see Arthur wear it.
Plucking up my courage, I grasped the tent flap, pulled it aside, and
stepped quickly in. Scarcely less crowded inside than out, I shouldered my
way farther into the tent's interior, straining for a glimpse of Arthur, and
saw the back of Bedwyr's head, and beside him Rhys; Cador and
Llenlleawg pressed near also. I shoved closer, almost trembling with
uncertainty.
I pushed in between Bedwyr and Cador. Bedwyr, glancing back, saw that
it was me, and shifted a half step aside. And there was Arthur, sitting in
his camp chair, impatient with Myrddin, who was bending over him.
Gwenhwyvar stood behind, resting her hands on his broad shoulders, a
satisfied smile curving her lips.
Arthur looked up at my appearing, and cried, 'Gwalchavad! Welcome,
brother; I hoped you would soon join us.' He made to rise in greeting, but
the Emrys tugged him back down into the chair.
'Let me finish,' Myrddin muttered.
'I cannot sit here all day!' Arthur complained. The men are waiting. I must
speak to them.'
'We will be at this all day if you do not sit still long enough for me to put
this on you!' snapped Myrddin.
'Ah, look at you now,' said Arthur, glancing around and grinning at what
he saw. 'It is Earth and sky to see you, brothers.' He reached out to seize
Bedwyr by the arm.
'Stop squirming,' Myrddin insisted. 'A moment more.' Arthur raised his
eyes heavenward as the Emrys bent over his work. 'There!' said Myrddin
finally, stepping back. 'We are finished.'
Arthur glanced down, holding up his arm, bent at the elbow. I saw the dull
gleam of red-gold encircling the High King's upper arm. It was an
armband, but unlike any I had seen before: a dragon, its serpentlike body
encoiled, glaring fearlessly upon the world with red-flecked ruby eyes. A
handsome ornament, to be sure; God alone knows where Myrddin got it.
It came to me that the trinket's form was not unlike the image on the
standard which Uther had made and carried into battle. Having revived
Uther's old title to such magnificent acclaim, Myrddin thought to adorn
the occasion with a worthy reminder of Arthur's lineage; tradition, they
say, is a powerful and influential friend to those who honour it.
'At last!' said Arthur as he jumped up, making for the tent flap. There was
not the least hesitation or difficulty in his movements. If I had not seen
him sprawled at death's gate, life ebbing with every beat of his heart, I
would have thought myself deceived. Could this be the selfsame man?
How was it possible a wound of such dire consequence could be healed so
quickly?
He pushed through the crush of onlookers, patting their backs and calling
their names, but moving on, eager to get outside. 'We will drink together,
friends,' he called, lifting the oxhide flap and stepping through. That was
Arthur, truly, forgetting that we had only tepid lake water - and were
fortunate to get that, much less any ale! - with which to hail his safe
return.
Snagging hold of Llenlleawg as he followed Arthur out, I asked, 'How is it
possible?'
The lanky Irishman merely looked at me and grinned, but passed along
with no reply. Turning to Myrddin, I said, 'Will no one tell me anything?'
'Greetings, Gwalchavad.' The Emrys spoke soothingly. 'You had a
successful journey, I hope?'
'Never mind about me,' I answered. 'How is it that Arthur is healed? What
is the meaning of the armband? And why is it that -'
'Peace!' said Myrddin, raising his hands against my onslaught. 'I can
answer but one question at a time. We have been to Ynys Avallach,' he
said, 'as you know - to obtain for Arthur the healing we could not effect
ourselves.'
'You have succeeded marvellously well,' I remarked. The others had
quickly cleared the tent, leaving Myrddin and me alone for a moment.
Outside, the cheering grew loud and then died away as Arthur began to
address the Cymbrogi.
'I had little to do with it,' Myrddin assured me. His voice grew solemn.
'Arthur lived, but only that much and no more.' He held up a finger
pressed against his thumb to show how narrow was Arthur's claim on
mortal life. 'I do not know how he clung to a cord so slender, but he did.'
'Yes? And then?'
'Heaven was with us, and he was healed,' Myrddin answered, regarding
me mildly. 'He is as you see.'
'Yes, yes,' I said, impatience getting the better of me. 'I can clearly see, but
how?'
'It was a miracle,' he explained, 'but a miracle of such provenance that it
allowed no witnesses. I cannot tell you how, nor will Arthur speak of it.
Perhaps one day he will tell us, but not yet.'
Despite Myrddin's words, I sensed there was still much that he would not
say. 'But Cai said -'
'Cai refuses to believe his eyes,' Myrddin declared flatly. 'As for the
golden armband,' he continued, 'it belonged to Uther. Ygerna had it made
for him after they were married; it gave him the idea for the dragon
standard. When Uther died, Ygerna kept it for her son, always believing
he would one day become High King like his father.'
'Why did you wait until now to give it to him?'
'Whenever did I have a better chance?' Myrddin demanded. 'We have
scarcely had space enough to draw breath from one battle to the next.'
'No doubt that will change,' I mused. 'Now that we have rid ourselves of
invaders and rebellious Britons, we can enjoy a season of peace.'
'That is what I have been saying all my life,' Myrddin replied tartly.
                                  SIX


I remember lost Atlantis. Though I was but a babe in arms when the
calamity came upon us, I can still see the Isle of Apples as it was then,
before the destruction. The Great Palace was much reduced from its
former glory; owing to Avallach's long, wasting illness, everything was
falling into neglect. Even so, to my childish recollection all was leaf-green
and golden sunlight, endless gardens and mysterious rooms no one
entered anymore.
My mother turned the gardens to her use. Lile was wise in the ways of root
and stem; she knew the lore of herbs, and her medicines were most potent.
We would spend entire days in those gardens, my mother and I- she
working among her herbs, and I playing at her feet. She believed me too
young to understand, yet she told me everything she knew about the plants.
'This is Three Hearts,' she would say. 'It is useful for stanching the flow of
blood, and for purging the bowel.'
In this way Lile awakened in me the thirst to master the plants of healing
and death. But there was much, much more than she knew. The Magi of
Atlantis had amassed the lore of every age and realm, and though it took
what would have been a lifetime for a mortal, this lore I also acquired. In
Broceliande's deep wood I found what I sought. A remnant of our race had
taken root there - Kian's people, Avallach's son and Charis' brother. There
among the tall trees and deep shadows, they had built a city. I found it,
and found, too, the knowledge I craved.
There was a book -from Briseis' library it came. The queen loved her
books. I do not think she ever read it, but it was saved. I think Annubi, the
royal family's faithful sage and counsellor, may have had something to do
with that. If Lile kindled the flame of love for secret lore, Annubi fanned
that flame into an all-consuming fire. At first it gave him pleasure to tell
me things; he was lonely, after all. Later, however, he had no choice. I
made certain of that. He served me, and lived at my command.
Annubi was the first man I bent to my will, and I learned much about the
power of the female sex. When I had wrung him dry, I let him go. Indeed, I
hastened him on his way. He was the first, but not the last. Far from it!
There have been so many. Each has had his purpose - wealth, power,
position, blood - I choose them well, and take what they have to give.
Whatever is required, I become: queen, wife, lover, whore. It is all the
same to me.
Myrddin was right, of course; there had been little time for anything other
than fighting. Sometimes it seemed to me that we spent all our days
ordering our weapons; if we were not sharpening them, we were repairing
them, and if not repairing them, we were sharpening them again.
Whenever we had a spare moment, we looked to our horses and tended
our wounds, always anticipating the next battle, the next war.
Though the Vandali had been defeated, we remained wary -unwilling,
perhaps, to think that peace had finally come to the Island of the Mighty.
We had been cruelly disappointed before.
But, as the Wise Emrys had suggested, over the next few days Arthur
began to tell how he had come by his miraculous healing - an intriguing
tale, made more so by the simple fact that, apart from Avallach, Arthur
was its only observer and as he had been lying at death's gate at the time,
he was not best placed to say what had happened. And though he spoke
with great enthusiasm, and greater reverence, the details remained hazy.
I gleaned there was something about a cup, and a heavenly visitation, and
a prayer in a strange language by Lord Avallach. Of the holy men at the
abbey, there was never a mention; thus, I supposed they had little to do
with the matter. Indeed, the chief agent of the miracle seemed to be the
cup, or bowl, which Arthur had seen, or thought he had seen, in Avallach's
possession.
'You drank something from the cup?' wondered Bedwyr. We were sitting
at table, Arthur and the queen together with Myrddin and a dozen of the
Dragon Flight - the elite of the Pendragon's warhost - in the tent which
served as a hall for us when we were on the battle trail. It was late, but we
were exulting in our king's return and reluctant to leave the tent. 'A potion,
or elixir? One of Paulus' concoctions?'
Arthur pursed his lips. 'That may be so,' he allowed. 'I cannot remember.
Avallach held it like this.' He cupped his hands as if cradling a bowl. 'No,
wait,' he said, shaking his head, 'it was the other one - Avallach never
touched it.'
'The other one?' Cai demanded with growing frustration. 'You mean to say
there were two bowls now?'
'No, not two bowls,' Arthur retorted, 'two people: Avallach and some
other.'
The angel,' suggested Gwenhwyvar helpfully, and everyone around the
board turned his head to stare at her. 'We all saw her,' she insisted.
Appealing to Myrddin, she said, 'Tell them, Myrddin; you must have seen
it.'
But Myrddin, scowling now, refused to speak.
'There was an angel,' she maintained defiantly. 'We saw her.'
Cai instantly resumed his inquiry. 'Did the angel speak to you, Bear? What
did she look like?'
'If you say it was an angel, so be it,' replied Arthur equably. 'I thought her
one of Avallach's servants.'
This drew a snort from Myrddin, who folded his arms and turned his face
away.
'But what did they do?' demanded Bedwyr. 'Did they touch you? Did you
touch the bowl?'
No, said Arthur, he did not think he was touched, or touched the bowl -
other than to drink, if indeed he had drunk from the cup. There was
speaking - a prayer, he thought, from the way Avallach prostrated himself
- but in a language unknown to Arthur. There was light, yes, a blaze of
candlelight that whelmed the room in shimmering radiance most
wonderful to see. And there seemed to be music. Arthur definitely thought
he heard music, but neither singing, nor harps, nor pipes, nor anything else
he had ever heard before; but since neither Avallach nor the heavenly
servant had produced this music, he could not be certain precisely how it
might have come about. He was more certain about the delicious fragrance
that accompanied the appearance of the bowl. It was, he said, as if all the
flowers of summer were tumbled together, each lending sweetness to the
other and blending into an odour at once divine and indescribable.
These assertions brought more questions from Cai, Bedwyr, Cador, and
the others who, despite Arthur's hazy recollections, seemed determined to
solve the mystery. Those who were there, however, appeared reluctant to
speak. Gwenhwyvar made but simple comments of correction, while
Llenlleawg and Myrddin spoke not at all. They were, I suspect, unwilling
to scrutinize the miracle too closely, and were content to allow the
mystery to remain.
In the end, however, the continued assault on the mystery grew too much
for Myrddin. Drawing himself up, he strode to the table and struck the
board with the flat of his hand. 'Enough!' he shouted, his voice a command
even the deaf would obey.
Glaring down along the board at those huddled on the benches, he said,
'Listen to your mindless nattering! You stand in the presence of a holy
miracle, and you yammer away like foolish children without a thought in
your heads.'
'We only want to understand,' complained Bedwyr sourly.
'Silence!' roared Myrddin. The terrible scowl on his face challenged
anyone to speak, and no one deigned to brave the challenge. 'Since you
desire to know,' he continued stiffly, 'I will tell what can be told. The
bowl, as you have it, is called the Grail - know you that it is none other
than the welcome cup used by our Lord Christ himself at his last meal
when he sat and supped with his friends. On that same night he was
betrayed, and the next day was scourged and crucified.
'One of the Christ's many followers was a wealthy merchant known to us
as Joseph of Arimathea, the same who provided the meal that night, and
the tomb as well. Joseph kept the cup, which the Lord had blessed, and
when the first believers were driven from Jerusalem, he brought the holy
vessel to Britain. Joseph and his friends established the first church in the
west, and it was here on Ynys Prydain that they raised the first altar to the
Risen Christ.
'Alas, that first church passed from this worlds-realm, for the people were
not yet ready to hear and receive the True Word.
Joseph and those with him died in their time and were buried beside the
lake beneath the Tor, where Avallach and Charis now reside, and where
the monks have raised their abbey, but the Grail abides. Through means
unknown to any save Avallach, who alone guards it, the Cup of Christ is
preserved.
'In truth, it is the holiest object that abides on earth. Its marvels are beyond
telling, and I know whereof I speak, for once, when I was stricken and
dying, this selfsame Grail preserved and healed me, and behold! now it
has healed Arthur.' Raising an admonitory hand, he said, 'But I warn you,
do not think to discover the how or why of it: no man can tell you how it
effects its healing, nor why some are healed even while others perish.
Truly, it is enough to know that it endures as a special sign of God's good
pleasure; accept it, revere it, and let it be. Instead of worrying heaven and
the angels with your ignorant chatter, you should rather throw yourselves
to the ground and repent of your folly.'
So saying, Myrddin turned abruptly and departed. The company sat for
some moments in silence, pondering Myrddin's curious warning. Then,
slowly, talk resumed, somewhat more respectful this time, but no less
excited. After a time, Arthur, visibly moved by what the Emrys had said,
spoke his mind. 'Myrddin is right; this is a thing too holy for idle
speculation. We would do well to guard our tongues.'
'Better still,' suggested Cai, 'we should pay homage to the cup - for healing
our king.'
To Cai's manifest amazement, everyone agreed wholeheartedly. Arthur
commended the plan and lauded Cai's suggestion, embellishing it with the
small addition of a special contingent of monks to offer prayers and
psalms on behalf of the holy object and the realm. Thus would the
Pendragon establish his reign, and the Kingdom of Summer commence.
Dazzled by glory, we all retired to our sleep that night in a mood of high
expectation. Surely now, after the Saecsen wars and the battles fought to
subdue the invading Vandali, we could lay aside our weapons and
embrace the practice of peace so long abandoned in our homeland. We
dreamed that night of returning to peaceful pursuits, growing contented
and prosperous, and enjoying the fruits won by our swords' harsh labours.
Having dreamed the glorious dream, we rose the next morning to greet the
sun rising on a new and splendid epoch, the beginning of the Summer
Kingdom, Taliesin's oft-told vision when peace, love, and honour would
govern Britain's island brood.
Arthur regretted that he could not ride south at once. 'Be at ease, Bear,'
steady Bedwyr reassured him; 'the council is soon finished - a day or two
more, and we are done here.'
As we might have expected, Myrddin thought little of the notion. 'Has it
not occurred to any of you,' he inquired tartly, 'that there is good reason
why the Grail has remained hidden all these years? I have every
confidence Avallach knows best what to do. Hear me, Arthur: do not think
to meddle. Leave it alone.'
But Arthur would not listen. Thanking the Emrys for his advice, he
proceeded to do the opposite, and the plan quickly grew to include not
merely a simple service of homage, but a perpetual choir, too, and a
church in which to house them all. 'A seemly structure,' Arthur said,
'where any who are weary and oppressed can come and see the cup
blessed of the Saviour King himself.' He was convinced that just
beholding the sacred vessel would work wonders for those who made
pilgrimage to view it.
This, he said, would be the first of many marvellous undertakings with
which he would commence his reign. More and greater ventures would
follow as bright dawn follows storm-torn night.
Nevertheless, Bedwyr had summoned the lords and petty kings of the
region in the king's name, and much as Arthur desired to hasten south to
Ynys Avallach, he must abide until the council finished and the Vandal
problem was laid to rest for once and all. The necessity rubbed him raw,
but he endured, filling the time with schemes and dreams which he
elaborated at great length to any who happened near. Oh, it was a
wonderful sight to see, and one which I thought had passed forever:
Arthur, in the blazing vigour of untempered youth, inflamed by his vision
of a Holy Britain even now entering the harmony and prosperity of the
Summer Kingdom.
Myrddin held himself apart, viewing this turn of circumstance with a sour
expression. Although he appeared ill-disposed towards Arthur's schemes,
he yet seemed loath to quench the fire that kindled them. Like everyone
else, I suppose, he was only too happy to have Arthur hale and whole once
more, and could not bring himself to steal even the smallest mote of the
king's joy, or dampen the Pendragon's ardour - not that anything could.
When I asked him what he thought of Arthur's plans, the Wise Emrys
merely shrugged. 'It matters not a whit what I think,' he intoned somberly.
'The High King will have his way in this, come what may.'
I thought this strange, or at least unusual. Myrddin's behaviour was often
inexplicable, but rarely proud, and never mean-spirited. No one else
seemed to notice Myrddin's gloomy indifference, and this concerned me,
too. I began to meditate on what Myrddin had said about the Grail, and
weighed his words against Arthur's zeal, but arrived at no firm conclusion.
Still, as I looked around me, I saw that at least one other held some portion
of Myrddin's reserve. Gwenhwyvar, who had at first matched Arthur's
fervour with her own, now appeared to be waning in her enthusiasm. As
the others were all too caught up in the golden glow of important doings, I
decided to discover Gwenhwyvar's heart in the matter.
'It is not lack of faith that has brought me to this pass, but lack of strength,'
she confided. 'That man wears me out. He has ten new plans before
sunrise, and those ten have each spawned ten more before dusk. He hardly
sleeps, and all the scheming makes him amorous. I get no rest,
Gwalchavad. Truly, it is like sleeping with a whirlwind.' When
Gwenhwyvar realized what she had said, the colour rose to her slender
throat. 'Do not tell him I said that.'
'Never, my lady,' I assured her. 'But do you think he is right?'
'I want to believe him,' she insisted, adding, 'And certainly he speaks like
no other man. If the Summer Realm can be brought into existence by dint
of zeal alone, Arthur will succeed handsomely. And if we are able to
accomplish even so much as a tenth part of all he has planned, I have no
doubt our deeds will live forever.'
Her words were noble, to be sure, but I could not help noticing an edge to
her voice, whether of doubt or of uncertainty, I could not say. Perhaps it
was merely the fatigue she had mentioned. Still, I marked it and
remembered, thinking to myself that the two people closest to Arthur -
Myrddin and Gwenhwyvar - were not wholly with him.
The next day, the first of the region's lords began arriving for the council.
As I think of it now, that was when the trouble started.
                            SEVEN


Hwyl of Rheged was among the first of the noblemen to appear; he arrived
at the lake camp with chieftains from the three holdings he protected. He
also brought the young woman we had found in the forest and left in his
care. Truth to tell, what with Arthur's unexpected return, I had not spared a
single thought for the stranger until the moment I set eyes on her once
again.
If she remembered me, she gave no sign, for as she passed, her face
remained impassive and her gaze moved over me without the slightest
recognition as she regarded the Pendragon's camp. She appeared slightly
the better for her sojourn among Hwyl and his people - her long hair was
neatly braided, and her clothes were clean - and since she appeared well
treated and content, I turned away and thought no more about her.
Others arrived from surrounding lands: Arawn, Gryffyd, and Euan, who
held settlements east of the Treont; Rhun, Hasner, Ensyth, and Gwrgan
Ffrych, from the hill country to the west. Each came in the company of
such chieftains and headmen as were deemed appropriate to attend the
council in the absence of their respective kings. We welcomed them and
bade them assemble before the Pendragon's tent, where the High King
waited. Arthur's camp chair, which he used as a throne when on the move,
had been set up outside the tent, on a red oxhide on the ground. Four
spears - two upright and two crossed - were established behind the chair,
and the Pendragon's shield hung from the crossed spears. The High King
received the homage of his noblemen with good grace and an easy
manner, speaking warmly to each one as he came before Arthur.
In all, I believe there were upwards of fifty noblemen who answered the
summons, along with many warriors and women. Of those, two of them -
Cyllin ap Caradoc and Cynfarch - had ridden with Arthur during the
Saecsen War, and were happy to see him once more. Had they known
barbarians were soon to be thrust into their midst, they might not have
embraced their Pendragon so warmly.
So far as I knew, only Hwyl - the chieftain I had personally alerted - came
prepared to deal with the matter at hand. I dreaded thinking what would
happen when the others learned of Arthur's judgment.
Strife was the last thing on Arthur's mind, however, and though he had not
forgotten his decree and its inevitable upheaval, I believe he misjudged the
intensity of the feelings so provoked. In his present humour, he could not
conceive of the difficulty others would have swallowing the bitter cup he
offered. So full of peace and goodwill himself, I think he really imagined
all men readily and eagerly sharing his joy. Certainly his radiant and
extravagant manner smoothed the way. Even so, it was a rough ride over
rugged ground.
As anyone save Arthur might have expected, the sudden announcement
that their lands had fallen forfeit to barbarians did not sit well with the
noblemen of the region. Stunned by the High King's declaration, they sat
glaring in icy silence while Arthur explained the nature of the rebellion
against him and its unfortunate consequences. Then, much as I had done
with Hwyl, he held out their only hope.
This is what I have decreed, and this is how it will be,' he said solemnly.
'Treachery has reaped its reward; however, it has pleased God to temper
justice with mercy so that the innocent do not suffer unduly for their
ignoble lords' disloyalty. Before me this day, Mercia, Lord of the Vandali,
has vowed to uphold and protect those who remain on their lands within
the realm he has been granted. You may keep your settlements and
holding, your fields, flocks, and cattle. He has undertaken the oath of
Christ and forsworn all other gods. Added to this, he has given me his
solemn pledge that he will take nothing from you that is not freely given.'
Intended to soothe, these words kindled instead. Indeed, it was as if Arthur
had thrown oil onto a sputtering flame. The anger of the noblemen's
responses singed the very air.
'Swear faith to a barbarian!' roared Lord Ensyth. 'I never will! I am a
Briton, and abide none but a trueborn Briton over me! Neither will I see
my lands given over to foreigners.'
'Nor I!' shouted Arawn, his neighbour to the north.
As if this were the signal they had all been waiting for, the whole
assembly leapt up as one. Shouting, thrusting fists of defiance in the air,
each striving to be heard above the others, the council quickly lost all
semblance of order. The Cymbrogi instinctively closed ranks around the
Pendragon, put their hands to their sword hilts, and looked to return force
with force. Llenlleawg, Cai, Bedwyr, Rhys, and I took up our places and
stood to face the uproar.
Arthur, having caused the commotion, yet appeared surprised at the
vehemence with which the noblemen expressed their views. He sat gazing
in mild amazement as the council collapsed around him. Myrddin,
frowning, hovered at Arthur's right shoulder, bent, and spoke a word into
the king's ear. Arthur merely raised his hand and dismissed the suggestion,
allowing the tumult to continue.
I suppose he thought such an overheated blaze would quickly burn itself
out and he could more easily persuade the dissenters once their tempers
had cooled. This, I fear, was too generous a reading of the situation. For
the more they clamoured, the hotter and more angry they grew.
Truly, I believe it would have ended in blows and bloodshed if not for the
abrupt appearance of the mute young woman. Because of the confusion, I
do not know how she came to be there; it seemed to me that she simply
emerged in the midst of the chaos to stand among the angry lords.
For my own part, I had been looking at Arthur, should any command be
forthcoming, and when I glanced back, there she was - standing as
placidly as a maid in a meadow, hands folded in front of her, cool and
chaste, dressed in a simple white mantle tied at her slender waist with a bit
of blue, her fair hair glowing in the sun: a vision, as I thought, could not
appear more lovely in my eyes.
Her unexpected presence unsettled the council. The shouting continued for
a moment and then ceased as, one by one, the irate lords fell silent and an
uneasy hush passed over the assembly. The girl herself seemed not to
know or mind the effect of her arrival; indeed, she seemed oblivious to all
save the Cymbrogi ranged before her; these she regarded with the innocent
interest of a child beholding a new and fascinating game.
She took a hesitant step forward, and then another, pausing demurely, her
green eyes wide and glowing with delight. The rapt look on her face was
enchantment itself.
As I say, a moment or two passed before the council recovered its voice,
and when it did, the fury that had formerly threatened Arthur now
demanded to know who was this woman, and what she meant by invading
the proceedings and interrupting their deliberations.
Well, Arthur was at a loss; he looked around him for anyone who might
offer an explanation. I hastened to his side, saying, 'I know this woman,
lord - rather, she is known to me.'
'Who is she?' he asked, glancing at her once more. Bedwyr leaned close to
hear what I had to say.
'I cannot say, but - '
'Why is she here?'
'Again, I cannot say,' I replied.
Turning to me, Arthur grinned. 'If this passes for acquaintance with you,
Gwalchavad, I wonder that you ever meet a stranger.'
'Arthur, please,' I begged. 'I only meant that I have seen her but once
before - when I rode to Urien's stronghold to summon Hwyl to the
council.'
'She is Hwyl's kinswoman, then?' wondered Arthur, stealing another
glance at her.
'No, lord,' I answered, and quickly explained how I had come upon her in
the forest. 'She seemed in distress from the sun and hunger,' I said, 'so I
left her in Hwyl's care. At my suggestion, he has brought her to the
council to see if anyone knows who she might be.'
'Why?' asked Bedwyr. 'Can she not speak for herself?'
'That is the problem,' I told them. 'She is mute. She cannot speak a word.'
Arthur nodded, and then stood, raising his hands to quiet the complaint
that was threatening to overtake us once more. 'Friends!' he called. 'Calm
yourselves. There is no cause for concern here. I have it that this young
woman is a mute who has lost her way. I ask you now if anyone among
you knows who she may be, or where her people might be found.'
There followed a short interval wherein the noblemen and chieftains
discussed the matter among themselves, and when they had done so, it
emerged that no one knew her, nor did anyone know whether any clan
might be missing one of its members.
Not satisfied with this reply, Arthur appealed to them once more, asking
them to search their memories. The council resented the suggestion and
reacted swiftly and angrily. It was quickly established that no one, save
Hwyl and his folk, had so much as set eyes on her before this day. On this,
at least, they all agreed - almost as vehement in their agreement as they
had been in their contention with Arthur.
Curious, I thought, that the mere presence of the young woman should
arouse such passionate denial. The assembled noblemen were fervent in
their protests of ignorance. Shouts of 'She's not of our kin!' and 'Never
seen the like of her!' formed the general opinion, and I was put in mind of
Hwyl's brusque rejection when he had first set eyes to her.
Looking on the maid, fair as she was and not at all displeasing in any
aspect, I wondered what could provoke such ardent animosity. This, and
she had not so much as breathed a word. What was it that men saw in her
that frightened them so?
Turning to Myrddin, Arthur shrugged. 'I think she is not known in these
lands. What should be done with her?'
Upon hearing the question, I glanced at the Wise Emrys, expecting his
answer, and was startled by what I saw. Myrddin's countenance, formerly
flintlike in the heat of the opposition against Arthur, was now transformed.
Eyes wide, he stared openly, with an expression of such melancholy
tenderness that I was embarrassed to see it. What is more, he seemed not
to have heard Arthur speak, but continued gazing in this foolish, love-
struck fashion until the Pendragon nudged him and asked again for his
advice. Only then did the Emrys come to himself.
'Do with her?' he asked, regarding Arthur with mild distaste - as if the king
had blurted a stupidity. 'Let her remain with us until we find her kinsfolk,
of course.'
Arthur ordered Rhys to take the girl and deliver her into the care of some
of the women. Rhys, unaccountably, grew discomfited by this simple
command; he blushed crimson to the tops of his ears, and stuttered a hasty
reply under his breath, begging to be spared this duty. Though he fumbled
for words, his eyes pleaded most eloquently, and he even began to sweat
as he stammered out his excuse. So distracted was he that Gwenhwyvar
stepped in for him and said that perhaps it would be best for all if she
made provision for the young woman instead.
The Pendragon, anxious to get on with the council, readily agreed with his
queen, and Gwenhwyvar stepped forth to take the girl aside. But the young
woman had other ideas, for even as the queen moved from the throne, the
girl started forward; she took three steps towards us. Gwenhwyvar
hesitated, allowing her to approach.
The fair stranger came nearer, but it became apparent that she was not
looking at Arthur, nor the queen, nor any one of us. Her bright green eyes
were firmly fastened on another. I looked around me to see who it might
be: Myrddin? Bedwyr? No, neither of these. Rhys? Cai? Cador? No.
The young woman moved nearer, and I saw that she stopped before
Llenlleawg, who stood at rigid attention, spear at his shoulder, gazing into
the distance above her head, as if trying mightily to ignore her. But she
would not be ignored, for she put out her hand and took him boldly by the
arm, as if claiming him for her own. Only then did he lower his gaze to
regard her with an expression devoid of any warmth or welcome.
'It appears she has chosen her champion,' Arthur observed dryly, 'and I
cannot fault the choice.' He then called to the Irishman to lead the young
woman away. Gwenhwyvar went with them, and as soon as they had
gone, the council began to grind ahead once more, but more slowly this
time and with less roaring and breast-beating - as if all their anger had
been expended and their passions leeched away by the curious
interruption.
In the end, the noblemen were persuaded to the virtue of accepting
Arthur's terms. Any lingering resistance melted away at Mercia's arrival.
The Vandal prince strode at once to where Arthur sat on his camp chair,
and prostrated himself at the High King's feet, stretching himself full
length upon the ground, his face in the dust. The barbarian then took hold
of the Pendragon's foot and placed it on his neck and lay as dead before
his sovereign lord.
Arthur then raised the barbarian to his feet and allowed him to embrace
the High King like a brother. This unabashed display of submission and
acceptance went some distance towards convincing the yet reluctant
nobles that the Vandali were earnest in their regard for Arthur. Unwilling
to be bested by barbarians in displaying loyalty to the High King, the
Britons made a point of renewing their vows of allegiance, placing
themselves likewise beneath the Pendragon's sovereignty.
Arthur acclaimed them one and all. 'Rejoice, mighty chieftains,' he told
them, bestowing the favour of his winning smile, 'for a great good has
been born in Britain today. You have put battle and bloodshed behind you
and welcomed the stranger in your midst in order that peace should obtain
throughout the land. For this I commend you, and I make bold to prophesy
that from this day, as the Realm of Mercia prospers, so Britain will
prosper.'
He then declared a feast in honour of the new accord, and even made a
joke at his own expense, saying that any king who feasted his lords on
bread and water, instead of meat and ale, was a king who risked his life in
a lion's den.
A small jest, but the noblemen laughed heartily, for by this they
understood that the drought was just as hard, if not harder, on the High
King as it was for them, and that he had allowed himself no greater luxury
and largesse than the least of them possessed. Truly, I believe this
endeared Arthur to them and bound them to him far more tightly than
anything else he could have said or done. They loved him for it, and the
mistrust and hurt feelings of the day dwindled to insignificance.
Thus, the council ended, and the noblemen departed, hailing one another
loudly, and talking together as they made their way to the place of
feasting. 'That was well done, Bear,' Bedwyr said, watching them go. 'You
have carried the battle.'
'Let us pray the peace endures,' Arthur replied. Rhys then called him away
to attend another matter, and the others departed also, leaving me and
Myrddin alone beside the empty throne.
'A strange day,' I said, watching the others leave.
'Yes,' Myrddin agreed absently, 'very strange indeed.'
'I feared the council would end in bitter bloodshed; instead it ends in a
feast of friends.'
'Oh, that, yes,' muttered Myrddin, only half listening to me. 'Who would
have thought it?'
Then, without taking his leave, he simply turned and walked away. I
stared after him, and as he moved slowly off, I thought I heard him
speaking to himself.
'She chose Llenlleawg,' he said, his voice hushed and oddly strained. 'A
curious choice - or is it? Great Light, what does it mean?'
                             EIGHT


We did not linger in the north a moment longer than necessary. The great
warband was assembled for the last time so that the Pendragon could pay
tribute to their stalwart devotion and reward their sacrifice with high
words - and good gold, which he shared out from the wealth of his war
chest. He then dismissed them and, having seen Mercia placed on a solid
footing with his neighbours, struck camp and headed south. The warriors
departed in knots and clumps, so that the journey became one long leave-
taking as we said farewell to our swordbrothers, sending them back to
hearth and kin. I do believe Arthur embraced each one and sped him
homeward with a word of gratitude and praise.
Accordingly, we reached the southlands far fewer in number than when
we rode out; only the Dragon Flight and a scant handful of the younger
Cymbrogi remained to serve the High King as we came within sight of our
destination, Ynys Avallach, the Isle of Avallach, a place of peace and a
haven of rest.
The great Tor rises from the surrounding marshland like a mountain rising
above the clouds. Atop this mountain sits the Fisher King's palace, a huge,
wall-bounded, many-chambered edifice made of honey-coloured stone; it
boasts a high-vaulted great hall, large stables, and two high towers either
side of its wide timber gate. A causeway connects the Tor with the nearby
hill on which the abbey is built; the fields of the monks lie to the east, and
to the north is the first of a multitude of low, shapely hills.
In the evening light, the palace glows like sunstruck gold and its image is
reflected in the fine lake at the foot of the Tor. Owing to his fondness for
plying the waters of that lake in his small boat, Avallach is known as the
Fisher King. A king he is, to be sure, but unlike any I have ever known: he
is the last monarch of the Fair Folk, the last of that graceful, elegant race.
He is also Myrddin's grandfather, and his daughter Charis is Myrddin's
mother. To see them is to know where the Wise Emrys received his stature
and regal bearing.
Not so many days had passed since we last saw the soft southern hills, and
yet the region seemed vastly changed, for what the dry, hot wind did not
steal, the plague destroyed. Indeed, as we drew nearer our destination we
more often passed abandoned holdings - several of which had been
occupied when we first rode north. Each day of the drought drove more
people off the land: some fled into the forests, where they might hunt and
forage; others abandoned Britain for foreign shores.
Even Arthur, despite his hopeful vision, looked upon the forsaken
settlements with a mournful eye. He spoke little, but the gloomy
expression on his face declared his mind well enough. The king held it a
calamity. Bedwyr, his closest friend, tried to comfort him. 'They will come
back, Bear,' he said. 'When the drought ends and the plague has run its
course, they will all come back.'
But Arthur only nodded glumly, and said, 'I pray you are right.'
Even the sight of Ynys Avallach with the splendid Tor soaring above the
placid lake failed to lift the Pendragon's spirits. Where always before it
had been a pleasant, if not joyful, sight, this time it appeared to us a lonely
place, steeped in dolorous airs and failing light. Though Myrddin said he
was behaving like a child to take on so, Arthur paused, leaned in the
saddle, and looked long upon the solitary Tor and its crowning palace.
Finally, Myrddin grew disgusted and rode alone to alert the monks and
Fair Folk of our arrival. The welcome, when we received it, more than
made up for the sorrowful end to a journey begun in high spirits. Mind, I
have seen the Fair Folk before, and more than most, but I am always
astounded by them: it is as if the mind cannot long hold to such splendour
and gradually lets the memory slip away. I know no other way to account
for it. Even so, to say that each time I renew my friendship with Avallach
and his folk I fall afresh under a spell of charm and grace, is to speak but
half a truth. Because of Avallach and Charis, a spirit of peace abides in
that place the like of which is rare in our war-rent world, God well knows.
Then again, perhaps it is myself who, possessing a cold and wayward
heart, cannot easily conceive that places such as Ynys Avallach exist.
Alas, I fear I have seen too much of blood and strife, and it has corroded
my soul. And yet, bright hope! In coming to the Tor, I am welcomed as a
brother, and reminded of the beauty I have forgotten, and I am recalled to
the pursuit of higher things.
There is Avallach, most worthy lord, he of dark and imposing mien, a man
whose nobility is proclaimed not in word and deed alone, but in every
limb and sinew. He is a king whose realm, as they say, is not of this world.
Arthur is a big and handsome man, but next to Avallach, even our beloved
Pendragon seems but a lanky stripling of a youth, green and ungainly. The
Fisher King is tall and his voice is like soft thunder falling on the ear from
a friendlier clime; when he smiles it is as if the sun itself has come from
behind a cloud to light the drear shadow-crowded way with dazzling
warmth. Myrddin has said that Lord Avallach is the last of his kind, and I
believe him; but while he endures, our wave-encompassed isle is a better
place by far.
And then... Charis: to speak of her is to demean with words what is best
expressed in song; a wordless melody of the kind oft stroked on the harp
in Myrddin's hand is the best description, I do believe, for when the harp
strings sing and the heart sheds its weariness and rises to the eternal dance,
that is what it is like to behold the Lady of the Lake. The name was
Taliesin's bestowal, and it speaks to the shimmering mystery of her. She is
womanly grace and all things female made rounded flesh and blessed of
the fairest form. Elegance finds its meaning in her movements, and to hear
her speak is to know how heaven's bright citizens address their immortal
kind.
A man of crude weapons and rough ways, I know my praise shames the
object it would exalt, so I will say no more, save this: imagine the thing
which holds for you a blessing of gentleness and comfort, that incites to
virtue without reproof even while it soothes with beauty, and you begin to
glimpse the wonder that is Charis. I am not alone in this appraisal, mind. I
have it on solid authority that the first of our race to behold Charis went
down on their knees in worshipful reverence to the vision they believed
heaven-sent. I am not convinced they were entirely wrong.
There are other Fair Folk, too, and I will speak of them as opportunity
allows, but I would establish here how I felt upon seeing their beguiling
race once again. As I say, mere moments in their welcoming presence and
melancholy fell away, sorrow vanished, and the nagging anxiety that
dogged our steps fled back to its dank abode.
Our meal in the Fisher King's hall that night, though simple fare, was a
feast. We went to our rest with hearts healed and whole once more. The
next days were bliss to one and all, the trials and travails of the Vandal
invasion were swept away, and our spirits restored in that peaceful, gentle
place.
See, now: I have said nothing in all this of Llenlleawg and the strange
young woman. The omission was apurpose to set the piece in its proper
place, so to speak. Rest assured, the mute young woman was with us every
step of the way, though quiet, as might be expected. Curiously, her
unnatural silence contrived to draw even the slightest of attentions. I
observed her effect on others whenever she was near: the eye forever stole
in her direction; untethered thoughts drifted her way. Though making no
demand of any kind, she yet exerted an uncanny influence and her
presence loomed in our midst like a great standing stone on a silent moor.
For her part, she seemed happy to journey with us, eating, sleeping, riding,
acquiescing to her lot with grace and forbearance, as it seemed. Nor did
anyone suspect Llenlleawg might be anything but happy with this
arrangement. The tall Irishman was never given to complaining, true; he
once fought an entire battle with a broken spearpoint in his thigh and no
one knew of it until two days later, when he fainted while trying to remove
the shard himself.
He is like that - a true son of Eriu through and through, and no one who
knows him at all can ever claim to know what he will do or say next. In
battle, a whirlwind is more temperate and a storm-gale more serene than is
our Llenlleawg. Moody and restive as the ever-shifting waves that
surround his soggy homeland he may be, but I will thump the man who
speaks an ill word of Llenlleawg.
I tell this so you may know how it came about that no one spared a
thought for the Irishman or his flaxen-haired companion all that long way
south; Llenlleawg made no complaint, and the strange maid remained
complacent the while. Nothing in the way either of them behaved aroused
the slightest suspicion. Not even Myrddin, who is ever alert to the subtlest
of signs and indications, found reason to express the slightest concern.
Consequently, it was not until coming in sight of the Tor that any of us
had occasion to suspect that all was not well. Llenlleawg, who might have
spoken sooner, let it slip that he thought the woman bewitched. He was
answering Gwenhwyvar's mild inquiry, I think, and said, 'So long as she
remains in sight of me, and I of her, she is meekness itself. Yet if I leave
her side but a moment, she grows so distraught that it seems a wicked
cruelty.'
'I am sorry,' replied the queen thoughtfully, turning her eyes to regard the
stranger where she primly sat her horse a few paces away. 'In truth, it had
escaped my notice.' As if sensing Gwenhwyvar's mild attention, the
strange girl shifted in the saddle and turned her face towards us; the queen
shivered and dropped her gaze.
'How do you sleep?' wondered Bedwyr, overhearing their talk.
'No matter where I lay my head,' Llenlleawg replied, 'she will not rest until
she has put herself beside me.'
'You mean you sleep with her?' Bedwyr said, his voice rising in surprise.
'No more than you sleep with your saddle,' the Irish champion answered,
glaring at Bedwyr for raising the question.
'Has she spoken to you?' the queen asked.
Llenlleawg shook his head. 'Neither word nor sound has she uttered.'
'I wish you had told me sooner,' Gwenhwyvar chided gently. 'But seeing
we are so close to Ynys Avallach, I ask you abide but a little longer until
we can seek the advice of Charts and the blessed Bishop Elfodd. I would
trust them to know what is best to do.'
Llenlleawg said no more, and no doubt the thing would have proceeded in
the way Gwenhwyvar had suggested, if not for the girl's odd behaviour.
For as we drew nearer the Glass Isle and the abbey, the young woman fell
further and further back in our ranks. When we at last reached the
causeway leading to the Tor and Avallach's palace, she was nowhere to be
seen. Though the queen asked after her, and many of the Cymbrogi
remembered seeing her, no one knew where she had gone. A quick search
of the ranks turned up neither clue nor hint of her passing. Apparently, the
strange young woman had disappeared in full sight of all - and yet, no one
had seen her go. It was as if she had simply faded away, leaving not the
slightest trace behind.
Despite his lack of enthusiasm for the duty, Llenlleawg was abashed that
he had failed in the simple task of looking after his charge. I suspect he
was so relieved when she finally left his side, he simply turned a blind eye
to her disappearance. We were in sight of our destination, mind. Who
could imagine anyone straying away with the end of the journey so near?
Llenlleawg rode directly to find the missing woman, and even then no one
doubted that we would soon see them both before the sun had so much as
quartered the sky. Thus, we dismissed the matter from our minds, and
were soon caught up in the gladness of our welcome. We had come to
Ynys Avallach, after all, where all unhappy thoughts are banished like
gloomy shadows from the trail when daylight strikes through the clouds at
the end of day.
I confess, I never gave the matter a second thought until Myrddin
remarked on Llenlleawg's absence the next day. I was admiring Avallach's
horses in the stables. The Fair Folk's love of horses almost matches that of
the Irish, and they breed a steed even our Eireann cousins could envy. I
speak as a man who has spent more days on horseback than on my own
two feet, so take it for a truth from one who knows whereof he speaks.
See, now: I stood stroking the long sleek neck of a handsome grey mare,
when I heard the soft tread of a step behind me. I turned and Myrddin was
beside me. 'They are a joy to behold,' he proclaimed, speaking to my
thoughts. 'I am certain Avallach would be happy to let you ride one if you
wished.' He paused, looking sideways at me in the way he has - as if
looking through a body into the soul beyond - then he said, 'Perhaps you
might like to take this one and go in search of Llenlleawg. He should have
returned by now, and I cannot think he has lost his way.'
'No,' I granted, 'never that. But has it ever occurred to you that he may
have decided to spend a night with a young woman? - beyond the gaze of
prying eyes, so to speak.'
Myrddin flatly rejected my insinuation. 'Do you really believe he would
defy his lord and queen to frolic in the forest with a maiden he has been
charged to protect?'
'Well, I -'
'Something has happened to him,' he declared, 'or he would have returned
by now.'
'I will take leave of Arthur at once,' I told him and started off. He caught
me by the arm and stayed me.
'Take someone with you. Those who rode with you when you found the
girl - who were they?'
Teredur and Tallaght,' I answered. 'They are with us still. I will fetch
them.'
'Allow me,' Myrddin suggested. 'I will send for them. You can see to the
horses.' He turned on his heel and strode from the stable, pausing at the
door long enough to add, 'Swiftly, my friend; the trail is already cold.'
With the help of Avallach's stablemen, I soon had three handsome horses
saddled and ready to ride. Peredur and Tallaght joined me as I was
tightening the cinch on the grey I had chosen for myself. I hailed the two
young warriors and said, 'It seems we are to be companions once more.
Did the Emrys tell you what we are about?'
'No, lord,' answered Peredur. 'We were told to hasten to the stables to find
you and bring these,' he said, indicating the bag of provisions they each
carried.
'Well and good,' I replied. 'This is the way of it: the maiden we found in
the forest went missing before we reached Ynys Avallach, and Llenlleawg
was sent to bring her back. He should have returned by now. Myrddin has
asked us to find them... or Llenlleawg, at least.'
'Are we to try the Fair Folk mounts?' wondered Tallaght, eyeing the
animals appreciatively.
'Aye, lad,' I told him. 'If you can bear to sit such a beast.'
'We are your men, Lord Gwalchavad,' Peredur said happily. 'Lead us
where you will.'
With that we were away, clattering through the yard and down the
winding path to the marshland below. It was morning yet, and we passed a
few monks toiling in the fields beyond the abbey. They sent us on our way
with 'God speed you!' and 'Blessings of the day!'
Having seen Llenlleawg leave our company, I knew where to begin
searching. Though the lake was low from the drought, the earth was still
soft enough to take a fair impression, and indeed, we had no difficulty
recognizing the distinctive crescent and bar of a war-horse's hoof. Arthur
had long ago adopted the old Roman custom of affixing an extra
crosspiece of iron to the horseshoe, which, though costly, greatly
improved the usefulness of our mounts, especially on the battlefield. There
was no mistaking one of the Pendragon's horses.
Taking our lead from the tracks, we rode east. Our horses, wonderful
creatures, carried us over the nearer hills as lightly as thistledown borne
aloft on the wind's breath, and we were soon far from sight of the Tor. I
was so enjoying my ride that I soon forgot all about Llenlleawg and his
lady. Peredur's sharp whistle brought me up short. I halted and turned to
see him pointing away south.
'Forgive me, lord,' he said, 'but I think he has left the trail just here.'
Looking to the place he indicated, I saw the tracks of two shod horses
leading south. I commended his sharp eye and confessed that I had been
too much given to the ride to notice the turning. 'You have saved us the
chore of retracing our steps,' I allowed, and granted him the privilege of
leading the search. 'Now on with you! Tallaght and I will follow.'
Thus I took my place behind the other two, and we resumed our journey.
The trail, as Peredur had rightly espied, departed its eastward course and
struck off towards the south. Once beyond the salt-marsh lowlands, we
encountered drought-dry hills and dusty valleys, passing abandoned
holdings where but recently we might have expected a drink.
Day's end found us far to the south and searching for a stream or brook
where we might make camp for the night. The first stars were already
alight when we finally came upon a shrunken rill where a little water yet
trickled. Though I would have preferred a more private place among the
trees, I did not like to wander far from the trail, for it seemed likely that if
Llenlleawg had passed this way, he might have camped hereabouts, too.
We gathered the few bits of dry brush to make our fire, and pulled
provisions from the bags behind our saddles to make a quiet meal - after
which we rolled ourselves in our cloaks to contemplate the bright-
spangled heavens and wait for sleep to overtake us. I had just closed my
eyes, or so it seemed, when a strange wailing sound roused me. I awoke
and stood, stone-still and holding my breath, to listen for a moment. The
sound, similar in some ways to that of a wolf crying down the moon,
reached me from some distance farther south.
I walked a little apart from the red embers of our exhausted fire, and
looked to the low southern hills, where I saw the faintly flickering glow of
a beacon flame. I watched for a while, and scanned the land round about
for an answering fire, but saw none. Neither did I hear the wailing sound
again. The beacon, if beacon it was, died away as quickly as a spark, and
the darkness closed around the place. I waited, but the flame was not
renewed, and so I returned to my rest.
The next morning, after leaving a pile of rocks to mark the trail, we turned
aside to find the place where the beacon had been lit, for I hoped to
discover some sign of who had made it and why. As it happened, the ride
led us farther south than I anticipated, but we found the site: an immense
bed of still-warm ashes surrounded by a ring of earth erected to keep the
dry hillside from taking light. Here and there we saw a few footprints -
though very few - and those were scuffed and featureless.
They have taken care to leave nothing behind,' Peredur observed.
'Who could have made it?' wondered Tallaght. 'Llenlleawg and the girl?'
'Better to ask who was meant to see it,' I replied, and then considered that
the wailing began only after the beacon had all but spent itself. 'Maybe
they feared we would miss the signal, so they roused us another way,' I
suggested lightly to my companions, but neither of them deemed it likely.
'Probably it was only a wolf,' suggested Tallaght. 'No doubt the smell of
smoke disturbed the beast.'
Now, I have heard wolves howling in the night more times than either of
my young friends have swung rump to saddle, and I know it was never
any wolf I heard. Still, I held my tongue and let the thing go. As there was
nothing more to see, I went to my horse, gathered up the reins, and
regained my mount, ready to resume the trail. 'The day flies before us,' I
called, urging them away.
'A moment, lord,' cried Peredur. I looked around and saw him inside the
fire-ring, squatting on his haunches, prodding the ashes with a length of
branch unburned at one end. So saying, he lifted something from the
smouldering ash pile and brought it to me. 'What think you of this?' he
asked, extending the stick towards me.
I saw that he had found a scrap of cloth - fine stuff, tightly woven - which
had been all but consumed in the flames. Taking the scrap between my
fingers, I looked again, more closely, and to my dismay recognized it at
once.
'God help him,' I moaned, my voice a low croak. 'It is a piece of
Llenlleawg's cloak.'
                               NINE


‘I must have an infant - a child, my sweet. I need a child.'
Loth, as I recall, merely shrugged. 'No difficulty there,' he replied lightly.
'I will send one of the men to the settlement. There are always brats
enough, and no one squeals overmuch if one goes missing.'
'No,' I said. 'Not that way.' Taking up the camphor-wood box from the
table, I removed the lid and dipped my fingers into the fine grey powder.
'It is nothing. Last time we - '
'This is different,'I insisted quietly. 'It is not like last time.'
Young Loth hesitated in the flickering candelight. A beautiful young man,
he was the very image of his father. I dropped a pinch of the grey powder
into the flame between us. Smoke puffed up, and a subtle fragrance filled
the air. 'I need a child,' I said, pressing my hands to my stomach. 'It must
be bone of my bone, blood of my blood. It must be my child.'
I dropped another pinch of the powder - a potion of compliance -into the
flame, replaced the camphor-wood box, and stepped nearer, lowering my
voice slightly. 'And you must give me this child, my darling.'
'Me! But I-'
'I will tell you about this child, shall I?' Putting my hands on his chest, I
stepped forward, drawing him to me. 'This child will grow to be a
sorceress of rare and wondrous powers, and she shall be called the Bane
of Britain. She will destroy that simpleton Myrddin and his tiresome pet,
Arthur. She will lay waste to the Kingdom of Summer, and prepare the
way for us to reign - you and me. Together we will establish a dynasty that
will last a thousand years.'
I drew him closer as I spoke. 'Come, my darling Loth.' My hands found his
arm, and began leading him away. ‘I have prepared the bedchamber for
our pleasure.'
'Mother, I-'he began, then hesitated, still uncertain. 'Morgian, it is-'
'Shh,'I hushed gently. 'I ask nothing you have not done with other women.
There is food within, and wine. We will eat and drink and, in the time-
between-times, you will give me your seed for the making of a child.'
He looked through the door and into the candlelit interior beyond. 'Come,
my darling,' I said, my voice like warm mead, sweetly intoxicating and
seductive, 'the night awaits.'
'I would not hear you speak so, even in jest,' Tallaght intoned ruefully.
'As I breathe, son, it is no jest. Either this is all that remains of our
swordbrother's cloak, or I know him not at all.'
Turning his gaze once more to the ash pile, he said, 'Then we best make
certain there is no more of him here than that.'
And so we did. Stir the embers how we might, the ashes revealed nothing
more. Keen-eyed Peredur, meanwhile, busied himself with searching the
surrounding hillside, and his labour bore fruit.
'See here!' he cried, drawing our attention. 'They passed this way!'
Hastening to where he stood, we saw the tracks of two people - and
possibly a third - leading away from the fire-ring. I bent low to examine
the faint markings - little more than bent grass and scuff marks in the dirt -
and marvelled once more at Peredur's ability. 'Son,' I said, for he was that
young, 'wherever did you learn to track?'
'My father kept the game runs for King Cadwallo,' he answered. 'I have
ridden with him since I was old enough to sit a horse.'
'Well, lad, he taught you well.' Tucking the burned scrap of cloak under
my belt, I said, 'I think it best we follow the trail we are given. Lead on.'
Thus we continued on our way, pursuing our new course south and east,
slowly passing beyond the lands of the Summer Realm. I took care to
mark our progress, for we were moving into territory strange to me.
Trusting Peredur to keep the trail, I occupied myself with watching the
rocks and hills round about, keeping an eye for any sign that we might be
watched. Save the occasional lonely crow, I saw no living thing.
Even so, the further we journeyed into that queer land, the more certain I
grew that we were being watched. I have ridden into battle often enough to
know when an enemy is lurking near, hiding and awaiting the chance to
attack an unwary warrior. That was the feeling that overtook me in this
place. Once, as we descended a steep defile between two overhanging
bluffs, the skin prickled on my back as if danger stalked us from behind.
Spear in hand, I wheeled my horse to see... the empty path, and nothing
more.
This occurred three times before the sun reached midday, and each time it
took me by surprise. Though it does me no credit to confess it, the last
instance so unnerved me that I called Peredur to halt at the next
opportunity, thinking to water the horses and collect myself somewhat.
This he did soon after, for directly we came upon a tidal estuary and
climbed down from the horses. The bank, such as it was, consisted of
loose slaty shingle and wrack cast up by the tide. As ill luck would have it,
the tide was out, leaving an expanse of mud wide as a battleground with
only a thin rivulet of rank green water oozing down through the centre.
Loath to let the horses drink this foul brack, we looked up and down either
side to see if we might yet come to some better place, but were frustrated
in the attempt. The estuary stretched far inland and maintained its breadth
beyond sight.
'This is an unhappy place, God knows,' remarked Tallaght, scanning the
mud before us.
'It will not grow more agreeable for standing here,' I replied. Seeing
nothing for it but to strike on and make for the other side, I swung up into
the saddle once more. 'The sooner we put the place behind us, the better I
will feel.'
Peredur, who had ridden a few hundred paces upriver to the first of a
series of low bluffs rising from the bank, returned to say, 'The trail ends
just here. There is no better fording that I can see. They must have gone
across at high tide, or we would see the prints.'
'Then we have no choice.' So saying, I lifted the reins and struck off across
the muddy broad.
It was vile stuff: thick black sticky muck with a stink that turned the
stomach. The rancid slime sucked at the steed's hooves and released a
stench which assaulted the nose and watered the eyes. I pressed on
regardless, anxious to get across as quickly as possible. That was my
mistake.
For, having almost reached the slow-trickling flow in the middle of the
mudflat, I realized that my proud mount was sinking deeper into the mire
with every step. Halting, I turned in the saddle to warn the two behind me.
'Come no further,' I called. 'We must go around another way.'
With that I lifted the reins and made to turn the grey. Peredur's shout
stopped me. 'Stay, lord!' he cried tersely. 'Do not move!'
Glancing swiftly behind me and all around, I saw nothing to alarm me and
was about to say as much when Tallaght joined in the warning. 'Lord
Gwalchavad,' he called, his voice tense. 'Look around you!' He thrust out
his hand and pointed to the mud.
Look I did, but saw only the scum of the fetid mire glimmering under a
baleful sun. And then, even as I watched, the whole dully glistening
surface began to shiver and then to tremble. I stared in disbelief as the
muddy flats quaked with sudden, sluggish life, and the horror of my
predicament came clear. The inrushing tide was flowing once more, and
the whole unstable mass was quivering and heaving in the slow-rippling
waves of quicksand.
'Go back!' I shouted. 'Save yourselves!'
Both warriors turned their mounts and began struggling back towards the
bank. I made to follow them, but the grey had sunk still lower and could
not lift her legs.
Pulling hard on the reins, I succeeded in making the horse rear onto its
hind legs, whereupon I swung the frightened animal's head and completed
the turn. The grey succeeded but two further steps before sinking to the
hocks once more.
Desperate to save my panicky mount, I threw myself from the saddle and
instantly sank to my knees in the vile bog. The mud shuddered and heaved
around me as the unseen waves lent it eerie life, but I gritted my teeth and
tightened the reins around my hand, and then, with an effort, raised my
foot from the mire and lumbered ahead one step.
Half turning, I coaxed my mount forward, speaking in a soft, soothing
tone. Eyes wide and rolling with terror as the killing mud sucked at her
hooves, the grey struggled gamely forward, rearing up and plunging, but
succeeding only in sinking us both more deeply. I made to wade forward
and felt my insubstantial footing give way. I now stood hip-deep in the
muck, and could feel cold water seeping through the ooze and up around
my legs.
Tallaght and Peredur, having reached the bank, secured their mounts,
threw off their cloaks, and hastened back to help me. I saw them
floundering over the mud and tried to warn them away, but they came on
regardless.
Throw me the reins!' shouted Tallaght. Having come as near as he dared,
he lay himself upon the mud and stretched out his hand. 'Let me take her,'
he called. As I could do nothing more for the beast, I threw the reins to the
young warrior and concerned myself with my own fate instead.
For his part, Peredur, holding his spear above his head, waded out to me.
Stretching himself flat upon the mud, he extended the butt of the spear. I
leaned towards him; cold water gushed up around my thighs and I
promptly sank to my waist.
Peredur wormed closer. 'Take hold!' he cried.
Seeing the spear within reach, I raised my right leg and brought it down
smartly so as to jump up. I did not so much leap as lurch, flinging my
body forward in a sorry imitation of cuChullain's salmon leap. Though
laughably awkward, the manoeuvre gained me a hairsbreadth of distance. I
felt my fingers close on the butt of Peredur's spear, and I grabbed hold
with a grip that Death himself could not shake loose.
The young warrior, by the strength of his arms alone, pulled me nearer. I
slithered from the wallow and came free with a squelchy sucking sound,
but there I stopped, and Peredur could not draw me further without
hauling himself in as well. I tried snaking my way to him, but even the
slightest movement sent the bog quivering. I lay still and began sinking
once more. 'We need a rope,' Peredur called.
Alas, we had no rope, and well I knew it.
'A moment, lord.' Peredur wormed his way to dry land, where he ran to his
horse and stripped off the tack. Drawing his knife, he cut the reins from
the bit and tied them together, then came to the edge of the mudflat and
threw the end of the leather strap to me. It fell just out of reach, so he
quickly pulled it in, took two steps nearer, leaned out, and threw it again.
The second throw went wide, as did the third, but I snagged the line on the
fourth try and wound it around my wrist.
'Haul away!' I called, and Peredur, holding tight with both hands, edged
slowly back and back. At first I feared the strap would break, but it was
good leather, and though it stretched taut as a harp string, it did not break.
One step... and another... and then he reached the bank, gained his feet,
and pulled hard until I was sliding smoothly over the morass.
Upon reaching the bank, I scrambled to my feet. With a whoop of delight,
Peredur threw down the leather line and ran to me, grinning at his
accomplishment. 'Well done, lad!' I said, clapping him heartily on the
back. That was quick thinking.'
Tallaght's shout brought us back to the task at hand: 'Help! I am losing
her!'
I turned to see that the grey was sunk to her belly in the black ooze, and
the young warrior was in over his knees, but still clinging tightly to the
reins. Peredur and I ran to his aid. In my haste, I struck a piece of slate and
my foot slid out from under me. I fell back, but rose on the instant with an
idea.
'Here, now!' I called to Peredur. 'Help me with these!'
So saying, I stooped to gather an armful of the larger slates, choosing the
broadest ones I could find. Peredur saw what I was about and leapt to;
digging beneath the surface layer, he found several pieces of fair size and
carried them to the edge of the quicksand bog.
Placing the first slate atop the morass, he stepped out on it and found that
it would support him. 'It will serve!' he shouted, and I began passing him
more slates, which he put down a step at a time, forming a stepping-stone
path out to where poor Tallaght was now almost sunk to his waist.
'Let go of the horse!' I told him, my heart falling at the thought of
abandoning my handsome mount.
'If she goes,' Tallaght answered between clenched teeth, 'we go together.'
'Son, there is no need,' I replied. 'Let her go. Save yourself.'
The unseen waves of the incoming tide set the mud heaving and
shuddering around him. Water showed in a queasy ring around the young
warrior's waist.
Peredur placed the last slate but a few paces from Tallaght. 'Brother,' he
said, stretching forth his arm, 'the tide is flowing. It is take my hand, or
sink and drown.'
Realizing the danger at last, Tallaght relented. With a groan he released
the reins and threw out his hand. Peredur caught him and pulled him free.
Though the stepping-stones were themselves beginning to sink, they yet
bore up the two young men, who skittered across and clambered
thankfully onto solid ground.
We three stood for a moment, panting with the exertion of our efforts and
staring unhappily at the grey tossing her head and whinnying with fright.
The two young men suggested throwing down more slates and somehow
getting the animal to walk on them. 'Even if the horse was willing,' I
replied, 'we could never lift her onto them.' Observing the eerily rippling
bog, I added, 'The tide is beating us besides. I am not fool enough to risk
all three of us in a hopeless cause. I fear we must let the sea have its way.'
Tallaght stared, and opened his mouth to protest, but Peredur took his arm
and silenced him with a conclusive 'Lord Gwalchavad is right.'
Now, I am as steadfast as any man I know, but I could not find it in me to
stand and watch that beautiful animal die. 'Come away,' I said to my
companions. 'We can do nothing more.'
Tallaght resisted. 'Will you not even end it with a spear?'
Glancing back, I shook my head and turned to leave.
'Lord,' he called, insistent still, 'let me do it if you will not.'
I stopped, and though I had no wish to berate him, I addressed him with
my thoughts. 'Lad, a warrior should have a friendly feeling for his mount,
and your affection does you credit. But this is a hostile land, and we may
well be glad of our spears before another day is run. Even had we weapons
to spare, killing a horse with a single thrust from this distance would take
a fortunate cast indeed. I own no such skill, and will not see the poor beast
suffer any more than need be. In light of these unhappy facts, I think we
must leave the thing where it is.' Turning away once more, I said, 'I am
heartily sick of this place and wish I had never seen it.'
Peredur snatched up the reins of his mount and fell into step behind me,
and after we had walked a few paces, Tallaght also took up his reins and
came along. We moved inland, climbing up the low bluffs above the
estuary, where I paused briefly to look back at my doomed mount - now
plunged to her flanks in the killing bog and screaming terribly. The sound
of that wretched creature cut me to the quick. I made a sorrowful farewell
and moved on, miserable, wet, and stinking from toe to head. Oh, my heart
was low and regretful, but there was nothing for it but to drag ourselves
away.
My two companions fell into a fretful silence, from which I tried to raise
them, but gave up trying after a while; I felt as bad as they did, and with
the day's passing, the foreboding grew more, not less.
I found myself wondering what disaster would befall us next, for although
calamity can overtake anyone at any time -especially travellers in the
wilds - in my present mind I deemed our misfortune nothing less than an
assault by a malevolent power dogging our every step since we had
entered this accursed realm. It seemed to me that the rocks and bare hills
conspired against us, and even the low, brooding sky wished us ill. I
remained firm in this woeful assessment for a considerable time.
As I warmed myself by the campfire later, I consoled myself with the
thought that it could have been worse. We might have lost far more than a
good horse; and, to be sure, if I had been riding alone, I would have died
with my horse. Accordingly, I thanked the Good God for my quick-
thinking young friends and took our narrow escape as a warning, vowing
to be on better guard from now on.
                                TEN


The search for a suitable fording place took us far out of our way. By the
time we accomplished our crossing, twilight had come to that forsaken
land - no wholesome twilight, mind, but a murky dusk of rising mist that
made the air dank and heavy.
Our clothes were still damp and repugnant to us, but we found no clean
water in which to wash and so were forced to wear them whether we
would or no. And though we gathered enough twigs and brush to make a
fire, the fickle flame did little to dry us. The stench of the mud took away
our appetites, so we did not bother trying to cook or eat anything,
contenting ourselves with a few mouthfuls from the waterskin Tallaght
carried behind his saddle.
Downhearted, dejected, and tired from our ordeal, no one felt like talking,
so we rolled ourselves in our cloaks and tried to sleep. Even sleep did not
come easily. No sooner had we closed our eyes than the moon rose,
bulging full and yellow like a great baleful eye in the heavens. The light it
cast seemed filthy, mean, and pestilential - a plague moon, Peredur called
it, and we agreed.
Thus we passed a wretched night and rose ill-rested to begin a day which
nevertheless held the promise of coming good; after our wasted night we
welcomed the clear blue sky and fine bright sun. Both sky and sun swiftly
faded, however, to a dull, bleached-bone white which hurt the eyes and
brought an ache to the head.
We worked our way back down along the tidal estuary in search of the
trail we had followed the previous day, still feeling fairly certain that
Llenlleawg, and possibly two others, had passed this way. As I had no
horse, we took it in turn to ride and walk, and sometimes Peredur and
Tallaght shared a mount. The bank was rough and rocky, and made for
slow going - whether on horse or afoot, we could move no faster. And
then, when we finally reached the place where we had tried crossing the
day before, we could not raise the trail again.
For all Peredur's exemplary skill and keen eye, we found neither track nor
trace of whoever it was we had been following. 'The bog took them, I
suppose,' suggested Peredur gloomily, 'the same as it took the grey.'
Indicating the empty stretch of slowly undulating muck, he said, 'The
horse is gone, and the tide is hungry still.'
He need not have mentioned the calamity; carcass or no, I was only too
aware of the poor beast's demise. Losing a good horse is as bad as losing
an arm or a leg. And that is the end of it.
After a time, we gave up searching among the rubble rock shingle and
decided to continue in the direction the tracks had been leading when they
encountered the quagmire. I freely confess the plan made little sense; there
was no good reason to suppose that whoever made the trail had crossed
the bog when we could not - unless they knew how and where to ford, and
if so, that fording was not to be found by us. Indeed, we discussed this
very thing, and the two young warriors were of the opinion that it would
be best to range farther downstream, since our quarry might easily have
gone the other way.
But something in me urged for pressing on. As it happens, I am not a man
given to whims or obscure proddings, and in any event, I seldom receive
them. Yet I was seized by such a powerfully insistent urging that I threw
aside all reason and followed it. Perhaps because I am unaccustomed to
receiving these ethereal promptings, my own inexperience made me
gullible. Then again, perhaps something beyond human ken was hard at
work, but I was too blind to read the signs.
The three of us proceeded to a nearby hilltop for a better view of our
position. We paused to scan our surroundings and found that we had come
up out of a valley and onto a wide, hill-crowded barrens. In happier times
those same stark hills might have appeared green-clothed and agreeable, a
welcoming sight for man and beast alike. After a season or two of drought,
however, the sight of numberless bald crests rising one after another into
the distance - like so many withered, wind-grizzled heads - failed to lift a
heart already labouring under the unrelenting bleakness of that desolate
place.
What few trees existed were stunted, twisted things, tortured into strange
shapes by the coastal wind. For, yes, I now determined that we were
journeying into Llyonesse - a long, ever-narrowing spine of land thrown
up by contentious seas to separate and quell their warring natures: the Irish
Sea on the right hand, and Muir Nicht on the left. Long deemed an
inhospitable land, it is a queer place, a realm more fitting for outcast souls
and wild beasts than upright men. Ah, and I remember: it is also the
unholy battleground where Myrddin fought the wicked Morgian for his
life.
See, now: the disappearance of Pelleas, the Emrys' friend and servant, was
but one of the misfortunes issuing from that desperate battle; another was
the leaving of my twin and brother, Gwalcmai. Deeply do I miss him, for
until that dreadful day my brother and I had rarely been out of sight of one
another so much as a single day but that we were together again by
nightfall.
While Arthur and the Cymbrogi crossed swords with the Saecsen in the
north, Myrddin, warned by signs and portents, had gone alone to confront
the Queen of Air and Darkness. When Myrddin did not return, Gwalcmai
rode with Bedwyr to discover what had become of him. The two of them
found the Wise Emrys bloodied and blind in Llyonesse. Alas! Pelleas,
who had taken up the search before them, has never been seen again, and
Gwalcmai, overcome with remorse and shame, undertook exile. Or, as
Myrddin says, True man that he is, Gwalcmai could no longer abide his
tainted lineage and went in search of redemption.'
Tainted lineage! Truly, Morgian is no kin of mine. To speak plainly, the
affair sits no more comfortably with me now than it did when I first heard
of it. Allowing Gwalcmai to go away like that, however noble the purpose,
has always seemed ill-advised to me. Had I been there, you can well
believe I would have had a word or two to say about it. Well, I was not
there, and nothing can be done about it now - save pray we are reunited
one day, which I do, and so look forward to that happy reunion.
These things, then, were in my mind as we made our slow way into the
empty hills. I scanned the bleak horizon, alternating this unproductive
activity with picking mud-clots off my tunic and trews. After riding a fair
while, we came to a small, briar-choked burn snaking along the bottom of
a narrow gully. Though much shrunken from the stream it had been, the
water was still good, and so we stopped to refresh the horses and replenish
the waterskins. Then we washed ourselves and our clothes as best we
could and sat down to rest and eat a bite of hard bread. When our clothes
had mostly dried, we then journeyed on until the desultory sunlight faded
and night stole in around us once more.
At the failing of the sun, a murky, tepid dusk drew over the land.
Discouraged by the long and futile day, we halted and made camp in a
hollow. While Tallaght busied himself with the horses, Peredur fussed at
making a fire; the wood was rotten and unaccountably damp, and
produced more smoke than heat. As they were about these chores, I
walked a little to the overlooking hilltop to see what might be learned of
the night sky.
The haze which had obscured the day yet persisted, thickening as daylight
dwindled so as to keep out the light of any stars. A mournful wind from
the southwest moaned over the barren hills and set the bare branches of
the dwarfed trees chattering like naked teeth. Storms often attend such
nights, but there was not the slightest hint of rain in the air, and the wind
tasted of sea salt.
Nor was I better encouraged when Peredur called out to advise me that he
had found the source of the damp: a small spring of water seeping from
the hillside. I left off my scrutiny and went down to attend this new
discovery, hopeful that we might get some fresh water at last. I should
have guessed my hope, like all else in that dismal realm, would die
forlorn. Though Peredur delved with his hands into the hillside and
removed several stones, the spring remained little more than a soggy
weepage soaking up from the earth.
I dismissed the spring, saying, 'Were it ten times the trickle, it still would
not serve the horses.'
Peredur persisted, however, and collected enough in a bowl to give us all a
drink. As he had discovered the spring, we granted him first draught -
which also became the last: the water tasted of spoiled eggs.
'Gab.!' He spat, wiping his tongue on his sleeve to get the taste out of his
mouth.
Tallaght laughed at the pinched expression on Peredur's face, which
caused the stricken warrior to rail angrily at his kinsman. Tallaght
responded with harsh words, whereupon Peredur took offense at this
abuse. If I had not been standing over them, I have no doubt the thing
would have come to blows.
'Enough!' I told them sternly. 'It is nothing. Put it behind you.'
They glared at each other and backed away to nurse imagined resentments
the rest of the evening. I was only too thankful to let the night smooth our
ragged tempers, but this was not to be.
The fretful wind waxed stronger with the setting sun, gusting out of the
east, blowing dust from the hilltops, and swirling it around the hollow. At
first I hoped merely to ignore it, but the dry thunder mumbling in the
distance chased away any thought of sleep. I lay wrapped in my cloak,
listening to the storm, and thought I heard the sound of a bell - such as
monks often employ to call their brothers to prayer.
It came to me that the sound, tolling regular and slow, was gradually
growing louder. I rose and climbed the slope to have a look around, and in
the darkness at the summit stumbled over Peredur, who had roused
himself with the same notion. He whirled on me with a start and struck me
with his fist before I succeeded in convincing him that he was not under
attack.
'Peace, lad. It is myself, Gwalchavad.'
'Forgive me, lord,' he said, much relieved. 'I did not know you were
awake.'
'The bell woke me,' I replied. The young warrior appeared so confused by
this simple declaration, I added, 'The monkish bell - that,' as it tolled
again, 'just there.'
'God's truth,' he said, shaking his head, 'it was the singing that woke me. I
heard nothing of the bell.'
I stared at him, trying to define his face in the windy darkness. 'Singing?'
Strange to say, but even as I spoke the word, I heard the sound of voices
lifted in slow, sonorous chant. Perhaps I had been too taken with the bell
to have noticed, but I had not heard the sound before that instant.
Nevertheless, Peredur maintained that the chanting had wakened him, and
now that he had said it, I heard it, too.
As we stood in the wind-tossed night, discussing this, the moon broke free
of the low-flying clouds and cast a thin, watery light over the barren
hillscape. The bell tolled and the chanting grew louder, and I turned in the
direction of the sound, but saw nothing and so directed my gaze
elsewhere.
'There they are,' breathed Peredur, putting his head close to mine. 'Eight of
them, I make it.'
'Where?' I searched the moon-shot darkness for a glimpse of what he saw,
but found nothing.
There!' answered Peredur; placing his hand on my shoulder, he turned me
in the direction he was looking - the same direction I had searched. Now I
saw the flickering gleam of eight separate lights aglow on the hilltop. On
my honour, I swear the lights had not been there a mere moment before.
Yet there they were, bobbing gently along the crest of the hill: torches,
held aloft by unseen hands, wafting gently nearer to the sound of chanting
and the slow ringing of a bell.
'A poor night, I think, for travelling hereabouts,' I remarked.
'Who can they be?' wondered Peredur, and then suggested we take up our
weapons and see.
'No,' I counselled, 'their course will bring them near enough. We will
await them here.'
We stood our ground and shortly perceived the phantom glimmer of faces
beneath the guttering torches. On they came, passing out of sight briefly as
they descended one of the intervening valleys - only to reappear much
closer than before. Now they were near enough for us to see that there
were nine of them: eight torchbearers led by one who carried the bell -
monks, as I had supposed, dressed in priestly robes that billowed in the
wind. They were chanting in Latin and ringing their bell so intently that
they did not appear to heed us at all; had I been in their place, I doubt if I
should have expected to encounter fellow wanderers on such a night.
On they came, their voices low, their steps shuffling slowly, their shapes
shifting in the wind-whipped torchlight as their robes blew this way and
that. Dust churned up by the gusting wind cast a filthy pall over all, so that
they seemed to float along on dirty clouds. When I judged they had come
near enough, I stepped forth out of the darkness, my hands upraised to
show I carried no weapons.
'Peace to you, good brothers,' I said, speaking boldly to be heard over the
whine of the wind.
It was not my intent to frighten them, but an unexpected stranger looming
out of the darkness of a storm-blown night might be assumed to set the
heart racing. Curiously, the column simply halted, ceasing its chanting at
the same instant, so that it seemed the monks had anticipated my sudden
appearance.
'I give you good greeting,' I called, stepping nearer. They turned towards
me and it was then I saw that their faces were swathed in strips of cloth
dressings like those that bind the wounded.
None of them spoke a word. The hiss and flutter of the torches, and the
sighing moan of the wind, were the only sounds to be heard in all the
world. We all stood looking at one another in silence - Peredur and I on
our side, the nine shrouded monks on theirs.
'What do you here on such a foul night?' I asked at last.
The foremost monk carrying the bell deigned to reply. 'We go to worship
our lord,' he intoned. 'The time of our release approaches.'
'We have ridden far this day, but we have seen neither church nor chapel
hereabouts,' I told him. 'Where is your abbey?'
'Our temple lies beneath the hollow hills,' he said in a voice cracking like
the dull, distant thunder.
'We are Christian men, too,' I said, 'and camped nearby. You are welcome
to share our fire.'
'Christ!' spat the monk, his anger sharp and quick. 'We know him not.'
Mystified by his denial, I asked, 'Then who do you worship?'
'Mithras!' he proclaimed triumphantly, and the remaining monks
murmured the name in approval.
If this arrow was loosed to wound me, I confess it fell a good way short of
the mark. For the monk's revelation so surprised me, I merely gaped at
him. 'Mithras!' I cried in amazement. 'That old bull-killer departed Britain
with the Romans,' I replied - which was what men like Bishop Tudno,
Iltyd, and Elfodd taught, holy men and learned, every one.
'Mithras lives!' declared the man with the bell.
So saying, he lifted his hand to his shrouded face and drew aside the
wrappings as if they had been a veil.
I beheld a visage ravaged by disease; the wretch's cheeks and nose had
been eaten away, his chin was raw, his lips were cankered black, and on
his forehead pale bone glinted beneath scab-crusted skin. There was not a
thumb's-breadth of healthy flesh on him anywhere, for that which was not
rotted away was as dry and cracked as the drought-blighted earth beneath
our feet.
Peredur gasped. 'Lepers!'
Ignoring the young man's bad manners, I swallowed my dread and forced
what I meant to be a smile of welcome. 'I have extended the hospitality of
our hearth, such as it is,' I told them. 'I do not withdraw it now.'
'Fool!' said the leper, his voice a croaking whisper. 'You stand on ground
sacred to Mithras.'
The wind tore aside his cloak and in the flickery light I saw the dull glint
of an ancient lorica on his chest; a bronze-handled spatha hung from his
hip, and a brooch at his shoulder was engraved with the image of a she-
wolf and the words 'Legio XXII Augustus.'
'Hail, Mithras!' the leper hissed. 'Bow down!'
These words so alarmed me, I sained myself with the sign of the cross -
something the good brothers do in times of trial when seeking comfort of
the Heavenly Presence - an instinctive impulse, nothing more, yet the
result was staggering.
Instantly, the sky was rent by dry lightning. A searing white flash set the
heavens ablaze. Thunder rolled. I threw a hand over my eyes. When I
dared look around once more, Peredur and I stood on the hilltop, the wind
whipping at our cloaks, curling them about our trembling legs. We were
alone. The nine lepers had vanished, leaving nothing behind but the
burning stink of brimstone.
                          ELEVEN


Thunder cracked over our heads as if the sky itself would fall in shattered
chunks upon the ground. I felt Peredur crowding close beside me. 'Devilry
walks among us,' I said, steadying my voice. 'Come, we will hold vigil
until morning.'
Returning to our pitiful fire, we heaped up the small supply of brush we
had put by and renewed the flame, then sat huddled close to the fire and
waited out the long, storm-worried night. Tallaght slept on undisturbed.
When murky daylight finally broke over the barrens, I rose and retraced
my steps to the hilltop to look for signs of what had passed in the night,
but the wind had done its work too well, and there were no tracks to be
seen. I did, however, see the faint smudge of smoke rising from a fire
some distance away to the south. Upon rousing Tallaght, we saddled the
horses and began making our way to our destination as quickly as
possible.
It took longer than I imagined to reach the place, and we arrived to find
the camp deserted; only the smouldering ash of a fire remained. Once
again Peredur proved his skill. Forbidding us to dismount, he stalked
around the camp, eyes down, squatting low now and then, searching this
way and that for marks that only he could see.
'There were four of them,' he announced abruptly. 'They are travelling on
horseback, and - '
'Which way did they go?' Tallaght asked.
'On leaving here,' Peredur replied, 'they rode south. But -'
‘Four, you say?' interrupted Tallaght. 'Where did they keep the horses? I
see no - '
'Tallaght!' I said sharply. 'Let the man speak.' To Peredur, I said, 'What
else would you say?'
'Llenlleawg is with them,' he answered. 'Only one of the horses is wearing
barred iron.'
Tallaght, gazing around the deserted camp, complained, 'For so many
people, they left little sign of their passing. I am looking, but I see no such
marks.'
'You are not meant to see them,' Peredur replied haughtily. 'They took
pains to rub them out.'
'Oh, now you behold the invisible,' Tallaght sneered, 'and say whatever
comes into your head.'
Offended by Tallaght's slur on his abilities, Peredur snapped, 'Perhaps if
you were not so blinded by your own high opinion of yourself, you might
-'
'Stop it!' I cried, exasperated and a little disturbed by their vexatious
behaviour. 'What has come over you, Tallaght? And you, Peredur, this is
not like you at all.'
'He started it,' sniffed Peredur.
Tallaght retorted hotly. 'Liar! I only said that -'
'Enough!' I roared. Both glared at me in sullen silence, overgrown children
rebuked by a disapproving elder. 'Listen to you - fighting like snotty-nosed
bairns, the pair of you! I will not have it.' I gave them each a frown of firm
rebuke, and then, addressing myself to Peredur, said, 'Now, lead on. We
will take it in turn with the horses as before.'
'I would rather go afoot,' Peredur muttered under his breath.
'Good,' I replied, 'then you can have the first stretch. Get on with you,
now.'
Tallaght allowed himself a smirk at Peredur's expense, so I rounded on
him. 'And you, my friend, can sift the ashes and tell us how long ago they
were here.'
The young warrior opened his mouth to object, then closed it again when
he saw the set of my jaw. Dismounting, he stumped to the firebed and
began prodding the ashes. With a sigh, he stooped and took some into his
hands, felt them, tossed them aside, and put his hand flat on the still-warm
ashes. 'I say they left at dawn,' he concluded. Rising to wipe his hands on
his breecs, he added defiantly: 'Unless anyone wishes to contradict me.'
'No one contradicts you, Tallaght,' I said, growing weary of the sour
attitude. I gave a nod to Peredur, and we started off once more.
I wondered at the change that had come over the two young warriors.
Previously they had shown themselves to be fast friends, quick to praise
and slow to anger. Now, however, they seemed as quarrelsome as cats
edging for dominion of the dung heap. I put the change to anxiety and the
rigours of the journey, and let it go at that. Anyone as ill-fed and tired as
we were might also be fretful. Even so, until they came to their former
good spirits once more, I thought it best to keep them separated.
The path led us south and ever south. The sun waxed full, but carried itself
shrouded in a white heat haze as on the previous day. We forced a rapid
march all morning, stopping only to change riders. Just after midday,
Peredur led us to a small, silt-choked pool a little way off the trail. We
could not bring ourselves to drink the stuff, but the horses were thirsty
enough not to mind. It was while we were waiting for them to get their fill
that we noticed the smoke.
As it happened, I had been smelling it for some little time before Peredur
brought it to my attention, but because my night's vigil over the campfire
had left me with a cloak that stank of stale smoke, I had paid little heed to
more of the same. 'We all reek of the hearth,' I replied.
'No,' he said adamantly, 'this is different.' Lifting his head, he turned
slowly around in a circle, then, stretching out his hand, pointed in the
direction we had been travelling. 'It is coming from that way,' he said.
We continued on, following the scent of the smoke, which grew stronger
with every step. Soon we came to a ridge, whereupon I ordered my
companions to dismount and we crept cautiously to the crest to observe
the land below. Far off to the right, I could see the grey-green glint of the
sea, flat and glimmering like an anvil under the white-hot hammer of the
sun. To the left, the ridge descended in steep, rocky ledges to a rough,
rubble-filled valley. And there, straight ahead, rising in a thick, black
column, a pillar of smoke ascended to the heights to be carried away on
the wind.
The fire itself remained out of sight behind a low hill. Signalling the others
to follow me, I went down for a closer look, my companions leading the
horses. Upon reaching the valley floor, we discovered the bed of a dry
stream bearing the hoofprints of four horses - one with barred iron, the
other three unshod - in the soft, fine dirt. It did not need Peredur's eye to
see that the riders had crossed the dry stream, climbed the hill, and were
now encamped beyond.
Rather than walk into a strange camp unawares, I thought it best to see
what manner of men we had been following all this time. 'Stay with the
horses,' I told Tallaght and, commanding Peredur to attend me, turned and
made my way swiftly to the top of the hill, where, lying on my stomach, I
peered over the crest and down the slope to the valley below. What I saw
astonished me.
The entire valley floor had been heaped into a mound surrounded by
ditches, and atop the mound stood a great fortress of stone. The Romans
sometimes built in stone; however, the stronghold before me was unlike
any the Legions ever raised, save in one respect only: this fortress, too,
was a ruin. Its huge stones lay in tumbled heaps, the remains of high walls
filling the ditches. The cracked shell of what once must have been a
magnificent tower rose over the central gateway, a tree growing up
through its empty middle. The rubble of a hundred dwellings lay
overturned and scattered within the walls; and although the great hall itself
was roofless now, several enormous beams arched over empty space, and
two of its graceful walls stood untouched.
Hard by the mound to the south stood the blighted remains of a great
wood; rank upon rank, trees of untold age stood leafless and dead, their
black trunks and twisted limbs testifying to their tortured demise, while
many more were heaped one atop the other like stout warriors fallen in
battle.
At first I thought the smoke must issue from this bleak wood, but a closer
look revealed that it ascended instead from the huge hearth in the centre of
the ruined hall.
'Truly,' declared Peredur in an awed voice, 'giants must have built this
place.'
'Perhaps,' I allowed. 'And did giants also start that fire?'
Peredur glanced at me to see if I was jesting with him, swallowed, and
said, 'I see no one.'
'Then let us go down,' I replied, and instructed him to tell Tallaght to leave
the horses, and for both of them to follow me and guard my back.
Warily, alert to any sight or sound, I crawled down the hillside, working
slowly towards the ruined gateway yawning open like a toothless mouth in
the centre of the collapsed wall. There I paused and waited until I saw that
Tallaght and Peredur were behind me, and then picked my way through
the opening. Upon entering the inner yard, I scrambled over the rubble and
almost slid into a standing well; I looked in and saw my own self looking
back, for though the well wall had fallen, there was yet water below.
It was the first clear water I had seen in many days, and my first thought
was to drink - before caution convinced me that it might be better to wait
until we could test it properly. 'There is water here,' I told my two
shadows, and then advised, 'but I would not drink it yet.'
Moving on, I continued towards the hall. Here and there among the
tumbled stones I caught the glint of sunlight shining up at me from the
ground as I passed. Shoving aside the debris, I found bits of broken glass
in the soil. Real glass, mind. The more I looked, the more I found. It was
everywhere underfoot! Even the Romans who used the precious stuff with
abandon were not so profligate as that.
The wrecked hall stood before me, thick, black smoke rising above its two
intact walls. I saw no one, nor any sign that anyone had set foot, much less
set fire, in the place for hundreds of years. Cautiously, carefully, I crept to
the hall, then worked along the wall until I came to the end. Standing
against the good wall, I peered around the corner into what had been the
great hall's hearth. And there I saw a curious sight: a huge iron cage, round
and with a peaked roof, like a house of an earlier age.
All around this iron house, brush and branches had been piled up and set
alight. As there was far more smoke than the flames themselves allowed, I
supposed oil of some kind had been used to help ignite the brush.
Whoever had set the fire had gone; there was no one to be seen anywhere.
I signalled my two companions to join me, and was about to call out to
them that once again we had lost our quarry, when I heard a groan.
See, now: I have often enough stood on the battlefield after a bloodletting
to have heard the sounds wounded men make, and there was no doubt in
my mind that this is what I heard - clear and unmistakable, the sound of a
broken man moaning over his wounds.
'Here!' I cried. 'Someone is hurt!' Darting forward, I ran to the iron house
and looked inside.
Llenlleawg lay on his side, curled in a tight ball. His head was a bloody
mass, and his eyes were closed. I called to him, but could not rouse him.
'It is Llenlleawg!' I shouted to the others. 'Hurry!'
Desperately wishing for some way to carry water from the well, I threw
myself upon the nearest of the fallen rooftrees instead. Tallaght and
Peredur flew to my side as I lifted the ancient timber in my arms. It was
good oak, strong still, and though broken in the middle, long enough to
serve. Dragging the wooden beam to the cage, I began using it to push the
burning brush away.
Peredur was first to reach me and added his strength to mine. Within a
dozen heartbeats we had cleared a path to the cagework house.
'Get another beam!' I shouted to Tallaght, who returned carrying the other
half of the timber I had found. Peredur saw what I intended, and before I
could give the order, he ran to a nearby stone, gathered it up in his arms,
and carried it to the firebreak we had cleared. There he threw down the
stone and we drove in with our timbers - wedging them between the
lowest bars of the cage and, using the stone, levering the ironwork off the
ground.
Alas, the metal cage was heavy and the stone was not high enough to raise
it much. But as Tallaght and I together applied our full strength to the
timbers, Peredur leapt to the gap, digging with his hands, scraping away
the dirt until he had succeeded in scooping out a hollow just big enough
for a man.
Squirming on his back, his face a hairbreadth from the hot metal, Peredur
wormed under the bar and into the cage. Rolling onto his feet, he leapt to
Llenlleawg's side and tried to revive him. Failing that, he seized the
stricken Irishman by the arms and began dragging him to the gap.
'Hurry!' growled Tallaght through clenched teeth. 'I am losing my grip!'
Smoke stung our eyes and burned our nostrils, but we clung tight to the
timbers as Peredur tugged the unconscious Llenlleawg to the shallow hole
he had dug. Then, diving under the hot iron, he positioned himself flat on
his stomach and reached back for Llenlleawg.
'For God's sake,' groaned Tallaght, the cords in his neck bulging. 'Hurry! I
cannot hold it!'
'Stand firm, lad,' I told him sternly. 'It is almost finished.'
'Agh!' Tallaght gasped, red-faced, his eyes shut against the strain. His
shoulders were shaking.
'Steady now,' I told him. 'Just a little longer.'
Peredur, meanwhile, had succeeded in pulling the Irish champion halfway
through. The body was now stuck, however, and the young warrior could
not budge it. 'He is wedged in,' Peredur cried. 'Raise the cage higher!'
'Christ -' cried Tallaght,' - mercy!'
'On your feet!' I told Peredur. 'Take him under the arms.'
Scrambling up, the young warrior grabbed Llenlleawg under the arms and
pulled with all his might. The unconscious body moved a fraction and then
stopped. Tallaght groaned.
'Quickly!' I grunted, my own strength beginning to fail.
Seeing there was nothing for it, Peredur raised his foot and placed it
against the hot iron. Straining, every sinew taut, he threw back his head
and gave a mighty heave, lifting Llenlleawg and pulling him through the
gap. In the same instant, Tallaght's strength gave out and he fainted. The
sudden weight sent the timbers flying, and I was hurled onto my side as
the iron cagework house slammed to the ground.
Llenlleawg was free. Peredur lay half atop him, panting with his exertion.
I ran to them both. 'Well done!' I cried. 'Here, help me get him away from
the flames.'
Together we hauled the unconscious champion clear of his would-be
grave. We found a place by one of the standing walls, and I left the two of
them there while I returned for Tallaght.
I dragged him away from the fire, and marked that the flames were already
burning themselves out. The young warrior awoke as I tried to lift him,
and with my aid was able to stagger to the wall, where he collapsed once
more and lay groaning gently to himself. I knew how he felt; both head
and heart were pounding, my breath came in ragged gasps, my hands were
raw, and my side ached where the beam had caught me as it tore from my
grasp.
'Rest easy,' I told them, gulping air. 'It is over. We are safe now. All is
well.'
Brave words, as it turned out.
                           TWELVE


Power as I possess is not, as many believe, given in exchange for a soul.
To hear the ignorant speak, one would think it merely a simple bargain,
an exchange of vows, perhaps, and the power one seeks simply flows from
the fingertips for the asking. But no, it is not so easy as that! The truly
great gifts are not gifts at all, but treasures obtained after long and
difficult searching, prizes won only through hard-fought victories over
relentless, near-invincible adversaries.
True power of the kind I possess is achieved only through the most
rigorous and exhausting means, and few mortals have even the slightest
notion of the enormous discipline that must be brought to bear at every
step of the journey. For it is a journey - proceeding from strength to
strength, adding skill to skill, eminence to eminence, following the long
and arduous path to complete mastery.
The first eminence is the mastery of silence, in which the adept must
forsake all communication with others. No external thought or word must
be allowed to intrude or distract; no other voice can be heeded or heard.
The adept must abandon all contact with other minds. This leads to the
second eminence, wherein the adept gains the ability to project thoughts
and images into other beings, and wherein emotional atmospheres are
generated and manipulated. With mastery also comes control over animal
life and the ability to command animals to one's bidding.
The third eminence allows the adept to project one's image over distance
at will - to be in two places, three places at once, and in different forms. In
the forth eminence, the adept acquires profound knowledge of plant and
vegetable essences, the deep and intimate awareness of the nature and use
of plant life in extracts and elixirs.
Gaining the fifth eminence grants mastery over the movements of air and
water, and the command of fire. Weather can be manipulated and
controlled in localized regions. The sixth eminence leads on to the ability
to pass into etheric form, to dissolve one's physical presence -
disappearing in one place and reappearing in another, whole and
complete.
In the mastery of the seventh, and last, eminence, the adept achieves the
ability to prolong physical life indefinitely. The adept acquires the ability
to halt the normal human aging process, and even reverse it when
necessary. Without this, all that came before would be too soon rendered
useless.
The ignorant speak of hidden arts, but they are not hidden. Indeed, there is
nothing secret about them at all; they are freely open and available to any
who would pursue them. Ah, but the price! The price is nothing less than
the devotion of an entire life. So perhaps the simpleminded are right, after
all, in thinking of the acquisition of power as a pact in which the soul is
bartered. There is no other way.
Leaving the others to restore themselves, I walked back over the hill to
fetch the horses and, with some difficulty, brought them within the
confines of the ruined caer. The horses shied from entering the place, and
it took all my coaxing just to get them to pass through the gate. Once
inside, they twitched and shivered as if they were cold, and stamped the
ground anxiously. Nevertheless, I tethered them nearby and, retrieving the
two waterskins from behind the saddles, hastened back to the ruined wall.
Kneeling beside Llenlleawg, I wet the edge of my cloak and dabbed it to
his lips. He did not stir.
'Is he dead?' asked Peredur; he gathered his legs beneath him and came to
stand over me.
Putting my face near Llenlleawg's, I felt his breath light on my cheek. 'He
lives, never fear,' I told the young warrior. 'Let us see what they have done
to him.'
Thus I proceeded to clean his wounds; pouring water on a strip of cloth
torn from the lower edge of my siarc, I washed away the dirt and blood
from his face and neck.
He had been soundly beaten, taking many blows to the head, and several
of these had been hard enough to break the skin. His left eye was red and
puffy; dark blood caked his nostrils and oozed from the nasty gash on his
lower lip. His cloak was gone, and much of his shirt, as well as his belt
and weapons. Whoever made bold to separate this Irishman from spear or
knife most certainly paid a fearful price for their audacity: of that I had no
doubt.
Save for some bruises on his shoulders, and scrapes on his arms and
wrists, there were no other wounds that I could see. Apparently, his
attackers had been satisfied to beat him senseless before throwing him into
the iron house - they would never have gotten him inside it any other way.
The horses began neighing just then, so Tallaght, having regained himself
somewhat, got up to see what was bothering them. He walked away
shaking the cramps from his arms.
'A cruel death,' observed Peredur, looking around almost fearfully. 'It is
fortunate we found him when we did. Who would want to do such a
thing?'
'When we discover that, we will have pierced the mystery to its core,' I
replied, and turned once more to Llenlleawg. I tore another strip from the
bottom edge of my siarc, wet it, and applied it to his battered face. This
brought a moan from the Irishman's throat. He wheezed and black phlegm
came to his lips. I dabbed it away with the edge of the wet cloth. 'There,
cough it all up,' I told him. 'Get rid of it.'
At the sound of my voice, his eyelids flew open, and he surged up all at
once as if he would flee.
'Be easy, Llenlleawg,' I said, placing my hand on his chest so that he
would not do himself further injury. 'Lie back. All is well. Your enemies
are gone.'
He slumped back with a sighing groan, then fell to hacking so hard I
thought his ribs would crack. He coughed up the vile black stuff, spitting
again and again, only to cough up more.
'Drink a little,' I offered, bringing the waterskin to his mouth. 'It will
revive you.'
As the water touched his lips, a troubled expression appeared on his face
and he made to rise once more. 'Rest yourself, brother,' I said. 'It is
Gwalchavad here. There is nothing to fear.'
Recognition came into his eyes at last; he ceased resisting and lay back,
allowing me to give him a drink. He drank greedily, swallowing it down in
great draughts as if he had not had any water in days. I tried to pull the
waterskin away, but he gone, and much of his shirt, as well as his belt and
weapons. Whoever made bold to separate this Irishman from spear or
knife most certainly paid a fearful price for their audacity: of that I had no
doubt.
Save for some bruises on his shoulders, and scrapes on his arms and
wrists, there were no other wounds that I could see. Apparently, his
attackers had been satisfied to beat him senseless before throwing him into
the iron house - they would never have gotten him inside it any other way.
The horses began neighing just then, so Tallaght, having regained himself
somewhat, got up to see what was bothering them. He walked away
shaking the cramps from his arms.
'A cruel death,' observed Peredur, looking around almost fearfully. 'It is
fortunate we found him when we did. Who would want to do such a
thing?'
'When we discover that, we will have pierced the mystery to its core,' I
replied, and turned once more to Llenlleawg. I tore another strip from the
bottom edge of my siarc, wet it, and applied it to his battered face. This
brought a moan from the Irishman's throat. He wheezed and black phlegm
came to his lips. I dabbed it away with the edge of the wet cloth. 'There,
cough it all up,' I told him. 'Get rid of it.'
At the sound of my voice, his eyelids flew open, and he surged up all at
once as if he would flee.
'Be easy, Llenlleawg,' I said, placing my hand on his chest so that he
would not do himself further injury. 'Lie back. All is well. Your enemies
are gone.'
He slumped back with a sighing groan, then fell to hacking so hard I
thought his ribs would crack. He coughed up the vile black stuff, spitting
again and again, only to cough up more.
'Drink a little,' I offered, bringing the waterskin to his mouth. 'It will
revive you.'
As the water touched his lips, a troubled expression appeared on his face
and he made to rise once more. 'Rest yourself, brother,' I said. 'It is
Gwalchavad here. There is nothing to fear.'
Recognition came into his eyes at last; he ceased resisting and lay back,
allowing me to give him a drink. He drank greedily, swallowing it down in
great draughts as if he had not had any water in days. I tried to pull the
waterskin away, but he grabbed my wrist and held it in place and gulped
until he choked, spewing blackened water from his nose and mouth.
'Here, now! We did not pull you from the flames to drown you,' I said.
'Drink slowly. There is plenty.'
He released my hand and slumped back. His mouth worked and he tried to
speak, but it was some time before he could make himself understood.
'Gwalchavad,' he said, his voice raw and wispy, 'you found... me...'
'We have been following your trail for days. I am sorry we did not arrive
sooner - we might have saved you a beating.'
'I am -' he began, then fell to coughing again, '...you found me...'
'Who did this to you?'
Before he could answer, I heard a shout. It was Peredur calling me to
come running. Llenlleawg started at the sound. 'Peace, brother. It is one of
the Cymbrogi,' I explained quickly. 'Leave it to me.'
'How many -' he gasped,'... with you?'
"Only two of the younger warriors,' I said, rising. 'If I had known we were
going to be riding the length and breadth of Llyonesse, I would have
brought the entire Dragon Flight. Rest easy; I will return directly.'
I found Peredur beside Tallaght, who was standing with his arms half
raised and crossed at the wrists as if to protect himself from a beating.
Peredur, his hand on Tallaght's shoulder, spoke to him while shaking him
gently. The horses, meanwhile, had not ceased their neighing - if anything,
their distress had only increased.
'What is it?' I snapped, irritated at his failure to accomplish this simplest of
chores.
'I cannot wake him,' Peredur said.
I gave the young man a sour look to show him what I thought of his
ludicrous explanation, and turned to Tallaght. But behold! Though he
stood upright with his eyes open wide, in all other respects he appeared
fast asleep, seeming neither to see nor to hear, but remaining unmoved
through all of Peredur's exertions, a rapt expression on his face as if held
in thrall to a dream of such pleasant aspect that he would not be roused.
Baffled and alarmed, I reached out and took the young warrior by the arm;
the muscle was tensed hard, solid as wood, yet Tallaght appeared tranquil,
with no sign of strain in either face or form. Next, I put my face close to
his and discerned the faint stirring of his breath on my skin.
'Tallaght!' I cried sharply. 'Wake up!'
The young warrior gave not the slightest indication that he had heard.
Taking him by the shoulder, I shook him so as to rattle his bones. As
before, this raised no response. Seeing that his arms were folded, I took
hold of his right arm and tried to straighten it, as if to break the spell. I
could sooner have broken his arm, for, try as I might, there was no
unbending that rigid limb - except by violent force, which would not have
helped in the least.
After jostling and shouting some more, I admitted defeat and desisted. 'I
tell you the truth, Peredur,' I declared, turning once more to the
awestricken youth, 'I have never seen the like. He has become a living
corpse.'
Peredur gaped. 'What are we to do with him?'
'I cannot say,' I replied, regarding the stiffened form before us. 'But I
would not leave him here like this. I suppose we must lay him down
somewhere.' Casting a quick glance at the sky, I added, 'Llenlleawg is not
well enough to travel yet, and we are losing the day. We will make camp
in the hall and see what tomorrow brings.'
'Spend the night here?' Peredur wondered with alarm.
'Where else?' I countered angrily. 'Here at least we have stout walls at our
backs, water, and a fire. It is as good a place as we are likely to find in this
accursed land.'
Too shocked to object farther, Peredur closed his mouth and stared at me
in dismay.
'Now, then,' I said, 'let us carry Tallaght to the hall and make him
comfortable until he wakes.'
'What,' asked Peredur, 'if he does not wake?'
'See here,' I snapped, 'I am not liking this any more than you, but there is
nothing else to do.'
Together we eased the young warrior onto the ground and, lifting him
between us, began carrying him to the hall. Tallaght, gazing dreamily
skyward, remained placidly unaware of his rough handling; we might have
been toting a plank for all Tallaght sagged or complained. We moved him
to a place beside one of the standing walls and, after clearing away the
stones, laid the sleeping warrior on his back. In this position, his
resemblance to a corpse grew the stronger. Tearing yet another strip off
my siarc, I wet it, folded it, and placed it over Tallaght's eyes - as much to
hide his dead, unblinking stare as to protect his sight.
It was while I was about this chore that I saw the bite - a small, neat circle
of reddish marks on the side of his neck where sharp-pointed teeth had
broken the skin. If I had not seen it before, I would have said it was the
bite of an animal, a small dog or weasel, perhaps. But I had seen it before:
on Rhys' arm. Rhys knew nothing of how he had gotten it, and I was none
the wiser for having seen two, but I knew Tallaght did not have it before
he went to see to the horses.
'Now what are we to do?' asked Peredur when I finished.
'Now we make camp,' I said. I saw no reason to mention the bite to
Peredur; frightening him would serve no purpose. 'Water the horses,
Peredur, and - ' I stopped myself, and corrected my command. 'Better still,
we will both water the horses, and when that is finished, we will tether
them within the hall.'
This we did, and our various chores occupied the fast-fading day. A grey
shroud of clouds moved in from the sea to obscure the sun and cast a
dusky pall over the ruined stronghold. We took wood and live embers
from the remains of the fire around the iron house, and used them to make
our campfire. Now and then I paused to tend our stricken brothers, but
there was little to be done for either of them. Tallaght had not altered a
whit since we placed him on the ground, and Llenlleawg, having drunk a
little water and received dressing for his wounds, slept now - coughing
from time to time, and stirring fitfully, but never waking.
While we worked, we talked, Peredur and I, for it helped to keep our
courage up; I confess, I could feel the fear stealing over me as the daylight
abandoned us to the long, dark night. As the shadows bloomed and spread
over the ruins, I felt as if we were being stalked. I imagined cold eyes
watching us from all the dark places... watching and waiting.
We gathered more brush and branches - enough to keep the fire during the
night - and, with the dull twilight closing around us, made a simple meal
from our provisions. Neither of us ate more than a few mouthfuls as we sat
hunched before the fire, gazing at the rubble heaps and fallen timbers
around us while the wan flames flickered over the ruins.
When we finished eating, we banked the fire and gathered our cloaks
around us to sleep - if sleep were possible. With the night, a heavy
stillness descended over the valley and its ancient keep - a cold, unnatural
silence, which stifled all sound and made us feel as if each belaboured
breath we drew might be our last.
Twice my care-wracked drowse was broken by the sound of an owl. The
creature's soft trilling call drifted down from the crumbling tower above. I
woke and looked around to see a sickly moon rising over the broken wall.
In elder times the call of Wisdom's Bird was deemed an unchancy thing,
portending ill fortune for the wretch who heard it. Some, I ween, believe it
still. Now, I am of no such mind to take fright at bird sounds in the night,
but this night the call made me think of winter and graves and death
stealing light and life from the eyes.
After the third call, Peredur awakened. I saw him start and then leap up.
The owl, startled by the sudden movement below, swooped off, flapping
its broad wings slowly. Peredur crouched, his hands tensed, staring
furiously around him as if he meant to take flight, too.
'Peace, lad,' I murmured softly. 'It was only an owl.'
But he seemed not to hear. Taking two or three steps away, he stopped,
then said, 'No! Wait! Very well, I will go with you!'
So saying, he threw aside his cloak and started away, as if he meant to
follow someone who even now led him swiftly from the camp. I thought
to call after him, but held my tongue, rose, and went after him. Peredur
walked through the caer and out the gate, making straight for the blighted
wood. Looking neither right nor left, he ran, leaping like a stag over the
crosswise boles, quickly outdistancing myself, who scrambled clumsily in
the dark with only the half of a pale moon to light my way.
Avowed to the task, I pressed on, however, following the sound of his
reckless flight as the cracking of dry undergrowth gave me direction. I
struggled on as best I could, trying to avoid impaling myself on the ragged
ends of broken branches. As I slid over a fallen trunk, I felt something soft
beneath my feet and reached down to retrieve a siarc - Peredur's siarc, to
be sure. I crashed on a few more paces and found his breecs dangling from
an upthrust limb.
Has he gone mad? I wondered, gathering the clothes into a bundle under
my arm, and running on.
A dozen paces more and the sound of his flight abruptly ceased. It took me
a moment to realize I no longer heard him anywhere ahead of me. I
listened, turning my head this way and that to catch any stray sound which
might betray the spot where he had gone to ground. Again, I made to call
out to him, but something checked my impulse. My senses, already alert,
quickened as in the heat of the hunt, and I picked my way forward in
stealth, stopping every few paces to listen before moving on.
In this way I proceeded, quietly, warily, my skin tingling with an eerie
anticipation. I came to a place in the blighted wood where three huge trees
had fallen one across another to form a rough enclosure. I crept nearer and
looked over this rude wall, and there in the centre of the clearing lay
Peredur, sprawled naked on the ground. And on his bare chest a small,
hunched black creature was lowering its flat head.
                       THIRTEEN


My heart seized in my chest. I stared at the creature, not daring to draw
breath. The thing was squat and repulsive, with two long arms and a large-
skulled, flat head. Its short legs were drawn up as it sat on its rump, its
back curved sharply as its dark head descended towards Peredur's face.
At first I feared the thing must have killed him, for the young warrior lay
with arms and legs splayed out as he had fallen. But as that ghastly head
drew near, Peredur moaned. By that I knew he lived.
Instantly, my hand went to the sword belt at my side. As my fingers closed
and began to draw the weapon forth, the creature halted and, quick as a
cat, turned its gaze on me. A more grotesque face I never want to see: low-
browed and thin-jawed, with a nose like a shrivelled leaf, nostrils a-twitch
as it sniffed the air; a goatlike mouth with long yellow teeth gaped open in
a hiss of warning. Two wide, pale eyes menaced me from beneath the
heavy brow as the head sank lower onto the shoulders and the long hands
clutched at its prize.
Great King, save your servant! I thought, and the thought was answered by
a low guttural growl bubbling up from the hideous creature's throat. I fell
back.
With a scream, the creature leapt from Peredur's chest, charging straight at
me with terrible swiftness. I stumbled back another step, tripped over
broken wood, and fell down. The thing was upon me in an instant. The
beast's awful breath smelled of rotted meat and foul decay. I felt its sudden
weight upon my chest, driving the breath from my lungs. I made to throw
the creature off, but could no longer raise my arms. It was as if all the
strength had gone from my limbs, and I could but lie and watch in horror
as the odious thing lowered its face towards mine.
Alas, for me! I could not move. I could not breathe.
The repugnant head dropped slowly nearer, and the toothy mouth opened.
Striving with all my might, I could not so much as lift my smallest finger.
I felt myself gripped tight by a strength greater than my own.
Closer, drooling now, the evil mouth drew nearer, and nearer yet. I saw
the small, neat, sharp teeth as the mouth opened and the creature prepared
to bite.
My lungs burned. Frozen fast, I could but watch the dread face slowly
descend, its baleful eyes blotting out all else, filling my sight, staring into
my soul.
Even as I watched - I could do no else! - the face utterly changed and I
found myself beholding the face of a woman, a beauty more lovely than
any other I had ever known. Lithe-limbed and supple, she reached to
gather me in her gentle arms, her long dark hair falling down around her
white shoulders. Her breasts were full and round, and wonderful to look
upon; her shapely hips were smooth and her long legs folded beneath her.
She smiled, and her teeth were fine and white and straight. A goddess
could not be more beautiful, I think, and despite my fear, desire stirred
within me.
She lowered herself to cover me with her fair body, and I felt myself
drawn into her embrace. My lungs swelled to bursting, yet I could not
draw breath. The blood beat in my temples and dark mist gathered before
my eyes. God help me, I rose to meet her.
Then, even as I felt the sweet gentleness of her soft lips on mine, and felt
my breath drawn from my mouth, there came a shriek so loud, so piercing,
I feared my head would split. In the same instant, the woman vanished,
and the beast appeared once more, its mouth open in a scream of rage.
I sensed a swift movement above me and a dark shape descending. The
loathsome thing made to leap away, but the falling shape caught the
creature full on its flattened skull with a tremendous crack. The monster
threw back its head and howled. Crack! The dark shape sent it sprawling.
Suddenly I could breathe again. Good air came rushing into my mouth and
lungs, and I gulped it down like a drowning man who has risen from the
killing depths.
Peredur was standing over me, the broken end of a massive branch in his
hands. His jaw was set and his eyes were narrowed. Still gasping, I turned
my gaze to where he was looking, and saw the black beast writhing on the
ground, biting itself in agony.
'Blessed Jesu,' I gasped, 'save us.'
At these simple words, the vile thing loosed a shriek yet more terrible than
any I had ever heard. There came a sizzling sound and it vanished into a
sudden vapour, leaving behind only the echo of its tortured scream, and a
stench of bile and vomit.
Peredur turned to me. He tried to speak, but lacked words to equal the
event, and so closed his mouth and gazed in wonder at the place where the
beast had disappeared. Then he raised the club in his hand and looked at it
as if he did not know how it had come to be there. He threw the weapon
aside with an expression of disgust. 'I feared it might have killed you,' he
said, almost apologetically.
'You did the right thing,' I assured him.
Peredur shivered and glanced down. Only then did he realize that he was
naked. He glanced guiltily at me, but I turned away so he would have no
need to make the explanation he was struggling to find. I knew well what
had been in his mind when he shed both siarc and breecs.
'Your clothes are here,' I told him, gathering up the bundle where I had
dropped it. He accepted the clothing with shamefaced gratitude. 'I did not
see what happened to your boots.'
'I -1 mean, it was -' he stammered.
'Save your breath, lad,' I advised gently. 'You owe me neither explanation
nor confession. We were attacked, and fought it off. There is nothing else
to say.'
Peredur closed his mouth and began drawing on his breecs. We then
picked our way back to the ruined hall. Our camp, I was relieved to find,
remained undisturbed; both Llenlleawg and Tallaght slept soundly.
'Lord, let us leave at once,' said Peredur. 'Let us get far away from here
before we are attacked again.'
Though it was the dead of night, and darker than the inside of a burial
mound, I agreed. 'We may not get far in this darkness,' I told him, 'but at
least we will get away from here.'
We quickly saddled the horses and prepared to depart, then turned to wake
the sleepers. Despite our vigorous attempts to raise them, however, the
two slept on. Nothing we did made the slightest difference. 'Let us put
them on the horses anyway,' suggested Peredur in desperation.
'We would have to tie them to the saddle,' I replied, 'to keep them from
sliding off at every step. No, Peredur, as much as I wish to be gone from
here, we could easily come to greater harm stumbling around like blind
men in the dark. If we are going to be hauling men like mealbags on
horseback, I think we must wait until daylight.' Indicating his feet, I said,
'You cannot walk back to Ynys Avallach barefoot.'
With great misgiving and greater dread, Peredur set about building up the
fire and together we stood watch for the rest of the night, weapons in hand,
our backs to the flames as we searched the darkness, talking to one another
to keep fear at bay.
Dawn seemed a long time coming. When the sun finally rose, it cast but a
wan grey light over us - as on those days in the north when the mist comes
down and lingers on the heathered hills, but there was no cooling mist, and
the hills hereabouts held only dry scrub and thorns.
As soon as it grew light enough to see the path, we broke camp. Peredur
retraced his steps to the blighted wood, returning quickly with his boots,
anxious to get away from the ruined caer as soon as possible. We turned to
the sleepers and tried again to wake them. Tallaght had finally lost the
unnatural rigidity of his limbs, and now lay peacefully asleep. I bent to
remove the strip of cloth from his eyes and the young man came awake at
my first touch. Up he charged, as if from a bed of live coals. He flew into
me, fists flying, kicking, biting, shouting incoherently.
'Here! Here, now!' I cried, fending off the blows as well as I could.
Peredur leapt to my aid and pulled him off me. 'Peace!' he bellowed.
'Peace, brother!' Wrapping his arms around Tallaght's torso, he threw him
to the ground and fell on top of him to hold him down, all the time
shouting, 'Peace! We are your friends.'
Kneeling beside him, I struck the struggling warrior sharply on the cheek.
Tallaght, wake!'
At the sound of his name, the fight went out of him. He looked from one
to the other of us with frightened eyes as recognition slowly came to him.
'Oh!' he said, squeezing his eyes shut.
'Let him up, Peredur,' I said, and we raised him between us, where he
stood wobbling on his feet like a man with a headful of ale.
'It is over, Tallaght. You are back among the living,' I told him.
He lurched towards me and seized my arm with both hands. 'Lord
Gwalchavad, forgive me. I thought... I thought you were -' He released my
arm and clutched his head as if it hurt him. 'Oh, Jesu save me, I had the
strangest dream.'
'It is over, lad,' I said. 'Are you well?'
'I feel as if I have slept a thousand years,' he answered dreamily, 'and yet,
as if I had closed my eyes but a moment ago.' He then began babbling
about his curious dream, but I brought him to a halt before he could gallop
any further. 'Plenty of time to talk once we are on the trail,' I told him
sharply. 'The horses are ready; we are leaving at once.'
I left him to Peredur and turned to Llenlleawg, who, though stiff and
aching from his beating, at least had his natural wits about him. He roused
himself slowly when I woke him, and made to sit up, wincing with pain at
the effort. I put my arm beneath his shoulders and raised him. 'How do
you feel, brother?'
'Never better,' he rasped, his voice raw as a wound. He then hacked up a
gob of blackened gall and spat it on the ground. 'Have I been long asleep?'
'Not long,' I allowed. 'Only all night and half the day besides.'
'I see.' He licked his dry lips. 'How did you find me?'
'We saw the smoke. Can you sit a horse?'
'I will sit a goat if it bears me from this place,' he answered.
'Bring it on, brother, and the sooner we quit this accursed ruin, the better I
will be. Have you seen the girl?'
'We have seen no one here but you,' I told him. 'Was she with you?'
When he made no reply to this, I said, 'Llenlleawg, was she with you? Did
she have a hand in this?'
Llenlleawg attempted to sit up again; his face contorted against the pain.
'Wait a moment,' I told him. 'Let me help you.' So saying, I retrieved a
spear and put it in Llenlleawg's right hand. Then, squatting behind him, I
took him under the left arm; the Irish champion gripped the spear shaft
and pulled himself up as I lifted, and with much groaning and clenching of
teeth we got him standing - shakily, and swaying like a wind-tossed
sapling, but standing all the same. Then he was racked with coughing; I
steadied him as he cleared his lungs of yet more black muck.
'It is not as bad as I thought,' Llenlleawg gasped, squinting and pressing
his left hand to his side as he leaned on the spear. 'At least,' he wheezed,
'...there is no blood.'
The young woman, Llenlleawg - was she here?' I asked again.
'I cannot remember.'
'But you were following her,' I insisted. 'You must have followed her into
Llyonesse. She must have led you here.'
Llenlleawg regarded me dully, then turned his face away. 'As I said, I do
not remember.'
'What do you remember?'
'Nothing much,' he said, shaking his head slowly. 'I remember following
the trail and crossing into Llyonesse. There was a beacon, and I went to
see what it meant, and' - he paused abruptly - '...and I cannot remember
anything after that.'
Obviously, there was more he would not say, but I did not know how to
make him tell me. 'Well,' I conceded, 'you are safe now, and we are
returning to Ynys Avallach. No doubt you will remember more later.' He
nodded grimly, and I shouted for Peredur to bring one of the horses.
'Come,' I said, taking Llenlleawg by the arm, 'lean on me; I will bear you
up.'
Together, Peredur and I lifted the tall Irishman between us, boosted him to
the saddle, and put the reins into his hands. 'Let us be gone from here,' I
said, leading the horse forward.
We quit the ruined fortress, passing once more beneath the crumbling
tower and out through the gate. We crossed the ditches and headed north,
hastening back along the trail that had brought us, travelling quickly and
quietly - at least as quietly as four men might, and as quickly as possible
when two of the four must go afoot. Peredur and I walked beside our two
ailing companions to help steady them in the saddle and keep them from
falling. We allowed ourselves but little rest, so, despite the footling pace,
we made good distance on the day.
Indeed, by the time the gloomy twilight gathered round us, we were well
on our way home. We camped in the dry streambed of a little cramped
glen, and ate from our dwindling store of provisions, took turns at the
watch through the night, and pushed on at first light next morning. No
further disasters befell us, nor did anything out of the ordinary give cause
for alarm. However, when we came in sight of the estuary where I had lost
my horse to the quicksand some days before, a sense of dire foreboding
came upon me.
There was, of course, no visible reminder of that terrible event, but the
place seemed steeped in dolour and gloom. I could almost feel its spirit,
restless with anguish, sad and hungry and forlorn. I felt cold and unhappy,
and thoughts of death and desolation swarmed in my head.
There was nothing for it but to continue on, and to put as much distance as
we could between us and the sinister place before turning aside to make
camp for the night. The rest of the journey to Ynys Avallach proved
uneventful, and Tallaght so improved that, though we travelled no more
swiftly, at least we were able to share the horse between us. Thus, on the
evening of the sixth day, we came in sight of the Fisher King's stronghold
- glinting like white gold in the dusky light, its fine walls and towers
reflected in the reed-fringed pool below. Weary, and more than a little
footsore - I suppose I have spent too much time in the saddle these past
years - we paused to gaze upon that tranquil sight and let it fill our souls
with the pleasure of its serenity.
Then, our hearts lifted, and the vision of our destination lending speed to
weary feet, we hastened on, arriving just as the abbey bell tolled for
evening prayers. I know the good monks have a word for this, as they have
a word for everything else in their peculiar world, but I know not what it
is; or if I have been told, I remain ignorant of it. No matter what its name,
this prayer at the closing of the day has always seemed to me one of the
finer things of their occupation. Perhaps one day, when sword and spear
no longer rule my days, I may give myself to such pleasant contemplation
as those good brothers now enjoy.
As the slow-tolling bell rang out over the Summer Realm, we passed the
silent shrine and put our feet to the upward-winding path leading to the
Tor, pausing at the top to look out upon the land below, softly fading into
the pale blue shadows. Then, as we turned to enter the yard, I heard a cry
of welcome. Rhys came running, bursting with questions I had no wish to
answer more than once.
'Peace, brother,' I said, gripping his shoulder. 'All will be told - and there is
much to tell - only let us get a drink down our throats first.'
'Leave the horses,' Rhys said. 'I will send someone to attend them.'
Turning to the others, he called, 'Come inside. The Pendragon has been
waiting for you, he has given -' It was then that he caught sight of
Llenlleawg - head down, slumped in the saddle, almost fainting with
exhaustion - and Peredur holding the reins and walking beside him. 'What
is this?' Rhys exclaimed, dashing to his side. 'Is he wounded?'
'Help us get him down,' I said, and explained that we had found him
beaten and left for dead. 'He will recover, never fear. However, a few days'
food and rest would not be wasted on him, I think.'
We hauled the unresisting Irishman down from the saddle, whereupon he
seemed to come to himself once more, insisting that he could walk and
would not be lugged into the hall like a sack of grain. He grew so adamant
that we let him have his way. Truly, I think he had been nursing his
strength for this moment; he was that proud he did not wish to be seen in
his weakness by his swordbrothers, nor could he bear causing his beloved
queen even a moment's worry.
As it happened, he need not have concerned himself. The hall was empty:
no Cymbrogi to be seen, and few of Avallach's folk, either. Rhys, to all
appearances, was king of the rock, and held dominion over the few who
came and went. He called a command to one of the young Fair Folk lads I
saw hurrying away on some errand; the fellow spun on his heel and raced
to obey.
Had I given the matter more than a fleeting thought, I would have
expected our arrival to occasion greater interest than we had so far
received. 'Where is everyone?' I asked as we stepped into the empty hall.
'The plague has worsened in the southlands,' Rhys replied. 'Charis and
most of the monks have gone to Londinium to join Paulus in the fight.
Lord Avallach is at his prayers. As for the others, they will return when it
gets dark.'
'Well and good,' I told him. 'But where are they now?'
Rhys called for the welcome cup, and then turned to look at me. 'I thought
you knew.'
'How should I know?' I countered sourly. 'And unless someone tells me, I
fear I shall die in ignorance.'
'They are at the shrine,' Rhys replied, as if we should have known.
'We saw no one at the shrine,' I told him bluntly, 'or I would not have
asked.'
'Not that shrine,' Rhys said, 'the new one - Arthur's shrine. The king is
building a shrine to the cup.'
Llenlleawg, flanked by the two young warriors, drew up beside us. 'What
cup would that be?'
'The Holy Cup.' Rhys paused and regarded us dubiously. 'Do none of you
know any of this?'
I reminded him that we had journeyed all the way from Llyonesse - on
foot most of the way - and were not of a mood to appreciate riddles.
'It is to be the Grail Shrine,' Rhys announced tersely. 'The Pendragon has
decreed a shrine to be built to house the Holy Cup, which he has taken as
the sign and emblem of his reign. Arthur believes a great blessing will
flow from this Grail to the benefit of Britain, and of all the world.'
'Is this the same cup that healed Arthur?' asked Peredur.
'One and the same,' confirmed Rhys.
'I know the cup you mean,' I said, as the memory came winging back to
me as from a great distance. 'You mean to say that you have seen it?'
'No one has seen it,' Rhys replied, 'save Avallach, Myrddin, and, now,
Arthur. Avallach knows where it is - he keeps it hidden somewhere, I
think. Now you know as much as anyone else about it.'
The boy appeared bearing the requested welcome bowl. Rhys took it,
raised it, spoke a word of greeting, and delivered the bowl into my hands.
I passed it at once to Llenlleawg, and waited for the others to finish before
taking it up once more. The ale was cool, dark, and frothy, soothing my
parched tongue and throat like milk mixed with honey. I drank a long
draught and, with great reluctance, passed it along once more. The bowl
made the round again, and Rhys said he would have food brought so that
we might refresh ourselves while we waited for the others.
'Now I must send for Myrddin,' he told us, preparing to dash away once
more. 'He has spent the last three days telling everyone to bring word the
moment you returned.'
                       FOURTEEN


'No doubt this new shrine has everyone occupied,' Tallaght mumbled,
staring into the empty cup as into a fresh grave.
Alone with a dry bowl in a deserted hall, we sat glumly considering our
sorry homecoming. Haggard and harried, grey with dust, bone weary, we
wore every step of our peculiar journey on our clothes and on our faces.
'Well,' remarked Peredur, 'it is not as if anyone knew we would be
returning just now. Even so...'
Llenlleawg, above remarking on his disappointment, said nothing, but
closed his eyes and bowed his head, fatigued and dispirited. The one
welcome he sought above all others - that of his king - and for which he
had rallied his dwindling strength, was denied him, and exhaustion was
rapidly overtaking him.
'There will be time enough for glad greetings,' I told them, trying to put a
more favourable face on the thing. 'As for me, I can think of nothing better
than a bite to eat and a quiet drink before meeting the others.'
The food arrived a few moments later, and upon sending the serving boy
back to refill the bowl, we fell to eating, content with a little peaceful quiet
to soothe our wearied souls. We ate in silence, and I was just reaching for
a second barley loaf when I heard quick, purposeful footsteps enter the
hall. I knew before raising my eyes to his greeting that Myrddin had found
me.
'At last!' he said, gliding to the table in a single swift motion - like a hawk
falling upon its unsuspecting prey. 'You have returned at last. Is the
woman with you?'
'And it is Earth and Sky to see you, too, Wise Emrys,' I replied. 'I do hope
you have fared well while we were away.'
He regarded me sharply, and dismissed my lacklustre attempt at scorn
with an impatient flick of his hand. 'Tell me what happened.'
'I will, and gladly,' I replied. 'But it may be best if we permit my
companions to leave now -1 know they are anxious to wash and rest.'
Myrddin's quick golden eyes turned to Llenlleawg, and he perceived in an
instant what I meant. 'Forgive me,' he said, stepping smoothly to the
Irishman's side. 'I have been too distracted to notice your distress. How
can I help you, Llenlleawg?'
The champion raised his head and forced a waxy smile. 'I am well, Emrys.
Only let me rest a little and I will greet my king and queen in a better
humour.' He made to rise, but lacked the strength and fell back in his
chair.
'Here!' said Peredur, jumping up. 'If you will excuse us, Lord Emrys,
Tallaght and I will see to Llenlleawg.'
The two of them raised Llenlleawg between them. Too tired to pretend
otherwise any longer, the proud Irishman allowed himself to be helped to
his feet. Once steadied, however, he pushed away their offered hands and
moved from the hall with a slow, sore gait. The young warriors
respectfully took their leave and hurried off to the warriors' quarters to
find a bath and change of clothes.
When they had gone, I returned to the table. Myrddin seated himself on
the bench opposite me, folded his arms on the board, and leaned close.
'Now, then, there is no one to overhear,' he said, levelling his keen
hawklike gaze upon me. 'Your confessor waits before you. Tell me
everything.'
'There is trouble,' I told him bluntly. 'I cannot say what it is, but, Myrddin,
I deeply fear it.'
I then began to relate all that had happened during our sojourn in
Llyonesse, and it did me good, for I felt the burden lift from my soul as I
told him about the strange trials we had endured in that godforsaken realm
- from losing my horse in the false sands to our encounter with the beast in
the night. Myrddin listened all the while, nodding to himself from time to
time, as if the incidents I relayed confirmed something he already knew or
suspected. At last I concluded, saying, 'That we escaped with only the loss
of one horse is a wonder. Indeed, we were beset from the moment we
entered Llyonesse. God save me, Myrddin, it is a desolate region - with
but one settlement that I could see, and that a ruin.'
'Llyonesse...' He muttered the word as if it hurt his mouth to say it. 'A
wasteland by another name. The dead rest uneasy there.'
'In truth,' I replied, and confessed to seeing the Mithrian lepers.

'I have not heard of them for a long time,' Myrddin mused.
'You know them?' I wondered.
'When I was a boy, my grandfather Elphin used to tell me stories about the
Lost Legion. I never thought to hear about them again.' He paused for a
moment, reflecting unhappily. Then, glancing at me again, he said, 'This
fortress - how did you find it?'
'From the smoke,' I replied, then described coming upon the ruin and
finding Llenlleawg trapped in the ironwork house inside the caer. 'Do you
know the place?' I asked.
'From what you tell me, I believe the stronghold you found was Belyn's.'
I had never heard the name before, and said so.
'Belyn was Avallach's brother,' Myrddin explained. 'When the Fair Folk
came to Ynys Prydain, they settled first in Llyonesse, but the land was not
good to them, so Avallach and his people came here. Belyn, his brother
king, would not leave the southlands, so he and his people stayed, and now
they are no more.'
The place was more cairn than caer,' I pointed out. 'Could this have
happened so long ago?'
'Yes,' the Emrys answered, nodding at the memory, 'long and long ago.'
Turning once more to the subject at hand, he said, 'The woman - you never
saw her?'
'I never did, Emrys, and I do not know whether Llenlleawg can tell you
more. He said she led him into Llyonesse, but seems to remember little
else.'
'Leave it to me,' Myrddin said, rising. 'I will speak to him when he is better
rested. Now, then, I have kept you from your bath long enough. Go; we
will talk again later. I want Arthur to hear what you have to say, but that
can wait until tomorrow. Until then, Gwalchavad, I would have you say
nothing to anyone else of these matters. I believe treachery stalks the
Summer Realm, and I would not care to alert the enemy that we are on his
trail.'
'Treachery?' His use of the word brought me up short. 'Emrys, are you
saying one of the Cymbrogi is a traitor?'
'Just so,' he replied solemnly, moving away. 'He has yet to show his hand,
but I sense dire purpose in this - no doubt that was why you were allowed
to find Llenlleawg.'
'Allowed to find him?' I challenged, jumping to my feet to follow him. 'In
truth, Myrddin, they meant to kill him! And would have succeeded, too, if
we had not seen the smoke and arrived in time to save him.'
'If the enemy had wanted him dead, a quick thrust of a blade through the
ribs would have sufficed,' Myrddin replied, calmly deflecting my
objection. 'The smoke, on the other hand, was meant to lead you to our
Irish friend so that you could rescue him. That, I am persuaded, is one of
the few certainties in all of this twisted tale. You rescued him because you
were meant to rescue him - nothing more.'
'It is absurd!' I concluded, stopping in my tracks. 'You make it seem as if
we were on a fool's errand.'
The Emrys turned back and regarded me with a slow, solemn shake of his
head. 'Never say it,' he intoned gravely. 'Never say it, my friend.
Something brutal, cruel, and sinister is at work among us -1 feel it.'
'But why?' I demanded. 'To what end?'
Myrddin, troubled now, and hesitant, answered, 'In truth, I wish I knew.
Still, we would all do well to remember this: where great good abides,
there great evil gathers. It is ever so, and we have been warned. We must
all tread very carefully from now on.'
With that he turned and walked away. I glanced uneasily around the hall -
feeling unseen eyes on me, watching me -then fled the great empty room
and proceeded at once to the warriors' quarters. Though I expected to join
the others, they had finished by the time I arrived, and so I had the entire
bath to myself.
The room was warm and damp, the air heavy with steam. Two torches
burned in tall stands either side of the square pool, their flames
shimmering and dancing on the water. I stripped off my filthy clothes and
slipped gratefully into the bath. The hot water, heated from the ovens in
the old Roman way, did much to restore me. I confess I stayed overlong,
and perhaps the heat and steam went to my head, for as I lay back in the
soothing water I saw a black mist gather before my eyes.
I pressed my eyes shut for a long moment and drew a deep breath, and
when I opened my eyes once more, the mist was gone, but I felt light-
headed and queasy. Concluding that I had had more than was good for me,
I rose and was about to climb from the pool when I heard my name.
'I have been looking for you, Gwalchavad!'
I felt an icy breath on my naked skin and turned. A woman stood opposite
me across the room. Dressed in long, loose robes of blue and deepest
green, her fair hair shimmering in the feeble torchlight, she was tall and
slender, and possessed of the beauty men see only in their dreams. She
was watching me intently, an expression of approval on her face.
'Woman, who are you?' I said.
'You were but a boy when I last saw you,' she said, drawing a step closer.
Her feet made no sound on the flat stones. 'But look at you now - what a
fine, handsome man you are. The very figure of your father. Lot would be
pleased.'
Strange to say: until she uttered my father's name, I did not recognize her.
But the instant she invoked Lot, my heart clutched and my strength flowed
out of me like water poured out upon the sand. It was all I could do to hold
myself upright.
'Morgian!' I gasped, trembling inwardly as with cold, or with frozen rage.
'My son,' she said nicely, extending her arms to me. 'Have you no
welcome kiss for your mother?'
'You are not my mother,' I replied, revulsed. 'My mother is dead.'
'Poor Gwalchavad,' she pouted, folding her hands prettily before her. 'And
to think I always treated you like a son of my own blood.'
'Get away from me, witch,' I said. I made to turn away, but could no
longer make my limbs obey.
'I would speak to you, dear Gwalchavad,' she replied, her voice growing as
smooth and sinuous as a serpent coiling around its prey. 'There is
something I wish you to do.'
'Never!' I spat. 'I would sooner cut off my hand than lift a finger for you.'
'Oh, I think I may find a way to change your mind,' she said, her smile
beguiling with concealed treason. 'Men are such simple creatures, after
all.'
I tried to speak, and felt my tongue clench in my mouth. My jaws seized
up tight.
'You see, I am not to be denied,' she continued, stepping nearer. She raised
a hand and absently described a figure in the air. I felt my throat constrict
and I could not breathe. 'It is a small thing - a trifle of no particular
consequence. I think you may find it far easier to obey than to refuse.'
'I will die first!' I forced the words out through clenched teeth, my jaws
aching as if to break.
She raised her head and laughed, her voice warm and lovely. 'Charming!'
she said, pressing her hands together beneath her chin. 'That is exactly
what your brother said,' she informed me cheerfully. 'Alas, poor
Gwalcmai. He forced me to take him at his word. Still, I do not expect you
to make the same mistake.'
'No!' I shrieked, pressing my fists to my eyes. 'Jesu, save me!'
There came a fluttering sound like that of wings in flight, and when I
opened my eyes, I was once again lying in the water, still alone. One of
the torches was out. I rose and looked at the stone floor where Morgian
had stood, but despite the steam and damp, there was no trace of any
footprint, nor any sign of her at all. I shouted and received only the dull
echo of my own voice in return.
Frightened now, I left the bath and fled to the warriors' quarters. There
was no one around, and as I dried and dressed, I gradually calmed and
convinced myself that it was only a bad dream brought on by fatigue and
the uncanny experiences of my recent journey.
When I emerged at last, I had put the thing firmly from my mind and was
ready to greet my king and swordbrothers in better spirits. I returned to the
hall feeling certain I could devour my weight in roast meat and drain a
lake of ale. The babble of voices echoing along the passageway gave me
to know that the shrine-builders had returned and a celebration had
commenced.
Indeed, the hall was bright with torchlight and full of friends. Laughter
and high-spirited talk flowed like a wave out into the night; cups were
being passed, and the hearth fire had been laid. Pausing at the threshold, I
stood for a moment and counted myself most fortunate among men to
behold such a noble gathering. When men and women such as these pass
from this worlds-realm, I thought, the world will be a colder place.
Rejecting the thought as unworthy of the occasion, I drew myself up and
entered the glad gathering. On the instant, I was hailed and a cup thrust
into my hands. I felt a hard clap on my back as I raised the cup, and Cai's
voice loud in my ear. 'Here!' he cried. 'The wanderer returns! How went
the hunt, brother?'
Before I could answer, Cador appeared and said, 'If my two young
kinsmen are to be believed, disaster dogged your trail from dawn to dusk.'
'Ah, well,' I allowed, following Myrddin's request, 'it was never more than
a nip at the heel.'
Cai laughed, but my careful reply caught Cador's attention. He stepped
nearer. 'There was trouble?'
'Aye,' I replied reluctantly, 'there was.' Then, raising the cup, I said, 'But
there is ale in the bowl, and fire on the hearth. Let us talk of happier
things.' I drank and passed the cup. Wiping foam from my mouth, I said,
'Tell me, now, what is this I am hearing about Arthur's new shrine?'
'Och!' cried Cai. 'Only a few days, but so much has happened while you
were gone, you will be kicking yourself you were not here.'
He then plunged into an enthusiastic recounting of the heady events of the
past days. The account grew somewhat in the telling, but was well
seasoned with remarks from various others who came to greet and
welcome me once more into their company. The short of it was that
Arthur, having returned to the place of his miraculous healing, had been
wakened in the night by a vision of a shrine wherein the Cup of Christ
shone forth with a light like the morning sun. The Pendragon took this
vision as a sign from the High King of Heaven that he should build a
dwelling for the Grail. The abbot and monks were consulted, and for two
days, Arthur and Bishop Elfodd sat head-to-head over bits of slate on
which the Pendragon scratched drawings to represent the shrine he had
seen in his vision.
Elfodd and Arthur... I wondered at this pairing, but kept my thoughts to
myself and allowed Cai to finish, which he did eventually, saying, 'We
have sent to Londinium for men who know how to work with stone.'
'Stone?' I asked. 'The shrine is to be of stone?'
'Stone, aye,' replied Cai. 'Arthur wants it to last a thousand years!'
'Ten thousand!' offered a nearby listener.
'Forever!' put in another.
'The work has begun already?'
'It has that,' confirmed Cador. 'The site has been chosen and the ground
has been cleared. We have been cutting trees all day, and pulling up
stumps. I tell you the truth, Gwalchavad, you have had the easier time of
it. I was never born to drive oxen.'
When talk turned again to how I had fared on my journey, I made the
excuse that I was starving and suggested we join those at the board, where
the food was now arriving. I looked for Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, but did
not see them anywhere among the throng - made up of Cymbrogi, for the
most part, with a few monks and a smattering of Fair Folk as well. Neither
did I see Myrddin, and held the absence of these three together as yet one
more misfortune to be borne along with all the rest.
I might have wallowed in my melancholy, but then, overcome by the
aroma of roast meat and warm bread, and by the sight of bubbling
cauldrons being carried from the kitchens on wooden poles, I devoted
myself to eating instead. When the rough edges had been smoothed from
my hunger, I gazed along the benches, down the length of the board to see
who my supper companions might be. I saw, farther along, Tallaght and
Peredur, and many others I knew, heads down over their platters as if
nothing in all the world could trouble them. I saw this, and I wished I
could discard my unpleasant memories so easily.
And then it came again into my mind - the unwanted intrusion of my
waking dfeam - as if Morgian herself had burst boldly into the room to
taunt me with fresh terrors.
Suddenly too upset to eat any more, I pushed my bowl from me, stood,
made some excuse to my companions, and started towards the entrance of
the hall. I had walked but halfway across the great room when the doors
swung open and Arthur and Gwenhwyvar entered. Myrddin swept in
behind them, saw me, and beckoned me to him.
At my approach, the king smiled and held out his arms for me to embrace
him. 'Gwalchavad!' he cried. 'Here you are!'
'God be good to you, my king,' I said, gripping his arm.
'Myrddin told us you had returned safely.'
'That I have, lord.'
'Welcome, Gwalchavad,' said Gwenhwyvar, her voice soft and low. 'I was
hoping you would be here. Is Llenlleawg with you?' She looked quickly
past me into the hall for sign of her kinsman.
'No, my lady, but I have no doubt he will join us as soon as he is rested.'
'Come, now, Gwalchavad,' said Arthur happily, 'sit with me at table. Much
has happened while you were away, and I have much to tell you.'
'Nothing would give me greater pleasure, lord,' I replied, nor was I
disappointed. Truly, his zeal was irresistible as he described the great
work he had undertaken. A few moments in Arthur's company and I had
all but forgotten the harrows of my journey, and the queer menace of the
dream.
See, now! This is the mark of the Pendragon of Britain: a man whose
ardour for life is so compelling that others find their lives in him, a man
whose natural nobility extends to everyone he sees, so that all others are
ennobled in his sight. Truly, he is one of the Great King's sons and wears
his sovereignty with such easy grace that all who will bend the knee to his
authority are raised up and exalted by it.
Know you, I have lived alongside Arthur for many years, and have served
him and followed him into battle more times than bear remembering, so
believe me when I say that I have rarely seen Arthur in such joyous good
spirits. It was as if all the hurt and pain of the past troubled years had been
wiped away and his spirit restored to its true and natural state - fine and
unblemished by the harsh tolls of kingcraft and war. That night he was
more himself than even the day of his marriage to Gwenhwyvar, and that
is saying something.
We talked and laughed together, and I felt my own heart rise to bask in the
warmth of his friendship. When at last we parted for the night, I found the
vision of the Kingdom of Summer burning in my heart, although the name
never passed his lips. Ah, but that was not necessary. Arthur was aflame
with it!
Like a Beltain fire, he scattered sparks in all directions and set the night
alight. Anyone who spoke to him would have been likewise dazzled, and I
count myself blessed to have sat at his right hand and listened to him
describe his plans for the Grail Shrine. It was no rude hut he meant to
build, but a perpetual beacon of goodness to all who walked in darkness, a
wellspring of blessing to all who thirsted for righteousness, an endless
feast to all who hungered for truth and justice. The completion of the Grail
Shrine would commence a season of peace and plenty which would last a
thousand generations.
How all this would come about was still somewhat vague. Indeed, the
means by which Arthur would come into possession of the Holy Cup was
not, as I recall, ever mentioned. But one thing was very clear in the
Pendragon's mind: the deeds we performed now would become a song
which would endure so long as men had tongues to speak and ears to hear.
Oh, and when we rose from the table at last, the night was far spent and
the dawn, gleaming like red-gold on the eastern horizon, seemed not the
beginning of a day only - no, it was nothing less than the inauguration of a
magnificent Golden Age.
                          FIFTEEN


The first of the stoneworkers' tribe appeared three days later -eight or so
men with huge ox-drawn wagons full of tools and provisions. They did not
come to the Tor, but went straightaway to the site and occupied
themselves with establishing their camp in the valley at the foot of the hill
where the new shrine would be built.
Arthur, eager to see the work begun, rode out to greet them, and some of
the Cymbrogi went with him. We watched as they went about their chores,
and by day's end five large leather tents of the kind the Romans used to
make occupied the little plain; five more were raised the next day. These,
they said, were to house their fellows and families, who arrived in four
days' time. The numbers at the site swelled to perhaps forty in all, though
that included the children, who seemed always to be everywhere at once.
Over those first few days, I had ample opportunity to observe the masons
as they went about the chores of ordering their camp. They were odd men:
small of stature, with broad backs and tough, sinewy arms and short, thick,
muscular legs. They were a hard-handed, ready-tempered crew, and loud
with it -when they were not shouting at one another, they were singing to
make the valley ring - much like seamen in their ways. I would be
surprised if a single one of them had ever sat a horse or gripped a sword,
much less thrown a spear.
The next days were given, with considerable pointed discussion, to the
preparation of the site. The stonemen grumbled endlessly at how poorly
the land had been cleared, and they complained about the chosen
placement and the disgraceful paucity of suitable stone in the region.
Nothing was good enough for them, and they spared no breath letting the
whole realm know it.
'God's truth, Arthur,' muttered Cai, quickly tiring of their surly opinions, 'if
complaints were stones, the shrine would be raised by now -'
'And a cathedral besides,' added Bedwyr tartly.
'Pack the lot of them back to Londinium and be done with it, I say,' put in
Rhys. 'We were doing well enough before they came.'
But Arthur took the carping and complaining in his stride. 'They are
hounds without a handler,' he said. 'When their chieftain arrives, he will
bring them to heel.'
The chieftain he meant was a bandy-legged, bald man with a beard like a
bearskin. His skin, blasted by years of toil in sun and rain and wind, was
as thick as the leather of his tent and just as brown. His name was Gall,
and he walked with a limp and chewed hazel twigs, which he kept in ready
supply in a leather pouch at his side. Tough as an old stump, he had but to
speak a single word and his men leapt to obey.
Arthur liked him instantly.
Once Gall and his small brown wife arrived, the complaining subsided to a
tolerable level and the work began in earnest -despite the appalling stone
and lamentable situation. Again we were favoured with occasions aplenty
to observe them, for the Cymbrogi were put to work cutting trees to supply
the timber they needed. I never imagined masons required so much wood
for their curious craft.
'That which you would build in stone,' Gall informed us, 'you must build
first in wood.'
Nor could I help noticing that Myrddin seized every opportunity to go
alongside the master mason, questioning his every move and thought in
order to learn all he could of the stoneworker's craft.
When we were not fetching logs to the site, we were occupied supplying
water for their camp. Though the drought continued as the long, dry
summer wound slowly to its close, the spring below the Tor remained as
sweet and cool and plentiful as ever, unaffected by the lack of rain. We
filled empty ale vats and trundled them back and forth to the stonemasons'
camp using their oxen and wagons. Were we ever thanked for this singular
service? Ha!
In the midst of this turmoil, a strange and unsettling event occurred which
should have served as a warning to us all. It was a Sabbath day, when the
monks perform their holy offices and many of the Christian folk in the
realm come to the chapel to observe these services and worship with the
clerics. The masons, as it happens, do no work whatsoever this one day in
every seven, and so they were free to join in the worship, which they did -
singing out the hymns and psalms with unrestrained vigour.
Arthur so enjoyed this display of religious fervour that he went along to
observe the vespers in the evening, and then invited everyone - monks and
masons together - to the Tor to sup with him in Avallach's hall. Thus, we
were all there together and enjoying the mood of festive cheer when I felt
a queer sensation course through the hall. Beginning at one end of the
great room and sweeping through to the other, I could see it ripple through
the crowd as it passed, and felt a fluttery queasiness in the pit of my
stomach. This was instantly followed by a peculiar numbing tingle like
that of a winter chill on cheeks and nose and fingertips.
The hall fell silent with the kind of queasy anticipation that follows a
sudden change in the wind just before the storm breaks. Illumined by the
subtly shifting radiance of torchlight and hearthglow, the entire company
stood motionless and staring, some with mouths open as if to speak, some
with bowls halfway to lips as if to drink. I saw Arthur and Gwenhwyvar,
half turned towards the doorway with laughter still on their faces, but
frozen now. In everyone's expression and demeanour were the fast-fading
remnants of a last, interrupted happiness.
I looked again and saw the cause of this interruption: a few paces inside
the doorway stood a young woman; tall and slender, her long hair a mass
of fiery curls flowing over her shapely shoulders like glistening water, her
willowy form clothed in a deep green robe over a hooded mantle of
shining gold, she stood imperious and erect - a monarch receiving the
homage of her people.
For a long, frozen moment, silence reigned in the hall; suspended between
one breath and the next, no one moved or spoke. And then I heard
footsteps outside the hall. The approach must have surprised her, for she
turned her head towards the sound, and in that instant the hall sprang to
life once more as if on command and Myrddin appeared in the doorway
behind her.
She faced Myrddin, and he halted - stricken in mid-step. I saw the smile of
welcome freeze even as the words of greeting died on his lips.
The green-robed lady moved swiftly to his side and laid her hand gently
on his arm. Then she turned and, together, beaming their good pleasure,
they crossed the threshold into the hall - for all the world a regal couple
entering their marriage feast.
My amazement at Myrddin's curious behaviour was immediately
swallowed by an even greater astonishment, for, as she drew nearer, I
realized that this lady was the woman I myself had discovered wandering
barefoot in the forest. It was she whose pursuit had almost killed
Llenlleawg - and three more besides. Gone were the rags, gone the fearful
expression; gone, too, the bare feet, dirty hands, and unkempt hair. She
appeared in every way the very likeness of a queen, from the hem of her
robe to her curled and henna'd hair.
I stood rooted in surprise, but the crowd surged forward, exclaiming all at
once. Myrddin, with a single word, silenced the tumult. 'Peace!' he said,
his voice filling the hall from hearthstone to rooftree. He stood with
upraised hand and halted the commotion as quickly as it had begun.
Then, turning to the young woman, he said, 'So! You favour us with your
presence once more. I would know who it is that we would welcome.
Lady, I command you, tell me your name.'
His tone was firm but gentle, and there are few indeed able to defy his
commands. Still, I knew full well the young woman lacked the power of
speech... and therefore was my astonishment compounded when she
answered, 'Forgive me, Lord Emrys, I am called Morgaws.'
Excitement rippled through the gathering: 'She speaks!' some exclaimed.
'What does it mean?' asked others.
Arthur pushed through the throng to join them, Gwenhwyvar at his heel.
'It is a wonder!' he proclaimed, beaming his pleasure at this unexpected
turn. 'How has this transformation come about?'
Myrddin, still watching the young woman narrowly, made no move as
Morgaws stepped before the king. 'Thank you, Lord Arthur,' she said,
inclining her head prettily. 'I am beholden to your kindness.' She spoke in
a voice both hoarse and low, as if rusty from disuse. 'A year ago a curse
was laid on me by a woman of our holding and I lost the power of reason
and speech. Since then, I have wandered where I would, a captive within
myself, neither knowing who I was nor where I belonged.'
'Yet you appear to have recovered yourself most remarkably well,'
Gwenhwyvar observed, pushing in beside her husband. 'I would hear how
that came about.'
The two women eyed each other with cool appraisal. Morgaws put her
hands together neatly and said, 'I have indeed, noble queen. Yet I am at a
loss to explain it. All I know is that, upon coming in sight of the Tor, I felt
a great confusion overwhelm me. I knew nothing but that I must get away.'
'You left us all too suddenly,' Gwenhwyvar pointed out crisply. 'We
worried for your safety, and sent good men in search of you. They faced
dangers and endured severe hardships for your sake - one is suffering still.
It would have saved us great pain and no little trouble if you had but given
us some small sign. We might have helped you.'
Morgaws lowered her eyes demurely. 'Alas, I can but beg your
forgiveness, my queen. My imprudence was poor reply to the great
benevolence you had shown me. I was not in my right mind, I confess. I
fled into the wood nearby, and rode until I could ride no more. Then I
slept, and when I awoke, the confusion had left me and I was myself
again. After so long a time, I could not rest until I returned home and
restored my fortunes.' She smiled prettily. 'I have come to thank those who
cared for me in my affliction.'
A doubtful frown played on Gwenhwyvar's lips. 'And where is your
home?'
'Not far from here,' Morgaws answered. 'My home is near Caer Uintan -
and...' She paused, as if reflecting unhappily, but then resumed: 'Upon
restoring myself, I could not rest until I had returned here to thank you for
the kindness you have shown me.' Although she answered the queen, I
noticed her eyes never left Arthur; and when she finished, she smiled at
him.
'You returned to us alone?' said Myrddin. 'After all that has happened to
you, I would have expected your people to take better care of you than
that. Certainly, it is unwise for a young woman to travel unaccompanied.'
The question appeared to unnerve Morgaws somewhat. Her glance shifted
away from Arthur, and she bent her head, hesitating - as if searching for a
suitable answer. The king saved her from her predicament, however.
Arthur, expansive and generous, said, 'I, too, am interested to hear your
tale, but there is plenty of time for explanations later. You are healed now,
and that is cause enough to be thankful. Come, let us sit down together and
celebrate your safe return.'
With that the king then led his elegant guest to the table, where he seated
her near him. Gwenhwyvar, catlike in her wariness, stayed close and
nothing passed that she did not see or hear. As ever, the Wise Emrys kept
his own thoughts to himself; but I could not help noticing he did not join
them at table that night.
For the next few days, talk of Morgaws' unexpected return was exceeded
only by discussions about the Grail Shrine. Though I listened to all that
was said, further enlightenment was not forthcoming. Regarding the lady,
some said one thing, and some another. Various speculations about her
plight and marvellous restoration became hopelessly tangled, and genuine
facts seemed difficult to come by. She was a noblewoman, some said,
whose settlement was destroyed and her people slaughtered by the
Vandali. Others had it that she was the daughter of a Belgae tribe whose
people had fled to Armorica because of the plague, leaving her behind.
Still others held other ideas, but no one seemed at all certain which of the
various stories were true.
All the while, work on the shrine continued apace, and the days settled
into a peaceable rhythm. Safely back at Ynys Avallach among friends and
swordbrothers once more, I considered the fearful events in Llyonesse
increasingly trivial; with each passing day the memory faded, growing
more and more distant and insignificant. I even convinced myself that my
dream of Morgian was the result of light-headedness brought on by
fatigue, worry, and too much time in a too hot bath.
It is, I suppose, only human to put aside fear and pain, to move away from
all unpleasantness as quickly as possible. I was no different from anyone
else in this respect. Even Morgaws' return failed to kindle any lasting
suspicion. After all, Gwenhwyvar and Arthur accepted her; the queen's
wariness having given way to genuine welcome and affection, they all but
doted on her. Who was I to question their sentiments?
I told myself: the lady has obviously suffered greatly, and her release from
her affliction is cause for celebration. I told myself: we have no proof she
has done anything wrong. I told myself: she has every right to enjoy the
attentions of Arthur's court. These things I told myself repeatedly, and half
believed them. Still, from time to time, doubt crept up on me - little more
than vague twinges of misgiving - so, despite my repeated self-assurances
and the excitement and gaiety bubbling around me, I could not make
myself feel glad for her. Nor was I the only one to take a sour view of the
matter. Peredur, too, held himself distinctly apart from the merrymaking.
One night, some while after Morgaws' return, I saw him sitting at the
board, cup at his elbow, watching the king and queen with their
enchanting guest. Sliding onto the bench beside him, I said, 'Why the
scowl, friend? I thought you would rejoice at the wanderer's return like
everyone else.'
'I might,' he muttered darkly, 'if everyone else was not smitten blind with
adoration. I find little enough to admire in that woman.'
'Morgaws?'
He regarded me with suspicion, and slowly turned his scowl back to the
crowded hall. 'Morgaws,' he said, his voice so low I could hardly hear him.
'You do not like her much, I see.'
Peredur shrugged. 'I do not think of her one way or another.' Reaching for
his cup, he drained it in a draught. 'Why should I?' he demanded. 'She is
nothing to me. I wish I had never laid eyes on the slut.'
I wondered at this uncommon vehemence, but instead replied, 'I know
what you mean, brother. I, too, feel uneasy about our mysterious guest.'
'You were the one who found her.' His tone suggested that every
misfortune in the world flowed directly from my hand. 'You did not seem
uneasy about her then.'
It was true, I suppose. When we first came upon her in the forest, I had felt
nothing but sympathy for her plight. Peredur, as I recall, had been
dismayed by her from the first moment he saw her.
'Well,' I allowed, 'it may be as you say. No doubt my view has been
altered by our sojourn in Llyonesse. And I will tell you something else: we
are not the only ones to harbour misgivings.'
Peredur merely grunted at this.
'Myrddin, too, withholds his blessing.'
'Then perhaps Myrddin Emrys is as wise as men say.' With that the young
warrior threw aside his empty cup; it struck the board with a thump,
whereupon he stood abruptly. 'You must forgive me, Lord Gwalchavad, I
find myself out of temper tonight. I assure you I meant no offense. Please,
take no notice.'
He left me then, and stalked away. I saw him disappear into the throng
gathered at the hearth, and so I determined to see who else might be less
than complete in enthusiasm for the honoured lady. After a time, I located
the elusive Llenlleawg, who I expected would feel something akin to the
distaste Peredur expressed. If anyone had reason to distrust Morgaws,
Llenlleawg certainly did. Much to my amazement, however, I could not
have been more wrong.
'She is a wonder, is she not?' he said as I came to stand beside him. There
was no question about whom he meant: he stood staring at her from a
distance across the hall, where she, all smiles and demure replies,
conversed nicely with Arthur, Gwenhwyvar, and Elfodd, who had joined
us from the nearby abbey.
'She is that, I suppose,' I answered, regarding him closely.
Ignoring my ambivalence, Llenlleawg continued. 'Truly, she is one of the
Tuatha DeDannan.' Happy with his comparison, he said, 'Indeed, she is a
very Sidhe. How her face shines beneath her flaming locks! And her
eyes...' His voice drifted off in tones of such rapture I turned and looked
my friend full in the face. Had I ever known him to speak so? No. Never.
'Can this be the same man,' I said, 'who suffered so much in her pursuit?'
'She had nothing to do with any of that,' he declared. 'Nothing at all.'
'Does that mean you have remembered something of your ordeal?'
'No,' he said flatly, 'I remember nothing about what happened. But she was
not the cause of it - that much I know.'
'If you cannot remember, how can you be certain?'
The tall Irishman gave me a darkly disapproving look, and stalked away.
Unable to make sense of his reaction, I took my search elsewhere. At the
entrance to the hall, I found Myrddin, standing alone, watching the regal
diners at the board. Seeing where his attention lay, I put my head close to
his and said, somewhat carelessly, 'Well, it seems Morgaws has won a
place among us.'
'Oh, she is adept at insinuating herself into men's affections,' Myrddin
replied, his mouth twisting wryly. 'Mark me, Gwalchavad, there is no end
to the question of Morgaws. I look at her and see only questions begging
answers. Why did she leave us only to return like this? Her fine clothes -
where did she get them? She speaks with the easy loftiness of a
noblewoman - but who is her family? Why does everyone forget
themselves whenever she is near?'
'Llenlleawg has certainly forgotten himself,' I replied, intending to tell
Myrddin of my conversation. 'Did you know that he -' I began, but the
Wise Emrys was no longer listening. He had turned and was gazing at
Morgaws. The frown had vanished in a look of rapture.
'Ah, but she is beautiful, there is no denying it,' he murmured. This simple
remark filled me with greater anxiety than anything else he could have
said. I stared at him, but, heedless of my presence, he moved away.
I slept ill that night, and the next morning rode early to the site of the new
shrine, hoping to take my mind from the problem of Morgaws. Once at the
site, I was amazed to see how much had been accomplished since Gall's
arrival.
As it happened, the hill chosen for the shrine was a low, humpbacked
mound within sight of both Avallach's Tor and the abbey, and roughly
equal distance from each. Early as I was, as I came in sight of the place I
could see the workers swarming over the hillside. Wagons trundled to and
fro, some with stone for the shrine, some with stone for the path leading to
the shrine; still others, having delivered their loads, were rumbling away
for more.
I dismounted, tied my horse on the picket line, and walked to the base of
the hill, stopping now and then to talk to some of the Cymbrogi who were
helping construct the path of stone cobbles. They all worked with cheerful
vigour beside the masons, their banter high-flown and easy; the Cymbrogi
fetched the stones, which the masons selected with deft efficiency, tapping
them into place with wooden mallets. I greeted those I knew, commended
their zeal, and walked on, slowly mounting to the top of the hill, which
had been levelled to provide a precise, and striking, site for the shrine.
Pits had been dug at the four corners and filled with rubble stone; then an
extensive bed of small stones had been laid down on which the foundation
would be placed - the first few stones had been placed the previous day.
Now the labourers were busily erecting a rough timber support along the
proposed line of the wall.
I found the affable Gall blissfully employed shouting commands to a
group of Cymbrogi endeavouring to drag a wagonload of stone up the hill.
'Stop the wheels!' he was crying. 'Use the timber to stop the wheels!'
Turning to me, he said, 'They fill them too full, you see. I tell them half
loads are easier on the oxen. The shrine will not be raised in a day, I tell
them, but they refuse to listen.' Then, regarding me more closely: 'Do I
know you, lord?'
'I am Gwalchavad, and I am at your service,' I replied, warming to the man
at once. Open-faced, his features glowing with health and good-natured
exasperation, he looked out upon the world through a pair of mild brown
eyes, the sun glinting off his rosy bald pate.
For a moment he stood blinking at me, sturdy arms folded, mouth
puckered in thought. And then: 'Good lord! Gwalchavad, of course. Yes.
One of the famed Dragon Flight. In the name of Christ, I give you good
greeting.' He smiled, his agitation at the heedless volunteers already
forgotten. 'My name is Gall. If it were not for the fact that the High King
of Britain presses me daily to know when the work will be completed, I
would invite you to break fast with me. But there is no rest for the
wicked!'
Though his speech was couched in the form of a complaint, he seemed not
to mind his hardship in the least. 'You have no end of helpers,' I observed.
He peered at me doubtfully. 'Have you come to help me, too?'
'Fear not,' I replied lightly, 'for unless you discover some task requiring
my particular attention, I will happily stand aside and watch from afar.'
'Good man.'
The overloaded wagon crested the hill just then and the master mason
bustled off to order the deposition of the stone. I walked around the site,
looking out at the surrounding fields, blasted by heat and drought. How
much longer could the land survive without good, ground-soaking rain? I
could not help thinking that, despite the late warmth, harvest time was
soon upon us, and what a poor harvest it would be. At least the dry
weather hastened the masons' work. But would the people hereabouts view
the king's shrine in any kindly light when both grainstore and belly were
empty?
Before I could wonder further, my meditations were arrested by a call
from below. I turned and looked down the slope of the hill to see Cai
trudging up to meet me. Upon exchanging greetings, he said, 'I have been
looking for you, brother. This is the last place I expected to find you.'
'Yet find me you did.'
He nodded, glanced quickly around the hilltop at the work in progress,
then said, 'Arthur has summoned the Dragon Flight to attend him in
council.'
'This is sudden. Do you know why?' I asked, already starting down the hill
to where the horses were waiting.
'As it happens,' said Cai, falling into step beside me, 'I believe he is going
to tell us about his plans for guarding the shrine.' At my questioning
glance, Cai continued, in tones suggesting he felt it beneath him to explain
the obvious. 'Once the Holy Cup is established in the shrine, it must be
guarded, you know. Who better than the Dragon Flight, the finest warriors
in all Britain?'
'Who better indeed?' I replied. 'But where is the cup now?' 'Avallach has it,
I expect. But soon it will belong to everyone.' 'Maybe Myrddin is right,' I
countered, 'and we should leave it alone. It seems to me Avallach has kept
it safe enough all these years.'
'Worrier!' Cai scoffed. 'What can possibly happen to the cup with us
guarding it?'
                          SIXTEEN


It is one of mortal humans' more cunous traits, that the appearance of a
thing is more greatly esteemed than its true character. This is invariable, I
find. Perhaps it is that a phasing image evokes the beholder's best
sympathies and the desire to be united to the thing admired; then again,
fools that they are, perhaps they simply believe that nothing which attracts
them could ever bring them harm.
They are woefully wrong in this, of course, as in so much else. Be that as it
may, it is precisely this oddity which has served me so well. That Morgaws
is beautiful, there is no doubt. I made her, flesh and blood, for just this
purpose. Fairest of creatures, she is nevertheless my creature. I taught her
everything she would need to know to accomplish my will and desire. I
taught her everything, and taught her well. She is that empty vessel which
can be made to contain whatever its owner requires.
Born of the union between my dutiful son, Lot, and me, Morgaws is truly
bone of my bone and blood of my blood. From the moment she came into
the world, I have moulded her to my will. Like all infants and children, she
was born with a desire to please those in authority over her, those who
controlled her food and shelter, warmth and security. With consummate
skill, I manipulated her childish desires to serve my purpose, and she
responded magnificently. Morgaws is my finest creation: revenge made
flesh.
Together with the rest of the Cymbrogi, we hastened back to the Tor to
prepare ourselves for the council to take place at midday. In the warriors'
quarters, men rushed to and from the baths while others shaved and
dressed in their finest clothes. Still others were busily burnishing their
swords, spearheads, and shield bosses.
Thus inspired, I washed and shaved, too, and put on my better clothes, and
by the time I had finished scouring my sword, the Cymbrogi were already
gathering in the great hall. I found Rhys and Cador, and walked with them
to join the rest. The tables and benches had been removed from the hall,
and everyone was pressed tight at one end of the huge room.
We three pushed our way to the front of the assembly, as was our due -
only to find that the Pendragon was already in attendance. He was sitting
in Avallach's thronelike chair, facing the Dragon Flight, who formed a
loose circle around him, beginning with Bedwyr at his right hand and
continuing around to Llenlleawg at his left. Gwenhwyvar stood behind the
throne, her hand resting on Arthur's right shoulder, and Myrddin beside
her, tall and as silent as the oaken staff in his hand.
Cador, Rhys, and I quickly took our places at the bottom of the circle
opposite the king, who acknowledged our arrival with a slow nod of
approval. Seeing that all were assembled, he raised a hand to Myrddin,
who then stepped forward to stand before the king. Taking his staff, he
raised it high and brought it down sharply with a loud crack, and then
twice more.
Planting the staff firmly, he made a circuit around it, passing once, twice,
three times, gazing steadily into the face of each man as he passed. This
done, he lifted the staff and held it lengthwise across his chest and, in a
voice both solemn and profound, began to speak:
'Fortunate among men are you! I say again, fortunate are you, and all men
alive to hear what passes in this hall. I tell you the truth: many generations
of men before you have lived and died longing for this day.'
Myrddin paused, his golden eyes scanning the company before him. 'Heed
the Head of Wisdom: this day, the sun has risen upon the Kingdom of
Summer. Henceforth, and until the stars fall from the sky and the sea
swallows our island, the kingdom now begun shall prevail. You, who
stand before your king, bear witness: the Lord of Summer has taken his
place upon the throne, and his reign is commenced.'
At these words, the assembled warriors gave out a tremendous cry - a
joyous roar to alert all Ynys Prydain that a new kingdom had come into
existence at the High King's command. It was some time before the Emrys
could make himself heard. Finally, when the acclaim had abated
somewhat, he continued.
'The praise of true men is a boon of great blessing, and the inauguration of
the Summer Realm is right worthy of praise,' he said. 'Yet the Kingdom of
Summer will not be honoured in word only, but in deed. For this reason,
and for this purpose, the Fellowship of the Grail is begun.'
If the first proclamation brought forth cheers, this last brought a hush of
anticipation as deafening in its way as the shouts of praise. I held my
breath with all the others as the Pendragon rose from his chair and came to
stand beside his Wise Emrys. Arthur, wearing his golden tore and serpent
armband, Caledvwlch gleaming naked at his side, raised his hands in
lordly laud of his decree.
'The Fellowship of the Grail,' Arthur said, his voice echoing the strangely
stirring words, 'is the first expression of the Summer Realm. But what is
it? Is it a brotherhood dedicated to the service of the Most Holy Grail?
Yes, it is that, and it is more: it is an alliance of true and kindred spirits,
kinsmen united not by blood, but by devotion to a common duty. That
duty is to guard and protect the Grail and all those who will come as
wayfarers and pilgrims to the shrine of the Blessed Cup.
'Hear me, Cymbrogi! It is a high and holy duty to which I have called you.
For many years the Grail has been guarded in secret, hidden for its
protection and watched over by its keeper, Lord Avallach. Soon, however,
the Holy Cup will be unveiled for the blessing of Britain and her people. A
secret no longer, it will be delivered into our keeping, and we will become
its guardians and protectors. The skills we have learned in war, and honed
in constant battle, those selfsame skills will be turned to the nurture of
peace. Our swords will become the weapons of our Lord Christ on earth.
No longer will our adversaries be mere flesh and blood, but the powers
and rulers of darkness.
'The Fellowship of the Grail is begun in you, my loyal friends. You will be
the first, and those who come after will follow the path you mark out with
your steps. Therefore, I charge you, my Cymbrogi: walk worthy of your
calling.'
So saying, he lowered his hands, turned, and seated himself once more.
The Dragon Flight, inspired by high-sounding words and the prospect of
glorious deeds, greeted the Pendragon's declaration with loud acclaim.
They cheered and cried pledges of loyalty to the new Fellowship. When,
after a time, the cheering began to die away, Cai shouted to be heard.
'Lord and Pendragon,' he said, his brash bawl of a voice loud above the
clamour, 'I know full well that I am one with my swordbrothers in
welcoming the inauguration of the Summer Realm, and like them I pledge
sword and self to the cause you have just proclaimed. Your words are fine
and high, as befitting the occasion, and I suppose you are loath to demean
the noble Fellowship with tiresome explanation. Yet, though I chance the
scorn of those blessed with keener wits than mine' - Cai turned this way
and that, as if to acknowledge those he held above him - 'even so, I deem
it worth the risk to ask: how are we to accomplish the duty which you
have laid upon us, and which we right readily accept?'
This brought good-natured laughter from all those looking on. Cai, ever
practical, could not hear a cause proclaimed without knowing how it
would be accomplished. Of course, once Cai had cracked the wall, the rest
came pushing through the breach, all of them demanding of the king, in
one way or another, what they were meant to do, and how they were
meant to do it.
I could not help noticing that Myrddin made no move to aid the king, but
stood leaning on his staff and observing the clamour with cool
indifference, as if to say, Who would stir the hive must brave the buzzing.
Arthur merely smiled and stood, taking his place in the centre of the circle
once more. 'Lord Cai, fearless friend, I bend the knee to your humble
entreaty.' Turning to the assembly, Arthur declared, 'Your approval of the
Fellowship is as gratifying as your zeal is heartening. If I have not
revealed my thoughts fully, it is for this reason: the Fellowship of the Grail
is to be a true union of hearts and minds, and this, I am persuaded, can
only be brought about by the willing dedication of those so called, and not
by kingly decree.
'Therefore, I would that you, my noble friends, select from among your
own number those who will determine the ordering of the Fellowship on
your behalf. Holding that in mind, I urge you to pray, seeking wisdom,
and choose your leaders well - for the rule they proclaim will be the law
from this day forth and forevermore.'
In this I thought I saw the hand of Bishop Elfodd, or at least the example
of a monastic order as a guide for establishing the Grail Fellowship. Be
that as it may, Arthur gave no instruction about how we were to go about
our determinations, and seemed unwilling to say more. Indeed, having
delivered himself of his address, he took his leave of us, bidding us to
proceed with our deliberations and bring him word when we had chosen
our leaders.
Soon we stood in our circle, regarding one another with glances of shrewd
and thoughtful appraisal. Here was an activity to which we men of war
were least suited. The best that could be said was that, while it might have
been an unequal battle, at least we did not down weapons and surrender
the field. Shouldering our responsibility as best we could, we embarked on
what amounted to a long and fruitless wrangle.
In the end, the Dragon Flight, unused to cultivating decisions of this kind,
turned expectantly to their battlechiefs. First to speak was Bedwyr.
Perhaps, as the one who enjoyed the High King's closest confidence, he
had gleaned greater knowledge of Arthur's intentions than we had heard,
for he said, 'Brothers, if you will permit me to break into your meditations,
I would offer a suggestion.'
'Speak!' cried Cai, impatient to get on with the proceedings. 'By all means,
we will be forever beholden to you. Unless someone takes the tiller, we
will be circling these waters forever.'
Everyone laughed at this, and our burden was eased considerably. The
stiff awkwardness of our high calling - as Arthur had deemed it -
disappeared, and we became merely comrades with a duty to discharge.
'My suggestion,' Bedwyr continued, 'is simply this: that each man among
us should declare three choices, and those whose names come most often
to the lips of their comrades will scout out the path by which we are to
proceed.'
A fine plan, I thought, but one of the younger Cymbrogi made bold to
amend Bedwyr's proposal. 'If you please, noble lord,' he said, seizing his
chance in the outcry of approval that followed Bedwyr's address, 'it is in
my mind that the issue before us is both sacred and profound - and no less
portentous than battle, where life and limb are placed at hazard beneath
the rule of those who lead us.'
Leaning near to Cai, I whispered, 'He speaks well, this one. Who is he?'
'He is one of Cador's kinsmen,' Cai replied. 'He goes by the name of
Gereint, I think.'
'Ah, yes.' I vaguely remembered the fellow, although, in truth, so harried
were we in our battles against the Vandali, I had yet to fully acquaint
myself with the more recent additions to our number.
Gereint continued: 'Thus, I would gladly submit in peace to those I
willingly trust in the heat of the fight. Perhaps I may be so brazen as to
propose that we bestow the honour of ordering this Fellowship upon those
to whom we have already sworn our loyal submission, namely, the
Pendragon's battlechiefs.'
Well, the proposal was carried forth on a rolling wave of noisy
enthusiasm. Bedwyr's eminently sensible, if less valiant, suggestion was
forgotten in the eager rush to advance the proposition. The Cymbrogi gave
voice to the plan, and all departed in high spirits, assured at having
discharged their duty properly and well - all, that is, save the five
battlechiefs who were now saddled with the task: Bedwyr, Cai, Cador,
Llenlleawg, and me.
What happened next shames me to confess, so I will simply say that we
fell to long and fevered discussion about how the thing should be
accomplished. Oh, it was thirsty work, too, for as the day drew on and the
weighty task conspired to steal our strength, we sought refreshment in
Avallach's good ale - a dubious remedy, perhaps, but if it did little to ease
the burden of decision, at least it helped us think better of our chore - for a
short while anyway.
After a long, wandering discussion, we arrived once more precisely where
we had started. Taking Arthur at his word, we framed this modest
proposition: that the Most Holy Grail, rarest of treasures, must be guarded.
'That means,' Cai maintained over the rim of his bowl, 'a perpetual guard.'
'Well and good,' replied Bedwyr. 'But the Grail Fellowship is to be more
than guard duty. Arthur said it is to be a sacred calling -'
'We are to protect pilgrims and wayfarers, too,' Llenlleawg pointed out.
'That means we must have warbands to ride the land.'
'He did not say anything about riding the land,' said Cador.
'He said very little at all,' retorted Bedwyr, growing impatient.
'What is so difficult?' demanded Cai. 'We are given a free hand to order
the Fellowship how we will, and all you can do is find fault with Arthur
for allowing us the honour.'
'The onus, you mean,' muttered Cador.
'Onus!' Cai flapped an impatient hand at Cador, who took a deep draught
of the cup. 'Man, where do you get such words?'
'It is Latin,' Cador informed him loftily.
'Are we to be monks now,' Llenlleawg inquired sourly, 'spouting Latin and
psalms at one another?'
'A sad day has dawned when a man cannot say what he thinks,' sniffed
Cador into his cup.
'And I say: give me a sword and I will guard this Grail,' Llenlleawg
declared.
'See! See!' cried Cai, almost upsetting the ale jar in his eagerness to clap
Llenlleawg on the back. 'Llenlleawg agrees -the Holy Cup must be
guarded. We are to be Guardians of the Grail.'
'Easy, brother,' Bedwyr said, saving the jar. He poured another draught
and took a long pull from the bowl and put it down with a thump. 'I say we
have talked enough for one day.' He pressed his fingertips to his temples.
'My head hurts.'
Drink and frustration had worn us down, and tempers were beginning to
fray at the edges. I did not like to see my swordbrothers quarrelling, so
determined to end the discussion before we were at one another's throats. 'I
agree with Bedwyr -we have talked enough for one day,' I suggested. 'Let
us part while we are still friends and come at this again tomorrow.'
'Aye, and what do you suggest we tell the king?' asked Cai. 'Arthur is
awaiting word from us.'
'Tell him,' I replied, 'that our deliberations are well begun, but that a duty
of such significance takes time - a day or two more at most, I should
think.'
The others liked the sound of that, and agreed that another day or two
should give us ample time to complete our task. It was decided that we
should come together again the following morning with a mind to setting
matters to rights. Cai hastened away to tell Arthur, and Cador retreated to
his bed for a nap; Llenlleawg quickly departed on errands of his own,
leaving Bedwyr and myself to contemplate the ruin of the day.
'We must finish tomorrow,' Bedwyr confided. 'I could not bear two more
days like this. Is everyone always so contentious?'
'Always,' I assured him.
He shrugged. 'I never noticed before.' Looking towards the empty
doorway through which Llenlleawg had just disappeared, Bedwyr said,
'Our Irish friend has something on his mind.'
'You mean there is somewhere else he would rather be?'
Bedwyr favoured me with a knowing look. 'The mysterious Lady
Morgaws.'
'Oh, aye,' I agreed. 'I have seldom seen anyone so afflicted.'
'Those who fly highest fall hardest,' Bedwyr observed, shaking his head
slowly. 'Not that I know anything about it.' He paused, growing pensive. 'I
can almost envy him.'
                     SEVENTEEN


That evening at table, I watched for Llenlleawg and Morgaws, but neither
of them appeared. I thought this highly suggestive, but if anyone else
noticed their absence, I heard nothing about it. Then again, neither did
Arthur or Gwenhwyvar join us for supper, and no one thought ill of that -
why would they? The king and queen often took their supper in each
other's company, and that is only right.
Still, I determined that a word with Myrddin would probably not go amiss.
Also, I wanted to ask him what he thought about Arthur's shrine-building
venture, and now there was the Grail Fellowship to discuss. Making quick
work of my meal, I took myself off to find the Emrys - a chore far easier
said than done, for it is a commonplace that Myrddin is seldom to be
located where one first thinks to search. His errands are many, and as
varied as they are obscure. One moment he is at the Pendragon's side, the
next he is away to Caer Edyn in the north, or sailing back from lerna,
visiting this lord or that one, consulting bishops and abbots, testing the
wind for portents, delving into Druid lore... and who knows what else
besides.
Consequently, it was not until very much later that I was able to find the
ever-elusive Myrddin. 'A little sudden, this Fellowship - is it not?' I said,
coming upon him as he poled the small boat to the shore. He had been
fishing on the lake below the Tor, a pastime much favoured from his
childhood, I believe.
'Is it?' Myrddin wondered. 'Walk with me, Gwalchavad.'
Taking me by the arm, he steered me onto the narrow lakeside path. Night
was seeping into the still, quiet evening. The sky was fading gold, and the
first of the stars were already alight.
'I think it sudden,' I replied.
'Whenever was there ever a better time?' he asked, stooping to pluck a
reed from the bank. 'Must goodness stand forever in the shadows, waiting
for her opportunity to shine?'
'Heaven forbid,' I answered. 'Yet it seems to me that no sooner have we
made peace with the Saecsen than we are forced to fight the Vandali. And
if that were not enough, we must also face a season of drought and plague
which drives our people to abandon their homes and quit these shores for
foreign lands. I had thought we had enough to occupy ourselves without...'
-the words eluded me - 'without all this!' I waved my hand vaguely in the
area of the Tor to signify what had taken place there.
Myrddin regarded me with his keen golden eyes for a long moment. When
he spoke at last, he said, 'You speak my thoughts exactly.'
'Truly?'
'Does that surprise you?'
I confessed that it did, and said, 'But you are his Wise Counsellor.'
'Our king has a mind of his own, or have you never noticed?'
'Yes, but -'
'He is impatient!' Myrddin retorted before I could finish. 'He is impetuous
and stubborn. I tried to tell him. "Wait just a little, Arthur," I said. "We
have come so far. The quest is nearly at an end. It would be wrong to force
our way now." Will he listen? No, he will not. "The Summer Realm is
aborning, Myrddin," says Arthur. "We cannot hold it back. The world has
waited long enough. It would be a sin to withhold that which can do so
much good." And so it is as you have seen,' Myrddin concluded. 'He
rushes from one thing to another, full of holy zeal and heavenly ambition.
And no one can tell him anything, for he will not hear, much less heed.'
'What of Elfodd?' I asked. 'The king seems to have more than enough time
for the good bishop. Perhaps Elfodd might prevail -'
'Save your breath,' Myrddin interrupted. 'Elfodd is just as bad as Arthur.
After Arthur's healing, the bishop is convinced that the Kingdom of
Heaven is at hand, and that the High King is God's instrument for
establishing it here and now. It is hopeless; the two of them goad each
other.'
'And Gwenhwyvar? Might the queen find a way to persuade her husband
to reason?'
Myrddin sighed wearily. 'Ah, she might - if it were not that she had seen
her husband lying at death's gate in this very place not so very long ago.
Gwenhwyvar is only too pleased to have Arthur hale and whole once
more, so, in her eyes at least, this overzealous Arthur is preferable to the
other. No, she cannot bring herself to reproach him.'
Well, it was no worse than I suspected. Arthur, miraculously healed and
delivered of his enemies for once and all, was suddenly ablaze with virtue
and good works. Where was the harm? Who was to say he was wrong?
Might not Arthur, the one to whom the miracle had happened, possess a
keener insight? Might not the one who had seen the vision be best able to
describe it?
'I thought the Summer Realm was earth and stars to you, Myrddin,' I said
as we resumed our walk. 'I thought you wanted it above all else.'
Swift as a hawk swooping from the sky, the Emrys fell upon my remark. 'I
do! I do!' he exclaimed. 'No one knows how much I crave it, nor what its
advent has cost me. Truly, Gwalchavad, I desire it more than my life,'
Myrddin said, growing solemn. 'But not like this.'
I waited for him to continue, and he did, after biting the tender end off the
reed and sucking the juice. 'The Kingdom of Summer is near,
Gwalchavad, nearer now than ever - of that you can be certain. But it will
not be compelled. If we try to force it, I fear we can only do great violence
to it and to ourselves. We have a chance now - a chance that may never
come again - and my best instinct tells me we must proceed with all
caution.'
'It does seem the soundest course,' I concurred.
'Ah, but what if I am wrong?' Myrddin murmured, and I heard the anguish
in his voice. 'What if I am wrong, and Arthur is right? What if God's hand
is on him to accomplish this great and glorious feat? To oppose it, even by
so much as the merest hesitation, would be to hinder God himself. I ask
myself: does God now perform his works in this worlds-realm only with
Myrddin's permission?'
I let the question hang.
Myrddin continued, slashing the air with the reed in his hand. 'Can it be
that I, who have laboured so long to advance the Summer Kingdom,
cannot recognize it now that it is upon me? Is it possible that it is God's
good pleasure to reward his faithful servants even before they have
completed their labour?'
I did not know what he meant by this last statement, but before I could ask
him, he declared, 'There is one certainty, or none at all: if this thing flows
from God, nothing can stand against it.'
'And if it is not of God?'
'Then it cannot stand,' he concluded simply, flinging the reed into the lake.
Wise is Myrddin, and keen of insight. He had not only discerned the heart
of my own feelings and perceived my objections, but offered lucid
consolation as well.
Moving to the matter uppermost in my mind, I said, 'Have you discovered
anything more about Morgaws?'
'Only that she is a noblewoman of Caer Uintan,' he replied, his face hard
in the dusky light. 'Or so it is said.' I could almost hear the gates slamming
shut to keep me out. Why? Ignoring his reluctance, I pressed on
regardless.
'Llenlleawg seems to have reversed his opinion of her,' I observed. 'Before
she disappeared, he could not abide her. Now that she has returned, he
cannot bear to have Morgaws out of his sight.'
'Yes, it is all very strange,' agreed Myrddin.
'Is that all you have to say? You seemed more than concerned before.'
'Was I?'
That was all he said, but I suddenly felt foolish for having involved myself
in matters that did not concern me. After all, if there was anything amiss,
the Wise Emrys would know; ever alert to the subtle shiftings of power
and the hidden meanings of events, Myrddin would know.
'Well,' I conceded, 'no doubt I was overhasty in my judgment. She has
done no harm.'
Nodding, Myrddin resumed walking, turning back the way we had come.
The palace atop the Tor was black against the pale purple sky. 'Watch and
pray, Gwalchavad,' Myrddin said absently. 'Watch and pray.'
He returned to the Tor then, leaving me to my thoughts. It came into my
mind to visit the shrine - the old shrine where the tin merchant Joseph
erected the first church in the Island of the Mighty, and where the Grail
was first seen in this worlds-realm. No more than a hut made of sticks and
mud, it stands on the place of that first small church on the hill above the
lake.
The good brothers of the abbey often say prayers in the shrine, and I
wondered if I should meet any of them, but as I approached, I saw that I
had the place to myself, which is how I much preferred it. See, now: I am
faithful in my own way. It is not that I dislike the good brothers, God
knows, but I have not their learning, and I always feel a pagan whenever I
encounter monks at prayer. The brothers are not to blame for this; I own
the fault right readily. Perhaps the purity of their example shames me;
such virtue and devotion as they demonstrate is to be lauded, but I am not
cut of that cloth. My days are spent on the back of a horse with a shield on
my shoulder and a spear in my hand. So be it!
The shrine was black against the fading sky, and I stood for a moment just
looking at its looming shape and feeling the immense age of the place.
Slowly, and with mindful reverence, I mounted the slope of the hill and
went inside the shrine. It is a simple, bare room, large enough, perhaps, for
three or four, but no more. A single, narrow window opens above the altar
made of three shaped slabs of stone. There was a candle on the altar, but it
was not lit, and the interior of the shrine was dark as a cave.
Dark it might have been, but I was aware only of an immense and restful
peace which seemed to fill the tiny chapel with a serenity as deep and
wide as the sea. Entering, I knelt and closed my eyes, plunging myself into
this ocean of calm; the irresistible tide pulled me down and down and
down into its fathomless depths.
I did not pray - that is, I said no words aloud - but allowed my mind to
drift along on the deep-flowing current of peace. If I had any thought at
all, it was merely to bathe myself for a while in the calm of all calms, and
perhaps touch for a moment the source of all serenity. Perhaps this is
prayer by a different name; I do not know.
Neither can I say how long I remained like this; time was swallowed in
eternity, I think, for it seemed to me that I had inhabited the shrine for a
lifetime of lifetimes - in all that time knowing nothing of earthly strife and
clamour, knowing nothing of desire or striving, knowing nothing but
blissful contentment, and the desire that I might abide like this forever. To
stay just as I am, I thought, would be joy surpassing all pleasures.
I held that thought in my mind, clung to it, and, clinging, cried out in my
heart of hearts: Great King, cast me not aside! The cry arose unbidden, but
I knew it as my own, for I had uttered my deepest fear. Nor was the reply
long in coming. For all at once my hands and face began to tingle with an
exquisite sensation, and I imagined beams of light, or flames, dancing over
my flesh. I was immersed - not in water, but in living light! The notion
grew so strong in me that I opened my eyes, and saw the shrine awash in a
pale, golden luminescence, shifting and shimmering over the interior walls
like the reflection of light on water.
Another time I might have been amazed at this wonder, but not now. In
my present mind, it seemed wholly natural and expected that this should
be. The only curiosity was that the dancing light had no point of origin: it
simply shone of itself, and was everywhere manifest, gilding the rude-built
shrine with glimmering gold. Ah, but to see it gleam and shine was pure
delight, and I was seized by an inexpressible rapture. My heart soared and
I felt as if I were a child once more, enfolded by a bliss which surpassed
all understanding.
And then... and then: a miracle. The light intensified, its radiance growing
bold and sharp, taking substance, as it were, and I felt a warmth steal over
me - like that which arises when the sun breaks through the concealing
cloud and all the earth warms of an instant beneath the all-pervading
strength of its rays. At the same time, I heard the sound of silver bells
hung from the branch of a tree for the wind to strike one against another.
The sound was the light, and the light was the sound; I understood that
they were both but emanations of a thing I had not yet perceived.
The sound, like the light, grew and hardened, too. And when I thought all
the world must hear the ringing of the unseen bells, a word formed. I heard
it as a word breathed, not spoken, a resonant word which seemed as much
a part of me as my very bones.
Behold!
I searched within myself what this command might signify, but I saw
nothing save the bare stone altar. And then, even as my eye lit upon the
stone, it began to gleam with a golden sheen, the rough stone gilded by the
light. The bellsong quickened and I heard again the breathless command:
behold.'
Even as I looked, it seemed as if something like scales fell from my eyes
and I saw, radiant upon the altar, the Grail.
                        EIGHTEEN


The Grail!
My breath caught in my throat. I stared at the sacred object, ablaze with
the fiery light of glory. The intensity of its radiance burned my face; it felt
as if my eyes were coals of fire. I held my breath for fear of singeing my
lungs should I dare inhale the searing air. Blood pounded in my ears with
a roar like that of the ocean; beyond the throbbing pulse in my ears was a
sound like that of a harp pouring out a heavenly sound, the incomparable
melody falling like holy rain from heaven.
Transfixed by the beauty of the Blessed Cup, I made to raise my hand to
shield my eyes, but could not lift so much as a finger. Neither could I look
away. The Grail filled my vision, was all my vision. I began to see as I
have never seen before. I saw the path of my life stretching out before me,
and it went on forever.
I thought within myself to follow the path to discover where it might lead
next, and suddenly I felt a presence with me in the shrine - a mighty force,
towering in the strength of its vitality, majestic in its power - like a storm
at sea where gales blow and great waves clash. Oh! the weight of it! The
weight! It was as if a mountain had shifted and settled upon my pitiable
frame, and I was being crushed out of existence. I could not endure.
I knew my last living moment had come. My poor heart laboured in my
chest, faltered, and then stopped. I closed my eyes.
Mercy! I cried inwardly. Mercy, Lord.
These words had but fled my mind when the weight vanished. My heart
began beating, and I could breathe once more. Cool air, like a soothing
balm, rushed into my lungs and I drew it deep, almost choking on it. No
longer gripped by the power that had held me, I fell on my face before the
altar.
My chest ached; my limbs quivered. I lay gasping like a fish flung from
the water. But, oh, the air revived me wonderfully well, for it tasted as
sweet on my tongue as the richest mead; the delicious scent filled my head
and mouth and I gulped it down in great, greedy draughts, feeling as if I
had never drawn breath before. When I at last raised my head, I was dizzy
with the fragrant intoxication of the air.
The Grail had gone, as I knew, but the shrine still held a glimmer of the
heavenly radiance of the sacred vessel, though that, even as I watched,
faded quickly away, leaving the room in darkness once more. I lay for a
time, placid, unmoving, my spirit at ease with the stillness of the night.
And when at last I heard, as a summons from another realm, the abbey bell
toll the midnight prayer, I rose unsteadily to my feet. At the doorway, I
paused and looked back, hoping, I think, for a last fleeting glimpse of the
holy object, but the altar was bare stone, hard and cold. The Grail had
moved on.
I did not return to the Tor that night, but remained on the hillside near the
shrine, wakeful and curiously agitated; I could not hold a thought in my
head for a single moment before it slipped my grasp and flew away. Try as
I might, my thoughts scattered far and wide like birds a-frighted from the
field. Now and then, one of them would return to roost - I must tell
someone! I would think - and then flit!... It would vanish, and another
would take its place. I have seen it! I have seen the Grail!
In this way the night passed. At last, as the sun rose above the line of tree-
topped hills to the east, I rose, too, and made my way back to the Fisher
King's hall. The inner yard was already stirring as the Cymbrogi made
ready to go out to their day's labour at the shrine. I entered the yard to the
open stares of those who were preparing to leave; most of those gaping at
me smiled, some laughed outright and I wondered what they thought
amusing. Was it that I had, as they imagined, lost my way in the dark and
was forced to spend the night outside? Or did they believe me to have
slept in a serving maid's bed?
Ignoring their derisive smirks, I proceeded to the hall, and was met while
crossing the yard by Bedwyr and Cai as they came to see the work party
away. 'Good day to you, brother,' said Bedwyr; then, looking at me more
carefully, added: 'Though it appears you have had the best of the day
already.'
Cai was more direct. 'Man, next time get yourself beneath a bush to nap,'
he advised, and they both walked off, shaking their heads and laughing.
I stared after them; the inexplicable behaviour of everyone around me was
rapidly sapping my lingering tranquillity - I could feel my pleasant,
peaceful mood melting away like dew before the midday sun. I vowed to
myself that the next person to make jest of me would answer for it. As it
happened, the next person was Arthur.
The king came bolting out the doorway as I stood watching Cai and
Bedwyr. He slapped me on the back and said, 'Greetings, brother! I have
missed you these past days. I am going to the shrine. Ride with me.'
'Nothing would please me more,' I said, took two steps with him, and
remembered that I must attend the council instead. 'Forgive me, Arthur, I
am forgetting myself,' I said, and explained that, owing to my duty to the
council, I could not accompany him.
'Ah, well, tomorrow, then,' he said, then stopped abruptly and looked me
in the face. 'The Fellowship is important, Gwalchavad. It will soon take on
an eminence of the highest order. Wherever men hear of the Grail
Fellowship, their hearts will burn within them. It will become a beacon
fire, and all Britain will be illumined by the blaze.'
He smiled suddenly. 'Speaking of fires, it seems you have stood too near
the flame, my friend. Farewell!'
Bewildered and annoyed by my baffling reception, I proceeded into the
hall in search of bread and a little ale. The Cymbrogi had broken fast, but
there was plenty of their leavings to make a meal, so I gathered a bit of
this and that onto a platter and settled on one of the benches to eat in
peace, and to see if I might recover my former good cheer. I took up one
of the small loaves, tore it, and began to eat - only then remembering that I
had missed my supper last night and was famished. I was washing down
the bread when I saw Myrddin sweep past the entrance to the hall.
Hurrying as he was, I had time but to shout his name as I leapt to my feet
and started for the door, thinking to catch him before he vanished again.
But before I had taken half a dozen paces, he reappeared at the doorway. 'I
have been searching for you,' he said, hastening to meet me. 'They told me
you did not return from our walk last night, and I thought -' He broke off,
staring at me as he stepped nearer. Then his golden eyes widened and his
face assumed an expression of knowing wonder.
'What?' I asked, suddenly reminded of my curious treatment at the hands
of my comrades. 'Will no one tell me what is the matter?'
'You have seen it,' observed Myrddin sagely. 'You have seen the Grail.'
I seized him by the arm and drew him further into the hall as if to keep the
secret from being overheard. 'What makes you think that?'
'Your face,' he replied, raising a hand to my chin and turning my head to
the side. 'You have the look of someone who fell asleep in the sun - your
skin is red.'
'Red!'
'Sunburnt,' he said. 'Only, you and I both know there was no secret rising
of the sun last night.'
'Sunburnt,' I said, 'but - ' I touched my fingertips lightly to my face; the
skin was as dry, with tiny raised bumps like sun blisters, but there was no
pain or discomfort, and the flesh felt cool to the touch. Nevertheless, I
believed him.
'As you did not return to the Tor, I surmise that you spent the night at the
old shrine,' the Wise Emrys explained. 'That is where I first saw the Grail.'
Reluctant still to demean the radiant vision with poor words, I replied, 'I
cannot rightly say what I saw.'
He smiled knowingly. 'There is no need, Gwalchavad. I have seen it, too,
remember.'
'But why me, Myrddin?' I asked. 'I am not the most devout of men - far
from it! There are better Christians than me, and a good many hereabouts.
Why me and not one of them?'
'God knows,' he answered. At my disapproving frown, he said, 'That is to
say the Spirit moves where it will, and no man may make bold to let or
hinder.'
'But I thought the Grail was real - a real cup, that is. What I saw was...' I
faltered. What had I seen?
'Oh, it is very much a real cup,' Myrddin assured me quickly. 'But the
hallows of this world, the holy and sacred objects given to us for our
blessing and edification, are never limited to mere physical manifestation.'
At my confused and baffled expression, the Wise Emrys went on to
explain. 'The Grail is no ordinary material object - a cup of bronze or
silver, as you suppose. Although it is that, it is also a spiritual entity with a
spiritual existence.'
'A hallow - is that what you called it?'
'Indeed. What you saw last night in the shrine was the hallow. That is, the
spiritual manifestation of the Grail.'
'A vision of the real cup.'
'If you like,' Myrddin allowed. 'But one is no less real, as you say, than the
other.'
'I saw the hallow, then, but what does it mean?'
He shrugged. 'I have no idea.'
'But it must be a sign,' I insisted. 'It must betoken something - something
important.'
'God alone knows the why and wherefore.'
That is no answer,' I growled.
'Then ask God for another.'
Myrddin made to move off, but I followed him with my questions. 'What
am I to do, Myrddin?'
'Watch and pray,' he advised, repeating his homily of the day before.
'Is that all?' I demanded, losing patience with his irksome reticence. I
suppose I should have known better than to demand of a bard the meaning
of a vision. They delight in posing riddles, but answers interest them not in
the least.
'What more would you have me say?'
'Perhaps you could tell me this, at least,' I said. 'Why were you looking for
me?'
'When I learned you had not returned to the Tor, I feared for you.'
'You thought that what happened to Llenlleawg might have befallen me.'
'It was in my mind,' Myrddin allowed, but said no more. A moment later,
Bedwyr and Cai returned to the hall, saw us talking, and joined us. The
Emrys greeted them and said, 'You must be about your business. Come to
me when you have finished, if you like.' He left then, and we took our
places at one of the tables to wait for the others, and I finished my meal.
To my relief, neither Cador nor Llenlleawg mentioned my reddened skin,
and we began our deliberations where we had abandoned them the day
before. We talked throughout the day, and with better resolve; no one, I
think, wanted to spend a third day grappling with the others over fine
points of custom and ceremony.
Accordingly, we all agreed with Cai's observation of the previous day that,
yes, the Grail was a rare treasure requiring protection. Therefore, the first
rule of the Grail Fellowship would be to protect the shrine wherein the
holy vessel was contained. The five of us - Arthur's battlechiefs, that is -
would choose the guards from among the members of the Fellowship.
Further, in order to ensure proper reverence and vigilance, each member
of the Fellowship would be required to swear sacred oaths of loyalty and
allegiance, not only to Arthur, Lord of the Summer Realm, but also to the
Lord Christ, whose cup it was our sworn duty to protect.
That much was easy to agree upon, which we promptly did -and then our
swift forward march quickly bogged down in the mire of minutia.
Questions arose which we had not anticipated, and for which, once raised,
answers must be found. What, for example, if a member of the Fellowship
should disobey his duty, or fall into disgrace? How should the remedy be
determined? Should there be orders of rank among the members of the
Fellowship? If so, how should these be comprised?
All these and more beset us, and for each one we answered, two more
sprang up to take its place. Thus the day passed, and I began to fear we
would be at our task forever, when Bedwyr, who observed what was
happening, suggested a compromise: that we begin with what we had
agreed upon, but retain the right to amend or add rules to the ordering of
the Fellowship whenever the need arose.
By this time, tempers were frayed and it felt as if we had been treading on
eggs all day long. We were fairly panting for a cool drink, and Cador went
off to fetch it. No sooner had he gone than Llenlleawg, having grown
increasingly peevish as the day wore on, pushed himself to his feet and
declared that he was not so thirsty that he could not wait until supper. 'If
we have finished,' he said curtly, 'I will beg to be excused further
discussions. A matter awaits my attention elsewhere.'
'Yes, go, by all means,' Bedwyr told him. 'We have finished, God willing.
Unless you have any objection, I will inform Arthur that our deliberations
have borne fruit, and that we have reached an end for the time being.'
The tall Irishman inclined his head in assent and took his leave at once.
'He could not wait to get free of us,' Bedwyr observed. 'It is not like him to
be so hasty.'
'Especially with ale in the offing,' Cai added meaningfully.
'No doubt the cut and thrust of a blade is more suited to his nature,' I
allowed. 'This wordful striving is tedious; it makes my head ache.'
'Aye,' agreed Cai, 'it does that.' He thought for a moment, then added, 'I
say we should ride out to the new shrine and take word to Arthur. After
sitting in this hall the whole day, I could use a breath of fresh air.'
'After the ale,' amended Bedwyr.
'Oh, aye, after the ale,' replied Cai, surprised that there should be any
question about that.
'I am for it,' I said. Consequently, when Cador returned bearing the jug and
cups himself, we all hailed him a hero, drank up, and raced out to join the
work party at the shrine.
Nothing much had changed since the last time I visited the site. A few
more stones had been placed along the line of the circular wall, and
additional timbers erected. The heap of stone was somewhat larger, but
that was all - despite the many eager hands available, for all the Cymbrogi
were employed.
'The work is going well,' Arthur said happily, dragging his forearm across
his sweating brow. We found him standing atop the hill, bare to the waist
and covered in rock dust. The sweat made little muddy rivulets where it
had trickled down his back and sides. 'Indeed, far better than I hoped. I
think we will be able to hold the rites of consecration at the Christ Mass.'
'Look at you, Bear,' Bedwyr commented. 'Grey as a ghost, and filthy with
dust. Have you been rolling in the stuff?'
That the Pendragon of Britain should be toiling in the dirt did not surprise
me in the least. Arthur was so eager for the Grail to be enshrined so that
the Summer Realm might commence in full, I think he would have moved
whole mountains with his bare hands if that would have helped. We all
agreed that if the work continued at pace, the shrine would certainly be
finished in time to mark the turning year.
'Now, then, have you anything to show for your labours?' the king asked.
'We have indeed, lord,' Bedwyr replied, and began relating all we had
discussed, and the decisions we had reached. We each took it in turn to
supplement Bedwyr's admirably succinct, if somewhat flat-footed, report
with comments of our own.
Arthur listened, nodding from time to time, and when Bedwyr had
finished, declared himself well pleased with the result. 'It is just as I
hoped,' he said, his smile quick and warm with approval. 'You have done
your king good service.'
As he turned his gaze towards the heap of stone and timber, I saw the light
come up in his eyes, and he said, 'Guardians of the Grail... I am pleased.'
Facing us once more, he added, 'To you is granted the highest honour of a
warrior in this worlds-realm. So be it.'
Over the next days, a few embellishments were added to the ordering of
the Fellowship, but the basic structure we had erected remained intact. The
Cymbrogi expressed enthusiastic support of the Fellowship, and as the
work on the shrine slowly proceeded, so their zeal increased; it seemed
their ardour, like the king's, knew no bounds.
With the passing days, something akin to religious fervour took hold of all
who laboured on the new shrine. It seemed as if faith raised the circle of
stone. Indeed, curious happenings became commonplace: a heavy stone
slipped and fell onto a man's hand as he tried to lift it onto the wall, but
instead of his fingers being crushed, he received not so much as a pinch or
scratch. Two workers, using nothing but their bare hands, stopped a wagon
laden with rubble from rolling downhill when the wagon hitch broke - it
had taken two oxen to pull the wagon in the first place. Another man, who
had worked himself into such a frenzy that his hands became blistered,
had his blisters healed overnight while he slept, so that he was able to
renew his exertions the next morning.
There were several minor accidents as well, mind: a fully laden horse
stepped on the foot of one poor fellow and crushed two toes, which then
had to be cut off. Another unfortunate slipped in the mud and hit his head
against one of the lower steps; he bled like a stuck pig from an ugly gash,
and had to have his hair shaved off in order to dress the wound. Neither of
these, nor one or two others, were blessed with any miraculous cures,
however, and instead had to be carried to the abbey for the monks to tend.
Once out of sight, the afflicted were swiftly forgotten in the general
excitement. Thus the small miracles loomed larger than perhaps they
ought, which served to heighten the euphoria. Bishop Elfodd said that the
miracles were signs heralding the dawn of a peace to last a thousand years.
Once the Grail Shrine was consecrated, he said, the Age of Peace would
begin, and all Britain would be blessed with signs and wonders.
Strange to say, then, that as the elation of those around me waxed the
greater, my own fervour waned. Perverse creature that I am, the intense,
almost ecstatic jubilation of my comrades combined with my own sinful
pride to produce the opposite reaction in me. I quickly came to view both
the shrine and the Fellowship with distaste; what I once held in kindly
favour became offensive to me. I could not bear to look at the shrine
without shrinking from it. The very mention of the Grail Fellowship put
my teeth on edge. Well, the fault is mine; I own it and confess it freely, so
that you will know what manner of man I am.
See, now: I do not shrink from the truth, even when it tells against me.
Indeed, though it brings me no pleasure, I write this so all may believe me
when I relate the horror of what is to follow.
                       NINETEEN


In Llyonesse I learned my an - Annubi possessed a great store of wisdom,
all of which I devoured, and in that way devoured him - but in the Dark
Islands I practised it. Orcady provided the solitude I required, and also
the resources of a wealthy and powerful husband to protect and indulge
me while I perfected my craft.
Poor Lot knew little of my labours because I allowed him to see very little
- only enough so that he would respect my long seclusions. His headstrong
son despised me, but his grandsons, Gwakmai and Gwalchavad, might
have proved valuable to me - ardent men have their uses, after all - and I
could easily have bent them to my purposes. But they had forsaken their
birthright to follow that ox-brained Arthur. So I persuaded the old king to
give me a son of my own, a child I could train to my will, who would rule
the realm after his father.
I might have reigned in Orcady myself, but I have greater ambitions, and
was already laying my designs for Merlin. Once, I offered him the choice
of joining me - united, we would have created a force more powerful than
any since Atlantis was destroyed! But the self-righteous idiot had the
temerity to spurn me. He styles himself a bard like his father, and holds to
the ancient bardic ideals - that and the pathetic notion of his which he
dignifies with the name 'The Kingdom of Summer'.
Since Merlin would not join me, he must be destroyed. I had, through
various means, watched his progress and knew that he had acquired a
rough an of his own, which, if allowed to thrive, might cause me trouble. I
had paid dearly for that which I possessed - great power comes at great
cost - and I could not easily afford to let anyone interfere in my plans. So I
lured him to Llyonesse, where I could more easily control the
confrontation.
Killing him would have been child's play, of course; and looking back on
it now, I know that is what I should have done. What I wanted, however,
was not only to strip him of his power, but to do it so completely and
absolutely that he would abandon every hope and ambition he had ever
had for his ridiculous Summer Realm.
I misjudged him, however; he was more canny than I expected; the
encounter went against me and I was forced to break off the attack. Merlin
imagines that he bested me; moreover, he believes my power was broken.
In that, however, he is desperately mistaken. When I saw I could not win
the encounter outright, I abandoned the attempt in order to preserve the
power I had laboured so long to gain. In truth, I permitted the little weasel
to escape, or he would have been crushed and annihilated - just like the
smarmy lickspit Pelleas; I destroyed him just for spite, and to show Merlin
just how fortunate he was to escape.
Yes, I allowed Merlin to slip away that time, but he will not elude me
again. He has made it his life's labour to raise the oafish Arthur to
prominence. It will be a singular pleasure to wipe out that work, to
obliterate the both of them. In fact, it is better this way. The sight of them
squirming in their death throes is a sight I will relish forever.
Oh, they will die in disgrace with curses between their teeth; that is
inevitable, inescapable. They will die in shame and despair, but not before
they have seen everything they valued laid waste. This I have promised
myself. It will be.
Morgaws is now in place. She has beguiled the entire court in one way or
another, and she has chosen the one who will become the agent of
betrayal. Rhys, I thought, would have served us admirably in this. Indeed,
we tried to seduce him, but met with unaccountable resistance.
Nevertheless, his influence has been abrogated; he will not trouble us.
Gwakhavad, too, might have provided a pleasantly ironic choice, but I
knew he would be difficult. We will keep trying, of course, but whether we
win him or not makes no real difference. Others have been corrupted to
the cause, and only await the command to strike. That command will not
be long in coming. Only one or two details remain, and then the
destruction will commence.
The day of Morgian's revenge is at hand. Behold, all you people, your
doom swiftly approaches! Weep with black despair, for there is no escape.
The seasons passed. Harvest came and went: a dismal business, best
forgotten. The long, dry summer had done its worst. There was nothing for
it but to trust winter rains to bring a better spring. Though we looked to
every grey cloud that drifted overhead, the rain did not come.
The lack of rain meant, however, that the work on the new shrine could
continue without interruption, and people began to look upon its
completion as the salvation of the land. 'When the Grail Shrine is finished'
became the litany which began every conversation, as people turned
hopefully to a brighter future. Each day the Pendragon and Cymbrogi rode
out to their labours, and each night returned delirious with exhaustion and
companionship. Accordingly, the day of completion, hastened by
favourable weather and the unquenchable ardour of the Cymbrogi
labourers, arrived far sooner than expected.
Though I did no work myself, I often rode out to watch as the builders,
seized with the fervour of creation, vied to outdo one another in the quality
of their work. And despite my inexplicable aversion, I will say that it grew
into a fine and handsome place: six-sided, with neat straight walls rising
from a tiered base and topped by a steep-peaked roof of wood covered
with red Roman tile - God knows where they got that! - and a series of
curved steps. It was not large, but Arthur allowed that it was, after all, only
a beginning; in time, the shrine could be expanded, or attached to a much
larger structure, which he had in mind. 'But this will do for now,' he
declared, well pleased with the result.
As the turning of the year approached, Arthur began making plans for the
Grail Shrine's consecration. He called for messengers to summon those he
wished to attend the august event. I volunteered at once, since the errand
provided me a welcome escape from what I had begun to think of as the
delirium which had overtaken almost everyone.
I say 'almost' because there were others, like myself, who regarded the
absurd euphoria with increasing suspicion. Myrddin, as ever, pleased to
garner whatever he could of the builders' craft, would speak no word
against the shrine or the Grail, but his praise was ever guarded and he held
himself aloof from any talk of miracles, or thousand-year reigns of peace,
and such. Likewise Bedwyr, who always seemed to find one important
concern or another to occupy him -1 know he often fished with Avallach.
Llenlleawg, I believe, never so much as rode out to the site; it was
whispered that Lady Morgaws demanded his constant attention. Cai
helped often, however, and Cador only now and then, as it pleased him.
Thus, Bedwyr, Cador, and I, along with a score of Cymbrogi, rode out one
cool, bright morning to our various destinations, far and wide throughout
the realm and beyond. I was sent to Londinium to bring back Charis, who
yet laboured there in one of the plague camps. Before leaving, I asked
Llenlleawg if he would ride with me - for all he appeared so haggard and
ill at ease that I reckoned a little sojourn away from the overheated mood
of the Tor would be no bad thing - but he declined. 'No,' he said, 'my place
is here with Arthur.'
'Of course,' I replied lightly, 'no one doubts it. But Arthur himself has
commanded me to go and escort Charis home.'
'Then go. It is nothing to do with me.'
I watched him as he stumped away, and could not help thinking that he
was no longer the man I knew. I resolved to bring the matter to Myrddin's
attention at the first opportunity when I returned. Be that as it may, it was
with a sense of relief that I left the Tor - relief that I might be quit of the
tedium and hypocrisy of maintaining a pretence of support when my heart
was not in it.
Taking an extra horse, I departed, pausing at the abbey to inquire where I
could find Paulus. Some of the brothers had just returned from a long stint
away in the south, just outside Caer Lundein, where Paulus had
established a camp off the old Roman road. Charis was there, along with a
good many monks from neighbouring monasteries, helping to combat the
yellow death. 'It has ravaged Londinium terribly,' one of the brothers told
me. 'I believe it is far worse there than it ever was here. Paulinus is easy to
find, and you will not have to enter the city.'
'Perhaps you would not object,' suggested Elfodd, 'to taking a few supplies
to them. The need is great, and it is the least we can do. Would you mind?'
'Not at all,' I assured him, and then watched as the good The seasons
passed. Harvest came and went: a dismal business, best forgotten. The
long, dry summer had done its worst. There was nothing for it but to trust
winter rains to bring a better spring. Though we looked to every grey
cloud that drifted overhead, the rain did not come.
The lack of rain meant, however, that the work on the new shrine could
continue without interruption, and people began to look upon its
completion as the salvation of the land. 'When the Grail Shrine is finished'
became the litany which began every conversation, as people turned
hopefully to a brighter future. Each day the Pendragon and Cymbrogi rode
out to their labours, and each night returned delirious with exhaustion and
companionship. Accordingly, the day of completion, hastened by
favourable weather and the unquenchable ardour of the Cymbrogi
labourers, arrived far sooner than expected.
Though I did no work myself, I often rode out to watch as the builders,
seized with the fervour of creation, vied to outdo one another in the quality
of their work. And despite my inexplicable aversion, I will say that it grew
into a fine and handsome place: six-sided, with neat straight walls rising
from a tiered base and topped by a steep-peaked roof of wood covered
with red Roman tile - God knows where they got that! - and a series of
curved steps. It was not large, but Arthur allowed that it was, after all, only
a beginning; in time, the shrine could be expanded, or attached to a much
larger structure, which he had in mind. 'But this will do for now,' he
declared, well pleased with the result.
As the turning of the year approached, Arthur began making plans for the
Grail Shrine's consecration. He called for messengers to summon those he
wished to attend the august event. I volunteered at once, since the errand
provided me a welcome escape from what I had begun to think of as the
delirium which had overtaken almost everyone.
I say 'almost' because there were others, like myself, who regarded the
absurd euphoria with increasing suspicion. Myrddin, as ever, pleased to
garner whatever he could of the builders' craft, would speak no word
against the shrine or the Grail, but his praise was ever guarded and he held
himself aloof from any talk of miracles, or thousand-year reigns of peace,
and such. Likewise Bedwyr, who always seemed to find one important
concern or another to occupy him -1 know he often fished with Avallach.
Llenlleawg, I believe, never so much as rode out to the site; it was
whispered that Lady Morgaws demanded his constant attention. Cai
helped often, however, and Cador only now and then, as it pleased him.
Thus, Bedwyr, Cador, and I, along with a score of Cymbrogi, rode out one
cool, bright morning to our various destinations, far and wide throughout
the realm and beyond. I was sent to Londinium to bring back Charis, who
yet laboured there in one of the plague camps. Before leaving, I asked
Llenlleawg if he would ride with me - for all he appeared so haggard and
ill at ease that I reckoned a little sojourn away from the overheated mood
of the Tor would be no bad thing - but he declined. 'No,' he said, 'my place
is here with Arthur.'
'Of course,' I replied lightly, 'no one doubts it. But Arthur himself has
commanded me to go and escort Charis home.'
'Then go. It is nothing to do with me.'
I watched him as he stumped away, and could not help thinking that he
was no longer the man I knew. I resolved to bring the matter to Myrddin's
attention at the first opportunity when I returned. Be that as it may, it was
with a sense of relief that I left the Tor - relief that I might be quit of the
tedium and hypocrisy of maintaining a pretence of support when my heart
was not in it.
Taking an extra horse, I departed, pausing at the abbey to inquire where I
could find Paulus. Some of the brothers had just returned from a long stint
away in the south, just outside Caer Lundein, where Paulus had
established a camp off the old Roman road. Charis was there, along with a
good many monks from neighbouring monasteries, helping to combat the
yellow death. 'It has ravaged Londinium terribly,' one of the brothers told
me. 'I believe it is far worse there than it ever was here. Paulinus is easy to
find, and you will not have to enter the city.'
'Perhaps you would not object,' suggested Elfodd, 'to taking a few supplies
to them. The need is great, and it is the least we can do. Would you mind?'
'Not at all,' I assured him, and then watched as the good monks piled
bundle after bundle upon the horses: supplies for making medicine, cloaks
and winter clothing for the brethren, dried meat, and casks of ale and mead
to help their fellows celebrate the Christ Mass, which was drawing near.
When they finished at last, I took my leave and made for the Londinium
Road. I thought it a long time since I had been on that highway; the last
time was for Arthur's crowntaking and wedding. So much had happened
since then, it seemed a lifetime ago. Perhaps it is as Myrddin says: time is
not the passage of an endless succession of moments, but the distance
between events. That was nonsense to me when I first heard it. Now,
looking back, I think I begin to know what he meant.
The swiftest way to the Londinium Road lies through a stretch of forest -
an old, old trackway, used from ages beyond remembering. The forest is
older still, of course, and there are yet many of the great patriarchal trees
to be seen: elms on which moss has grown so thick that they appear grey-
green with age, and oaks with trunks large as houses. The forest fringe,
where light still penetrates to the ground, evokes no fear; but when men
must go into the dark heart of the ancient wood, they go in haste, passing
through as quickly as possible.
This I did, hunkering down in the saddle with one of the Wise Emrys'
saining runes on my lips. As I rode, I said:

   Be the cloak of Michael Militant about me,
   Be the cloak of the Archangel over me, Christ's cloak,
   Blessed Saviour, safeguarding me,
   God's cloak of grace and strength, shielding me!

   To guard me at my back,
   To preserve me from the front,
   And from the crown of my head to the heel of my foot!

   The cloak of Heaven's High King between me and
   all things that wish me ill, and all things that
   wish me harm, and all things coming darkly
   towards me!

In this way I passed through the darkest part of the forest. After a while,
the path lightened ahead of me, and I knew that I was reaching the end. I
emerged from the wood at a gallop and gained the hills above the road,
where I paused to look back at the Tor's blue-misted shape in the distance.
I rode until nightfall, whereupon I made camp and spent the first of several
mild nights under the winter stars.
The journey remained uneventful and four days later, through the murky
brown haze of evening smoke - as if the plague were a visible cloud under
which the city suffered - I glimpsed Londinium, cowering behind its high
walls. Those walls, erected long before Constantine was Emperor, were
collapsed in several places and falling down. It was amidst the rubble of
one such breach outside the northern gate that Brother Paulus' camp had
been established.
Rather than trust to the hospitality of that plague-ridden city, I happily
made camp beside the road and waited until the next morning to proceed
any farther - and anyway, the gates were already closed for the night.
At dawn the gates opened and people emerged, bringing the plague
victims with them: some they carried, some they dragged. I resumed the
saddle and as I drew near, the odour of the place reached me - a foul
stench of sickness, rot, and death that made the gorge rise in my throat.
I swallowed hard, crossed myself, and rode on.
A pall of smoke rose from a great refuse heap to hang like a filthy rag over
the camp, and I saw what appeared to be bundles of cast-off clothes
scattered in their hundreds all around. Closer, I discovered that these were
not bundles, but bodies. I tethered the horses on a patch of withered grass
a short distance away and approached on foot, picking my way carefully
among the Yellow Ravager's victims.
There were so many! Everywhere I looked, I saw more, and still more. I
believe the numbers shocked me more than the sight and smell, which
were both appalling. I gazed in dismay at the scattered bodies of men,
women, and children - in their hundreds, mind, and more being brought
out through the gates -many, if not most, to be dumped beside the road
like so much refuse, discarded and forgotten. Those who had given up the
fight lay still and silent; but those in whom life yet warred cried in their
torment, moaning and mewing as they twitched and writhed.
The groans of these unfortunates filled the air with a low, queasy keen.
Their faces were spotted and distorted, their eyes red, their sores pus-filled
and running; they vomited and defecated and bled over themselves, and
lay rotting in their own filth. I had not witnessed the devastation of the
Yellow Ravager before, yet judging by what I saw around me, I knew it
was well named: the poor wretches mewing and crying in their throes
were uniformly cast in a lurid shade of yellow - as if their flesh had been
tinted by noxious dye and wrung out while wet - their skin was bloated,
and vile mucus ran from nose and eyes to choke them; they sweated and
panted as if being consumed from within by fire.
Many reached out their hands to me, crying for help, for release, but I
could do nothing for them.
I knew the plague had worsened in the south; I had heard the bleak tidings
like everyone else, but had no idea it was this bad. If it did not end soon, I
reckoned, there would be no one left in Londinium to even bury the
victims, let alone care for them. Oppression hung over the camp like the
nasty smoke from the smutty little fires that had been lit here and there to
burn the plague sufferers' clothing. This served to heighten the feeling of
gloom and foreboding and misery into a sensation so palpable that I could
almost see Death hovering over the camp, black wings outspread, gliding
slow.
I also saw scores of monks at work among the plague victims, for the
church had shouldered the burden of caring for the diseased and dying.
These stalwart clerics carried water to the fevered and warm cloaks to the
shivering; they prayed with the distressed and comforted the dying. And
though they strove valiantly against an insidiously powerful adversary,
their struggle was in vain. There were far too few of them to sway the
course of battle. The cause, so far as I could see, was lost - yet they fought
on.
The good brothers had used the rubble stone of the fallen wall behind
them to erect hundreds of small enclosures over which cloth and skins
were placed to form hovels in which the more curable of the sick might
lie. Need had far outstripped the monks' kindly provision, however, and
they had begun laying the plague-struck toe-to-toe, rank upon rank in
endless rows beneath the crumbling wall. Meanwhile, the busy brothers
hastened among the sprawled bodies on urgent errands.
I caught one brown-robed cleric and asked of him where I might find
Brother Paulus. The monk pointed to a tent beside the wall, not far from
the gate, and I made directly for the place. Once, when stepping over a
body of one I thought a corpse, I felt a hand reach out and snatch hold of
my foot. A pitiful voice cried, 'Please!'
Revulsion swept over me. I jerked my foot free.
'Please...' the wretch moaned again. 'I thirst... I thirst.'
Ashamed of my harsh reaction, I glanced around to see where I might find
some water to give the poor fellow, and saw a monk carrying two flasks. I
ran to the brother, told him I had need of the jar, and returned to the man
on the ground, then knelt beside him, put my hand beneath his head, and
raised him up a little to drink. His hair was wet and his skin damp and
cold; his rheumy eyes fluttered in his head when I put the jar to his lips. I
watched in horror as a black tongue darted out to lap at the water.
'Bless you,' he whispered, his breath sighing out between his teeth.
'Drink,' I urged. 'Take a little more.'
It was only after entreating him a second time that I realized I was
clutching a corpse. I put aside the jar, lowered his head to the ground, and
stood, wiping my hands on the ground. Hardening my heart, I walked on,
ignoring the pleas of those I passed. God help me, I walked on, lest
through their defiling touch I should become like them.
What if Arthur is right, I thought, and the most Holy Grail can end this
suffering? What if it could bring about the miracle Arthur believes? Then
he must try. Anyone with half a heart would try. Indeed, the king would
have to be either a coldhearted fiend or insane not to attempt anything that
held out even the slightest hope for healing his people. Certainly, a king of
Arthur's stamp must do everything in his power to bring this healing
about.
These things I thought, and began, at last, to understand Arthur's obsession
with the shrine. I regretted my doubt and mistrust, and repented of my
disbelief. Who was I, an ignorant warrior, to question the things of God?
Thus, as I walked along, I found myself praying: Great Light, let Arthur be
right. Hasten the completion of the shrine, and let the Grail do its work.
Let the Grail do its saving work, Merciful Lord, and let the healing begin.
I reached the tent and ducked gratefully inside, where I found Paulus
hunched over a low table, pouring his healing potion from a large jar into
smaller vessels for distribution to the afflicted. 'Brother Paulus,' I said, and
he looked up, recognized me, and smiled. It was the tired, forlorn smile of
an exhausted man. His hair was lank and his eyes were sunken; his flesh
had the wan, pallid look of a person too long confined.
'God be praised, it is Gwalchavad!' he said, genuinely pleased to see me.
'Greetings!' He took two steps towards me, then caught himself. 'You
should not be here,' he warned. 'Tell me quickly what you have to say, and
then leave.'
Taking him at his word, I said, 'Greetings, Paulus. I bring supplies and
provisions from your fellow monks. I also bring word that Lady Chads is
required at the Tor. The Pendragon has sent me to fetch her. If you will
tell me where she may be found, trust that we will depart as soon as the
horses are unburdened.'
That would be best,' the haggard monk agreed, replacing the jar and
drawing his sleeve across his damp forehead. 'Come, I will show you.'
'Please, I would not disturb you. Just tell me where she is, and I will find
her myself.'
The dutiful monk waved aside my offer. 'It will be quicker to show you,'
he insisted.
He led me out along the wall, passing the burning refuse heap on the way -
where I saw to my horror that it was in fact an immense pit which had
been dug in the earth, filled with logs, and set alight to burn the dead. By
twos and threes the corpses were thrown onto the sputtering heap. The
smoke stank and the corpses sizzled. Down in the lower depths of the pit,
black, grinning skulls nestled among the red embers. I turned my face,
held my breath, and hurried by.
'I am sorry,' Paulus said, calling over his shoulder; 'we have no other
choice. The plague is far worse in the city, where people live close
together - that makes it more virulent, I think.'
'Everything is worse in the city,' I concurred, then inhaled some of the
stinking smoke and was overcome by a fit of coughing.
Paulus led me past the pit and along the wall to another section of the
camp and still more hovels and still more bodies lying on the ground. But
here, at least, robed monks passed among the plague-struck bearing jars of
healing elixir. 'Not all die,' Paulus told me. 'Many of these may yet
recover. Those who have that chance are brought here, where we can care
for them.'
Just then a figure emerged from a nearby hovel, moved to one of the
victims on the ground. I saw that it was Chads, Lady of the Lake, her fair
hair bound in a length of cloth and wound around her head, her tall,
elegant form clothed in a simple coarse robe such as the monks around her
wore. Kneeling beside the sufferer - a young woman with waxy yellow
skin -she placed her hand gently on the young woman's forehead. The
stricken woman came awake at the touch and, seeing the one who attended
her, smiled. Despite the agony of her distress, she smiled at Chads and I
saw the killing plague retreat, if only for a moment.
Charis offered her charge a few words of comfort, at which the young
woman closed her eyes and rested again, but more comfortably, I think,
for her features appeared serene as Charis rose and continued on her way.
Paulus made to call Charis, but I stopped him, saying, 'Please, no. I will go
to her.'
I watched for a while as Charis moved among the stricken and suffering,
here stooping to touch, there stopping to offer a word. Like the monks, she
carried a jar of the elixir, which she gave out, pouring a few precious
drops of Paulus' healing draught into the victims' bowls and cups, then
helping the sufferer to drink. Wherever she went, I imagined peace and
solace followed - a healing presence, like a light, clearer and finer than
sunlight, which soothed and calmed, easing the pains of disease and death.
Upon reaching the last of her charges, Charis stood, smoothed her robe,
turned, and looked back along the ranks of victims. She closed her eyes
and stood there for a moment, head bowed, lips moving slightly. Then she
opened her eyes and, glancing up, saw me and smiled in greeting. In that
smile she became the Fair Folk queen I remembered. Oh, they are a
handsome race, there is no doubt. I saw the light come up in her eyes, and
the breath caught in my throat.
I watched as she approached, feeling both humble and proud to be
accounted worthy to converse with such nobility. 'You have come from
Arthur, I think,' she said upon joining us.
'I give you good greeting, Lady Chads,' I replied, inclining my head in
respect. 'The Pendragon has indeed sent me to find you.'
'Have you come to help us?' she inquired with a smile. 'Or brought
supplies, perhaps?'
'Bishop Elfodd has sent a fair store of provisions, but I have come to
escort you back to Ynys Avallach.'
'I see.' The smile faded instantly, and I watched as grey fatigue
repossessed her features.
'Forgive me,' I said, and explained about the Grail Shrine and Arthur's
concern to have it consecrated at the Christ Mass observance. I must have
told it poorly, for a frown appeared, grew, and darkened, like a shadow of
apprehension, as she listened.
'So,' she said with crisp indignation when I had finished, 'Arthur deems the
building of this shrine more important than the saving of lives. What of
my son - does Merlin encourage this enterprise?'
'Lady,' I said, 'it is the king's hope that the consecration of the Grail Shrine
will drive both disease and war from our land forever. Arthur believes it
will be the saving of us. Myrddin, as ever, aids his king.'
Charis regarded me with a keen eye. 'You avoid my question. I wonder
why.'
'Forgive me, Lady Charis, but the Wise Emrys does not often vouchsafe
his confidences to me.'
'But you have eyes, do you not? You have a mind to question what you
see. Do you think this Grail Shrine will end plague and war?' she
demanded. 'Do you believe it will be the saving of Britain?'
My mind whirled, searching for a suitable reply. 'I believe,' I answered
slowly, 'that the Swift Sure Hand is upon our king to accomplish many
things. Who am I to say whether the Good God should bless Arthur's
efforts?'
Charis relented. 'You are right, of course. My question was unkind. I am
sorry, Gwalchavad.' She smiled again, and again I saw fatigue in her clear
eyes; like Paulus, she was on the knife-edge of exhaustion. She glanced
along the long row of hovels and shook her head. 'You see how it is here. I
cannot leave.' She spoke softly, as if to herself. Then, turning to me, she
said, 'At the risk of incurring the king's displeasure, I fear you must tell
Arthur that I cannot attend the ceremony. I am needed here.'
Paulus stepped forward and laid his hand on her arm. 'You have been
summoned by the High King; you must go.' His tone became quietly
insistent. 'Go now, and return to us when you have rested.'
'I have brought a horse for you,' I told her, glad to have the monk's
approval. I had seen enough of pestilence and death and was anxious to
get away. 'If you are willing, we could leave at once.'
Charis hesitated. 'Go,' Paulus urged. 'Gwalchavad is right. Arthur's new
shrine may be just as important in this battle as your presence here. He
would not have summoned you otherwise.'
'Very well,' Charis decided. To me she said, 'Tend to the horses. It is best
for you not to linger. I will join you as soon as I am ready.'
I thanked Paulus and asked him where he would like the supplies to be
stored. 'Just leave them,' he advised. 'That would be best. We can collect
them when you have gone.'
I hastened to the horses, removing myself from the hateful camp as swiftly
as possible. I carefully stacked all the bundles and casks in a neat pile, and
sat down to wait. In a little while, Charis joined me, and without a
backward glance we were riding for Ynys Avallach. Earlier, I had marked
a stream - one of the few I encountered that had not yet dried up
completely -and stopped there for the night. I was heartily glad to have left
the plague behind, though it was not until I had washed myself head to
sole that I felt hale again.
While I kept watch, my companion slept soundly and well -grateful, I
reckon, for a respite from her unendurable duties -and the next morning
we journeyed on. The return took a little more time than the outward
journey, for I chose another trail, which kept us well away from the forest.
Having braved the unseen watcher once, I saw no need to do so again;
besides, I thought it a reproach to tax the Heavenly Host with my
protection when I could so easily avoid trouble in the first place.
Thus, we skirted the forest and arrived at the Tor by another way, passing
within sight of the Grail Shrine. Though I had been away only a handful of
days, I found the site altered beyond recognition.
Gone were the wagons and the heaps of rock-broken stone; gone, too, the
ropes and lumber and ranks of workers swarming over a half-finished
building. In place of all the clutter and activity stood a silent, graceful
structure of whitewashed stone, glistening in the dawn light. Elegant in its
simplicity - the Master Gall had done his work well - the shrine appeared
to shimmer with an inner radiance. The drought heat had long since
blasted the surrounding grass to thin, withered wisps of palest yellow, so
that the whole place, with hill and shrine included, glowed in the early
morning with the lustre and radiance of gold.
We stopped to marvel at the glorious sight. In all, it was a fitting house for
the Christ's Holy Cup. What is more, for the first time since I had heard
Arthur's plan, I thought he was right. It is magnificent, I thought; truly, it
betokens a new and glorious reign of peace and well-being.
Upon our arrival at the Tor, we were greeted by Arthur and Gwenhwyvar,
who appeared in the yard as we dismounted. Gwenhwyvar and Charis
embraced one another warmly, and Arthur stood by, beaming his good
pleasure. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the elusive Avallach
standing beside a pillar, arms crossed over his chest. Since coming to the
Tor, I had rarely seen him - most often in the long evening when he was
fishing with Bedwyr or Myrddin - and then only from a distance.
I knew that the Fisher King suffered from an incurable malady which
often kept him confined to his quarters. I assumed that was why we had
not seen much of him since our arrival. Thus, I was surprised to see him
standing in the shadows nearby. He stood for a moment, gazing at the tight
group before him, then stepped out to join it.
'Chads!' he said, throwing his arms wide for his daughter. His voice
boomed like friendly thunder, and he hugged his daughter and told her
how much he had missed her. 'You are the sun of my happiness,' he said,
'and now it is summer again.'
'Have you seen the shrine?' asked Arthur, unable to rein in his curiosity
any longer.
'I have indeed,' replied Lady Charis, and pronounced the shrine the work
of a master who both knew and respected the object to be protected within.
'It is that,' affirmed the Fisher King - somewhat reluctantly, I thought.
'Arthur,' Charis said, 'are you certain this is the way?' She gripped Arthur
by the arm as if to hold him to account.
'As certain as the sun and stars,' the Pendragon replied, his gaze as steady
as his unwavering grip. 'The Summer Kingdom is here. We stand at the
threshold of an age the like of which has never been seen since the
beginning of our race. The nations will look up in wonder when they hear
what we have done. The blessing begins here, and it will flow throughout
all Britain and to the ends of the earth. People of lands far distant from
these will come to witness the miracle. Britain will be foremost among the
nations, and our people will be exalted."
Avallach nodded, resignation heavy in his eyes. Arthur reached out and
squeezed the Fisher King's arm. 'We are so close, my friend. So very
close. Have faith, and watch what God will do!'
Arthur spoke with such passion and assurance that it would have been a
dead heart indeed not to beat more quickly at his words. His zeal was a
flame, burning away the straw of opposition. Who could stand against the
Pendragon when heart and will and mind were united in the pursuit of so
lofty a purpose?
Who, indeed?
As we were yet talking, others of Arthur's court came to greet Avallach
and welcome the Lady of the Lake: Cai and Bedwyr first, then Cador and
Rhys. I looked for Llenlleawg but did not see him, and it was not until we
were all gathered in the hall for our supper that the Irishman emerged from
hiding.
The hall was prepared for the Lady of the Lake's return, and Avallach had
already called for his guests to be seated and we were making way to our
places - some of us more slowly as we hailed this one or another. Myrddin
and Charis arrived and were talking quietly just inside the doorway while
others entered the hall.
It was then I saw Llenlleawg appear in the doorway, Morgaws at his side.
The two stepped into the hall and moved towards their places at one of the
nearer boards. As I was slowly making my way to the board myself, I had
opportunity to mark their entrance and observe what followed.
See, now: the Emrys, his head low and a little forward, is speaking
earnestly to his mother, who listens intently. She senses a movement
beside her, however, and glances to the side to see Llenlleawg pass by.
She recognizes him, of course, for I see it in her eyes as her lips begin a
smile - a smile that instantly freezes when she also takes in the sight of
Morgaws.
It is only the merest glance, but the queerest thing happens: as if acutely
mindful of Charis' attention, the young woman turns her head; their eyes
meet. Morgaws falters, her foot catching in mid-step. She lurches
sideways as if struck by a spear hurled from across the hall. She stumbles,
her features twisted in pain, or rage, and I fear she will fall. But
Llenlleawg's hand is at her elbow; he steadies her arm and bears her up.
Incredibly, Morgaws recovers both balance and aplomb in her stride; the
moment passes in a twinkling, and I, the only one to have seen it, am left
to wonder at what I have witnessed.
The two latecomers turn away and lose themselves in the convivial
mingling at the board. I look once more to where Myrddin and Charis
stand. The Emrys is still speaking, but his mother is no longer listening.
Instead, she stares at the place where Morgaws and Llenlleawg appeared,
her expression one of horror, the colour drained from her face. Strange to
say, but I am put in mind of the first time Peredur laid eyes on the woman
when we found her in the wood - his expression combined the same shock
and terror at her appearance.
Sensing that his words are no longer attended, Myrddin looks up; his
mother's stark features halt the flow of his words and he touches her arm.
The Lady of the Lake quickens at his touch; she comes to herself once
more - as if suddenly starting from a dream - sees her son, and smiles, her
hand rising to her face. Myrddin, ever alert, turns to see what has so
shattered his mother's composure. But there is now nothing to see;
Morgaws and her escort have disappeared in the crowd. Myrddin takes his
mother by the arm and walks with her to their places at table with Arthur
and Gwenhwyvar.
I settled in next to Bedwyr, and noticed his dark brow furrowed in serious
rumination. Thinking to lighten his sombre mood, I said, 'It seems friend
Llenlleawg has become champion to the mysterious Morgaws. I wonder if
Arthur kens this shift of loyalty.'
'Never have I seen a man wear a more haunted look. He is sick with it, our
Llenlleawg. I fear what may become of him.'
'Well, no doubt he will recover. Love seldom proves fatal - so I am told.'
Bedwyr gave a mirthless, scornful chuckle.
'What? Has something happened while I was away?'
'Ah,' he replied, his smile as bitter as his tone, 'Arthur's shrine races to its
completion, and we are all deliriously happy, of course.'
One of the serving boys appeared just then and placed cups before us.
Bedwyr raised his cup to me and took a deep draught.
'And yet?' I prodded, nudging him with an elbow.
'Yet,' Bedwyr continued, 'the Pendragon communes with God and the
angels, and the concerns of earthly mortals are not to be mentioned.'
Bedwyr's rueful smile turned sour. 'In short, our king stands with his head
in the clouds and his feet on the dung heap. The odour, he imagines, is
meadow-sweet, but it smells like manure to me.'
'You surprise me, brother. If anyone can bring the Summer Kingdom to
fruition, it is Arthur. It could happen just as he says.'
Bedwyr drank again, put aside his cup, and said, 'Do not mind me,
Gwalchavad, I am only mourning the past. Or maybe I am jealous - she is
a beautiful young woman, is she not?' He laughed, forcing himself to rise
above his melancholy, yet there was a bitter edge to his voice when he
said, 'Two days, my friend - two days and all doubts and suspicions shall
be swept away. In two days the shrine is consecrated and the Grail is
established, and the Kingdom of Summer begins. I am certain all will be
well.'
Despite his dubious assurance, Bedwyr's conviction appeared as shaky as
my own, but after my harrowing visit to the plague camp, I had tried to
believe the miracle could take place. What if, as Myrddin had said, the
Swift Sure Hand was on Arthur to bring about the restoring of this worlds-
realm? Who could oppose God?
                         TWENTY


Dreams of spitting cats and hissing snakes kept me thrashing on my pallet
all night. I heard strange laughter, and awoke to the sound of someone
calling my name. The warriors' quarters were quiet, however, and, as the
sun was rising on a new day, I thought to banish the night's malignant cast
with a cold plunge in the lake.
I crept from the palace and made my way quickly down the twisting path.
The mist rising off the lake as the dawnlight struck the surface of the water
made it seem as if I descended from the pure heavenly heights to the
cloud-bound earth below. At the lakeside, I stripped off my clothes and
waded out from the shore - some little distance, for, owing to the drought,
the level of the water was much lower now.
Gathering courage, I dove in and swam quickly to the centre of the lake
before I lost my nerve. The water was clear and stinging cold, but not as
cold as it should have been for the season. Here the Christ Mass was upon
us, and winter winds should be howling from the frozen north; yet, save
for a few chill evenings, the days, though short, remained warm as
midsummer, and dry. The warmth nobody complained of, but the lack of
rain scoured the land to dust.
Ever since I was old enough to walk from my father's caer down to the
water's edge, I have loved swimming. Lot insisted that anyone bred and
born on a rock in the sea should be able to swim to save his life, so my
brother and I learned early and learned well. This thought was in my mind
as I swam to the centre of the lake, took a deep breath, and sank down into
the cold, spring-fed depths.
Down and down I went, the icy water tingling on my skin, pricking like
ten thousand needles. When at last I could stay under no longer, I rose to
dive again and again, trying to go deeper each time. The last time, I simply
bobbed to the surface to float on my back, gazing up at the sun-streaked
morning sky, letting my thoughts drift as idly as the clouds above.
While I lay floating, the sound of someone singing reached me - a lightly
lilting, wordless melody. Silently, without so much as a ripple, I sank
down into the water and turned my eyes to the bank, where I saw a
hunched figure hurrying along the lakeside pathway leading to the Tor: a
woman, dressed all in black. I did not recognize her, for a cloud had
passed before the sun and her features were hidden by shadow. Curiously,
this shadow moved with her, covering her, so that I could not see who it
might be.
It was then I remembered having heard that same strange song before - it
had led me a chase the day I found Morgaws in the wood. The thought had
no more flitted through my mind when she stopped - halting in mid-step,
much as someone might when hailed from behind by the shout of a friend.
In the same instant, the shadow vanished and I saw that it was, indeed,
Morgaws, and what I had taken for black was, in fact, her customary
green, which I could see so clearly I wondered how I had mistaken it
before. That aside, I thought it odd she should be astir so early in the
morning, and naturally wondered where she had been.
She stood stock-still for a long moment, and then turned slowly towards
the lake. Something in me urged secrecy, so I allowed myself to submerge
once more. Strange to say, but as my head sank beneath the water, I felt a
peculiar warmth where her gaze swept the water. It passed in an instant,
like a wave washing over my head, and then all was as it had been before.
When I surfaced again, Morgaws was gone. I watched for a time and
thought I saw her on the Tor path just before she entered the palace gate,
but owing to the brightness of the sunlight, I could easily have been
mistaken.
I swam to the bank, dried myself, and dressed, then made haste to find
Myrddin; I had it in mind to tell him what I had seen. But by the time I
reached the Tor, I had convinced myself that my concern was mere
foolishness. What had I seen, after all? Only someone taking an early-
morning walk. She sang, yes, as any young woman might, delighting in
her own company and the simple splendours of the new day. In any event,
Myrddin was occupied with the ordering of the ceremony, and would not
care to be bothered.
Along with the rest of the Dragon Flight, I spent the day in preparation for
the consecration ceremony. Beginning with a fast, we assembled in the
hall to learn our duties for the ceremony, and to hear how our ranks should
be ordered. We then attended to our clothing and weapons: siarcs and
breecs were washed and cloaks brushed, swords and spears were
burnished, and shields were washed white with lime and painted with the
cross of the Christ. That night, in place of a meal, we gathered in the hall
and held vigil; led by one of the abbey priests, we prayed through the
night for the Good Lord's blessing on the new realm.
Then, as dawn broke upon the eastern horizon, we dressed in our finest
clothes, and arrayed ourselves as for battle. The participants assembled in
the yard, each one taking his place as we had been instructed: Arthur and
Gwenhwyvar first, Myrddin and Charis following, with various priests and
monks and nobles from the region coming after, and behind them, the
Dragon Flight and the rest of the Cymbrogi. Walking slowly, crosier held
high, the procession was led out through the gate by Bishop Elfodd; beside
him walked Lord Avallach, carrying a fine wooden casket in his hands.
Thus, we walked slowly down from the Fisher King's palace to the
lakeside path, two by two. Upon reaching the lake, the monks commenced
chanting a psalm, softly, quietly at first, but louder and with more spirit as
we went. When we passed the monastery, its lone bell tolled, the plaintive
voice ringing out over the countryside, calling the world to witness the
changing of the age.
Much of that world seemed prepared to take notice, for there were many
hundreds of people already gathered in the valley, awaiting the ceremony.
The stoneworkers and their families were there, of course. Also, I suppose
the monks had spread the word throughout the region, and many, despite
the plague - or, indeed, perhaps because of it - had come to see the Lord of
Summer begin his reign.
The Grail Shrine gleamed like white gold in the morning light, the cool
stone shimmering and radiant against the fair blue of the sky. The
procession reached the foot of the hill and stopped, whereupon Bishop
Elfodd turned and spoke a prayer. We then continued up the hill -
followed by the crowds, which pressed in all around us to see and hear
what was taking place -and paused at the hilltop for another prayer; a third
prayer was spoken as the Grail was carried around the perimeter, and a
fourth at the entrance to the shrine. At each place, Avallach, accompanied
by the bishop, presented the casket to the four quarters, while the good
bishop offered up a prayer; together they sained the earth with the
presence of the holy object.
In a loud voice Bishop Elfodd called for all present to bear witness. 'From
this day the ground whereon you stand is holy ground. Let it here be
known, and proclaimed throughout all Britain, that the Lord Christ has
favoured this place and has claimed it for his own. Henceforth and for all
time, this place shall be a refuge and sanctuary for any and all who come
here, and no one shall be turned away, nor shall anyone be compelled to
leave, nor carried away by force. Thus, no one shall prevent another from
entering God's peace.'
Then Myrddin, his dignity and noble bearing never greater, ascended the
steps of the shrine, turned to the mass of onlookers, and stretched forth his
hands. If anyone had forgotten that Myrddin was once a king, the memory
was reawakened now. I have lived my life in the presence of kings and
noblemen, and I saw a king now, lordly in manner and mien. Tall and
erect, his head high, his expression grave and proud, his golden eyes
ablaze with the light of righteousness, Myrddin gazed out over the
upturned faces of the throng, and silence descended over the hill as all
upon it strained forward to hear what he would say.
'My people!' he cried in a loud voice. 'This is a day like no other in the
long history of our race.'
He paused and I felt the air quicken around me with anticipation. The
crowd, as a solitary creature, keen with yearning, held its breath.
'Rejoice!' the Emrys shouted suddenly, and I swear I heard his shout
echoing across the surrounding hills like thunder.
'Rejoice!' he cried again, lifting his hands high. 'For this day begins the
Kingdom of Summer, may it endure forever.
'Listen! Hear the words of the Chief Bard of Britain, Taliesin ap Elphin ap
Gwyddno Garanhir: "There is a land shining with goodness where each
man protects his brother's dignity as readily as his own, where war and
want have ceased and all races live under the same law of love and
honour. It is a land bright with truth, where a man's word is his pledge and
falsehood is banished, where children sleep safely in their mothers' arms
and never know fear or pain. It is a land where kings extend their hands in
justice rather than reach for the sword; where mercy, kindness, and
compassion flow like deep water, and men revere virtue, revere truth,
revere beauty, above comfort, pleasure, or selfish gain - a land where
peace reigns in the hearts of men; where faith blazes like a beacon from
every hill, and love like a fire from every hearth; where the True God is
worshipped and his ways acclaimed by all."
'Thus Taliesin spoke, bequeathing his bright vision to a world ruled by the
Powers of Darkness. Today, it pleases the High King of Heaven to honour
the words his servant uttered so long ago. People of Britain, hear me!
Rejoice and be glad, the long-awaited day has dawned.'
The High King took his place beside Myrddin then. As I gazed upon
Arthur, tall and strong, his handsome face lit by golden morning light, the
white stone of the shrine fairly glowing behind him, I knew that the Wise
Emrys, as ever, had spoken the truth. The High King drew his sword,
Caledvwlch, and raised the naked blade like a cross and held it before him.
Today, in your hearing, Taliesin's prophecy is fulfilled,' he said. 'My
friends, the Kingdom of Summer is begun. Taliesin's fair vision has
become reality. Here we begin, and may the Living God crown our efforts
with every virtue.'
Arthur lofted the blade-cross, and the host of people gave voice with a
great cry of acclaim. 'Pendragon! Pendragon!' Their shout became a flood
rolling down the hillside to spread throughout the land. 'Pendragon!' In
that moment, the High King, bold and bright before them, became the
long-awaited Summer Lord.
After a time, the cry died down, allowing Arthur to continue. Lowering
the great sword, he placed the point of the blade against the stone at his
feet, and folded his hands one over the other atop the pommel. Then,
gazing out over the people and the valley beyond, as if into the far-distant
future, he said, 'What is begun this day will burn in the hearts of all who
hear of it. What is begun this day will be a boon of rich blessing to the
people of every race and tribe.
'What is begun this day,' Arthur Pendragon said, his face shining in the
morning light, 'will last to the end of the world, when God shall roll up the
heavens like a parchment and return to Earth to reign in righteousness for
all eternity. So be it!'
Delivering his sword to Myrddin, the king turned, stepped to where
Avallach stood waiting, and, with a bow of acknowledgment to the Grail's
first Guardian, placed his hand on the casket and opened the lid. The
world was lit with a sudden flash of radiance - as if lightning had been
shut up inside the box to be released at this moment. The onlookers gasped
as Arthur reached in and withdrew the Grail and raised it high. I do not
know what others saw, but I beheld a footed cup which glittered and shone
in the bright sunlight as if it, too, were alive to the light that danced over
and around it. A row of rubies and emeralds glittered around its foot, and
the rim was set with pearls; a broad band of impossibly ornate scrollwork
bent around the bowl, catching the light and throwing it off like sparks
from a golden flame.
My heart soared as I filled my gaze with that rapturous sight. I felt myself
grow stronger and, yes, more noble - as if the light revealed the man I was
meant to be, but so rarely was. And I was not the only one to feel this way:
from the murmurs of amazement around me, I guessed that all who beheld
the Lord Christ's bowl were in that selfsame moment granted a vision of
the Good God's redeeming grace.
It happened in the blink of an eye, the narrow space between one word and
the next - for yet was Arthur speaking. 'Behold! I give you the Cup of
Christ, which shall be the emblem of the Summer Realm, and a perpetual
reminder of the source and sustainer of our good fortune.'
So saying, he stepped to the entrance of the shrine and placed the Grail on
the altar stone which had been prepared for it. This done, he reverenced
the cup with a bow and stepped away from the altar. Outside again, he
retrieved his sword from Myrddin, raised it, and declared: 'From this day I
have done with war and killing. Strife and violent contention have no
place in the Kingdom of Summer. Henceforth shall Britain be called a
land of peace.' Stepping into the shrine once more, he laid Caledvwlch
before the Grail, point on the floor and hilt resting against the altar stone,
so that the blade looked like Bishop Elfodd's cross. The High King then
knelt before the altar and offered up a prayer.
Father in Heaven, never let me forget that sight: Arthur on his knees
before the altar, his head back, face tilted upwards, his strong arms
outspread, palms upwards to receive the blessing he sought. And above
him, shining with the brightness of the sun itself, filling the shrine with a
high and holy light, the Grail.
How long he remained in the shrine, I cannot say - for the moment was
eternal and all creation held its breath. When he emerged, it was to a world
subtly, but surely, changed. Arthur himself seemed fairer, stronger, more
noble - as if all those lordly qualities which he already possessed in rare
abundance had been expanded, increased, multiplied within him, and he
now assumed a greater stature than before. If anyone doubted his own
perception, he had only to look at Gwenhwyvar; the expression of
admiration and love commingled in her eyes would have convinced the
hardest sceptic that here before us stood a lord transfigured.
The High King, his face shining with the reflected glory of the Holy Cup,
slowly raised his hands in a gesture of benevolence and said, 'May the
Grail which we have established in this shrine serve as a beacon of hope to
all mankind. Let it hereafter be said that once upon this Island of the
Mighty, men and women loved virtue more than their lives, and sacrificed
themselves to the rule of truth and justice.
'Friends,' he said, 'we have kindled a flame that will burn to the end of the
world. We are men still, but God's own Cymbrogi stand in awe of the
things we shall do. Even now angels are gathering to assist us on the
journey we have begun. Signs and wonders will become commonplace,
miracles will multiply in abundance, and peace will wash over the Island
of the Mighty like a great sea wave lifted on the wings of the storm.
'I ask you, who can stop the waves? Who can tame the ocean's fury, or
harness the sea's colossal strength? Who can bid the sun to halt in the sky,
or stay the steady march of the seasons?
'I tell you the truth, we shall do all these things and more who pledge
fealty to the Kingdom of Summer and its Eternal Lord. For if we remain
loyal through all things, Britain will be the wonder of the world: a torch
that is never quenched, a holy fire that cannot be extinguished. And all the
nations that dwell in darkness will lift up their eyes and will behold the
light of their salvation, burning as a beacon in the night. They will look
up, and they will rejoice, and so great will be their rejoicing that the sound
of celebration will overwhelm the sound of war. That hateful craft will
pass away, never to be remembered.'
If the acclaim before had been thunderous, the roar of approval which met
this pronouncement was deafening; it seemed to go on and on and on.
During this exuberant and joyous outpouring, Bishop Elfodd stepped
forward and, lifting holy hands to the Lord of Hosts, began saining the
shrine with prayers of consecration. But the ceremony was effectively
finished; even as he prayed, people came crowding forward for a better
view of the sacred cup.
Arthur signalled the Grail Guardians to take their places, which we did,
standing in a wide double rank to form a narrow pathway through which
the people might pass into the shrine. Men and women, young and old,
hastened forward, jostling one another in their eagerness to kneel before
the Grail and offer up their own heartfelt prayers.
Once begun, the flood became a tideflow which washed up the side of the
hill and into the shrine. We Guardians stood and watched them come,
some anxious and halting, some so a-tremble with awe that they could
hardly move, some with touching reverence, others bold, as if they would
lay hold of the kingdom and claim its mighty promise for themselves.
No matter how they went in, all emerged changed - some more, some less,
but no one who entered the shrine remained the same after having seen the
Grail. I saw one old woman with a withered hand emerge with her hand
restored, and a man on a wooden crutch walked out on two strong legs to
throw the stick as far away as he could hurl it. Another man, so ill he
lacked the strength to walk, was brought to the altar by his friends, only to
emerge leaping and jumping for joy.
These were but the first of many healed that day. I saw men and women
bent double by grief and care enter the shrine, and leave with heads high
and the fire of hope shining in their faces. Many emerged with tears
glistening in their eyes and on their cheeks; more than a few had to be
removed from the shrine: dazzled by the glory of the Blessed Cup and
overcome by the holiness of the moment, they were transported into a
rapture of bliss and were borne out by kinsmen and friends.
The evening stars were shining in the eastern sky when the last of the
worshippers departed. Bishop Elfodd lit the torches either side of the
doorway, and replaced the Grail in its wooden casket. Only then were we
able to sit down and rest our aching feet. Despite watching all day,
Bedwyr, Cai, and Cador volunteered to take the first night's watch.
Llenlleawg and I were allowed to return to the Tor - with Cai's admonition
to remember the watchers their supper.
The first night passed peacefully in the Summer Realm, and the next day
remained so tranquil and serene it was easy to believe that the world had
indeed changed. The few folk who visited the shrine went away manifestly
blessed - one crippled woman, a girl given to fits, and two boys with skin
diseases were healed. The prevailing mood of peace and elation made our
guard duty pure pleasure. We ended the second blissful day full of
brotherly love and kindly thoughts for all mankind.
Ah, but word of the miracles accomplished in the presence of the Grail
was spreading through the land. Already the news had gone out beyond
the borders of the realm, and like a spear hurled from the hand, there was
no calling it back.
                  TWENTY-ONE


All night long, visitors streamed into the valley. To everyone's surprise,
there were more than a few Saecsens among them. How word had flown
so far so fast was more than I could credit. Obviously, they had been
travelling day and night to reach the Grail Shrine and, once arrived, they
waited patiently, sitting in groups on the ground, or sleeping on the
hillside. The monks brought food and water, and cared for the sick through
the night until they could be admitted to the shrine the next morning.
Arthur, upon receiving information that Saecsens were coming to the
shrine, was visibly delighted, and declared that the Grail was already
fulfilling its highest purpose. 'One day,' he said, 'every citizen of Britain
will have made his way to this place to see the Most Holy Grail, and the
world will be made new.'
There was much in what the Pendragon said. For on the third day more
people came to the shrine, and the arrivals did not stop at dusk, when the
Grail Shrine was closed; the people kept coming, and were contented to
wait through the night to be admitted the next morning. On the fourth day
the numbers swelled; a steady flow of visitors trickled into the valley all
through the day and into the night. By the fifth day it was clear that the
numbers were steadily rising; thus, the chore of guarding the shrine was
growing increasingly wearing for the five Guardians.
Admittedly, if even one of us had thought beyond that first day's duty, we
might have seen how inept our scheme really was. If we had not been
distracted by the blissful exhilaration of our position, and if we had
properly understood the nature of the object we were guarding, we might
have anticipated the eagerness of the people, driven by desperation and
need to obtain healing.
Thus, it did not take a bard's wisdom to see that our simpleminded notion
of five Grail Guardians standing perpetual watch was - after only a few
days - breaking down under the sheer weight of numbers. Clearly, a new
plan was needed.
'Brothers,' said Bedwyr as we looked out upon the gathered pilgrims in the
fading light - so many had arrived through the day that they would not
now get in to see the Grail until the morning - 'you are mighty men all, and
far above me in every way. No doubt you could stand before the shrine
day and night for a thousand years and never feel the strain, but I cannot.
In short, I am tired.'
As if to demonstrate his point, he yawned, and said, 'We must have help,
and I see no reason why the Cymbrogi should fritter away the days in idle
pursuits while we labour on. It is neither fitting nor right.'
'Are you suggesting that we compel our swordbrothers to help shoulder
this duty?' I asked.
'I am suggesting that very thing,' confirmed Bedwyr with' another yawn.
'Man, why did you not speak up the sooner?' blurted Cai. 'It is all I can do
to put one foot in front of the other, and here am I thinking you enjoy
standing like a pillar all day long.'
'As much as I enjoy it,' Cador remarked, 'I yet might be persuaded to let a
few of the Cymbrogi take my place - if my brother Guardians were so
disposed.'
That is the Cador I know,' Bedwyr replied, adopting an admiring tone,
'generous to the last. As for myself, I deem it no less an honour for sharing
it among my swordbrothers. Let them have it, I say!'
'Then it is settled,' I said. 'We all agree that the duty should be shared out
among the Cymbrogi.'
'Llenlleawg has not said what he thinks,' Cai pointed out, indicating the
tall Irishman standing silent as a pillar.
'Well?' inquired Bedwyr, swinging towards the Irishman. 'What say you,
Llenlleawg?'
Arthur's champion shrugged. 'If everyone else agrees,' he muttered,
glancing away and down, 'I am for it.'
Bedwyr stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide what ailed the
man. 'So!' he said, turning away abruptly. 'We have made our first addition
to the rules of order.'
As the last of the day's visitors made their way into the shrine, we then fell
to discussing how to divide the watch, and it was quickly decided that one
Grail Guardian should stand as overseer to eight of the Cymbrogi. To
further ease the hardship of the duty, the day guard would be relieved at
sunset by those who were chosen to watch the night. Thus, we would only
be required to stand one watch in every five - an obviously superior
arrangement, for we would enjoy a day of rest between. We then drew
straws to see who would begin the new order of rotation. As luck would
have it, I drew the next day's watch, but Llenlleawg drew the short straw
and was forced to stand watch that very night, after having stood guard all
day. Though luck went against him, he made no complaint.
While there were still many people waiting in the gathering twilight, we
had no choice but to declare the shrine closed. Bedwyr told the people the
Grail Shrine would open again at dawn, and the attending monks bade
those in need to come to the monastery for food and shelter. One old man
became agitated at this announcement and began shouting. 'I have waited
all day!' he said. 'I cannot wait any longer.'
'Just until tomorrow, friend,' said the monk firmly, but not unkindly.
'Tomorrow will be too late,' the man insisted, his voice and shoulders
shaking with the effort. He carried a long stick, which he leaned on for
support. 'Please, I must see the Cup of Christ tonight.'
'Come to the abbey and we will take care of you,' the monk told him. 'You
can come back in the morning.'
'I am old and sick. I may die tonight!' the man said stubbornly, and turned
to appeal to Bedwyr. 'You there! You are the king's man - you can let me
see the cup before I die. Please!'
The monk took hold of the old man's arm and made to lead him away.
Bedwyr intervened, however. 'Wait! Let him in. But no more today - he
will be the last.'
The monk relented and led the old man forward. They entered the shrine
and Bedwyr undertook to inform all the other visitors that food would be
provided at the abbey for any who required it, and that they were welcome
to return to the shrine at dawn, when they would be cheerfully admitted.
The people muttered over this, but accepted their lot and began making
their way down the hill to the valley below, where most of them would
spend the night.
The rest of us, meanwhile, fell to discussing who should make up the
watch for the night. We quickly chose the guard and informed Bedwyr
when he rejoined us; a moment later, the old man emerged from the
shrine. He walked directly to Bedwyr, seized his hand, and kissed it,
saying, 'Bless you, son. Bless you. Bless you,' ducking his head with each
benison. 'I can die a happy man,' he said, and then walked away, carrying
his stick in his hand.
'A friend for life,' Cai observed. 'Now let us be gone.'
Llenlleawg wished us a restful sleep in our good, soft beds, and bade us
remember him his supper. He then urged us to haste lest he starve before
the food should reach him.
We promised to send his supper along with those who were to take the
watch with him that night, whereupon Bedwyr, Cai, and I rode back to
Ynys Avallach. We passed through the gate to find the yard alight with
torches and filled with people and horses. 'Someone important has come,'
one of the Cymbrogi told me as I dismounted.
'Who?' I asked, but he did not know.
Thinking it might be Gwalcmai, I threw the fellow the reins and
commanded him to take care of my mount. While Bedwyr called for
volunteers to stand guard duty, I ran to the hall to welcome, not my
brother, alas, but someone almost as dear and good to me: Bors.
See now: I have known Bors for a long time. He and his brother, King Ban
of Benowyc, were among the first of the Pendragon's advocates. Having
supported Aurelius and Uther -Arthur's father and uncle, the first High
Kings of Britain - they had aided the young Dux Britanniarum in his
struggles to unite the lords of Britain and conquer the Saecsens. For Bors,
that meant more than merely providing men; he had joined the Cymbrogi
and lent his sword to the cause.
For seven years he, like all the rest of us, fought alongside Arthur.
Following the defeat of the Saecsens at Baedun, and Arthur's kingmaking
and wedding, Bors returned home to help his brother out of some
difficulty or other. Summoned from Armorica to help fight the Vandali, he
had at last arrived - just in time to help celebrate the enshrinement of the
Grail - and now stood drinking ale and laughing with Arthur and
Gwenhwyvar. 'If you could not resist finishing off the Black Boar,' the
prince of Benowyc was saying, 'you might at least have saved one of his
piglets for me. Here I have come to feast on pork - only to be given cakes
and ale instead.'
'Did you think to fight the Vandali alone?' I remarked, striding up beside
him.
'Where is your warband?' asked Bedwyr.
'Welcome, brother,' said Cai. 'We feared your pilot had lost his way on
that ocean of yours.'
'Gwalchavad! Bedwyr! Cai!' he shouted with husky heartiness, embracing
us with his free hand. 'Bless me, but it is good to see you again. I tell you
the truth, we met Arthur's messenger halfway, so I sent the warriors home
and came on alone.'
He did not say it, but with Britain sore beset by plague and drought, no
doubt it was safer for his men to remain in Armorica. Turning to Arthur,
he said, 'I am heartily sorry I could not come to you sooner, Bear. But the
Frencs grow ever more contentious and will not be appeased so easily as
in the past. We had our hands full through the summer, I tell you. Still,
Ban would have me beg your pardon for the delay.'
'There is no need,' said Arthur, waving aside the apology. 'Tell me, how
fares your brother?'
'Ban sends his greetings to one and all, and asks to be remembered by his
former swordbrothers. As ever, he is desirous of coming to Britain one day
soon, "when kingly duties weigh less heavily upon the crowned head," as
he says.'
'If that is the case,' I ventured, 'then he will likely remain in Benowyc
forever. I have never known a man so able at producing work out of thin
air.'
'Too true,' agreed Bors. 'I tell him the same thing myself, but he can
always find a thousand things begging to be done, and it is "Who will do
them if I leave?" and thus he keeps himself busy year to year.' Turning to
Arthur, he said, 'Now, then, what am I hearing about this Grail of yours?'
'It saved Arthur's life,' Gwenhwyvar replied. 'If not for the Grail, Britain
would be in mourning now. The Holy Cup healed his wounds and restored
his life.'
'Then it is true?' Bors wondered, turning wide eyes towards Arthur. 'From
the moment we made landfall, I have heard nothing but talk of this Holy
Grail. I thought it must be one of those peculiar rumours that surface from
time to time - like that enormous serpent living in the lake up north.'
'Afanc,' I told him. 'I know a man who saw it snatch one of his cows from
the shore of the lake where it was grazing. I myself have seen it.'
'The serpent?' asked Bors in astonishment.

'No, the lake.'
They all laughed at this, and Bors thrust the cup into my hands. 'Drink,
brother! Ah, but it is good to be back among true friends.'
Rhys arrived while Bors was speaking and whispered something to the
king. 'I fear, Lord Bors,' said Arthur, 'Gwenhwyvar and I have been called
away. We must speak to Myrddin before he disappears again. But you will
sit with me at table tonight,' Arthur promised, 'and I will tell you all about
the battles you have missed.'
The Pendragon and his lady moved away then, and Bedwyr made excuses,
too, saying he must see to the night watch and supper for Llenlleawg. He
hurried off to order the Cymbrogi, leaving Cai and me to help Bors with
the welcome cup. 'Where is our Irishman?' wondered Bors.
'At the shrine,' I answered, and went on to explain about the Fellowship of
the Grail. 'We each take it in turn to guard the shrine,' I concluded. 'It was
Llenlleawg's bad luck to draw the short straw - he has the watch tonight.'
'Alone?' asked Bors, passing the cup to me.
'Nay,' replied Cai, 'there are eight Cymbrogi with him - or soon will be -
so he will not lack for company.'
'When did you arrive?' I asked, taking a drink and passing the cup to Cai.
'At midday, just,' Bors replied. His features grew keen. 'But tell me, have
you seen this Grail?'
'Man,' Cai hooted, 'for three whole days I have done little else save stand
beside it from dawn to dusk.'
'Where is this shrine?' Bors asked, excitement growing. 'Take me.'
'Now?' said Cai. 'We have just this moment returned from there.'
'Now,' Bors insisted. 'I want to see this marvel for myself. If it is as you
say, even a moment is too long to wait.'
'But the shrine is closed now,' I explained. 'Even if it were not, people in
their hundreds have waited through the day to see it, and now must wait
through the night as well. They stand ahead of you, brother. But never
fear, I have the watch tomorrow, and I will take you and make certain you
get to see it.'
Bors yielded with good grace. 'Very well,' he said, 'if I must wait, then at
least I tarry in good company. Bless me, but I am sorry I missed the
fighting. Was it bad?'
'Bad enough,' I replied. 'The Saecsens were worse, of course, but the
Vandali were nearly as bad - fiercest when backed into a corner.
Fortunately, Arthur saw to it that did not happen very often. Mostly, we
chased them up and down the valleys. They had their women and children
with them.'
'God in Heaven!' He shook his head in disbelief.
'Truly,' I declared. 'It seems they had been forced to flee their homeland in
the southern seas somewhere, and they were looking for new lands for
settlement.'
'They chose the wrong place when they chose Britain,' Bors said.
'They tried lerna first,' I said, 'and when we chased them away from those
green hills, they came here. It took the whole summer, but we vanquished
them at last. Even so, they have not done too badly.'
'No?' He regarded us dubiously.
'For a truth,' Cai declared, nodding. 'In return for peace and sworn
allegiance to the High King, Arthur gave them lands in the north.'
'He never did!'
'Did and done,' I told him, and related the story of how Arthur had
undertaken single combat with the Black Boar, and received the deadly
wound which ended in the miraculous healing. 'I believe it is for the best,'
I concluded. The Grail is established, Britain is at peace, and the Kingdom
of Summer is begun. Never has there been a better time to be alive.'
Bors regarded me curiously, trying to determine if I was sincere or not.
Unable to decide, he reached for the cup instead, took a long draught of
the ale, whereupon one of the serving men appeared to say that Avallach
called for his guests to take their places at the board. We hurried into the
hall, where we were joined at table by Bedwyr and Cador, and some
others eager to renew their acquaintance with Bors. The talk was fine and
amiable, the ale flowed freely, and we spent the evening pledging and
repledging our undying friendship to one another.
'I wish Llenlleawg were here,' Bedwyr said at one point. 'This is just the
tonic that would do him good.'
'To Llenlleawg!' proclaimed Cai grandly. 'The finest warrior who ever
drew sword or sat horse.'
'I will drink to that,' declared Cador cheerfully, raising his cup high.
'To the finest warrior that ever drew sword!' echoed Bedwyr, and we all
acclaimed the sentiment with a noisy rattling of our cups.
We were then overtaken by a sudden and irresistible urge to drink the
health and virtue of every single member of the Dragon Flight, fine men
each and every one. Night was far gone when I finally found my bed. The
warriors' lodgings were full, so I took off my boots and curled up in the
corner. It seemed that I had merely closed my eyes when I was roughly
roused by someone shaking me by the shoulder.
'Wake up!' said a voice loud in my ear. 'Lord Gwalchavad, please, wake
up!'
I opened one eye, and recognized the face hovering above me in the dark.
'Tallaght, what are you doing?'
'I am trying to wake you, lord,' he said.
'You have achieved your ambition,' I replied, and made to roll over. 'Now
go away and let me sleep.'
He started shaking me again. 'Forgive me, lord. You must come with me.
There is trouble.'
I sat up. 'What trouble?' I demanded, pulling on my boots.
'I cannot say,' he answered. 'Rhys says the Pendragon has roused the
Dragon Flight. We are summoned to the yard at once.'
As we were no great distance from the hall, I could hear men moving
quickly and quietly in the corridor beyond. By the time we joined them,
the yard was in turmoil: men rushing everywhere at once to saddle horses
and procure weapons by torchlight. I caught sight of Rhys, leading
Arthur's mount from the stables.
'Rhys!' I shouted, running to meet him. 'Are we attacked?'
'The shrine,' he shouted breathlessly as he passed without slowing.
'Something has happened at the shrine.'
'Well, what is it, man?'
'How do I know?'
He hurried on, so I concerned myself with saddling my horse and arming
myself. I had just strapped a sword to my hip and got hold of a spear when
Rhys' hunting horn called us to be mounted. I swung into the saddle and
saw Arthur across the yard, his face set in that expression I have come to
know well: the serene, unhurried calm of a skilled craftsman assembling
the tools of his trade. Unlike other men when riding into battle, the
Pendragon becomes more himself rather than less.
Even-tempered by nature, in a fight Arthur is never uneasy or alarmed,
never worried or distressed, never fear-fraught nor less yet unnerved.
Myrddin has said that he believes Arthur truly lives only in the fight.
'Many warriors live to fight,' Myrddin told me once, 'but Arthur comes
alive in battle - the way an eagle only conies alive when it takes flight.'
'He is courageous,' I agreed.
'What is courage but the mastery of fear?' said the Wise Emrys. 'But there
is no fear in Arthur. Tell me, does the eagle fear the wind that frees him to
fly?'
Well, the Eagle of Britain was ready to soar, and those who recognized the
sight knew well what it meant.
We rode through the gate and pounded onto the winding Tor path in the
dark - there must have been fifty or more men clattering down the hillside
at Arthur's back. Gaining the lakeside path, we flew past the monastery,
scrambled over the lowland, and made directly for Shrine Hill, where we
found the place in chaos.
People were stumbling around in the darkness, for the moon had set and
dawn had not yet come, and they were shouting at one another; the women
were wailing and children were crying, but I could not see what had
happened to cause such distress. There was a crush of confusion at the foot
of Shrine Hill; Rhys gave forth blast after blast on the horn, and we forced
our way through the clinging throng and rode for the hilltop.
The shrine itself was peacefully quiet, and we swiftly discovered why: the
warriors charged with guarding the shrine were dead. They lay on the
steps leading to the entrance to the shrine where they had fallen. All had
been attacked with a sword and suffered horrific wounds - several had lost
limbs, and one had been decapitated.
Arthur took one look at the carnage and said, 'Who had the watch tonight?'
His voice was tight, as if he were speaking with immense difficulty.
'Llenlleawg,' I answered.
Without another word, the king turned and mounted the steps to the shrine.
He stepped inside, only to emerge a moment later, his face frozen in a
rictus of shock and dismay.
'Arthur?' said Bedwyr as the king strode past. 'Is he inside?'
But the king made no reply and, without so much as a backward glance,
walked back down the hill.
Seizing a torch from the hand of a nearby warrior, Bedwyr dashed to the
entrance of the shrine. 'Well?' Cador shouted at him.
When Bedwyr did not answer, Cador cleared the steps in a bound and
dashed inside. I could see the torchlight playing over the interior of the
shrine, and then Cador appeared in the doorway looking shaken and
unsteady. Thinking to see Llenlleawg dead in a pool of blood, I leapt up
the steps to the door of the shrine and looked inside - but there was neither
blood nor body. Indeed, the shrine was completely empty....
Owing to my relief at not finding Llenlleawg's corpse, it took a moment
for the awful significance to break over me. But when it did, it burst with
all the fury of a tempest: the shrine was empty... the Grail was gone,
Caledvwlch was gone, and Llenlleawg was nowhere to be found.
                 TWENTY-TWO


'Rhys! Cai!' cried the Pendragon upon reaching the throng at the bottom of
the hill. 'Find someone who saw what happened!'
The two were already moving to his command as Arthur, having mastered
his shock, swiftly turned to the waiting Cymbrogi. 'The Grail is gone, and
Caledvwlch with it. The guards are dead. Get more torches. Search the
hill. I want to know how many were here, and which way they went.' In
the moment of stunned hesitation that followed, he roared, 'Now!' and men
scattered in twenty directions.
Seizing a torch from one of the sconces at the entrance to the shrine, I
began searching the outside of the building and was quickly joined by
Cador bearing another torch. We walked slowly, crouching low,
examining the soft, dusty earth for fresh footprints, or for any other sign
that the attackers might have crept up from behind the shrine to take the
watchmen unawares.
There were all sorts of marks in the dust - the tracks of masons and the
imprints where stone and tools had lain - but all these were old and scuffed
about. 'Nothing fresh here,' Cador concluded.
Still, just to make certain we had not missed anything or overlooked any
possible trace, however small, we made a second circuit of the shrine. This
time, the only new tracks we saw were those Cador and I had made during
the first circuit; I could identify them readily enough on the dry, dusty
ground -which gave me to know that had there been any new tracks the
first time, we would have recognized them. There were none.
'Go tell Arthur,' Cador said. 'I will look over there.' He pointed to the
broad slope of the hill's rearward side.
Hurrying to the front of the shrine, I found the hillside ablaze with the
light of torches as the Cymbrogi scoured the path and surrounding area.
Arthur and Bedwyr were standing halfway down the hill talking to
Myrddin, who was still on horseback. After a few brief words, the Emrys
turned his mount and raced away again. Hearing my footsteps behind him,
the king whirled on me. 'Well?' he demanded.
'We found nothing, Pendragon,' I told him.
'Look again,' he commanded.
'We have already searched twice, and -'
'Again!' The order was curt, and brooked no reply.
Bedwyr, grim in the softly fluttering light, nodded. 'We must be certain,'
he said.
As it was easier to comply than to argue, I walked the shrine perimeter for
the third time, more slowly and painstakingly, to be sure. Again I saw
nothing I had not seen before. Nor did Cador's scrutiny turn up any traces
that the shrine had been approached from the rear. Cador met me at the
hilltop, shaking his head. 'Nothing,' he said. 'Whoever did this did not
strike from behind.'
We hurried back, reaching the king just as Rhys and Cai came hastening
up the pathway, dragging two others between them.
'There are at least three more dead down there,' Rhys informed us bleakly.
'Skulls split ear to ear. Another four wounded.'
'These two saw what happened,' Cai added. 'They are father and son -
arrived after nightfall from east of- '
Arthur raised a hand and cut him off. Addressing the two men, he said,
'What did you see?'
The older of the two swallowed, then glanced sideways at Cai, who urged
him on with a sharp nod. The man licked his lips and said, 'It was dark,
Lord Pendragon. I fear my eyes is not what they was - 'specially in the
dead of night.'
'Just say what you saw,' urged Arthur impatiently.
The man blinked, his face squirming in the torchlight; he licked his lips
again, and worked his jaw. The second man, a youth with a club foot,
blurted, 'It were terrible, Lord Pendragon. Terrible. The first thing I
knowed something's amiss was when up there comes a shout - like a death
cry, it were. We had just got ourselves a piece of the ground and rolled up
in our cloaks to sleep, and this brought us up again something quick, I can
tell you,'
The elder man nodded his agreement at this. 'Aye, the very truth.'
'Yes, yes,' growled Bedwyr testily. 'But what did you see!'
'Tell them and be quick about it,' coaxed Cai in a low tone, with another
nod of encouragement.
'Up there,' the youth said, pointing to the shrine, 'men was all asudden
fighting for their very lives. All of them at it, eh, Da?'
The man nodded. 'Every last one,' he murmured.
'They was fighting something fierce,' the youth continued, 'and must have
been six or more against one - but the one, he were a fighter. He flew this
way and that, slashing and slashing. And what with the shouting and
slashing, I never seen such a sight. He killed them all, he did.'
'Every last one,' repeated the father.
'Who?' demanded Bedwyr.
The young man looked at Cai for help.
'His name!' said Arthur tersely, holding him to the task.
'I never heard his name,' the youth replied. 'But he were tall - taller than
the rest, at least.' He hesitated, glancing around quickly, then added, 'And
the queen were with him.'
The words hit me like a spear in the gut. Llenlleawg and Gwenhwyvar?
Can it be true? I looked to Arthur to judge his reaction, but, save for a
tightening of his jaw, saw no appreciable change.
Bedwyr, however, had gone red in the face, and was almost shaking with
frustrated rage. 'How could you see all this from down there?' he shouted,
pointing angrily down the hill at the place where they had stood.
'For the torches on the side of the shrine,' the young man explained. 'We
saw it all. He killed them, and then he comes running down here, running
like his legs is afire. We see him waving that great sword in one hand, and
carrying something under his other arm.'
'What was he carrying?' demanded Bedwyr roughly.
The youth shrugged. 'A wooden box.'
'Is that what you saw, too?' Bedwyr turned his withering gaze on the elder
of the two.
'Tell the truth, man,' Arthur cautioned, his voice tight.
The man licked his lips and said, 'Some of the people down here, they
started shouting: 'The Grail! The Grail! He has got the Grail!' I do not
know about that - all I saw was the box, and him running away with it.'
'You said you saw the queen - where was she?' Cai asked.
'Well, now, the tall one runs to where the horses is picketed over there.' He
pointed to where the guards had tethered the animals. 'The queen was
waiting there -1 never seen her at first for all the battle going on up the
shrine. But I reckon she was waiting there all along.'
'What happened then?' said Arthur softly, almost trembling with rage.
'Well, they go to ride away. Some of those nearest by make bold to lay
hold of the killer. Everyone is shouting, 'He stole the Grail! He stole the
Grail!' and they try to stop him.'
'And it is dead they are for their troubles,' asserted the older man.
'That sword is up and he strikes them all down who lays hand to him. And
then they both ride off that way.' The youth pointed to the east.
'Is that all?' said Arthur.
'That is the last I seen,' the youth answered. 'We never seen anything after
that until you all came.'
The older man nodded and spat, adding, 'We feared you was coming to
kill us, too.'
'There is nothing else - you are certain of that?' Bedwyr glared hard at both
of them, daring them to add to or take away anything from what we had
already heard.
The two shook their heads and remained silent, whereupon Arthur
dismissed them, charging them to say nothing of this to anyone else until
more could be learned. As soon as they had gone, we all turned to one
another. 'It cannot be Llenlleawg has done this!' Cai insisted vehemently.
'It was never Llenlleawg and Gwenhwyvar.'
'Who, then?' snarled Bedwyr. 'Llenlleawg is the only one of us missing
now - why is that, do you think?'
'It was someone else!' Cai maintained. 'Someone who looked like him.'
'Those two are confused,' I suggested quickly. 'It is dark. They were asleep
when it started. They could not possibly have seen everything that
happened.'
'Truly,' agreed Cai. 'Maybe they caught sight of Llenlleawg riding off in
pursuit of the attackers, and assumed he had done it.'
'Aye, he rode off,' asserted Bedwyr, his voice an ugly sneer, 'taking the
Grail with him.'
'What of Gwenhwyvar?' Cador wondered.
'Gwenhwyvar was with me,' Arthur said bluntly.
'Llenlleawg could not have done it,' Cai insisted. 'Anyway, Llenlleawg
was sworn to protect the Grail with his life. If he rode in pursuit of the
killer, he could never leave it behind.'
Bedwyr dispatched this lame suggestion without mercy. 'Then why not
ride to the Tor? He could bring the Grail for protection and raise the
alarm. If word of the massacre had not been brought to us by those
confused people down there, we still would not know of it.'
'Since the queen was with Arthur,' Cador suggested, 'it must have been
Morgaws with him.'
Arthur glared hard in the dim light. 'Yes,' he agreed sourly. Turning to
Cador, the king said, 'Ride to the Tor and tell the queen what has
happened; then find Morgaws - if she is there, bring her to me.'
Cador leapt to the saddle at once and raced away into the darkness.
Swinging towards Bedwyr, Arthur commanded, 'You and Rhys take eight
men and see if you can raise the trail.'
Bedwyr made to protest, but the look on Arthur's face warned him off and
he departed, calling for men and torches.
'Gwalchavad,' the king ordered, 'you and Cai see what is to be done for
those who have been wounded, then take word to Elfodd and remove the
dead to the abbey.'
'I do not like this, Arthur,' Cai muttered under his breath.
Arthur ignored him, saying, 'I will talk to the people here. Someone may
have seen something more.'
The king stalked off towards the distraught crowd. Cai made to follow, but
I put a hand on his arm and said, 'Come, there are injured needing help. If
you would go to the monastery, I will see to matters here.'
'You go to the monastery,' Cai said, staring at Arthur as he walked away. 'I
want to talk to some of the others and see if anyone saw anything
different.'
Thus, I found myself hurrying to the abbey to summon Bishop Elfodd.
Owing to the fact that a few monks had been at the shrine tending folk
through the night, word had reached the abbey before me. I rode into the
yard to meet the bishop and five or six monks as they rushed from their
lodging hall.
'I pray there has been a wicked mistake,' Elfodd said.
'It is no mistake,' I told him. 'There are dead and wounded. The king wants
you.'
'Yes, yes,' Elfodd replied quickly. 'We will do whatever we can. Are you
returning to the shrine?'
'At once.'
'I will go with you.' Laying a hand on the shoulder of the nearest monk, he
said, 'Brother Hywel, I leave you in authority.' He then ordered the monks
to fetch balms and bandages and hasten to the shrine.
'Ride with me,' I said, putting down a hand for him. 'The way is short and
we are soon there.'
Two monks hurried to the bishop's aid, and we were soon hastening back
across the night-dark valley. Upon dismounting, we proceeded directly to
the shrine, where Arthur was holding council with Myrddin and Bors by
fluttering torchlight.
'As much as it pains us,' the Erne's was saying, 'it may be the truth.'
The High King stared at his Wise Counsellor, his face grim in the
fluttering light of hissing torches.
'At least,' Bors said, softening Myrddin's pronouncement, 'what passes for
the truth - until we find Llenlleawg and learn why he has behaved like
this.'
Then it is true?' I asked. 'Llenlleawg is gone?'
Myrddin replied, 'He is not at the Tor.'
'It is a tragedy,' Bishop Elfodd said, breaking in. 'I am shocked beyond
reason. I thought the shrine well protected. I never imagined one of the
Guardians - '
'We are no less dismayed than you, bishop,' Myrddin said pointedly. 'What
this moment requires, however, is your sympathy and support, not your
reproach.'
The bishop accepted his reprimand with good grace. He inclined his head
in acknowledgment of his error and said, 'I am deeply sorry, Lord Arthur,
and I want you to know that I am placing myself and my brothers under
your command. We will do all in our power to assist you in any way we
can.'
Arthur thanked him and said, 'Your skills would best be employed aiding
the wounded and praying for Llenlleawg's swift return.'
'The wounded will be cared for, of course,' the cleric replied, 'and I will
immediately establish perpetual prayer for the recovery of the Holy Cup.'
Glancing at Bors and Myrddin, he said, 'Please, send word if you need
anything.' With that he hurried off to direct the monks who were helping
with the injured and dead.
Cador returned from the Tor, lashing his horse up the hill at full gallop.
Without even pausing to dismount, he leaned from the saddle, putting his
head to Arthur's ear. Even while he spoke, the Pendragon's face changed.
Now, I have seen the Bear of Britain in his rage before, but have never
seen him like this: his face darkened, his jaw bulged, and the veins stood
out on his neck and brow.
Seizing Cador by the arm, the king almost hauled him bodily from the
saddle. 'My wife - gone?' he cried.
'She is nowhere to be found,' Cador replied, trying to keep his saddle. 'I
stopped at the stables - the queen's horse is gone, along with Morgaws' and
another.' He hesitated. 'The stablers were asleep, but one of them says he
thinks he saw the queen take the horses. Mind, he was half asleep at the
time.'
Added to what Myrddin had already said, it seemed the two witnesses
were right: the king's champion had murdered his swordbrothers and
stolen the Most Holy Grail. What is more, it appeared he had been aided in
this atrocity by none other than the queen.
That Llenlleawg could perform such a treacherous act was unthinkable;
that Gwenhwyvar should be party to it was impossible. Yet there it was - a
double betrayal of such abhorrence the mind shrank from contemplation of
it. There must be some other explanation, I determined. Morgaws is
involved somehow; find her, and no doubt all would be explained.
I stepped quickly to join those at Arthur's side and await his command.
Cador was saying, 'Avallach wanted to come here, but I persuaded him to
remain at the palace. He instructed me to say that he will await the
Pendragon's return in his chamber. Charis has gone on to the abbey to help
the monks.' Duty discharged, Cador continued. 'It cannot be what it seems,
Bear. We will find them, but until we do, we cannot know what really
happened.'
'He speaks my thoughts entirely,' I said, speaking up. 'We should not judge
by the appearance of the thing alone. It cannot be what it seems.'
'I pray you are right,' said Bors. 'God knows, I have trusted that man in the
thick of the fight more times than I remember, and I cannot find it in my
heart to doubt him now.'
'Until we find Llenlleawg,' said Myrddin, 'we will not discover what
happened. Therefore, our best efforts are given to the search.'
'Rhys and Bedwyr have already begun,' snapped Arthur angrily.
'It will be daylight soon,' Bors observed, striving to sound brisk and
confident. 'They will raise the trail, never fear. We will learn the truth
before the day is out.'
Away in the east, the sky was greying with the dawn. 'Come, Arthur,' said
Myrddin, taking the king by the arm, 'I want to see the shrine.' Together
they started towards the shrine to examine the empty building and, I
believe, to speak to each other alone.
'What would you have us do now?' Cador called after them.
'Bury the dead,' came Arthur's terse reply.
Silent with our own thoughts, we stood and watched the thin grey line turn
to silver, and then blush bright red as the sun rose on the worst day I have
known since Baedun Hill.
              TWENTY-THREE


Now the battle begins. I have made the first strike. It is greatly to
Morgaws' credit that no one saw it coming. She chose her servant well,
and bound him to her with strong enchantments. He is ours, and a more
potent weapon would be difficult to find.
Oh, it would have been pure joy to have seen their faces when they
discovered the traitor in their midst. I wish I had been there to savour it to
the full. But it is not time to reveal myself just yet. I must content myself
with the knowledge that my glory will be all the greater for remaining so
long undiscovered.
Still, the shock of betrayal is an exquisite pleasure. And that it followed so
quickly upon the birth of the Summer Kingdom is especially poignant.
Simple treachery, when applied with such swift and thorough proficiency,
can be simply devastating. Trust is, I think, the most fragile of the virtues;
ever brittle, it shatters easily and, once broken, can never be completely
repaired. In a single stroke, I have broken Arthur's most deeply held trusts.
There is no force on Earth that can compel a heart to continue trusting
when cruel, hard facts fly in the face of faith.
Doubt and fear are ever-faithful allies, I find, and, when joined with
suspicion, can become wonderfully debilitating in an enemy. They are like
twin hounds baying for blood. Relentless and merciless, they will chase
and bite and howl, wearing down the prey until mind and heart and will
are spent, and the helpless victim drops from exhaustion.
I do not expect Arthur to surrender easily; nor less yet Myrddin. They will
prove stalwart adversaries, I expect. Thus will my eventual triumph taste
the sweeter.
And what is this? Morgaws tells me she has come into possession of a
certain talisman - a treasure of some kind, by which Arthur and Merlin set
great store. An object of power - healing power, apparently, among other
things - she used it to bait her trap. She does not tell me what it was, but I
suspect the Grail.
That would be a treasure indeed. There were rumours in the wind about
this Grail years ago - the miraculous cup of such power, it is able to work
wonders of its own accord. Well, these tales are always stirring up the
poor folk. Superstition has its uses, I find. Still, I never would have
thought Merlin would have anything to do with it; he fancies himself
above the common herd and its bovine beliefs.
Dear nephew has surprised me before, however. Therefore, I will make it
my affair to find out more about this treasure Morgaws has discovered. In
the meantime, I have a little talisman of my own to reveal. Come, enemy
mine, the chase awaits you.
'Is this the last one?' wondered Cai, shovelling dry earth onto the body in
the grave.
A bright, red-gold dawn had given way to a pale grey monk's-mantle of a
sky - a gloomy day to match the mood of death and doom. The dirt was
hard-baked and the graves shallow. We worked away in silence, thinking
about the horrific events of the previous night. Twelve had been buried,
and three more bodies brought from the hillside to the little yard near the
lake below the abbey. Cai and I, along with Cador, Bors, and some of the
Cymbrogi, had buried our swordbrothers first, before turning to the
pilgrims. Many of the dead had families with them, some of whom stood
nearby, weeping quietly as their kinsmen were laid to rest.
'One more,' I told him, indicating the last of the three.
Together we dragged the last body to the newly dug grave, and rolled it
into the narrow hole. I put my shovel into the mound of dirt and dragged
part of the pile onto the body. Cai likewise bent his back to the task, then
hesitated. 'God bless him,' he muttered under his breath. 'I know this one.'
I glanced up, and he said, 'Is this not the old man who raised the
commotion when we closed the shrine?'
I turned and looked into the bloodless face of the corpse in the grave. 'So it
is,' I confirmed. The last time I had seen him, he had been striding away
with an expression of rapture on his battered old face.
'He said he wanted to see the Grail before he died,' Cai remembered.
Then at least he died happy,' I replied, and began pulling dirt over him.
A moment later, a rider came from the Tor. 'Arthur wants you,' the warrior
said. 'Bedwyr has returned. You are to come at once.'
Leaving the mourners to the care of Elfodd's monks, we rode back to the
Tor to face the king's wrath. Arthur was standing behind his camp chair -
the chair Uther had used as a throne -waiting for us in Avallach's chamber
at the Fisher King's palace. Bedwyr and Rhys were standing before the
chair, arms folded and unhappy.
'He betrayed us!' Arthur said, his voice the growl of a wounded animal.
'He has betrayed the Summer Kingdom, he has betrayed his king, and he
has betrayed Britain.'
'We do not know what happened,' Rhys pointed out.
'Do we not?' demanded the High King, his voice hard and flat and cold.
'Do we not? We know the Grail is gone, and Llenlleawg with it; we know
eight Cymbrogi were slain by his hand and fifteen pilgrims as well; we
know the Summer Realm lies in ruins; we know he has stolen, murdered,
and destroyed. If that were not condemnation enough, he has taken the
queen with him - whether by force or by deception, I know not - the queen
he has vowed to protect through all things. He shall be hunted down like
the treacherous dog that he is, and he shall be killed.'
'Bear,' pleaded Bedwyr, 'be reasonable. We will find him and then we will
discover the truth.'
'Let it not be said that Arthur Pendragon was ever less than reasonable,'
replied the king icily. 'We shall be a very paragon of reason. If a servant
betrays his master, it is reasonable that he should expect to receive
punishment. It is reasonable that the murderer should forfeit his life for his
crime. It is reasonable to seek justice and demand retribution.'
'Justice, yes, by all means,' agreed Bedwyr. 'But what of mercy?'
'Ah,' said Arthur, 'you think us too harsh. Then let us temper our justice
with mercy as you suggest. Know this: the same mercy granted those who
were slain shall be granted the one who murdered them.'
Bedwyr glanced at Rhys uneasily. Clearly, they wanted to say more, but,
owing to Arthur's poisonous mood, felt their intercessions were only
making matters worse. In the strained silence, Cai and I took our places
beside our swordbrothers and waited for the storm to break.
'Twenty-three dead! The Grail gone!' the Pendragon roared suddenly,
striking the back of the chair with his fist. 'My sword taken, and my queen
abducted!' That was the first time I heard that word uttered, but no doubt
he was right. The king glared around him, defying anyone to dispute his
reading of events. 'Is that not the shape of things?'
No one made bold to answer. Arthur glowered murderously at us; I had
never seen him so angry. 'You!' he shouted, pointing at Bedwyr. 'Have you
nothing to say?'
'In truth,' intoned Bedwyr wearily, 'I thought we could not fail. We raised
the trail at first light, but - '
Arthur cut him off. 'Save me your excuses. You failed.'
'Yes.' Bedwyr shut his mouth and stared ahead.
'A short while ago,' Arthur continued, pacing behind his chair like a caged
bear, 'I told Avallach that his worst fears had been realized. He was
against enshrining the Grail, but I persuaded him that it would be safe. I
pledged my honour to it: The best men of the Dragon Flight will protect it.
Nothing will happen to it.' But now - ' He glared at us with true contempt
and loathing, and I felt the depth of his anger, restrained now, but
dangerously close to flaring. 'Now it has been stolen by one of our own,
and we are no closer to recovering it than we were when the alarm roused
us from our beds. The blame will fall on me, and rightly so. But, God help
me, I will not - '
'Make no vow you cannot keep,' Myrddin declared. He had entered the
chamber so quietly, no one noticed.
Arthur swung angrily towards this ill-opportuned interruption. Glaring at
his Wise Counsellor, he drew breath to vent his rage anew, but Myrddin
said, 'Morgaws, too, is gone. Or have you forgotten?'
I confess that I did not at first understand the significance of Myrddin's
insistence. Preoccupied with what we considered far more weighty matters
- such as the dire betrayal of the king by his own champion - what did the
disappearance of a foundling guest matter?
Arthur stared hard at Myrddin. 'It can wait,' he growled at last. 'We have
more important affairs before us - or have you forgotten?'
Impatient and angry though he was, he should not have said that last. 'Do I
weary you with my prattling?' Myrddin demanded tartly. Drawing himself
up full height, he took breath and let fly. 'I am a True Bard,' he said, his
voice a very lash. 'If I speak, know that it is worthy of your regard, O
Lofty King. Question me, if you will, but doubt me at your peril.'
'Peace, Myrddin,' Arthur grumbled. 'I meant no disrespect.'
But the Wise Emrys would not be appeased so easily. 'While you have
been busy with your grand and glorious schemes, the secret enemy has
quietly invaded the innermost treasure-room of your stronghold. Find
Morgaws and you will find the Grail.'
Arthur gazed grudgingly at his counsellor - as if trying to weigh the
implications of his next decision. 'Ready the Dragon Flight,' he said at last.
Bedwyr remained unconvinced. 'Do you think Rhys and I would have
returned so soon if we had found anything? With so many people coming
and going in the last days, it was impossible to see anything.'
'Might it be possible you were looking in the wrong place?' inquired
Myrddin smoothly.
Bedwyr opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it promptly shut. He
knew better than to argue with Myrddin when the Wise Emrys was in a
mood to cross swords. Thus, we were very soon riding out from the Tor in
force. At my suggestion, the king agreed to allow Peredur to lead the
search. I knew and valued the young warrior's abilities as a tracker, and he
was eager to be of service.
The day was no longer fresh when we set out, but our hopes were kindled
when, upon reaching the lakeside, we found the tracks of one unshod
horse leading away west. All of Arthur's horses are iron-shod, of course,
and so are Avallach's. 'It might be Morgaws' mount,' suggested Peredur
doubtfully. 'Then mercy granted those who were slain shall be granted the
one who murdered them.'
Bedwyr glanced at Rhys uneasily. Clearly, they wanted to say more, but,
owing to Arthur's poisonous mood, felt their intercessions were only
making matters worse. In the strained silence, Cai and I took our places
beside our swordbrothers and waited for the storm to break.
Twenty-three dead! The Grail gone!' the Pendragon roared suddenly,
striking the back of the chair with his fist. 'My sword taken, and my queen
abducted!' That was the first time I heard that word uttered, but no doubt
he was right. The king glared around him, defying anyone to dispute his
reading of events. 'Is that not the shape of things?'
No one made bold to answer. Arthur glowered murderously at us; I had
never seen him so angry. 'You!' he shouted, pointing at Bedwyr. 'Have you
nothing to say?'
'In truth,' intoned Bedwyr wearily, 'I thought we could not fail. We raised
the trail at first light, but - '
Arthur cut him off. 'Save me your excuses. You failed.'
'Yes.' Bedwyr shut his mouth and stared ahead.
'A short while ago,' Arthur continued, pacing behind his chair like a caged
bear, 'I told Avallach that his worst fears had been realized. He was
against enshrining the Grail, but I persuaded him that it would be safe. I
pledged my honour to it: 'The best men of the Dragon Flight will protect
it. Nothing will happen to it.' But now - ' He glared at us with true
contempt and loathing, and I felt the depth of his anger, restrained now,
but dangerously close to flaring. 'Now it has been stolen by one of our
own, and we are no closer to recovering it than we were when the alarm
roused us from our beds. The blame will fall on me, and rightly so. But,
God help me, I will not -'
'Make no vow you cannot keep,' Myrddin declared. He had entered the
chamber so quietly, no one noticed.
Arthur swung angrily towards this ill-opportuned interruption. Glaring at
his Wise Counsellor, he drew breath to vent his rage anew, but Myrddin
said, 'Morgaws, too, is gone. Or have you forgotten?'
I confess that I did not at first understand the significance of Myrddin's
insistence. Preoccupied with what we considered far more weighty matters
- such as the dire betrayal of the king by his own champion - what did the
disappearance of a foundling guest matter?
Arthur stared hard at Myrddin. 'It can wait,' he growled at last. 'We have
more important affairs before us - or have you forgotten?'
Impatient and angry though he was, he should not have said that last. 'Do I
weary you with my prattling?' Myrddin demanded tartly. Drawing himself
up full height, he took breath and let fly. 'I am a True Bard,' he said, his
voice a very lash. 'If I speak, know that it is worthy of your regard, O
Lofty King. Question me, if you will, but doubt me at your peril.'
'Peace, Myrddin,' Arthur grumbled. 'I meant no disrespect.'
But the Wise Emrys would not be appeased so easily. 'While you have
been busy with your grand and glorious schemes, the secret enemy has
quietly invaded the innermost treasure-room of your stronghold. Find
Morgaws and you will find the Grail.'
Arthur gazed grudgingly at his counsellor - as if trying to weigh the
implications of his next decision. 'Ready the Dragon Flight,' he said at last.
Bedwyr remained unconvinced. 'Do you think Rhys and I would have
returned so soon if we had found anything? With so many people coming
and going in the last days, it was impossible to see anything.'
'Might it be possible you were looking in the wrong place?' inquired
Myrddin smoothly.
Bedwyr opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it promptly shut. He
knew better than to argue with Myrddin when the Wise Emrys was in a
mood to cross swords. Thus, we were very soon riding out from the Tor in
force. At my suggestion, the king agreed to allow Peredur to lead the
search. I knew and valued the young warrior's abilities as a tracker, and he
was eager to be of service.
The day was no longer fresh when we set out, but our hopes were kindled
when, upon reaching the lakeside, we found the tracks of one unshod
horse leading away west. All of Arthur's horses are iron-shod, of course,
and so are Avallach's. 'It might be Morgaws' mount,' suggested Peredur
doubtfully. 'Then again, there have been many visitors to the Tor of late. It
could be anyone of them.'
'True,' Myrddin allowed, 'but did any of the visitors ride west in the last
day or so? Can anyone say that they saw anyone riding alone?'
That was good enough for Arthur. 'Let us see where this leads. We will
quickly discover whether we have made an error.'
Well, the trail was good to begin with, and we flew along the wooded
pathways, confidence growing through the day, only to be cast down
abruptly when it ceased. I do not mean that we merely lost the trail, for we
did not: the tracks - those of a lone horse and rider - led us all the way
around the lake, thereby avoiding the abbey, and then bent towards Shrine
Hill. According to the tale of the tracks, the rider came within sight of the
Grail Shrine but did not approach, paused, then moved off at speed east, in
the direction of the wood.
We followed the trail without the slightest difficulty; the tracks were good
and the dry ground took a ready impression. Eventually, the trail came to a
small clearing in the wood where stood a stone; there the rider had
stopped.
'It appears she met someone here, lord,' Peredur said, rising from his
examination of the tracks. Even without dismounting, I could see the place
where two other horses had stood, chafing the dry earth here and there
with impatient hooves. 'They rode on that way.' Peredur pointed into the
trees on the opposite side of the clearing.
We resumed our pursuit, but not for long; at the other side of the clearing -
no more than two or three hundred paces away -the hoofjprints of the three
horses simply and suddenly stopped. The marks were there in the dust for
everyone to see, and then they were gone.
'It appears they have vanished between one step and the next,' Bedwyr
observed, pressing a fingertip into the last print. Not trusting completely to
his eyes - less yet to Peredur's or anyone else's - Bedwyr had dismounted
for a closer look, and now turned from his scrutiny of the prints in the dirt
to regard the jagged circle of sky showing through the close-woven
branches above. The short day was far gone, the wan light already fading.
Meanwhile, Cai had carried the search farther along the trail, and some
others had quickly scoured the perimeter. Finding nothing, they all
returned to await the Pendragon's pleasure.
'What would you have us do, lord?' asked Bors. Arthur stared at the
broken trail and said nothing, so we fell to discussing what, in view of this
unhelpful discovery, might be the best course.
In the end, it was decided that Rhys and Cador would continue the search
with Peredur and a company of men; the rest of us would return to Ynys
Avallach - which we did, reaching the Tor long after dark, having ridden
in dejected silence all the way back.
Nothing had happened in our absence: the dead were still dead, the Grail
was still gone, Llenlleawg had not returned to explain his behaviour, nor
had Morgaws been seen. Neither had Gwenhwyvar returned to welcome
the search party and tell us we had worried for nothing, that all was well.
Exhausted and edgy, we stared blear-eyed at the prospect of another long,
hopeless night, and an endless succession of hopeless days to follow.
Thoroughly dejected, we dragged ourselves to the hall to get a bite to eat
and a drink, and to rest ourselves from our strenuous, if futile, exertions.
More disturbing news awaited us there, however. We entered to find the
great room empty save for one of Avallach's servants, who approached us
the instant we crossed the threshold, greeted the High King, and said, 'If
you please, lord, I have been instructed to tell you that Lord Avallach and
Lady Charis have left the palace and returned to work with the good
brothers at Londinium. They wish you God's aid in your search.'
Arthur stiffened. 'I see,' he said. 'Was there anything else?'
'No, lord,' the steward replied. 'That is all I was to say.'
While some might have considered this circumstance a blessing in
disguise - after all, facing a still-angry Avallach would not have been the
most pleasant end to a day already rich with disaster - Arthur took it hard.
'I am disgraced,' he murmured, then, remembering himself, dismissed the
servant with a command to bring some food and drink for his men.
We collapsed onto the nearby benches, a sorry-looking group once more.
The only good that could be said of this day was that it was soon to end.
Well, it could not end soon enough for me. Even so, too tired to eat and
too disheartened to sleep, we prolonged the torment; we sat like gloomy
lumps on the bench, clenching our cups in unfeeling hands, the bread
tasteless in our mouths, each one nursing his disappointment as best he
could.
Bors made a halfhearted attempt at lightening the desultory mood with a
tale about a hunt in Benowyc. When the effort failed, he dragged himself
away to sleep. Bedwyr followed soon after, leaving only Cai, Myrddin,
and myself to sit with the king.
After a while, Myrddin rose, drained his cup, and said, 'This avails
nothing,' he said. Tomorrow's troubles can wait until tomorrow. Rest while
you can.'
With that he left, and Cai and I stood to go, too, but hesitated when Arthur
made no move. Cai sat down once more. 'Go on,' he whispered to me. 'I
will see him to his bed when he is ready.'
I did not like leaving them like that, but I was swaying on my feet and
could not keep my eyes open any longer. 'Very well,' I said, relenting.
'Only see to it that you both get some sleep.'
'Oh, aye,' agreed Cai, turning his gaze to the dejected king. 'Soon.'
I have no doubt they sat there all night, for Cai was red-eyed and irritable
the following day, and the Pendragon's disposition had not improved. Nor
did the morning light serve to brighten our circumstances.
The day ended in dismal waiting, Arthur's spirits sinking ever lower with
the slow, relentless arc of the sun. He fretted and fumed, chafing at the
tedium, and then, as the long shadows stretched across the yard, subsided
into a wretched silence.
'Cador and Rhys had better appear tomorrow,' muttered Bedwyr as we
abandoned the vigil for the night, leaving the king to his misery. But they
did not return, and Bedwyr, refusing to endure a third endless day of
anxious inaction, took six Cymbrogi and rode out to see what he might
find.
He returned at dusk, having done nothing more useful than tire seven
horses. Finally, towards evening of the following day, Cador appeared,
alone, with ill tidings on his lips.
'We searched in all possible directions,' Cador informed us, his clothes
begrimed, his face grey with fatigue, 'and could not raise the trail again.
But Peredur found this -' He put his hand to his belt and withdrew a circlet
of silver.
In our eagerness we all gathered close for a better look, and I saw, on
Cador's extended palm, a silver brooch of the kind used to fasten a cloak.
The metal had been worked into the shape of a tore, with two small rubies
at the ends. The pin was missing and the brooch was bent - as if a horse
had stepped on it - but still it was a handsome piece, no doubt belonging to
a man or woman of noble rank. I had never seen it before - at least not that
I could remember.
But Myrddin took one look and almost swooned. His knees buckled and
Cai took him by the shoulders and bore him up. 'Emrys, are you well?
Here, sit you down.'
But Myrddin pushed away from him and staggered forth. 'Give it to me!'
he shouted, snatching the brooch from Cador's hand. He studied it closely,
then folded his fingers around it and pressed his fist to his forehead. 'Great
Light!' he groaned. 'No... no... no,' he murmured in his anguish. 'Not
again.'
We stared at him, apprehensive, uncertain what to do, ignorant still of the
trouble. What could he see in this simple ornament?
'Is it Gwenhwyvar's?' asked Bors, his voice creaking with apprehension.
'No,' said Arthur. 'It was never Gwenhwyvar's - or Llenlleawg's, either.'
'Then whose?' wondered Cador, as mystified as the rest of us. 'I thought it
must be -'
Myrddin gave out a groan. 'Ah, fool...' he said, more to himself, I think,
than to anyone else. He looked around, his face ashen. 'It belonged to
Pelleas.-'
                TWENTY-FOUR




See, now: the Fisher King had two daughters - Charis, the elder, and
Morgian, the younger, by his second wife. There was some trouble
between the two daughters -1 never learned what it was - but it led
Morgian to reject her kinfolk. She left Ynys Avallach long ago and took
refuge in the wild north, as far away from Charis and Avallach as possible.
In time, she came to the Orcades and, in that clutch of smooth-hilled
islands, made for herself a fortress amidst the ancient standing stones and
barrows.
God help me, this selfsame Morgian became my grandfather's wife. She
was not my mother, nor even my father's mother. Heaven forbid it! Hear
me, I am the son of Lot ap Loth, King of Orcady. My father rode with
Arthur against the Saecsens and Vandali. Let all men remember that. It
was my grandfather's misfortune to fall prey to Morgian's lust for power.
He was a king, and she wanted a kingdom. The match was set before
anyone knew the danger.
Poor Loth, in his dotage, imagined himself a lord of vast wealth and
influence, and she was very beautiful. Some say that even then she was a
canny sorceress, and laid an enchantment on my grandfather. Under the
sway of Morgian's corrosive influence, he believed Lot, his loyal son,
plotted to steal his throne. He harried my father and tried to kill him, but
Lot escaped with most of the warband, and established himself on one of
Orcady's many unassailable rocks. Gwalcmai and I were raised there,
coming south to serve with Duke Arthur. No more than boys, my brother
and I, and Arthur no older; we were among the first of the young war
leader's Cymbrogi.
I have no doubt that it was Morgian who had turned Loth against Arthur in
the end, but, true lord that he was, Arthur never counted our kinsman's
rebellious ways against us. Still, the infamy is never far from me - every
time I take the field, it is to restore some lustre to our tarnished name. The
Good Lord willing, we may yet be remembered as something other than
the twin grandsons of wayward Loth, the mad king who made wicked
Morgian his queen.
In the years we were fighting for our lives, Morgian delved deep into the
Dark Arts that now ruled her. Myrddin says she has been consumed by the
power she sought to command. Evil, he says, cannot rest and is never
satisfied; it is a guest that always devours its host, a weapon that wounds
all who would wield it. And Myrddin should know: he faced her and
defeated her; she fled the field, her precious power shattered, her sorcery
overthrown.
That victory did not come without a price, however; it cost Myrddin his
eyesight and his closest friend. When Myrddin rode out to confront
Morgian, he went alone. Pelleas, Myrddin's faithful friend and servant,
feared for his master and followed. Alas, Pelleas has never been seen
again, nor his body ever found. In all the world, there is only one person
who knows what happened to Pelleas, and that person left Pelleas' brooch
behind.
'You ask what this means!' said Myrddin Emrys, clutching the silver
brooch. 'Do you not know the darkness of the tomb when you see it? Do
you wake in the night and think it bright day?'
He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, and stared around him with
wild eyes.
'Calm yourself, Myrddin,' said Bors, attempting to soothe. 'We do not
understand.'
'Death and darkness!' he said, his voice raw in its torment. 'Morgian has
returned!'
'Morgian!' whispered Bedwyr.
At the sound of her name, the hairs on my neck prickled and my mouth
grew dry.
Myrddin, his face ashen, his hands shaking, swept from the chamber,
leaving us stunned and bewildered. As soon as he had gone, everyone
began talking at once. Most knew something of the Queen of Air and
Darkness - aside from Myrddin, I think Bedwyr and I knew her best - but
Bors knew her not at all. He pulled me aside and said, 'This Morgian - she
and Morgaws are the same, yes?'
'No,' I answered, but in my heart I wondered: was it possible? Had
Morgian taken the shape of Morgaws? I shuddered at the thought.
'But you know her?' he persisted. 'Who is she that she wields such power?'
'She is a sorceress, and the sworn enemy of the Emrys and all his works,' I
told him. 'Her powers are as vast as her ways are subtle, she is shrewd and
she is cunning, and the Ancient Adversary himself is not more fearful than
she.'
'Myrddin fought her once and nearly lost his life,' Bedwyr informed Bors.
'She blinded him and left him for dead. I think if it were not for Pelleas, he
would have died.'
'I remember Pelleas...' Bors said, his voice trailing off.
'Maybe it is nothing to do with Morgian,' Cai suggested weakly. God love
him, if the sea and sky ever changed places, he would be first to question
it, and last to believe it.
I wished I had some of Cai's dogged obstinance. As hardheaded as he was
bighearted, he refused to believe the worst about anyone or anything. But I
believed - more the dread - for I had some small experience of Morgian's
powers, and it chilled me to the marrow to think she was somehow
involved in the theft of the Grail.
We fell silent. No one believed Cai was right, but no one had the heart to
dispute him, either. After a time, Arthur turned quietly to Cador. 'What of
Rhys?' he inquired softly.
The change in the Pendragon astonished me. The fire of his anger had
been quenched utterly. Cowed by Myrddin's revelations, he appeared
shaken and defeated.
'I did not like to keep you waiting any longer,' Cador replied. 'I thought
best to bring word, but also to begin spreading the search. Rhys and the
Cymbrogi are riding to the nearby settlements and holdings to ask their
aid.'
'Soon the whole world will know of my failure,' mused Arthur ruefully.
The king dismissed Cador then, charging him to rest and return to the
court when he was once more refreshed.
When Cador had gone, the Pendragon turned to the remaining Grail
Guardians and Bors, who had in all respects taken Llenlleawg's place. This
is what your negligence has wrought,' he said, 'the ruin of a kingdom.' He
glared around the ring effaces. 'If you have anything to say, I beg you say
it now, friends. For I tell you the truth, unless the Holy Cup is restored,
Britain is lost.'
We all stared in silence, loath to make matters worse for saying the wrong
thing. Alas, it was true; the Guardians had failed in their sworn duty and
now the kingdom was imperiled. Who could answer that?
Unfortunately, the king read our reticence the wrong way. Taking a step
backward, he collapsed into the thronelike chair. It was as if a blow from
the flat of a sword had struck him down. 'Even my friends desert me,' he
groaned. I could but gaze in wretched misery at his anguish now made
painfully visible.
Then, as if to fight the despair that even now ensnared him, the Pendragon
heaved himself up once more and stood defiant - a man confronting his
accusers. He spoke, and there was fire in his voice. 'Every day more and
more pilgrims arrive at the shrine, only to find it empty. The word of
miracles has gone out: 'Come!' they say. 'Come to the Summer Realm, and
there you will see miracles!' And so the people come expecting a marvel,
but instead see only Arthur's folly.' His grotesque smile was terrible to see.
'Ah, perhaps that is the greatest marvel of all: one man's arrogance and
pride transformed into a hollow shell of lifeless stone.'
He regarded us dully, then flicked a hand at us. 'Leave me!'
No one said a word, and no one moved. 'What?' the king demanded. 'Are
you become stumps? Leave me, I said. Get you from me! I cannot bear the
sight of you!'
Bors, standing with his head down, arms wrapped around himself, made
no move. Lost in thought, he seemed no longer to heed anything taking
place in this world. But Bedwyr, dour in his silence, turned on his heel and
led the retreat, abandoning his king to his misery.
Oh, it was a hard, hard thing, but what else could we do?
With Arthur in this vile humour, there was nothing for it but to quit the
chamber. To stay would have served no good purpose. Bedwyr and the
others went to the hall, but I could not bring myself to join them.
I went my way alone, wandering wherever my feet would take me, and
soon found myself out on the high parapet above the gate - the inner yard
on one side, the sloping hill with its twisting path on the other and the lake
beyond. I watched as the dull twilight deepened, and with it a dreary fog
rose from the marshes and lake to clothe the Tor in a thick, damp, silent
cloak - the silence of the grave, Myrddin would say.
My thoughts flittered here and there, restless birds that could find no
friendly roost; when I looked around, night had settled uneasily over Ynys
Avallach, ending another foul day at last. I noticed, without pleasure, that
though the year had turned, the change brought no rain; the drought
persisted.
Aching with fatigue and thoroughly dispirited, I left the battlement, but
not before casting a last glance towards the woodland to the east where the
Grail, and all our brightest hopes, had disappeared. A bank of low cloud,
darker even than the night sky, rose over the wood - as if the darkness
Myrddin feared was drawing down upon us. I shivered with a wayward
chill and hurried inside.
The next day, Arthur did not receive us. Bedwyr went to him for
instructions, but returned saying that the king had shut himself in his
chamber and would not see anyone.
'This is not right,' Cai asserted.
'Do you blame him?' Bedwyr snapped. His anger flared instantly. 'None of
this would have happened if not for us. The fault is ours.' He struck
himself on the chest with the flat of his hand. 'The fault is ours!'
'I am going to him,' said Cai, stalking from the hall.
He returned a short while later without having seen the king, and we spent
a dismal day in an agony of bitter despair. Cymbrogi came and went
throughout the day, anxious for a good word, but there was nothing to tell
them. Dispirited, dejected, discouraged, we slipped further into the
besetting gloom. At last, unable to stomach the bile of guilt any longer, I
left my woeful companions and went in search of Myrddin.
Quitting the hall, I moved along the corridor towards the warriors'
quarters, passing by Avallach's private chamber. The door was open
slightly, and as I passed, I heard the moan of a man in pain. Pausing, I
listened, and when the sound did not come again, I went to the door,
pushed it gently open, and stepped inside.
Arthur yet sat in his chair, his head bowed upon his chest, the feeble
glimmer of a single candle casting its bravely futile light into the close-
gathered gloom. Oh, and it tore at my heart to see him, who was Earth and
Sky to me, sitting alone in that darkened chamber. I regretted at once that I
had intruded, and turned to go away again. But the king heard the sound of
my soft footfall and said, 'Leave me.'
His voice was not his own, and the strangeness of it filled me with dread. I
cannot leave him like this, I thought, so turned and advanced. 'It is
Gwalchavad,' I whispered, approaching the chair.
At this he raised his head slightly; black shadows clung to him as if to
drag him down into the depths. The room had grown chill, and the king sat
with neither cloak nor brazier to warm him - a dragon torpid in his winter
den. Even so, the eyes that gazed at me from beneath the grief-creased
brow were fever-bright.
'Go away,' he muttered. 'You can do nothing for me.'
'I thought I might sit with you,' I said, wondering how it was possible for a
man to decline so swiftly and completely. A short while ago he had been
aflame with righteous anger, and now it had burned to ashes, and those
ashes were cold.
There was no other chair in the room, so I stood awkwardly, certain that I
had made a mistake in coming and, for Arthur's sake, regretting the
intrusion. I was just thinking how best to make my retreat when the king
said, 'He has raised me up only to dash my head against the rocks.' The
hopelessness in his tone made me shudder, for I knew whom he meant.
After a moment, he continued, saying, 'I thought the time had come,
Gwalchavad. I thought the world would change, and that we would bring
peace and healing to the land. I saw the Kingdom of Summer so clearly,
and I wanted it so - ' Arthur's voice became a strangled cry. 'God help
me... I wanted it so.'
He was silent for another long moment, as if considering what he had just
uttered. I stood quietly, and he seemed not to heed my presence any
longer. 'Perhaps that is my failing -wanting it too much,' he said at last. 'I
thought he wanted it, too. I was so certain. I was never so certain of
anything.'
The king sank further into his chair, only to start again out of it as rage
suddenly overswept him. 'Three days!' he shouted, his ragged cry ringing
in the empty chamber. 'Taliesin's vision! Myrddin's work of a lifetime!
The promised realm of peace and light - and it lasts all of three paltry
days!' The cry became a moan. 'God, why? Why have you done this to
me? There was such good to be gained... why have you turned against me?
Why do you scorn me?'
As if remembering my presence once more, Arthur shifted in his chair and
looked at me. 'I was betrayed,' he spat, his voice harsh and thick. 'Betrayed
by one of my own. I loved him like a brother and trusted him. I trusted
him with my life! And he repaid my trust with treachery. He has taken the
Grail, and he has taken my wife.'
'If Morgian is at the root of this,' I ventured quietly, 'then Llenlleawg was
likely bewitched. He could not have done it otherwise.'
The king seemed not to hear me, however. Clenching his hand into a fist,
he struck it hard against his chest, as if to quell the inner pain. He did it
again, and I stepped nearer so as to prevent him from injuring himself,
should he persist. But the fit passed and he slumped back in his chair,
weak with misery.
'Arthur's folly...' he muttered, closing his eyes once more. 'They come -
they come to see a miracle, and find nothing but a heap of stone raised by
a fool of a king.'
I could no longer bear to see him berate himself so harshly. At risk of
rousing his wrath against me, I spoke. 'You could not know any of this
would happen,' I said, trying to soothe him.
'King of Fools!' Arthur mocked. 'Hear me, Gwalchavad, never trust an
Irishman. The Irish will stab you in the back every time.'
'If it is as the Emrys believes, it was Morgian, not Llenlleawg, who did
this,' I said. 'You could never have foreseen that.'
'You hold me blameless?' he sneered. 'Then why has destruction befallen
me? Why am I forsaken? Why has God turned against me?'
Fearing I was making matters worse, I hesitated. Arthur seized on my
reluctance as confirmation of his failing.
'There!' he shouted. 'You see it, too! Everyone saw it but me. Oh, but I see
it now....' He slammed his head sharply against the back of the chair with a
cracking thump. 'I see it now,' he said again, his voice breaking with
anguish, 'and now it is too late.'
'Arthur, it is not too late,' I countered. 'We will find Llenlleawg and
recover the Grail. Everything will be made right again. The Kingdom of
Summer has not failed - it must wait a little longer, that is all.'
'I saw it, Gwalchavad,' he said, closing his eyes again. 'I saw it all.'
He was exhausted, and I thought at last he might allow sleep to overtake
him if I kept his mind from wandering along the more distressing paths.
'What did you see, lord?'
'I saw the Summer Realm,' he replied, his voice growing soft and dreamy.
'I was dying - I know that. Myrddin does not say it, but I know I must have
been very near death when he prevailed upon Avallach to summon the
Grail. Avallach was against using the Blessed Cup in that way.'
He paused, and I made bold to suggest that he should rest now. 'Sleep,
lord, you are tired.'
'Sleep!' Arthur growled. 'How can I sleep when my wife is in danger?' He
pressed his fingertips to his eyes as if to pluck them out of his head. In a
moment, his hands dropped away and he continued. 'Gwenhwyvar came to
me. She was so brave - she did not want to let me see her crying. She
kissed me for the last time, as she thought, and left me - Myrddin left, too
- everyone left the Tor and then Avallach came into where I lay....'
I realized that I was about to hear how Arthur had been healed and
restored to life by the Grail, so said no more about resting just now.
'I did not see either of them at first,' Arthur said, his voice falling to a
whisper at the memory, 'but I knew Avallach had entered the room, and
that the Holy Grail was with him, for the bedchamber was suddenly filled
with the most exquisite scent - like a forest of flowers, or a rain-washed
meadow in full blossom - like all the best fragrances I had ever known.
The scent roused me, and I opened my eyes to see Avallach kneeling
beside me, his hands cupped around an object that appeared to be a
bowl...' Arthur licked his lips as he must have licked them at the time.
'And I opened my mouth to receive the drink, and tasted the sweetest
flavour - the finest mead is as muddy water compared to it - and this was
merely the sweetness of the air I tasted, but he had not brought me a drink
as I supposed. It was the Grail itself infusing the very air with its exquisite
savour.'
Arthur drew the air deep into his lungs now as he had then. His tormented
features smoothed as, in memory, he relived the marvel which had saved
him.
'I breathed the redolent air, and the vapours of death which had clouded
my mind parted and rolled away. I came to myself again, and knew myself
in the presence of an eminent and powerful spirit - not Avallach only, for
though he is of great stature in the world of the spirit, this Other was more
immense, more profound, more potent by far. My own spirit, hovering
between life and death, seemed a feeble, fragile thing - a bird caught in a
bush weakly fluttering wings for release. I was nothing beside them...
nothing. My life had been wasted - '
Here I interrupted. 'Arthur, it is not so. You have ever held true to that
which has been given you.'
But the king would not hear it. He shook his head in denial. 'My life has
been wasted in the pursuit of things mean and ordinary - insignificant
matters, meaningless and swiftly forgotten.'
'Peace and justice are not insignificant,' I countered, alarmed to hear him
talk so. 'Winning freedom for our people and our land is not meaningless,
nor will it be quickly forgotten.'
This brought a wan, pitying smile to the king's face. 'Dust,' he said.
'Nothing but dust carried away by the first wind that blows, lost forever
and forever unknown. Who but a fool regards the dust beneath his feet?'
I made to protest again, but he raised his hand, saying, 'Let it be,
Gwalchavad. It matters not.' Returning to his recounting, he closed his
eyes and lowered his head. 'Shame,' he said. 'I have never known such
shame: it burned - how it burned! - as if to consume me from within. My
guilt overwhelmed me. Guilt for the misuse of my life and the lives of so
many, many others. I stood adjudged and knew myself condemned a
thousand times over. Neither Avallach nor the Other with him so much as
raised a finger in accusation. They had no need - my own spirit damned
me. To die before making atonement filled me with such remorse, the
tears flowed from my eyes in a flood as if to wash away the mountain of
my guilt.
'But, oh, the Grail! The Grail was there, and even as the world dimmed
before my eyes, Avallach held the sacred bowl before me, dipped in his
finger, and touched his fingertip to my forehead. He sained me with the
cross of Christ. It was, as I thought, the last rite for a dying man. Soon my
soul would stand before the High King of Heaven, and I would face my
judge.
'Yet even as Avallach touched me with his fingertip, I felt life surge within
me. I was alive! What is more, I was forgiven. At Avallach's touch, I was
at once healed and released from the guilt and shame of my squandered
existence. My former ways dropped from me like a sodden cloak, and like
an eagle borne up on the winds of a gale, my soul rose from the pit and
soared.
'The joy, the rapture, the delight overwhelmed me and kindled within me a
fire which blazed with the love of goodness and right. And it was as if I
stood on a high mountain, looking down at the world far below. I looked
and saw a green and peaceful land spread out on the breast of the blue-
green sea.
'I looked to see whence came this light, and lo! it was the Grail. I saw a
shrine of stone set on a hill and, established within this shrine, the Blessed
Cup of Christ. Even as I beheld the cup, a voice from Heaven said, "Feed
the people, heal the land." The voice spoke these words three times, and I
saw Britain shining like gold in the radiance of a light brighter than the
sun.
'What could this mean but that I should build the shrine and set the Grail
within it to shine as a beacon of truth and right throughout the land. From
Britain would flow every good and perfect thing for the succour of the
world; all men would look to the Island of the Mighty and hope would be
renewed. Ynys Prydain would become that vessel through which great
blessing would flow to all mankind.
'I vowed that this would be my work hereafter: to build the Grail Shrine,
that the Blessed Cup might begin transforming the world. Thus, I stood up
from my bed of death, fully healed, and possessed of an ardour to bring
the vision granted me into living reality. I went out and greeted my wife -
Myrddin and Llenlleawg were there, too, and all the Fair Folk.
'The next day I took the work in hand, and began laying plans for the Grail
Shrine. From that day I have held but one thought uppermost: to honour
my vow for the glory of God and the good of Britain and her people. This
I have done' - he paused, raising his eyes briefly, only to turn them away
again -'and for this I am brought down.'
Arthur lowered his chin to his chest once more and lifted a hand to his
forehead. 'Leave me,' he said, the glorious vision vanishing in the
hollowness of his resignation. 'I am tired, Gwalchavad. Leave me.'
I stood for a moment, longing to speak a word of solace to ease his hurt. 'I
am sorry, Arthur,' I said at last, then crept away, leaving the king to the
cold misery of his woe.
                 TWENTY-FIVE


How many realms had Morgian ruined? How many men had she killed? In
her relentless pursuit of power, how many lives had she destroyed?
Myrddin said she had returned, and I did not doubt it. Indeed, it was not
difficult to believe the relentless, ever-vindictive Morgian had somehow
preserved a portion of her power when she fled to her stronghold. Safe in
the distant fastness of her dark dominion, she has been tirelessly
assembling the remnants of her broken art from the wreckage. Even if
Morgian was not as strong as before, she was still far more powerful than
any other adversary mortal man could face. Dread Morgian was yet a
force to be reckoned with, an implacable enemy as sly and deadly as any
serpent and more wicked, more hateful, more vicious and rapacious than a
whole host of demons.
These things I thought, and my thoughts were true. But no matter how
hard I tried, I could find no good explanation for Morgaws. Who was she?
What was her part in the cruel treacheries breaking upon us?
Myrddin, I thought, might hold the answers, so to Myrddin I went. After a
search that took most of the day, I found him, not with the king, but in the
old wooden shrine beside the abbey. One of the monks had seen him enter
the shrine at break of day. 'I never saw him leave, lord,' the monk said.
'Perhaps he is still there even now.'
Entering the shrine quietly, I found him flat on his face before the tiny
altar, arms outstretched in the priestly attitude of prayer practised by the
brown clerics.
'Lord Emrys?' I said, loath to speak at all - but he was so still I feared him
dead.
At the sound of his name, he shifted. 'Gwalchavad,' he said, raising his
head. He made to rise, and I helped him to his feet. 'How did you know to
find me here?'
'I knew you had to be here,' I replied. He lifted an eyebrow inquiringly,
and I added, 'I have searched everywhere else - this was the only place
left.'
He smiled at this, and I saw the light in his eyes, sharp and clear, the fire
restored and burning bright once more. 'I have been praying,' he said.
'All day?'
He shrugged. 'I did not mark the time.'
'I wish Arthur had been with you - instead of gnawing out his heart in his
chamber.' I told him of my conversation with the king the night before.
'Is he there now?' asked Myrddin as we stepped outside.
'I think so. He has shut the door against us and will see no one.'
Myrddin turned his farseeing eyes to the sky. The sun was going down and
a chill twilight was swiftly drawing a veil of mist over a dismal day. 'Will
you go to him now?' I asked. 'He needs you, Myrddin.'
'I will go to him,' promised the Wise Emrys, starting down the path
towards the lake. 'But not yet.'
'He needs you now,' I insisted, darting after him.
'Let him imbibe his despair,' Myrddin said. 'Truly, until he has drained that
cup to the dregs, he will not hear a word I say.'
'How long must we wait?'
'God alone knows.' I frowned at this answer and he saw it. 'Concern for the
king is not what sent you looking for me, Lr think.'
'No,' I confessed, 'though that is reason enough. It is Morgaws.'
'Yes?' He stopped abruptly and turned to me. 'Have you remembered
something?'
The question caught me unawares. 'Remembered? What do you mean?'
The Emrys made a sound of mild disgust in his throat and started walking
again, and I chased after him. 'I was thinking who she might be,' I said
quickly. 'I know she is not Morgian.'
'Why do you say that?'
'No matter what guise Morgian took, I would always know her,' I
answered confidently.
'So would I,' Myrddin declared.
'Besides,' I continued, 'she appeared to me.'
Myrddin stopped walking again and I almost collided with him. 'Morgian
appeared to you?' His eyes were daggers keen and bright, and levelled at
me. 'When?'
'Not long ago,' I said, more hesitant now.
Myrddin seized my arm and squeezed it hard. 'Why have you waited until
now?' he demanded angrily, releasing my arm and pushing it away.
'She came to me in a dream,' I explained quickly. 'At least I thought it was
only a dream.'
‘Fool!' cried Myrddin. 'Only a dream, he says! You should have told me.'
'I am sorry, Emrys. Believe me, I never meant to keep anything from you.'
Myrddin stared at me hard, then looked away and began walking again;
we had almost reached the lake. We continued on in silence for a time
before he spoke again; when he did, he said, 'Morgaws is Morgian's
creature - whether daughter or foundling, I cannot say, but she serves her
mistress well.'
Though I did not doubt him, I asked, 'Then why did we never suspect her
before?'
'It is the simplest of all enchantments,' he replied, and I waited for him to
explain, but he merely said, 'We see what we think to see.'
'And Llenlleawg?'
'Again, it is not difficult to bewitch the weak and willing,' he replied.
Something in me bristled at the suggestion that the Irish champion joined
in the betrayal voluntarily. 'What of Gwenhwyvar? It seems to me the
queen was certainly neither weak nor willing.'
'Who knows what they told her?' Myrddin answered simply. 'Morgian is
duplicity itself. Her powers of deception are astonishing.'
'Then you are certain Morgian is involved.'
'If there was any doubt, finding Pelleas' brooch removed it.'
'You are convinced the brooch belonged to Pelleas?'
'How not?' he said. 'I gave it to him.'
Upon our return to the Tor, Myrddin went his way alone. I took myself off
to the parapet, where I held vigil deep into the night, thinking about
Llenlleawg's betrayal, and why everyone seemed so eager to hold him at
fault for all that had happened, when clearly, if Morgian was involved, he
was no doubt bewitched, and bent to Morgian's evil purpose. I was still
struggling with this when, towards dawn, Myrddin summoned the Dragon
Flight to the king's chamber.
I hurried to join my swordbrothers - many of whom, myself included,
appeared to have spent another sleepless night wrestling with the guilt and
shame of their failure. No one spoke as we made our way along the
corridor and to the door of Arthur's chamber. There, waiting in the dimly
lit passageway, was Myrddin, carrying his staff, his golden tore gleaming
in the torchlight.
'Good,' he said and, pushing open the heavy door, strode boldly in to
confront the Pendragon. He advanced to the foot of the throne, raised the
oaken staff, and struck it smartly on the stone floor. Crack! 'Rise up,
Arthur!' he cried in a loud voice, and struck the floor again.
'The time has come to rouse yourself from your sleep of despair. Wake,
and rise!' He raised the staff and struck the floor again. The crack
resounded like a peal of thunder as the Wise Emrys said, 'The foe is at the
gate, and your queen is taken away. She cries, "Where is my deliverer? I
cry out in my cruel captivity. Where is my salvation? When will my king
arise?"'
Arthur started. The shock of the bard's words struck him to the core and
jolted him from his self-pitying misery. 'Gwenhwyvar!'
Lofting his staff, Myrddin advanced to stand before the throne. The Bard
of Britain lifted his voice and kindled the hearts of all who stood mute and
dejected in that room.
'Why do you languish here when the Treasure of Britain is despoiled by
the enemy? Why do you cover yourself in gloom while your noble wife is
ravaged by her captors? Why do you yet delay while wickedness lays
waste your realm?'
Arthur's shoulders slumped and his head fell. But Myrddin did not allow
despair to reclaim him; he stood before the king, lifting the stricken
monarch from the pit with the strength of his words.
'Stiffen your spine, O King! Take up your spear and shield,' he cried. 'Gird
yourself for battle, and take your place at the head of the Dragon Flight.
The name of the enemy is known: Morgian has returned! The Queen of
Air and Darkness is moving against you, and her aim is destruction.'
A murmur, like a tingle of fear, flitted through the gathered ranks of
Cymbrogi. 'Morgian...'
Crack! Myrddin struck the floor with his staff. 'Rise up, O Mighty
Pendragon! Save your kingdom and your queen. For I tell you the truth: if
you sit by and do nothing, you will lose all you hold most dear. And when
that is gone, Dread Morgian will take your life as well. Your enemy will
not be content until she has destroyed you body and soul.'
I looked to the king and saw the colour flooding back into his ashen
features. The Heart of Britain was stirring again.
'Arise, Arthur! Bind steel to your hip and courage to your soul. The time
has come to choose: fight or die; there is no middle ground!'
I felt within me the familiar rising to the call as Arthur gripped the arms of
his chair and heaved himself to his feet. He yet appeared haggard and ill-
disposed, but there was a glimmer of purpose in his eyes.
'Behold!' cried Myrddin Emrys with a flourish of his oaken staff. 'The
Chief Dragon arises in his strength. Tremble, all who would oppose virtue
and right! Flee to your dens in Hell, you citizens of corruption! Let all
who practise evil beware: your days are no more. The High King of
Britain has set his face against you and the day of your doom is at hand.'
Arthur drew himself up and gazed upon his Cymbrogi. With a small
movement of his hand, he gestured the Emrys to his place beside him.
'Cai,' he said quietly, 'call the Dragon Flight to arms.'
Stalwart Cai turned on his heel and shouted aloud to one and all.
'Brothers! You have heard your king! Take up your swords and prepare
for battle!'
With one voice the Cymbrogi gave out a mighty shout, and the chamber
rang with the sound of their battle cry. Everyone fled the chamber in a
chaos of haste to be the first one ready and waiting for the command to
ride out.
'Bedwyr,' the king said, 'find me a sword.'
Bedwyr's hand fell instantly to the hilt of his own sword. He drew the
blade and laid it across his palms, stepped to the throne and offered it to
Arthur. 'Take mine, Bear. It will serve until we recover Caledvwlch.'
The king hesitated, but Bedwyr extended his hands insistently, so Arthur
took up the sword, stepped from the throne, and walked out of the
chamber. We fell into step behind him, resuming our long-accustomed
places, battlechiefs to the Pendragon once more.
Horses were saddled, and wagons loaded with provisions. We raced
through our preparations as if to banish the days of misery and gloom.
When all was ready, we assembled in the palace yard to await Arthur's
command; it was not long in coming. The king appeared before us, bathed
and shaved, his hair scraped back and bound at his neck. Calm, resolute,
he wore his red cloak and good mail shirt, and carried Bedwyr's sword at
his side. Two daggers were tucked in his belt, and his shield was on his
shoulder. It was a sight I had seen a hundred times if once, and it ever
lifted my spirits.
'Brave Cymbrogi,' he said when the cries of acclamation were quieted, 'the
battle we join will not be won by strength of arms alone. Therefore, heed
the Head of Wisdom and take his words to heart.'
With this Myrddin Emrys came to stand beside his king. 'Hear me, Sons of
Prydain,' he said, raising his hands in the ancient way of the bard.
'Morgian is as deadly as she is evil. Wherever we are weakest, she will
find that place, and that is where she will bring her powers to bear.
Therefore, let each man beware. Look to your souls, my brothers, for it is
a spiritual battle that we undertake. Though we search for the Grail Cup
and seek the release of the queen, know you this: it is nothing less than a
quest for the restoration of holiness and the blessing of God's good favour.
'I tell you the truth,' he continued solemnly. 'Morgian's powers are great
and many of us may die. But though we lose life to her, our souls remain
in Christ and forever beyond reach of the Evil One. We will do well to
remember that when the day of travail is upon us. Therefore, if any man is
unshriven, let him confess now and receive holy absolution for his sins.'
Indicating a row of brown-robed clerics across the yard, he said, 'The
bishop and his priests even now stand ready to hear our confessions and
offer forgiveness.'
At this, the good bishop stepped forward. 'My friends, brave ones, I would
have you ride into battle secure in your salvation. Remember, the
incorruptible cannot abide corruption, and in the quest before you, none
but the pure of heart can succeed. Come, then, and purify your hearts of all
unrighteousness.'
Any awkwardness in coming forward for shrift was quickly dispelled
when Arthur, wholly without thought for his sovereign dignity, stepped
before the bishop, knelt at the churchman's feet, crossed his arms over his
chest, and bowed his head reverently. If the High King of Britain could
humble himself in this way, no man of lesser rank need feel belittled in the
sight of his friends. Indeed, more than one warrior who held himself
begrudged made peace with his swordbrother so as to enter God's presence
reconciled.
It is no disgrace to tell you that I myself, concerned for my soul and the
tribulations ahead, knelt on the cold stones of the dusty yard and made my
confession, knowing full well it might be my last.
After the confessions, we received assurances of our forgiveness, and the
bishop invited us to share the bread and wine of Christ's table in a last
meal of holy communion. We did eat the bread of the Blessed Jesu's body
and drink the wine of his blood, and then fifty warriors rose as one man to
face a relentless, subtle, vicious, and implacable foe.
Thus we rode out from the Tor, a fighting force equipped for battle against
a foe unlike any other we had faced. Upon reaching the trail beyond the
abbey, we turned, not east, but south. Myrddin Emrys held it a gesture of
futility to attempt raising the days-old trail. 'I believe the only traces we
would see are those Morgian desired us to see,' he declared. 'We have been
her playthings from the beginning. Mark me, Arthur, Llyonesse is where
battle will take place.'
Llyonesse... I shuddered inwardly at the word. Dread stole over me, and it
took a very great effort of will to hold fear at bay. Courage, Heaven's
Bright Warriors stand ready to aid us; God's own servants go before us to
prepare a way in the Wasteland.
                   TWENTY-SIX


With every step closer to Llyonesse, apprehension mounted within me. As
the short winter day faded to the chill of a damp twilight, I found
opportunity to speak to Myrddin. While the Cymbrogi set about making
camp, I saw the Emrys laying a fire outside the king's half-raised tent, and
went to him. 'Allow me, Emrys,' I said.
There is no need,' he replied. 'Once of a time, if there was to be warmth at
all, it was my chore to provide the fire. I do little enough providing these
days.' He glanced up at me quickly, then continued arranging the twigs
and breaking up the larger branches. 'Sit down, Summerhawk,' he said - no
one else save my father called me that - 'and tell me what is on your mind.'
Folding my legs under me, I settled on the ground before the fire-ring. I
watched as he deftly snapped the branches and placed them onto the
carefully stacked pile. After a few moments, I saw a thin tendril of smoke
rising from the tinder -although I never saw him strike steel to flint.
'You seem certain Morgaws has fled to Llyonesse,' I said, watching the
smoke waft slowly upward in the still evening air. 'How do you know?' I
little doubted the Emrys would have sound reason for his judgment; I
merely wished to hear it.
'I know because Morgian is guiding her, and Llyonesse is the one place in
all this worlds-realm where Morgian can move at will,' he replied.
'She seems to have no difficulty moving anywhere she pleases,' I observed
morosely.
'No,' Myrddin countered. 'That is why she needs Morgaws. I believe
Morgian no longer commands all the power she once possessed, and now
she must use others to further her dark purposes. Morgaws leads us to
Llyonesse, where Morgian waits, like a spider spinning her webs,
surrounding herself with lies and deceit.'
'And yet, Llyonesse is where her power was broken,' I pointed out,
referring to the time he had last faced the Queen of Air and Darkness.
'Yes,' he agreed, sitting back on his heels as a yellow flame fluttered to life
among the dry twigs. 'In Llyonesse Morgian's power was broken, and I
think she has returned to that heaven-forsaken land in order to reclaim it
through our defeat.'
Considering the theft of the Grail and the easy abduction of the queen, I
said, 'Perhaps she has reclaimed her power already.'
'Perhaps,' Myrddin allowed, showing neither fear nor surprise at the
thought. 'Either way, Llyonesse is where we will stand or fall.'
'Where will we find her?'
'I believe she will find us,' answered the Wise Emrys. 'But I suspect she
will draw us to the place where she met her defeat. I know the place, a hill
not far from the western coast - there was a Fair Folk settlement on that
hill long ago. If she does not attack us on the way, that is where we shall
go.'
'Do you fear her, Myrddin?'
He watched the fire for a moment before answering. 'I fear her greatly,
Gwalchavad,' he said quietly. 'Abandon any hopes you harbour that we
shall escape the full impact of her malice. We will not. Morgian has
determined the fight, and chosen the battleground that suits her best. The
Queen of Air and Darkness will not spare us the least torment or travail.
Our journey will be an ordeal of suffering.'
'Yet we go to meet her.'
'We go to meet her,' he replied, 'because we have no other choice.'
Arthur did not join us at the fire that night - his usual custom when we
were encamped - but took food in his tent, admitted no one save Rhys,
who served him, and emerged only at dawn the next morning when we
moved on. We continued as before, riding in a long double rank south and
west, slowly leaving behind the friendly hills of the Summer Realm and
passing into the arid, drought-blasted barrens of Llyonesse.
The Pendragon, with Myrddin at his right hand, led the way, and I, who
had already traversed this perilous path, rode with Rhys just behind them
so as to be close to hand if needed. Bors rode behind me, followed by long
ranks of warriors stretching back and back, fifty strong. Bedwyr, Cai, and
Cador were given command of the rearward forces and took their places
far down the line.
The sun, never bright, passed low over the southern hills before sinking
once more. The dreary day dwindled away to a long, lingering dusk. Mist
gathered thick on the trail and dull clouds lowered above. The voices of
the men grew quieter by degrees until we moved in a netherworld between
two skies, a world devoid of colour, light, and any sound - save the steady
clop, clop, clop of the horses' hooves, hollow and slow on the bare, hard
ground.
As the last fleeting glimmer of light faded in the west, we glimpsed a rise
of fog on the trail ahead. The closer we came, the more dense it grew,
billowing higher and higher until it resembled nothing so much as a
massive wall towering over us.
Unwilling to enter the fog blindly, Arthur halted the columns a few
hundred paces away so that he might observe for a time. 'Strange that it
does not move,' Myrddin said to Arthur. Though he spoke low, his voice
carried on the unnaturally still air. 'I advise caution.'
'The day is going and we are losing the light,' the king pointed out. 'We
might make camp here and hope the weather clears tomorrow.'
'There is no wood for a fire,' Bedwyr put in.
'Then we will do without,' Arthur said, making up his mind. 'It makes a
cold night for us, but that is better than risking our necks on a trail we
cannot see.'
At a nod from the king, Rhys raised the hunting horn and signalled the
Cymbrogi to dismount. We made camp and spent a chill, damp night on
the trail. Dawnlight the next morning revealed that the bank of fog had not
shifted or dissipated. Indeed, it now appeared more solid and imposing
than before: a vast, gently seething eminence, beyond which neither eye
nor ear could penetrate. The wall of mist lay across our path as if marking
out the line of battle - as if an enemy had thrown up a defensive rampart
and carved upon it the words, 'cross over if you dare.'
We crossed, of course. Having no better choice - there was no riding
around it, and waiting was pointless - we formed tight columns and
marched forward, breasted the wall, and passed into the mist. I could make
out Rhys beside me, but Arthur and Myrddin ahead and those behind were
hazy, half-formed figures floating at the perimeter of sight, and beyond
that I could see nothing.
As the fog closed like a tight woollen glove around us, I spared a fleeting
thought for the phantom legion. Was this how Legio XXII Augustus met
its uncanny fate? Had they, like us, marched into the mist, and into the
realm of the undead, never to return?
The mist, so close and thick, stole away every sound, even the hollow plod
of the horses' hooves and the dull jingle of the tack. The world seemed still
and cold and silent, as if offering us a foretaste of death. I ignored the
damp chill and gazed staunchly into the quiet, unchanging void, and was
surprised when, after a time, I began to hear an odd, rhythmic drumming.
Looking around, I could not locate the source of the disturbing sound -
until I realized it was the very blood pulsing in my ears with every beat of
my heart.
In addition to banishing sight and sound, the fog was heavy and wet.
Within moments of entering the mist, I felt the chill weight settle on my
shoulders and the cold trickle of water along my spine. Water beaded on
my face and moustache, and ran down my head and neck. I gathered my
sodden cloak around me, lowered my head, and rode on, thinking, I have
been cold before. And I have ridden in mist many times, and will again. It
is winter, after all, and mist and fog are to be expected. This is just poor
weather, nothing more.
We journeyed an eternity, or so it seemed. With neither light nor shadow
to mark the passing day, time dwindled and stretched, and then stood still.
Once, my horse stumbled over a rock and I came awake with a cry.
Glancing quickly around, I found everything as it was before: dense,
cloying fog pressing in on every side. Nothing had changed; nevertheless,
I felt vexed at having slept, for, try as I might, I could not remember
falling asleep.
'Gwalchavad?' said Rhys, his voice close.
I could make out my companion as a disembodied head peering anxiously
back at me as if through a depth of clouded water - the face of a drowned
man, bloodless and cold, and pale as a fish. All at once it came into my
mind to warn Arthur...
'The river!' I shouted, surprising even myself with the sudden outcry.
'Arthur! Stop! There is a river ahead!'
Arthur's reply was quick and decisive. 'Rhys, the horn,' he said. 'Sound the
halt.'
An instant later came the blast of the horn, signalling the column to stop.
Arthur passed word back through the ranks to dismount and rest the
horses. I slid from the saddle and walked a few paces ahead to where
Myrddin and Arthur waited. 'The river is treacherous with quicksand,' I
told them. 'I lost my horse to it last time.'
Arthur regarded me with a bemused expression on his face. 'We can see
nothing of the trail ahead; how can you be certain we are anywhere near
the river?'
His question brought me up short. Before he asked, I had been sure we
were ready to topple over the brink. But now, as I observed their
expressions of perplexity and concern, the certainty, so solid and secure
just a moment before, crumbled away to nothing. I looked to the track
before us and saw only the dull blankness of the all-obscuring fog.
I was saved from having to explain when Myrddin, calmly concerned,
said, 'Come, it will not hurt to walk ahead a little.' He and Arthur
dismounted, and we proceeded up the trail.
We had moved only a few paces, however, when my feet began sinking
into soft mud. Arthur, beside me, took another step and his foot splashed
into shallow water. He stopped at once, turned towards me, and opened his
mouth to speak; but before he could say a word, his feet were sucked
down into the quagmire. He threw out a hand, which I seized and pulled
towards me. We stumbled backward together onto solid ground.
'Well done, Gwalchavad,' he commended.
The first rider in would have been lost,' Myrddin observed.
'That first rider would have been me,' Arthur declared, shaking cold mud
from his feet. 'And others would have followed me in.
'Stay near,' said the king, gripping my shoulder. 'I have need of your
discernment.'
That was all he said, but I sensed urgency in his touch. 'What little I have
is yours, lord,' I said lightly.
'How do we get across?' wondered Cador, coming up behind us.
'There is a fording place some way up the valley,' I told him.
'Lead on, Gwalchavad,' the king commanded; 'we will follow you.'
As before, by the time we reached the fording, the day was spent. Rather
than attempt the crossing in the dark, we made camp and waited to cross
the river until morning - hoping against hope that the mist might lift
during the night. There were thickets of bramble and furze abounding
along the riverside, and the Cymbrogi set about hacking at the roots with
their swords, quickly gathering whole bushes into a great heap which
Myrddin promptly set alight. The resulting flame burned with a foul black
smoke, but the heat and light were welcome nonetheless. We hung our wet
clothes over the prickly branches of low-growing gorse and stood basking
in the warmth, trying to drive the cold and damp from our bones. Some
put their boots on sticks and held them near the flames to dry them.
When the fire died down to a comfortable blaze, we prepared our supper,
glad for a hot meal at last. We ate in small huddles of men, hunched over
our bowls as if afraid the cold and darkness might try to steal away the
little warmth and light we held. Still, it was good to get something hot
inside us, and our spirits improved immeasurably - so much so, in fact,
that Cai, having finished his meal, set aside his bowl, stood up, and called
for a song.
'Are we to allow the dolour of the day to gnaw at our souls until there is
nothing left but a sour rind?' He raised his voice as if to challenge a foe.
'Are we to sit shivering before the fire, muttering like old women taking
fear at every shadow?'
Several of the older warriors, knowing Cai, answered him in kind. 'Never!'
they shouted, rattling their knives against their bowls. 'Never!'
'Are we not the Dragon Flight of Arthur Pendragon?' cried Cai, his arm
raised high in the air. 'Are we not True Men of Ynys Prydain?'
'We are!' called the Cymbrogi, more joining in with every shout. 'We are!'
'Well, then,' Cai declared, his broad face glowing with pleasure in the
firelight, 'let us defy this ill-favoured night with a song!'
'A song!' the Cymbrogi cried; every man was with him now, shouting for a
song to roll aside the gloom and woe.
With that, Cai flung out his arm towards Myrddin, sitting a few paces
away. 'Well, Myrddin Emrys? You hear the men. We would have a song
to bind vigour to our souls and courage to our hearts.'
'A song, Myrddin! A song!'
To the hearty acclaim of all, the Emrys rose slowly, motioning to Rhys to
fetch his harp- He took his place before the fire, and the Cymbrogi
crowded in around him. 'If you would hear a tale,' Myrddin began, 'then
listen well to what I say: the enemy encircles us and dogs our every step.
Therefore, let us take up whatever weapon comes to hand. Tonight we
raise a song, tomorrow a prayer - and one day soon a sword. In the
darksome days to come, let each man resolve within himself to hold to the
light that he has been given.'
So saying, Myrddin reached for the harp Rhys had brought him, and began
to pluck the strings. He bent his head and put his cheek against the
smooth, polished wood of the instrument, and closed his eyes. In a
moment, the seemingly idle strumming became purposeful. Everyone,
Arthur included, leaned forward as the Bard of Britain opened his mouth
and began to sing.
              TWENTY-SEVEN


'When the dew of creation was still on the ground,' Myrddin sang, his
voice rising like a graceful bird taking flight, 'a great king arose in the
Westerlands, and Manawyddan was his name. So mighty was this king,
and of such renown, that all nations held him lord over them and sent their
best warriors to his court to pledge their loyalty and serve him at arms.
And this is the way of it:
'Manawyddan, fair and true, received the warriors and bade them wait
upon him in his hall. When all were gathered there and ready, the noble
lord arrayed himself in his fine cloak, took up his rod of kingship, and
mounted his throne. He gazed out upon the assembly and thought to
himself: A thousand times blessed am I! No man ever wanted better
companions. In truth, each man among them could have been king in his
own realm had he not chosen to pledge faith with Manawyddan.
'The great king's heart was touched by the glory of his warhost, and so he
bade them stay a while with him, that they all might enjoy a feast he
would give in their honour. When the feast was prepared, the warriors,
noblemen all, came and filled the benches at table, where they were
provided with the best food that was ever placed before men of valour
from that far-off time to this. What is more, whatever food any warrior
preferred - whether the flesh of deer, or pigs, or beef; or the delicate meat
of roast fowls, or succulent salmon - he had but to dip his knife into the
bowl before him, and that food was provided.
'The warriors were delighted with this wonder, and acclaimed their host
with loud approval. So clamorous were they in their praise that
Manawyddan was moved to decree another wonder. He ordered golden ale
tubs to be set up in all four corners of the hall, and one beside his throne.
He then summoned his serving boys to bring drinking bowls of silver and
gold to his noble guests, and invited them to plunge their cups into the
foaming brew. This they did, and when each man raised bowl to lips, he
found the drink he liked best - whether ale, or mead, or wine, or good dark
beer.
'When they had drunk the health of their sovereign host, the noble guests
accorded such vaunted praise that Manawyddan's great heart swelled to
hear it. He pulled his golden tore from around his throat, put aside his fine
cloak, and stepped down from his throne to join in the feast, moving from
table to table and bench to bench, eating and drinking with his guests,
sharing the feast as one of them.
'When hunger's keen edge had been dulled against the bounty of the
groaning boards, King Manawyddan called for his bards to regale the
company with tales of mighty deeds, songs of love and death, of courage
and compassion, of faith and treachery. One after another, the bards
appeared, providing a feast for the soul, each one finer and more
accomplished than the last.
'The last bard to sing was Kynwyl Truth-Sayer, Chief Bard of
Manawyddan, who had just begun the Tale of the Three Prodigious
Quaffings when there came a shout from outside the hall; the shout
became a cry, and then a keening, beginning loud and growing louder and
louder still until it shook the entire stronghold to its deep foundations, and
every mortal creature within the stout walls covered his ears and trembled
inwardly.
'Then, when the bold company thought they must be undone by the
terrible sound, it stopped. The warrior host looked at one another and saw
that they were covered in the sweat of fear, for none of them had ever
heard a cry like this: tortured beyond endurance, beyond hope.
'Before they could wonder who might have made a cry of such wounding
torment, the high-topped doors of the hall burst open and a tremendous
wind swept through the hall - a fierce gale like those which rage in the
wintry northern seas. The warrior band braved the icy blast and when it
had abated at last, they looked and saw a lady standing in their midst. The
stranger had the look of a queen, and she was dressed all in grey from
crown to heel; her face was hidden beneath a hood of grey, and she had
three grey hounds beside her.
'Manawyddan was first to recover his wits. He approached the woman, his
hands open and inviting. "I give you good greeting," he said, speaking in a
kindly voice. "You are welcome here, though you may find the
companionship of women more to your liking. If so, I will summon the
maidens of my court, that you may be made comfortable in their
presence."
"Think you I have come seeking comfort and pleasure?" the Grey Lady
snapped haughtily.
' "I was merely offering you the hospitality of my court," replied
Manawyddan. "Unless you tell us, we will never know why you have
burst in among us. Was it to put an end to our enjoyment?"
' "You may keep your hospitality!" remarked the woman tartly. "I have
done with all kindliness and generosity. The gentle pursuits I once enjoyed
are more bitter to me now than death and ashes."
' "Indeed, I am sorry to hear it," Manawyddan replied sadly. "Tell me what
I may do to restore warmth and tenderness to your heart, and rest assured
that before the sun has set on another day, I will have done all anyone can
do. What is more, the men who even now fill this hall are no less ready to
aid me in this endeavour."
'This handsome offer was thrown back in the king's face, for the lady
offered only a grim, mocking laugh in reply.
' "Lady," said Manawyddan, "why do you persist in this uncouth
behaviour? I have made a king's vow to do all that can be done to aid you
in any way you desire. I am certain that my men and I can meet and
overcome any difficulty, end any oppression, right any wrong, and thus
redress whatever hurt or harm has befallen you."
'This heart-stirring speech received the acclaim of all who heard it. The
noblemen lauded their monarch and pledged themselves to the Grey
Lady's service.
'But the strange woman scorned their pledges. "Can you raise the dead, O
Great King?" She laughed, and her laughter was bitterness itself. "Can you
restore life to a corpse on which the carrion crows have feasted? Can you
make the blood flow once more in the veins when that blood has soaked
the earth, and the living heart is but a lump of cold meat in the breast? Can
you, O Wondrous Manawyddan, return the warm gaze of love to an eye
which has been cut out and thrown to the dogs?"
'Hearing this, Manawyddan's great heart surged with grief for the lady's
plight. "Lady, your sorrow has become my sorrow, and your woe my own.
But know this: the full weight of the sadness you feel now, seven times
that much will be visited upon the one who has caused your lament."
'At this, the mysterious lady bowed her head and professed herself well
pleased, knowing Manawyddan would honour his vow to the last breath in
his body. She then began to tell the king what had transpired to bring
about her ruin. The warriors pressed close around to hear - and between
the telling and the hearing, it was difficult to say which was the more
distressing.
' "I was not always the grey hag you see before you now," the lady said.
"Once I was beautiful, but mourning has made me old and dry before my
time. Listen, then, if you would learn the reason for my travail.
' "I am the daughter of a mountain king called Rhongomynyad, a ruler
both wise and good, who fell ill of a night and died not long after. I was
left alone to rule in his place until I should marry and my husband relieve
me of that tedious duty. As one might expect, from the moment my
father's demise was made known in the world, the path to my stronghold
was crowded with suitors seeking to win my approval. Truth to tell,
though I never found any of these hopeful young men remotely to my
liking, still I did not grow weary of the chase.
' "One day, as the customarily disappointing flock of suitors ambled
through the fortress gates, my eye chanced upon a tall young man fair in
face and form: slender, but not too thin; handsome, but not vain; proud,
but not arrogant; kind, but not simpering; generous, but not profligate;
canny, but not conceited; friendly, but not flighty; trustworthy, but not
dour. In short, my heart kindled with love for him the moment his eye met
mine.
' "We spent the day, and all the days to follow, in close companionship,
and my love grew greater each time we met. Before the summer was over,
we were betrothed. Our wedding was to be held in the spring, and I could
turn aside from the duties of sovereignty which weighed so heavily upon
me. Like all betrothed couples, we made our plans and dreamed our
dreams, and my love for my beloved was as all-consuming as the flame of
an ever-burning fire.
' "Then one day, while my beloved was tending to affairs in his father's
realm, a dark-clothed man came striding into my court. Without so much
as a tender glance in my direction, he declared himself king by virtue of
his skill at arms and challenged any who would dispute him to draw sword
or heft spear, and have at it. To my shame and outrage, no one would
defend me. All the young men who stood in my court shrank away,
shaking with fear.
' "For, like a man in most respects, in stature this dark foe was nothing less
than a giant! Standing two men high, he was broad of shoulder and long of
arm. His weapons were black iron, and his shield iron, too. It took two
men just to heft his axe, and three to raise that weighty shield.
' "Nevertheless, my beloved soon heard what had happened. And up he
jumped, calling for his sword belt and spear; he called for his horse to be
saddled and his shield to be burnished. He mounted his horse and rode
straightaway to take up the challenge. The two met on the path leading to
my fortress, and the narrow valley between two mountains became the
battleground.
' "Alas! They fought! The combat was fierce and, alas, my best beloved
was killed!
' "The Black Oppressor fell upon the body of my beloved, plucked the
eyes from his head, and threw them to the hounds. Then he hewed the
eyeless head from those fair shoulders and stuck it upon his iron spear. He
set the spear over the gate of my fortress as a reminder to all who passed
beneath the bloodless head that he now ruled the realm. That same day, he
claimed me for his wife, and had me bound and borne to my chamber,
which he had taken for his own. He then demanded a meal to be prepared
and served him in the hall; he said it was to be our marriage feast. The
glutton devoured seven pigs, three oxen, nine lambs, and drank four vats
of ale, while I touched not a morsel.
' "While the Black Giant feasted in my hall, I bound courage to my heart
and determined that when he came for me, I would either be dead or gone.
I struggled free of my bonds, and then sought my escape. Alas, the door
was securely barred, and there was no other way out. I bade farewell to
life. Taking up the ropes that had bound me, I knotted the lengths together
to make a noose, which, with trembling hands, I placed around my neck.
' "I was even then tightening the noose when one of my serving maids
entered the chamber. She had come to light the fire in the hearth so that
the chamber would be warm for my hideous bridegroom and me. When
she saw the killing ropes around her lady's neck, she threw herself upon
me and vowed to help me escape if I would only take her with me. I
agreed at once, and we stole that instant from the chamber, pausing only to
set fire to the bed.
' "From that dire day to this," the Grey Lady concluded, "I I have
wandered where I would, seeking justice and retribution. Most miserable
of women am I! Never has any creature shown himself man enough to
meet the Black Giant in combat and rescue my realm and my people.
' "Even so, to show you I am in earnest and virtue is with me wherever I
go, I offer this promise: any man who slays the Black Oppressor shall that
day have me for his bride - and my kingdom and all I possess. Fortunate is
the man who takes me to wife," she added, "for I know well what I am
worth."
'Great Manawyddan cast his gaze upon the gathered warriors, each one
more accomplished and stalwart than the last. "You have heard the lady's
tale of woe," he said. "Who among you will take up the challenge? Who
will slay this vile being and restore the lady's kingdom? Who among you
will cover himself in glory and bring honour to this court?"
'At once there arose a tremendous outcry as the doughty warriors strove to
make themselves heard each above the other. But the man who carried the
day was the king's own champion, a warrior of vast renown, and
Llencellyn was his name. "My king and lord," said Llencellyn when he
had gained his sovereign's ear, "may I be bound in chains and hurled into
the sea if I do not avenge this lady and restore her realm before three days
have passed."
'The Great King smiled, for he expected no less of his champion.
Manawyddan extolled the warrior's resolve, saying, "Go, then, Llencellyn,
with my blessing. I charge you to remember that though all the fiends of
Hell stand against you, yet with the help of the Swift Sure Hand, you must
surely prevail."
'Up leapt Llencellyn and called for his weapons and his horse. When he
had armed himself, he then mounted his fine steed and called to the lady to
lead him to her realm, that he might kill the giant without delay and win
himself a wife and kingdom. The Grey Lady mounted her yellow mare
and led the king's champion away.
'The men of Manawyddan's court were not content to stand idly by and
await the combat's outcome. "How can we stay here while our
swordbrother faces this peril?" they cried. "O, King of Might, let us follow
them to the place of combat so that we might see how Llencellyn fares."
'This they did, following the champion's trail to the battleground, arriving
just in time to see Llencellyn strike the first of many stout blows - any one
of which would have been enough to fell the strongest enemy. Curiously,
the more Llencellyn fought, the stronger grew the giant. With every well-
placed stroke of the champion's sword, the Black Giant's strength
increased and Llencellyn's grew the less.
'The king and all his warhost looked on in horror as their renowned
champion's strength waned, until, no longer able to lift the blade,
Llencellyn's arm faltered. The Black Oppressor, keen for the kill, drove in
the instant the sword blade fell. Up went the cruel iron axe, and down
without mercy, striking the champion squarely in the centre of his helm.
The giant's blade sliced the warhelm and passed through skin and flesh
and bone and brain as if through empty air, cleaving the dauntless
champion's head in two.
'All the host stood bereft and watched in agony and grief as the Black
Oppressor leapt upon the corpse and hacked poor Llencellyn's body into
small pieces and then trampled those pieces into the ground - those, that is,
which the hounds did not devour. He then turned to the stricken company,
and jeered, "Who will be next to chance with death?"
'When no one made bold to answer the evil lord, Manawyddan cried out,
"If my men have lost their courage, so be it! Far better for me to die
fighting than to go to my grave a coward and the king of cowards. Bring
me my sword and shield!"
This speech shamed the assembled warriors - though not enough for any to
overcome their terror of the giant. They all looked at one another and
shrugged as if to say, "If that is the way the king wants it, who are we to
disagree?" Meanwhile, the king's weapons were brought and the king
began to gird himself for the battle which would certainly be his last.
'Yet while the king was strapping on his sword belt, a slender young man
approached, knelt before him, and said, "Please, lord, I am your servant."
'The king had never seen the youth before, and said, "Forgive me, lad, but
I have no time for tact. Too soon I shall be feeding hungry ravens and
quenching the parched soil with my blood. Who are you, and what do you
want?"
' "My name," replied the stripling youth, "is of little importance. I am new
to your court and have not yet distinguished myself in arms, and thus I
have doubtless escaped your notice."
' "Yes, yes," snapped Manawyddan irritably. "If you have something to
say, say it quickly."
' "I beg the boon of trying my hand against the Black Oppressor," the
youth said simply.
' "Well, your courage is sound, but I misdoubt your intelligence. Fine and
mighty warriors who have tried to slay this Black Oppressor now sleep in
turf houses. What makes you think you, little more than a boy - and a
skinny boy at that! -can succeed where battlechiefs the like of Llencellyn
have failed so miserably?"
'To this the lad replied, "Young I may be, but I have never yet met an
enemy who can stand against me."
' "Clearly, you cannot have faced many foemen," the king declared sadly.
"That, I suspect, is the secret of your success."
' "Regard me not too lightly," the youth warned, his assurance undimmed.
"For I have succeeded by reason of a strange endowment with which I
have been favoured."
'Manawyddan leaned on his spear and sighed. "Am I ever to learn the end
of this? Perhaps it was pointless conversation that laid all your adversaries
low."
' "Not at all," the youth assured the king solemnly. "I owe my triumph to
the fact that, having no strength of my own, whenever I take the field the
might of my opponents is granted me in double measure."
' "Son," Manawyddan replied, shaking his head sadly, "I have lived a very
long time in this worlds-realm and have heard many strange things, but I
never heard of anything like that." He paused, regarding the slender youth
with great suspicion. "If I believed even the smallest part of what you said
to be true, I might allow you to try your hand. As it is, I fear I would
merely be delaying my own death with the purchase of yours. As a king of
renown and a leader of warriors, I consider it far beneath me to even
contemplate such a thing."
' "Well," answered the youth happily, "there is something in what you say,
of course. But from where I stand, it appears your vaunted warhost has
made the selfsame bargain with your life as you fear making with mine.
Indeed, your warriors, fearless to a man, no doubt, have given you up for
dead before you have even lofted spear or lifted blade."
' "Tread lightly here," the king growled in warning, "for you are talking
about men tested in the straits of battle. Nevertheless, I find myself sorely
tempted to grant your entreaty, though it be your last. I could always fight
the giant tomorrow, I suppose."
'The shaveling youth smiled and bowed to the Great King. "Truly, you are
a sovereign worthy of the name," the lad replied. "You have but to grant
my plea, and reap the reward."
'Manawyddan sighed. "Would that it were so."
' "Rest assured, you will never hear a word of reproach from me," said the
youth. "Give me a sword only, then stand aside and watch what I will do."
'Lord Manawyddan, Chief Dragon of the Island of the Mighty, gave the
youth the sword from his hand, and called for his shield-bearers to arm the
lad with spear and dagger, helm and belt as well. But the young man
shook his head firmly, saying, "Either this blade will suffice, or it will not.
If it will, then nothing else is needed; if it will not, then nothing else will
help. Summon the giant, and let us set to. The day stretches long, and I am
growing hungry."
The Black Oppressor, who had long since retired to his hall to gloat over
his loathsome triumph, was duly summoned by a blast of the king's horn.
"What is this?" the giant grumbled in a voice like low thunder, "Who
disturbs my rest? Can it be the Mighty Manawyddan has finally gathered
his courage into a heap and wishes now to weigh its worth against the
standard of my blade?"
' "Say nothing you wish not to regret," the valiant lord advised. "It is not
myself who is judge over you, but whatever god made you - and that soon.
Before you stands the youth who will do for you as you have done for so
many others."
The Black Giant laughed long and hard at this. Then he looked upon the
youth, standing white and naked before him, armed with nothing but a
sword that was so overlarge, he had to clutch it tight in both hands just to
raise it.
' "Lad," rumbled the giant, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, "of all the
warriors I have slaughtered, I cannot remember killing any as foolish as
you."
The slender youth stepped smartly forward, dragging the sword with him.
"Only sow what you wish to reap," the lad replied evenly. If there was the
slightest quiver of fear in his voice, no one heard it.
'In his eagerness to kill again, the giant licked his thick, foul lips and
grinned down at the fair youth. Hefting his war axe, and testing the
keenness of its blade with his thumb, the Black Oppressor said, "Come,
then; it will be a joy to send you hence."
' "Beware, I am not so easily killed as you might think."
'Angered by the youth's indifference, the Black Giant gave a roar that
curdled the marrow of all who heard it for twelve hides around. He raised
the iron axe high above his head and brought it down with such a vicious
chop that everyone looked away lest they see something they devoutly
wished later to forget. When the axe made no sound, they opened their
eyes and turned once more to where the youth stood - expecting, no doubt,
to see his body halved like a carcass for the spit.
'But no! The young man was still standing. What is more, he appeared
more hale than before. Indeed, he seemed to have grown a handspan taller,
and his slender limbs were thicker. The giant gaped in amazement, and
looked at the axe in his fist as if he expected it to offer an explanation.
Rage bubbled up like molten lead within him, and he roared again,
shaking the ground with the blast. Up swept the axe blade, and down. The
youth, effortless as a willow in spring, stepped lightly aside as the wicked
blade shaved the empty air.
' "My father always taught me that war is a bane, and the chief of man's
afflictions," the youth intoned mildly. His voice had deepened and his
arms, well muscled now, raised the blade and held it steadily before him.
"Perhaps it is a lesson you should have learned."
'Glowering murderously, his black face growing blacker in its fury, the
giant screamed, "How dare you condemn me! Just you stand still, and we
will see who is the master here."
'The giant lunged wildly at the youth, who met his charge with a swift kick
which stopped the black enemy in his tracks. The giant, stunned by the
blow, doubled over in pain. The youth stood leaning on his sword a few
paces away as his adversary heaved his dinner onto the ground. "It is a
shame to waste a good meal," taunted the youth, "but then you were
always a wastrel and a destroyer. Tell me, how does your victory taste
now? Is it still as sweet in your mouth - or has it all gone sour?"
'With a cry to crack the sky, the Black Oppressor heaved up the iron axe.
The cruel weapon seemed much heavier now, and it took all his strength
just to raise it and balance it above his head. The blade hung in the air, its
honed edge glinting sharp in the sunlight.
'The youth, head and shoulders rising level with those of the Black
Oppressor's, raised the king's sword and flicked the axe blade away as if it
had been a feather. The ease with which he had been disarmed inflamed
the giant beyond all restraint or reason. Lowering his head, he threw wide
his arms and ran at the young man, intent on crushing the youth in his all-
encircling grasp.
'The giant made but three paces before his legs gave out and he toppled
face-first onto the ground. The collision drove the breath from the wicked
foeman's lungs, and caused the earth to tremble and shake as if to draw the
mountains down. But the young man, towering over the giant now,
stepped to the Vile Enemy and lopped off his head with an easy stroke of
Manawyddan's sword, saying, "Never more will you trouble the good
people of this realm."
'The king and all his tribe stood blinking in astonishment at what they had
seen. For the space of six heartbeats, not a sound was to be heard in all the
world, and then, with a great shout of relief, they all rushed forward to
acclaim the wonderful youth and his astounding triumph over the Black
Oppressor.
'Manawyddan was first to laud the youth, and led his people in a song of
praise in the young man's honour. The Grey Lady threw off her hood, ran
to the youth, and put her arms around his neck - for, as soon as the giant
was dead, the lad had assumed his former shape and size. The lady kissed
him, and declared loudly for all to hear: "Truly, you are a champion
among men. This day you have won your kingdom, and your queen."
'Abashed by the tumult, the young man blushed crimson from top to toe.
Taking the lady's arms from around his neck, he said, "Though your offer
is kindness itself, I must ask your pardon and decline. My course is set
before me, for I am directed by another hand."
'Lord Manawyddan was saddened to hear these words. "What?" he cried.
"Will you not stay with us? My champion is slain, and I have need of
another. You, I think, more than deserve that place."
'The youth only smiled, and begged to be excused the honour. "Alas, I
cannot stay even a moment longer," he said, and explained how it was his
geas to roam the width and breadth of the world and offer his aid wherever
it was needed.
' "Leave if you must," said Manawyddan, "but please do not go away
empty-handed. You have but to name your reward and, to the half of my
kingdom, it is yours."
'Smiling still, the young man declined once more. "I have what is needful,
and more would avail me nothing." Looking at the warriors gathered close
around, the young man said, "Good king, honour me instead in these who
have been given you. Do not hold their fright against them - men are only
dust, after all."
'The king marvelled the more at these words. "Go, then," said
Manawyddan, "and with my blessing. Yet, I would not have you leave us
before I learned your name."
'The young man smiled at this. "Do you not know me yet?" he asked.
The king answered, "Son, I never laid eyes on you before this day. Who
are you, lad?"
'To which the stranger replied, "I am the Youth of a Thousand Summers."
He then bade everyone farewell and, passing among them, disappeared in
much the same way as he had arrived: unseen and unguessed.
'When he had gone, the Grey Lady threw open the gates of her stronghold
and invited Manawyddan and his warrior host to feast with her and her
people in celebration of their deliverance. The king, though still less than
elated with the fainthearted behaviour of his warband, accepted. They all
went into the queen's hall and feasted for three days and three nights in the
most pleasant fellowship they had ever known. Men and women sat down
together and soon found themselves sharing the feast with the one they
loved best. One by one, each couple came before their ruler to beg the
boon of marriage. All were duly married, and the celebration continued as
a wedding feast, and their joy was made complete.
'Gazing out upon all the feasting couples, the queen observed, "It is right
and good that our people should unite our kingdoms in this way. I only
wish that I could share their happiness and increase it with my own."
To this Lord Manawyddan replied, "God knows I am setting a poor
example for my people if all of them are married and I myself have no
queen." Turning to the lady beside him, he said, "I may not be a giant-
slayer, but I know I would be a better king than I have ever been if you
would be my wife. Lady," he said, taking her hand in his, "will you marry
me?"
The Grey Lady smiled easily and said, "And here was I thinking you
would never ask. Yes, my king, I will marry you."
This pleased the king greatly. "Here we are to be married," he declared,
"and I do not even know your name."
' "My name is Rhiannon," the Grey Lady answered. So saying, the queen
threw off her grey hood and cloak to reveal a dress all of gold, with jewels
- each more costly than the last -and tiny pearls sewn with thread of
braided silver. Her hair was red-gold and braided fine, her skin white as
milk, her flesh supple, and her smooth-cheeked face lovely to look upon.
The sight of her pleased Manawyddan well, and he married her at once
lest she somehow slip from his grasp.
'The king then presented his new queen to the people, and the noble
couple made their way through the hall, giving gifts to one and all. The
celebration was renewed to the delight of every creature, high or low,
living in the realm.
'Behold! When they rose from the table, three hundred years had passed
them unawares. Nor had they suffered the predations of age, for every man
and woman was as hale as the moment he or she had first sat down.
Indeed, not so much as a single silver hair was to be seen on any head, and
even those whose brows had been creased by care were seen to be as
smooth and cheerful as the day each was born.
'From that moment, the combined kingdoms of Rhiannon and
Manawyddan became known as the Isle of the Everliving. The realm
flourished as never before, producing a bounty of all good things, and
becoming the envy of all the world.
'Many tales are told of this enchanted island, but this tale is finished. Let
him hear it who will.'
               TWENTY-EIGHT


The Grail is mine! The single most potent talisman in all the world, and it
is mine!
Oh, Morgaws, my lovely one, you have done better than you know -
better, even, than that simple sot of a nephew of mine will ever know. And
to think Avallach had it all this time! All these years, Avallach kept it
hidden away, never sharing the secret with anyone.
Of course, if I had so much as imagined Avallach possessed such a relic, I
would have taken it long ago. He would never have given it to me; when
did Avallach ever give me anything? Truly, if he had ever favoured me
with even the crumb of consideration he shows the hound sniffing around
his stables, things might be far different now.
But did the mighty Fisher King ever lift a finger for me? Never! It was all
for Charis, always for Charis. She had everything, and I had nothing.
Taliesin should have been mine! Together, we would have ruled Britain
forever.
Charis, Goddess of the Stinking Masses, will yet curse the day of her birth.
I might have killed her any of a thousand times - it would have been so
easy! But death would merely end her suffering, and I want her torment to
linger long.
No, it will not be Charis who dies; it will be the wretched Merlin and his
clumsy creature, Arthur, swiftly followed by his simpering slut of a queen
and her ox-brained champion. They will all go weeping and wailing to
their graves - but not before they have seen their ridiculous dream
destroyed by the one real power in this world. They had the Grail, the
fools, they had it in their hands and failed to discern what it was they held.
Well, before I am finished, they will rue their ignorance. They will gnaw
out their own bowels with regret. They will claw out their own eyes as
they watch their absurd Kingdom of Summer, all sweetness and light,
shrivel away like dung on a hot rock.
This will cause Avallach no end of pain - literally. For, now that I have the
Grail, the pain will truly last forever.
Rising the next morning, we formed the columns and journeyed deeper
into the Wasteland. The wind was cold out of the northwest, but the sky
stayed clear and bright, and I took heart, for the Pendragon was in better
spirits than I had seen him since the Grail disappeared. This, I surmise,
was to Myrddin's credit; his song had put everyone in fine mettle. Though
far, far ahead on the horizon I could see the dark grey-blue cloud line of a
winter storm rising in the south, I considered we were more than a match
for whatever came our way.
By midday the storm had made little progress, and I began to think it
might pass us by, or hold off altogether. When we stopped to make camp
for the night, I walked with Myrddin to a nearby hill to see what we might
learn of the region. The sun was setting in a violent blaze of red and grey.
Pointing to the heavy band of blue-edged darkness clearly visible on the
horizon, I said, 'I have been watching it all day, but the storm has not
advanced a whit.'
'Yes,' he murmured absently. Squinting his golden eyes against the
glowing sky, Myrddin surveyed the long blue-black line. I observed that
the wind, which had been at our backs through the day, had died down
now, and the land was quiet -save for a small, distant rhythmic rumbling,
like that of ocean waves pounding against cliffs.
At last, the Wise Emrys said, 'When we discussed your sojourn in
Llyonesse, you said nothing about a forest. Why was that, Gwalchavad?'
'Lord Emrys,' I said, turning my face towards him, 'I mentioned no forest
for the simple reason that there was no forest.'
Lifting a hand to the squat stripe sitting thick and dusky on the far horizon,
Myrddin replied, 'There is a forest now.'
'How can this be?' I wondered aloud; doubting him never occurred to me.
'I did not think we had come so far out of our way. We must have
wandered further astray in the fog than I imagined.'
'No, Gwalchavad,' Myrddin said, 'we have not wandered out of our way.'
He turned and began walking back to camp, leaving me to ponder the
more subtle implications of his words.
Did he mean, I wondered, that the forest had grown up since I had last
passed this way? Or that the forest was always there, but I had not seen it?
Could I have ridden through a forest and never noticed a single tree?
Either alternative was as unlikely as the other. Possibly, some bedevilment
had blinded me to it, or caused me to forget. I decided to ask Peredur
about this, and discover what he remembered.
I found the young warrior helping raise the picket line for the night. As
when in war, Arthur had commanded the horses to be picketed, rather than
tethered, so they might be readied more quickly should need arise. I called
him from his work. 'Follow me. I have something to show you,' I said,
leading him away.
He fell into step beside me, and I asked, 'Do you remember when we were
here last time?'
'I have been trying my best to forget.'
'Well, I would ask if you recall passing through a forest during our sojourn
in Llyonesse.'
'Forest!' he exclaimed. 'Why, the place is barren as a desert -as you very
well know. If we had - ' Realizing that I was in earnest, Peredur stopped
and regarded me strangely. 'Lord? Forgive me, but I thought you in jest.
Why would you ask such a thing?'
We gained the hilltop where Myrddin and I had just stood. There, I
pointed to the bruise-coloured line hugging the gently undulating southern
horizon, and said, 'See now! A forest where none was seen before.'
Peredur gaped at the sight, glanced at me, and then returned his gaze to the
tree line, visible now as a blue-black band below a swiftly fading twilight
sky. 'It might be clouds only.'
'The Emrys is in no doubt,' I replied. 'Trees - not clouds.'
The young man's face squirmed into a frown. 'Myrddin cannot be faulted,
I suppose,' he allowed reluctantly. 'It must be that we strayed far from the
trail when we rode in the fog.'
His tone did nothing to quell my suspicions, but I agreed and we returned
to camp and helped finish the picket by tying horses to the central line,
before hurrying to one of the four large fires that had been lit to keep us
warm through the night. There was a stew of salt pork, black beans, and
bread for our supper: bland-tasting mush, but hot and substantial after a
cold day in the saddle. When the meal was finished, some of the warriors
tried to get Myrddin to sing again, but he would not. He said a sword is
made dull by dragging it out all the time, and he wanted a keen blade
when next he reached for it.
So we huddled near the fire and talked and dozed instead, and night
tightened its grip on us. One by one, the Cymbrogi succumbed to the all-
pervasive silence of the blighted land. We wrapped ourselves in our
cloaks, closed our eyes, and tried to sleep. Sometime during the night, the
wind rose again, this time gusting from the south, colder. I tasted snow on
the icy air, and edged closer to the fire.
We awoke to a hard frost and wind like a knife cutting through our cloaks.
There was no snow, but a low grey sky spat dry sleet on us, making for a
miserable slog as we began the day. We broke fast, and started out, only to
halt again as we crested the first hill.
Myrddin flung out his hand, and Arthur pulled hard on the reins; his
mount reared. The company stopped behind us, alert to danger. I heard the
dull ring of weapons being readied. The Emrys glanced over his shoulder
and motioned me to draw alongside.
I was beside the king and Myrddin in an instant, and saw what had
brought them up short. The forest, last seen as a thick line on the far
southern horizon, now rose directly before us -a dense growth of
hornbeam, elm, and oak standing just across the valley.
Astonished beyond words, I stared at the wood as if never having seen a
tree before. There was, so far as I could determine, nothing at all to
suggest that the trees I saw before me were not what they appeared: solid
and thick and, like all trees everywhere, deeply rooted to their places
through years of slow, inexorable growth.
Gazing in disbelief at the dense woodland, I slowly became aware of a
strange, unsettling sound. I think the sound had been there from the first,
but I noticed it only after the first shock of seeing the trees had passed.
Nor was I the only one to hear it.
'What is that?' asked Arthur, his voice low. He half turned his head, but his
eyes did not leave the dark wood for a moment. 'It sounds like teeth
clicking.'
Truly, it did; it was the sound of many teeth, large and small, gnashing
against one another - not fiercely, but softly, almost gently, in a low,
gabbled muttering.
Arthur's eyes swept left and right along the stout line of trees for any break
in the wood. The line met us as a timber wall, and there was no breach to
be seen anywhere along its thick-grown length save one only: directly
ahead, a gap opened between the close-grown trees.
The trail we pursued led straight into the heart of that dark wood. What is
more, the mist was rising again; it was already filling the valley between
us and the wood's edge.
Bedwyr and Cador reined up beside us then. Having observed the forest
from their rearward places, they now joined us to learn what the king and
his Wise Counsellor made of it. 'Unless it was hidden by mist,' Bedwyr
declared, 'I cannot think how it has come to be here otherwise.'
'Perhaps,' Cador suggested, 'like the warriors in your story, Myrddin, we
have slept a thousand years, and the wood has grown up around us.'
Bedwyr frowned at Cador's frivolity, and reproached him with an
indignant grunt. But Myrddin said, 'In this place, that is as sound an
explanation as any other.'
'If that is what passes for reason,' Bedwyr said darkly, 'then folly is king,
and madness reigns.'
'A wall before us, a wall behind. There is but one way through,' Arthur
said, 'and there is no turning back.'
So saying, he raised his hand and signalled the column to move on. I
returned to my place behind Myrddin. 'Well,' I said to Rhys as we urged
our horses forward once more, 'we are going in.'
'Was there ever any question?'
'No,' I answered. 'Aliajacta est.'
'What does that mean?' he asked.
The die is cast,' I told him. 'It is something old Caesar once said.'
'Who told you that?'
'My father used to say it - I never knew why. But lately, I begin to think I
know what he meant.'
We crossed the valley and entered the wood in silence. No one spoke, and
all kept a keen eye for any sign of attack, though many, I noticed, cast a
last glance at the sky before the intertwining branches closed overhead. It
was like entering a tomb - so close and dark and silent was the unchancy
wood. The trail narrowed as it passed among the broad boles of the trees,
but rather than ride single file, the men urged their horses together and
rode shoulder to shoulder and flank to flank.
Like all the others, I cast a longing glance behind me as we entered the
wood and saw the same look of sick apprehension on one face after
another. But there was nothing for it. We clutched our weapons more
tightly and hunched lower in the saddle as if to escape notice of the tight-
crowded trees.
Keeping my eyes on Myrddin and Arthur ahead of me, I remained alert to
the sounds around me, but there was little to hear; a thick mat of pine
needles cushioned the horses' hooves, and the men made no sound at all.
Neither was any birdsong heard - nothing, in fact, but the incessant
clicking, and the hush of muffled breath passing into the dank, dark air.
As to the ceaseless clicking and clicking and clicking, after a time I
discovered what created that unsettling sound: the wind twitching the bare
upper branches. Fitful and gusty, the wind did not penetrate the forest at
all, but continually mumbled and fretted overhead, stirring uneasily in the
high treetops and making the thin branches quiver. So close were these
limbs and so entangled, they chattered against one another in endless
motion. Even this, however, did not strike the ear with any vigour, but
reached us as a faint muttering falling from high above, sinking down and
down into the soft forest floor below.
The forest swallowed everything that came into it - sunlight and wind, and
now the Pendragon and his warband. Everyone who conies into a
woodland wild feels something of this oppressive enclosing; it is what
causes a traveller to skirt the shadows and stay to the trail, proceeding with
wary caution. What is more, this uncanny sensation seemed to increase
with every step deeper into the wood until it took on an almost suffocating
aspect, becoming a thing of towering proximity and ponderous weight.
We came upon a stream - little more than a muddy rivulet dividing the
trail - and stopped to water the horses, taking it in turn by twos, and then
moving on to allow those behind to get at the water. We rode a fair way
farther, whereupon Arthur halted the columns, turned his horse, and sat
looking down the long double line of warriors. Without a word, Myrddin
rode down the centre, passing between the warriors.
'What do you see, lord?' I asked, turning in the saddle to learn what held
his attention.
'It is what I am not seeing that causes me concern,' the king replied, still
gazing back along the trail.
The trees along each side and the branches thickly interwoven above made
of our trail a shadowy tunnel, like the entry shaft of a cave or mine. The
Cymbrogi, riding close to one another, sat their horses, awaiting the call to
move on. Owing to the dimness of the light and the narrowness of the trail,
I could not see past more than twelve or fifteen riders as I looked down the
line. Yet I could discern nothing amiss.
I was about to say as much when Myrddin shouted something and came
pounding back along the trail to join us.
'Well?' said the king.
'I cannot see them,' Myrddin replied. 'They should have rejoined us by
now.'
Only then did I realize what they were talking about. The fifteen or so
pairs that I saw behind us were, indeed, all that remained of the long
double column. The others were not lost to the shadows - they were gone
completely. Obviously, we had become separated from the rest of the
warhost. The warband led by Bedwyr and Cador had vanished.
'Lord, allow me to ride back and find out what has happened,' I
volunteered. 'No doubt meet them before I have gone a hundred paces.'
'Very well,' Arthur agreed, 'but take Rhys with you - let him signal us
when you have reached them. We will wait for you here.'
I returned to my horse and informed Rhys of the king's command as I
swung into the saddle. We passed down the line of warriors and back
along the trail. I counted thirteen pair: twenty-six warriors out of fifty, I
thought, and wondered what had become of the rest. Could twenty-four
mounted warriors simply disappear?
Once past the last of the Cymbrogi, we urged our mounts to speed and
raced along the close-grown track. When, after a fair ride, we still caught
no sight of the stragglers, I halted. 'We should have seen them by now,'
Rhys said as he reined up beside me. 'What could have happened to them?'
'Until we find them, we only waste our breath asking such questions,' I
pointed out. In Llyonesse, anything might happen, I thought, but kept the
thought to myself.
'Well, what do you suggest, O Head of Wisdom?' Rhys gave me a sour
frown.
'Either we keep riding until we find them, or we go back,' I suggested, and
Rhys rolled his eyes to show how impressed he was with my reckoning.
'Which is it to be?'
Before he could answer, there arose on the path behind us the strangest
sound I have ever heard. If you were to imagine the sound of a bull stag
belling out his rage as a pack of baying hounds raced in for the kill -
imagine that, and then increase it tenfold and add to it the roar of a stream
in full spate, and you will have some small idea of the sound that broke
upon us as a single blast, like that loosed from a horn.
A seething, restless silence reclaimed the trail. The horses shied and tried
to bolt, but we held them tight. In a few moments, the sound came again,
closer. The bare-limbed trees quivered, and I felt the dull tremble of the
earth in the pit of my stomach. Whatever made that sound was coming our
way, and swiftly.
                TWENTY-NINE


The next sound I heard was the sharp slap of leather against the withers of
Rhys' mount as he wheeled the frightened animal and gave it leave to fly -
nor was I slow to follow, pausing only long enough to cast a fleeting
backward glance. I saw nothing but the shadow-crowded path and
darkness beyond. Even so, the shudder of the trees told me that the thing
was charging towards us with speed.
I gave my mount its head, and a heartbeat later, I was racing along the
forest trail, trying to catch Rhys.
It took us longer to reach our waiting companions than I expected, and I
feared we had somehow lost king and Cymbrogi along with all the rest.
But then Rhys slowed and I saw, just beyond him, two horses in the track
ahead. The Cymbrogi had dismounted to rest the horses while awaiting
our return. They called out to us, asking what we had discovered, but we
did not stop until we had rejoined Myrddin and Arthur.
Rhys slid from the saddle before his horse had come to a halt. Arthur and
Myrddin had risen to their feet, the question already on their faces. 'We
did not find them, lord,' Rhys was saying as I dismounted.
'Then what -' began the king.
Before he could say more, the creature behind us loosed its bone-rattling
cry. The forest trembled around us and the horses began rearing and
neighing. The waiting warriors leapt to their mounts, stretched for their
dangling reins, and retrieved spears from beneath their saddles.
Arthur, sword in hand, ordered the battle line and, an instant later, we
were armed and ready to face whatever came our way.
The trail was too narrow for horses to manoeuvre, so Arthur ordered the
fight on foot. 'It will come at us on the trail,' the king cried, his voice
taking on the vigour of command. 'Let it come! Open a way before it -
make a path - two men on each side. Let it come in - then close on it from
either side.'
It was a desperate tactic, borrowed from the hunt, most often used when a
man finds himself unhorsed during the chase. Arthur established himself
at the forefront of the line. Myrddin stood to his right, with Rhys and me
to his left. The Cymbrogi led the horses to safety well up the trail, and
then quickly filled in behind us in ranks four across.
We stared into the gloom, tree limbs quivering on either side and
overhead. I could feel the trembling of the ground as the shudders passed
up through the earth and into my feet and legs. A hundred horses pounding
hard down the path could not drum the earth so. What could it be?
The unnerving cry thundered again. Closer. The entire forest seemed to
ripple like a wave. The unnatural sound sent a cold flash of fear snaking
through the ranks.
The drumming thud in the ground grew louder. The Cymbrogi stood
gripping their spears in silence, staring hard into the gloom ahead.
The roar sounded again. Closer still: an unearthly howl that pierced to the
heart. Cold, sick dread spread through me and the wood seemed to
undulate; a black mist gathered before my eyes as the ground shook with
the pounding of unseen hooves.
I tightened my grip on my spear and shook my head to clear it, thinking,
The thing must be nearly on top of us now... but where is it?
And then I saw, looming out of the murk of shadows, the form of a beast:
a great dark mass racing with impossible speed directly towards us. God
help us, it was enormous!
Out of the shadows it came. I heard several stifled cries behind me, and
others gasped and muttered hasty prayers.
Curiously, the creature had no substance, no solidity. Even as it swept
swiftly nearer, I could get no clear notion of its appearance. The thing
seemed nothing but shadow and motion. Indeed, I could see the dimly
quivering shapes of trees and branches through it.
The ground heaved beneath our feet, and I smelled the rank scent of
animal filth. But though we stood steadfast with our spears at the ready,
there was nothing substantial to fight.
I received the distinct impression of a massive beast with the sharp spine
and high-humped shoulder of a boar, its foul hair long and flowing in
matted shreds like the tatters of a rotten cloak. I imagined two huge yellow
eyes glaring balefully out from a flattened piglike face, beneath which
bulged a massive jaw from which two great, curved brown tusks jutted in
upward-sweeping arcs like a pair of barley scythes. Short, powerful,
stumplike legs pummelled the earth, driving the creature forward on the
cloven hooves of a stag.
This, as I say, was merely an impression, an image that burned itself into
my mind. There was no actual creature, nothing corporeal at all - just a
dark-gathered mist of churning shadow and motion.
Some of the warriors let slip their weapons, and one or two dropped to
their knees.
'Courage!' shouted Arthur, his voice a steady rock amidst the rising flood
of fear. 'Stand firm!'
The vile thing drove down on us with the speed of a falling mountain,
shaking the ground with every flying step. I gripped my spear and
hunkered down, ready to let fly should anything tangible present itself.
The beast came on. The monster loosed its earsplitting scream. The chill
air shivered to the sound of a thousand slavering hounds and the belling of
a hundred stags at bay.
The cry carried the shadowshape into our midst.
'Hold!' called Arthur. 'Hold, men... stand your ground.'
Beneath my feet, the ground rumbled hollow like a drum. , 'Stand firm...'
Arthur called, straining to be heard above the sound of the onrushing
beast. 'Stand...'
My stomach tightened in anticipation of the terrible impact. The air
shuddered and I had the explicit sensation of a great hairy flank heaving
past me - like a rippling black wall of muscle.
Spear poised, I drew back my arm and prepared to strike.
The warrior opposite me let fly - too soon! The spear sailed over my head;
I ducked under it and in the same instant heard a short, sharp cry as the
creature whirled in mid-flight and struck.
I saw merely a sudden surge, a quickening of the darkness, and the
monster thundered past.
I leapt to the stricken warrior's aid, and a stink like that of rotting meat
struck me like the blow of a fist. The gorge rose in my throat and I gagged
on the stench. I put a hand over my nose and mouth to keep from
vomiting. The Cymbrogi round about groaned, coughed, and spat, and the
wounded man writhed on the ground.
His side had been laid open from chest to hip, and blood gushed dark and
hot from the wound. 'Help me!' he screamed. 'Help me!'
'Tallaght?' I said. In the dim light, his features twisted with pain, I did not
recognize him at first. 'Lie still, brother. Help is coming.
'Myrddin!' I shouted. 'Over here! Hurry!'
Tallaght clutched my hand; his grip was slippery with blood, but he clung
to me as if to life itself. 'I am sorry, lord,' he said, his voice already
growing weaker. 'I did not mean to disgrace...'
'Shh,' I said gently. 'It does not matter. Just rest easy.'
'Tell Arthur I am sorry...' he whispered, and fell to coughing and could not
catch his breath. He died, choking on his blood before Myrddin could
reach him. 'Go with God, my friend,' I said, and lay his hand upon his
chest.
Just as swiftly as it had come, the apparition vanished. The ground
continued to drum and tremble for a time, but the creature was gone.
Myrddin appeared at my side and bent over the fallen warrior. 'It is
Tallaght,' I said as the Emrys stretched his hand towards the young man's
face. 'He is dead.'
Some of the warriors nearby repeated this pronouncement, and it was
passed along the ranks. A moment later, there came a cry from farther up
the trail. 'Stop him!' one of the warriors shouted. 'Someone stop him!'
Glancing up, I saw a mounted warrior burst forth from among the horses.
Rhys shouted for the man to stop at once, and several others tried to head
off the hqrse, but the rider was too quick and the horse had already
reached its stride. He gained the trail at a gallop, and disappeared into the
shadows.
Arthur quickly ordered men to go after him, but Myrddin counselled
against it. 'It is too late now,' he said. 'Let him go.'
'We can catch him still,' the king protested.
'We have just lost one warrior to the beast,' the Emrys informed Arthur.
'How many more will you risk?'
Arthur frowned, but accepted his counsellor's advice. 'Did you see who it
was?'
'No.' Myrddin shook his head slowly.
'I saw him,' I told them. 'It was Peredur. No doubt he has gone to avenge
his kinsman's death.'
'The young fool,' Arthur muttered.
'He is God's concern now,' Myrddin said. 'Put him from your thoughts, and
instead think how to find your missing warriors.'
Night was hard upon us, and rather than risk losing the rest of the warband
in the dark, Arthur decided to make camp and wait until morning. We
buried Tallaght's body where he had fallen, and Myrddin spoke a prayer
over the grave. I would have liked to do more for the boy, but that is the
way of it sometimes. The Pendragon ordered the remaining Cymbrogi to
gather fuel for a fire. What with the dense wood all around us, the men
had a great heap of dead timber piled up, and in less time than it takes to
tell, the first snakes of flame were slithering up the tangle of old branches.
Once the horses were settled, we gathered to warm ourselves and, in
crowding close, to console one another. The fellowship of loyal men is not
to be slighted; it is a thing of great solace and is therefore sacred.
Accordingly, the Pendragon, in ordering the fire, meant not only to warm
us, but to help us to restore our confidence, which had been badly shaken.
No one could have imagined that it would turn out as it did.
Comforted by the fire, the men began to talk, and some wondered aloud
what manner of creature it was that they had driven off; others voiced
surprise that they should have chased it away at all. Speculation proved
futile and as one suggestion after another foundered, everyone turned to
Myrddin, who was squatting on his haunches at the edge of the fire, arms
crossed over knees, staring bleakly into the flames.
'Here, now, Myrddin,' called Arthur genially. 'Have you ever heard tell of
such a beast?'
At first it seemed Myrddin had not heard the king's question.
He made no move, but continued staring into the red heart of the fire.
'What say you, bard?' the king said, his voice loud in the sudden quiet of
the wood.
The Cymbrogi watched in silent expectation as the Emrys, without taking
his eyes from the flames, slowly drew the hood of his cloak over his head
and rose. He stood for a moment as if entranced by the flames, then
stooped and reached into the fire. Several of the Cymbrogi cried out
instinctively at the act, but Myrddin calmly withdrew a fistful of hot ashes.
Despite the heat, he held the embers in his hand, blew on them, and then
gazed upon the coals.
We watched in astonished silence as he held the burning embers in his
hand, his face illumined in the ruddy glow. Suddenly he cast the coals
back into the flames. He stood for a moment clutching his hand - whether
from pain or the shock of what he had seen, I cannot say - then, as if in a
trance, he raised his hand and licked the palm with his tongue.
No one moved or said a word as the Bard of Britain took up his staff and
raised it over his head. Slowly, he turned to face us. My heart clenched in
my chest, for his face was as rigid and pale as death.
The eyes gazing out from beneath the hood were no longer those of a man,
but of a preying hawk, farseeing, keen, and golden. Stretching forth his
hand, he held his palm level to the ground and, opening his mouth, began
to speak. Or perhaps it was some other speaking through him, for the
voice seemed to come from the Otherworld.
'Hear, Men of Britain, Valiant Ones,' he said in the strange, hollow voice,
'the Head of Wisdom speaks. Heed and take warning. The Black Beast
sent among you this day was but a foretaste of the power arrayed against
you. The battle is joined, and every man who would achieve the quest
must face many ordeals. Be not dismayed, neither be afraid, but face the
trials to follow with all forbearance, for the Swift Sure Hand upholds you,
and the Holy Grail awaits those who endure to the end.'
Having delivered himself of this decree, he lowered his staff and sat down
again. Almost at once, he began to shake and tremble all over. Thinking to
aid him, the warrior nearest reached out and took hold of the Emrys to
steady him. Instantly, the man yelped and fell back as if he had been
struck by a thunderbolt.
Others reached to help the man. 'Let him be,' advised Arthur sternly. 'It
will pass.'
The stricken warrior quickly recovered, and the Cymbrogi set themselves
the task of settling the horses for the night before lying down to rest.
Though I tried to sleep, the weird events of this fraught day conspired to
overthrow my best resolve and I found myself thinking about Morgian
instead, and wondering when the next attack would come, and what form
it would take.
                            THIRTY


It was still dark when I awoke. Judging by the deep darkness of the forest,
dawn was still very far away. At first I closed my eyes and tried to go back
to sleep, but then I heard again what must have roused me: the horses were
awake and whickering restively to one another, so I roused myself,
thinking to see what might be done to calm them.
The fire had burned itself to a heap of ashes, and I had to stumble over the
sleeping bodies of my swordbrothers, waking a few of them, who joined
me at the picket with the horses. 'I feel as if I have slept an age,' remarked
one of the warriors. 'But it looks as though dawn is still far off.' He gazed
around warily. 'Indeed, if I did not know better, I would say the darkness
has only increased.'
As he spoke, a thin trickle of fear snaked along my ribs. I raised my eyes
to the darkness above, dense and heavy as iron. Others joined us and
began offering their observations. Some held that the night had passed and
we would soon see the sunrise; more maintained that the time for sunrise
had passed without bringing the light.
Before the disputation could become contentious, however, Arthur
brought an end to the speculation by putting the question to Myrddin
directly. 'Is this the enemy's doing?'
Myrddin hesitated, then glanced quickly at the warriors, who stood
awaiting his answer. 'Yes,' he said simply.
The king nodded. 'It makes no difference.' Turning to the Cymbrogi, he
said, 'Our swordbrothers should have reached us by now. We are going
back for them.' He ordered the horses to be saddled and all idle talk to
cease; he commanded torches to be prepared, and once we were saddled
and ready to depart, the torches were lit.
Thus, we took up the search for the lost Cymbrogi, returning along the
trail by which we had come the day before. Whether the sun shone beyond
the cover of the forest, I cannot say. All I know is that the light of day did
not reach us, and we rode in darkness as complete as that which covers the
earth on the stormiest of nights.
Without the sun, however feeble, to mark time's slow passing, it seemed
we journeyed an eternity, stopping only to rest and water the horses and to
renew the torches, continually alert to the wood around us all the while.
We travelled what must have passed for a day in the wider world, slept a
little, and continued on, never knowing where one night left off and
another began, moving from one march to the next without speaking more
than a dozen words to anyone. And all the time the darkness wore on us; a
grindstone it was, covered in darkest silk, perhaps, but a stone nonetheless,
grinding and grinding us down to dust.
See, now: fear stalked the bold Dragon Flight - fear like the immense
shadow beast loosed to rampage through our anxious ranks. Stouthearted
men started at the smallest sound, and sained themselves with the cross
whenever they thought no one else was looking.
Arthur - alas, even Arthur - who feared no earthly foe, found reason to be
afraid - not for himself, mind, but for his queen. Her name was never far
from his lips. From time to time he roused himself from his bleak
meditations and made an effort to lift the spirits of his warband - he called
encouragement to those who appeared to be struggling, and offered
conversation to those who seemed most in need of distraction - but his
labours went unrewarded.
At times the forest trail seemed to twist around upon itself and,
occasionally, another path might be seen to diverge from the main -
although there was never any question about which way we should go.
The Pendragon led without wavering. Even so, it grew increasingly
apparent that we would not gain our destination no matter how long or far
we rode.
'Only a little farther,' Arthur argued. 'We must be nearing the end.'
'Arthur,' Myrddin replied gently, 'we should have reached it long since.'
'We go on,' Arthur insisted, and so we did.
So unvarying was the trail, and the darkness so unrelenting and complete -
and our fortitude stretched so thin and fine -that the clearing came as a
shock to our benighted senses.
Without warning or sign, we simply rode out from the rooflike cover of
the trees and onto a wide river mead. Even in the darkness we could tell
that it was a clearing of considerable extent. The sound of rushing water
could be heard from the other side of the mead, and the damp, chill
closeness of the wood gave way to the sudden gusts of a cold winter wind.
As we had ridden some way since our last resting place, the king thought
best to make camp, water the horses, and refresh our own water supply.
Accordingly, we found a place beside the encircling stream to picket the
horses and began dragging dead limbs from the surrounding wood. Glad
for this change, such as it was, we fell to with a will and soon had a large
campfire burning with the brightness of a beacon on the edge of the
clearing.
Far better for us if we had endured the darkness and cold, our accustomed
misery. Far better, indeed, if we had never set foot in the Wasteland at all!
For, as the campfire reached its height and we gathered to warm ourselves
around it, the flamelight revealed a great oak tree a short distance away.
At first we knew nothing of it but that it was a true monarch of the wood,
ancient and lordly, supreme ruler in its domain, and that it stood alone in
the centre of the clearing, which, bounded by the encircling stream,
formed an almost perfect ring around it.
But then, as we drew closer and looked up into those huge gnarled boughs,
we glimpsed strange, elongated shapes twisting in the wind. We looked
and courage, already rattled from the long, grinding darkness, took flight.
With nothing to halt the rout, our beleaguered imaginations fled instantly
to the worst.
Ah, but the truth awaiting us in those misshapen boughs was far, far worse
than anything we could have imagined.
We looked to where Arthur stood, Myrddin at his side, gazing towards the
great oak. The king stooped and took a brand from the fire, drew himself
up, and then started for the tree. Taking up brands, we hastened after him,
crowding in close to one another so as not to be the hindmost.
Closer, I could see the strange shapes dangling in clusters from the lower
limbs like enormous bats. It was not until we stepped almost directly
underneath the foremost bough that I realized what it was we were seeing.
Terrible silence crushed hard upon us. I could not breathe. I could not
speak. My strength flowed away like water. A fearful drumming filled my
ears and boomed in my head. I staggered back and, God help me, I
vomited bile over my feet.
Then, forcing myself to a courage I did not possess, I wiped my mouth on
my arm and stood, taking my place once more beside my king. Myrddin
stood beside him, his hand on the king's shoulder and the other to his eyes,
as if to shield them from the sight of that tree's terrible fruit.
Only Arthur, firebrand in his hand, yet stared up into the tree at the naked
corpses of his brave Cymbrogi.
'Come away, Bear,' I heard Myrddin mutter. 'There is nothing to be done
here.'
Arthur made no reply, but shrugged off Myrddin's hand and gazed full on
the grisly display before us. Each of the lower boughs bore the corpses of
at least four warriors - bound singly, or in groups of two or three - and
there were more hung high in the upper branches, and yet still more
beyond these. From what I could see in the shifting light, most of them
had died in battle. Many had lost limbs and several had been
disembowelled. Every corpse had been shorn of both hands and feet, and
these we discovered placed in a ghastly ring around the roots of the tree.
Some few must have been alive when they were hung, for I saw bloated
blue faces of men I had once known as swordbrothers among the dead:
Cai and Cador and Bedwyr.
Brave Cai, his tongue protruding, swollen in his mouth, his scalp hanging
loose on his skull... Cador, friend and stalwart companion, his arms bloody
stumps and his legs broken and limp, his mouth gaping in a last, silent
scream... and Bedwyr, hero and champion, his smashed jaw dangling on
his chest, one eye gouged out, the remains of a spear jutting broken from
his stomach...
Tears rose in my eyes then, and I had to look away. My God! my spirit
cried out in grief and anguish. God, why? Why these?
Myrddin tried again to get the king to leave, and again the Pendragon
refused. 'My men are here,' he said, his voice grating in the deathly
silence. 'My place is with my men.'
'You can do nothing for them,' Myrddin said, almost harshly.
'I can bury them,' Arthur snapped.
'No, Bear,' Myrddin counselled. 'It is the living you must think of now.' I
wondered at this answer, but trusted the Emrys would have a sound
reason.
Thrusting a helpless hand towards the tree, Arthur said, 'I cannot leave
them like this and still call myself king. Go, if you must, and take the men
with you. I will stay.'
The Emrys frowned, glancing at the dread oak.
'Well?' Arthur demanded, forcing the Emrys' choice.
Myrddin hesitated, and a light came up in his eyes. 'There may yet be a
way to preserve some small scrap of dignity and courage.' His voice
quickened as he spoke. 'Hear me, Proud King. We will not abandon our
loyal swordbrothers in death. We will send them on their journey hence
with all honour, in sharp defiance of the wickedness that has so cruelly
slain them. Are you willing?'
'You know that I am.'
'Then listen to me.' So saying, the Wise Emrys put his hand to the back of
Arthur's neck and drew him near.
They spoke together like this for a time, and then the king drew himself
up, turned, squared his shoulders, and said, 'Very great evil has been
practised here, and we, who strive towards the light, bear witness to this
vile deed and condemn it before the throne of God. Yet, though life has
abandoned our brothers, we will not forsake them in ignoble defeat.
'Here in the camp of the Evil One we will kindle a light, and send this light
like a spear into the very heart of the darkness that oppresses us. As light
shining in the midst of darkness overcomes that darkness and banishes it
utterly, so we shall drive it from the hand of the enemy who would employ
it as a weapon against us. And the dread tree on which hang the bodies of
our friends will become a funeral pyre, and the flames that light our
brothers' homeward way will become a beacon of our defiance.'
When Arthur finished speaking, I added my own voice to the acclaim that
welcomed the king's pronouncement. Oh, we made that blighted wood
ring with righteous adulation. And then we hastened to the edge of the
wood round about to gather a bounty of dead wood for fuel, and when we
had heaped the tinder man-high around the ancient oak, Myrddin caused
the remnant of the Dragon Flight to make a wide circle around the tree.
He then commanded us to walk slowly in a sunwise direction. Led by
Arthur, we began; meanwhile, the Emrys stepped to the tinder heap and
raised his staff high. Calling in a loud voice, he cried out, 'Great Light,
whose life is light and power to his creatures, hear your servant!'
Taking the staff with both hands now, he held the oaken rod above his
head and cried, 'We who journey in darkness have need of your light. We
who are bereft of hope and beset by evil on every side have need of your
power. Lord, in our day of travail, hear our cry!
'Great Light, our kinsmen have been wickedly murdered, and their bodies
given over to death.' His voice resounded across the meadow. 'You alone,
Lord, hold authority over the grave. Even as your voice quickens the spirit
in the womb, so you summon the spirits of the departed to your throne.
Therefore, we ask you to call our brothers home to your Otherworldly
realm, and give them places of honour in your banquet hall.
This night great evil gathers close, seeking to destroy us. Yet we will trust
in you, Lord, to deliver us. If this cannot be, then we trust you to meet us
on the way and guide us to your halls. In token of our trust, we light this
pyre to hold the darkness at bay. Let it burn as a beacon to light the
homegoing of our swordbrothers and put evil to flight.'
Holding the oaken rod above his head, he stood for a long moment and
then slowly lowered the staff and extended it towards the firewood. There
was a flash of blue and a sound like the tearing of a cloak between giant
hands. The fire simply appeared, arcing through the air, flowing like
shimmering liquid, leaping from branch to branch, and scattering in bright
blue tracery through the dry wood. Within moments the flames were
cracking hot and bright, licking up through the tinder heap, leaping up and
up into the great spreading branches.
Turning to the Cymbrogi, Myrddin said, 'Sing! Make a noise to rouse the
Heavenly Host!' With that he led us in a psalm such as the brown clerics
chant in the Holy Mass:
   The Lord is my rock!

   The Lord is my fortress, and my deliverer!
   God is my refuge; He is my shield!
   And the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

The flames mounted higher, stretching into the branches, caressing the
lowermost corpses. Ringed by fire, the massive black trunk began to
smoulder as the yellow flames stretched higher and ever higher into the
tree.
Still walking, maintaining the circle, we began to sing with the Emrys,
chanting the words as he led us.
   I call to the Lord who is worthy to be praised,

   And I am saved from my enemies.
   The cords of death entangled me;
   The torrents of destruction overwhelmed me

The cords of the grave coiled around me; The snares of death confronted
me. In my distress, I cried to my God for help. From his temple he heard
my voice.
The heat from the flames forced us back, making our circle larger still.
The corpses, now alight, began swinging and twisting in the quickening
wind created by the flames. The boughs creaked and cracked as the flames
tripped from branch to branch, higher and still higher into the sky.
    The earth trembled and quaked,

   And the foundations of the mountains shook;
   They trembled because he was angry.

There came a long, sighing crack. All at once the mighty tree slumped
inwardly upon itself. Riven by fire, the trunk of the oak split, sending
sparks spiralling upward on the rising air like thousands of tumbling stars.
It seemed to me that these were the spirits of our friends taking flight
towards Heaven.
And he looked down in his anger and said: Because their love is set on me,
I will deliver them. I will deliver them from danger, for they know my
name. I will be with them in times of trouble; I will rescue them from the
grave, And bring them honour in my courts; I will satisfy them with
eternal life to enjoy their rich salvation.
I said the words as Myrddin spoke them, and watched the glimmering
sparks rising up and up, and I thought, Farewell, Cai, stalwart companion,
faithful through all things. Farewell, Bedwyr, loyal brother, steadfast in
the fight. Farewell, Cador, brave and true. Farewell, my friends, enter into
the Peace of Christ. Farewell...
My heart rose to my throat and my eyes filled with tears, and the burning
oak blurred into a blazing mass of shimmering, shifting light, and I heard a
roar like thunder as the gathering wind rushed to feed the towering flames,
whipping them to white heat. The light that blazed from the pyre filled the
wide meadow now, forcing back the darkness on every side.
I heard the wail of the wind, and the cold air gusted, swirling around us.
My back was cold, my face and hands searing hot from the blaze before
me. The scream grew louder and I realized it was not the cry of the wind,
but the wild scream of a creature tortured beyond endurance. What is
more, the creature was coming swiftly towards us, drawn by the fire.
Myrddin heard the sound, too, and cried out, 'Fear nothing! Greater is he
who has heard our prayer than that which assaults heaven with its cry.'
As it rose above the wind, shivering the wood all around us, I felt the wild,
keening sound in my belly and then in the quiver of the earth beneath my
feet. I thought at first that it must be the Shadow Beast returning to attack
us again, but the trembling mounted steadily and I knew it must be
something far, far larger and more deadly.
'Listen to me!' cried Myrddin, and he began instructing us on how to
survive the onslaught we would soon face. We were to link arms, he said,
and form an outward-facing ring, an enclosed wall with our bodies. Where
men might be too far apart they should hold a spear between them, but
under no condition were we to break the chain. 'Though Hell itself break
over you, do not let go,' the Emrys said. 'Whatever you may see, whatever
you may hear, do not break the circle. Keep the ringwall intact and, though
the Devil himself leads the attack, we will not be harmed.'
I reached out to the man next to me - it was Rhys, his face grim in the
lurid light. We linked arms, then clasped hands with the warriors on either
side and braced ourselves for the assault. The ground began to shake, and I
heard a sound like that of giants crashing through the wood, uprooting
trees, and casting them aside. The very earth trembled beneath our feet,
and the forest all around cracked and groaned with the snapping of
branches and the twisting of limbs. What, I wondered, could cause such
destruction?
Suddenly the sound stopped and the ground ceased shaking. The roar of
the flames behind us seemed to still for a moment and even the wind grew
calm. I have seen this before, and know it to be but the false tranquillity of
an enemy gathering itself for the onslaught.
'Stand your ground!' shouted Arthur. 'Here they come!'
                   THIRTY-ONE


We stood gazing into the darkness, the fire at our backs throwing our
shadows before us like an all-encircling army of shape-shifting phantoms.
Breathless, we waited.
Across the meadow, the trees began thrashing back and forth as if in the
grip of a violent storm, but the air remained still. I heard a low, grinding
sound and the trees parted, lying down on either side as if divided by a
giant hand.
In the same instant, the burning oak behind us gave another tremendous
crack, sending sparks and chunks of flaming wood showering all around.
The fire at our backs leapt high, and higher still into the night; our
shadows flickered and danced out across the darkened meadow. In the
newly opened gap where the forest met the river, a figure appeared - a
lone warrior on a horse.
'There!' someone shouted, and from the corner of my eye I saw a
movement as the speaker thrust a hand to point out the horseman
advancing towards us.
'Do not break the circle!' Myrddin Emrys cried, his voice terrible in the
silence. 'As God is life and evil death, hold tight and do not let go!'
The rider came on, slowly. He carried a dark shield with a burnished iron
rim; both the shield's rim and the honed tip of an upright spear glimmered
in the firelight, and the blade on his thigh gleamed dull red. The warrior
was dressed all in black from head to foot, and wore a hooded cloak, so I
could not see his face; from the withers and flanks of the horse, long black
strips of fine cloth rippled and fluttered as the animal moved, making it
seem as if the beast were floating towards us.
The dark rider advanced to within a spear's cast of us, whereupon the
Emrys challenged him. 'Halt!' he shouted in his voice of command. The
Swift Sure Hand is over us. You can do no evil here. Go back.'
The rider made no reply, but sat regarding us while his mount chafed the
ground impatiently.
'Go back to the hell from whence you came,' Myrddin shouted again. 'You
cannot harm us.'
By way of reply, the warrior shifted the shield to cover his chest and, with
the slightest lifting of the reins, turned the horse and began riding around
the ring. He made one circuit, then another and another, slowly gathering
pace with each pass. By the sixth or seventh circuit, the horse had reached
an easy canter.
Around and around he rode, in a long, slow circle, the hooves of his mount
beating the ground in a rhythmic thump like the rising beat of a drum.
Around and around - the canter became a trot... the trot became a gallop...
the gallop became faster, the beat of the hooves coming quicker.
The strange black strips of cloth hanging from the horse's sides rustled like
wings. I could hear the beast's breath coming in snorts and gasps now as
the pace began to tell. The warrior's cloak billowed out behind him and the
hood slipped from his head, revealing a face I knew well.
'Llenlleawg!'
It was Arthur, crying out in surprise and dismay. He shouted again,
hoping, I think, to gain his former champion's attention. Others quickly
joined in, and soon everyone was calling Llenlleawg's name. I shouted,
too, thinking that we might yet sway him from his course.
But looking neither right nor left, the Irish champion urged his mount to
charging speed and lowered the spear.
'Stand your ground, men!' shouted Arthur. 'Do not break the circle!'
Even before he finished speaking, I saw the quick flick of the reins and the
horse swerved towards the ring of Cymbrogi, driving in towards the ring
at a shallow angle to my right. The spear swung over the horse's neck and
came level. The Cymbrogi, arms linked, shouted to distract the horse, and
braced themselves for the killing blow.
But the attack was merely a feint, and he slanted away well before
committing himself to the charge.
'The Swift Sure Hand upholds us!' shouted Myrddin.
The next charge came while the Emrys' words yet hung in the air - another
slanting drive, the angle sharper this time. Again the Cymbrogi shouted to
distract the horse, and again Llenlleawg broke off the attack - but carrying
it closer before turning away.
'Llenlleawg!' the king cried. 'Here I am! Come to me!'
The champion galloped on, his face set, expressionless, his eyes staring
and empty as the dead.
The third attack carried him almost headlong into the line. In the leaping
firelight, I saw the head of the spear swing towards me as Llenlleawg
began his charge. This time he came on a straight course and I knew he
meant to break us. 'God help us,' I breathed, tightening my grip on Rhys
next to me.
The black's hooves tore the turf as it gathered speed, legs churning,
closing swiftly. I could already feel the spearhead slicing into my flesh
and my bones breaking as I fell beneath those crushing hooves. I braced
myself for the impact.
Llenlleawg charged to within a hairbreadth of the line. I could hear the
spear blade sing in the air. But at the moment when the spear should have
pierced my chest and carried me off my feet, the blade shifted and the
horse blew past me - so close I could feel the heat of the animal as it
surged by.
The line held, and the Cymbrogi cheered in their relief.
But when Llenlleawg did not so much as break stride, I knew that the
testing was over. The next charge would be in earnest; the man chosen to
meet it would die, and the circle would be breached.
Around and around rode Llenlleawg, straight-backed in the saddle,
shoulders square, oblivious to the jeers and taunts of his former friends.
On the final pass he began his charge. The horse strained forward, hooves
pounding the earth. The spear came level as the horse turned onto its
course, and I saw who had been chosen. The spear was aimed at Arthur.
'Hold, men!' he cried as the deadly blade swept swiftly nearer. 'Hold the
line!'
The Cymbrogi, desperate to help their king, writhed in an agony of
helplessness. Obedient unto death - each man willing, longing, to take the
Pendragon's place in the line, yet unable to so much as lift a hand or move
a step for the sake of that selfsame obedience - the brave Dragon Flight
screamed their defiance at the onrushing traitor.
I could not bear to see the cruel spearhead pierce my lord and friend,
neither could I look away. So, like all the others, I watched helplessly as
the death-stroke hurtled swift to the mark. And, like all the others, I
screamed in a futile attempt to draw the spear away from that mark.
Hooves flying, the black and its silent rider swept in.
The line tensed as if to meet the blow for the king. 'Stand firm!' shouted
Arthur for the last time.
As Arthur cried out, the hard-charging horse stumbled, its forelegs
buckling beneath it. The animal's speed and weight carried it forward,
pitching the rider over its neck and onto the ground as the beast's
hindquarters sailed up, back legs still kicking.
Llenlleawg fell headfirst to land sprawling on the ground. The spear struck
the earth not two paces from Arthur's feet and buried itself deep, the shaft
quivering with the force.
The line held, and we cheered our king's deliverance. Doubtless we would
have swooped upon Llenlleawg if Myrddin had not prevented us. 'Peace!'
he cried in his voice of command. 'Break not the circle, for the Great King
upholds us still!'
Llenlleawg was on his feet again almost instantly. Up he leapt, hand on
sword. As he drew the blade, I recognized it at once. How not? I have seen
it every day for the past seven years. It was Caledvwlch, the Pendragon's
own blade: the last evidence, if any were needed, of Llenlleawg's vile
treachery.
The traitor grasped the sword in both hands and raised it over his head as
he came.
Perhaps the fall had hurt Llenlleawg, for even as he raised his arms, his
steps faltered and his legs gave way. He crashed onto his knees and then
sank onto his side as if he had been struck on the head.
Before anyone could think or move, thunder sounded over the meadow. I
saw three more riders racing towards us out of the night. Like Llenlleawg,
they were all in black from head to heel, cloaked, and hooded. The
strangers rode to where Llenlleawg lay. The foremost sat with spear at the
ready, while his two companions dismounted, pulled the stricken
Llenlleawg upright, and, in one swift motion, lifted him onto the nearest
horse. One of them took the saddle behind the stricken warrior, and the
other gathered the dangling reins of Llenlleawg's mount and vaulted into
the empty saddle. Without a word, they turned as one and rode away,
fleeing back into the darkness to the taunts and cries of derision of the
watching warriors.
The Dragon Flight wanted nothing more than to pursue our attackers, and
we would have, too, but Myrddin, exhorting us with a bard's power of
persuasion, held us in line. Stand firm in the circle of God's protection, he
told us. Breaking the sacred ring now could only bring about the
destruction we had so far eluded.
Oh, but it chafed me sore to see our enemies getting away, and not so
much as a spear cast at their retreat.
The black riders reached the river, melting again into the deep shadows
beyond the light of the burning oak. They gained the water - I heard the
splash of hooves - and all at once the wood before them burst into flame.
Perhaps sparks from the burning oak, drifting across the clearing, had
ignited the dry winter wood. Perhaps it had been smouldering for a time
and we, preoccupied with Llenlleawg's attack, had failed to notice it. Then
again, perhaps some other had set the wood to blaze. I cannot say. All I
know is that even as the fleeing riders gained the water marge and
splashed into the stream, a great shimmering curtain of flame arose before
them. With a roar like a mighty wind, the flames struck skyward.
In a moment the fire was spreading outward on either side. The enemy
warriors rode through the curtain of fire without hesitation, and
disappeared on the other side.
Only then did Myrddin give us leave to break the ring. The Pendragon
called us to his side and, even while praising our valour, began ordering
the pursuit. While the horses were being brought from the picket, he
turned to the Emrys and said, 'Myrddin, he had it - Caledvwlch! The
treacherous dog raised it against me - my own sword! God in Heaven
mark me, that selfsame blade will yet claim that traitor's head.'
The drought-dry wood leapt eagerly to the flame. The trail by which the
enemy riders had escaped was now impassable. By the time we were
mounted, the flames all but encircled the meadow, leaving only a narrow
gap by which we might escape.
The Pendragon raised a final salute to the dead he left behind. Lofting his
spear, he cried, 'In the name of the Lord who made me king, I will not rest
until the blood debt is paid in full. Death shall be answered with death.
Arthur Pendragon makes this vow.'
Myrddin, grim beside him, frowned at this, but said nothing. Many of the
Cymbrogi supported the king's vow with their own. Then, turning his
horse, Arthur led us away. We rode for the river and the swiftly narrowing
gap of unburned wood - not in orderly columns; there was no time. Even
so, before we were halfway to the water, the encircling flames closed the
gap.
A quick glance behind confirmed what I already knew to be true: the
forest was ablaze on every side and we were completely enclosed in a ring
of fire. Smoke rolled across the meadow in billows like earthbound
clouds. Gusts of heat swept over us in waves like warm currents in a
freezing ocean. A sound like continuous thunder filled the night, and we
urged our horses to all speed.
Arthur never hesitated, but rode straightaway into the river, where he
dismounted, knelt in the water, and drenched himself all over, shouting for
us to follow his example. The horses, smoke stinging their nostrils, jittered
and shied, agitated at coming so near the flames.
Removing his wet cloak, the king flung it over the head of his horse to
shut out sight of the flames. 'Follow me!' he called, pulling the terrified
animal after him.
There was nothing for it but to stay close and follow. Flinging my sopping
cloak over the head of my mount and mouthing words of encouragement
to the frightened animal, I waded through the river, splashing more water
over myself as I went. Arthur, having already reached the other side,
paused to exhort the men to keep together, then turned and led us into the
fire.
                   THIRTY-TWO


Morgaws has her captives well in hand. Arthur has joined his slattern
queen; Rhys, royal bastard, shares his chains; and Merlin, vainglorious
bard, now feels how tightly a true sorcerer's charms can bind. Alone
among them, Gwenhwyvar might have made a useful friend. She had grit
enough and guile, but Charts ruined her - turned her against me, just as she
has always turned everyone against me. So Gwenhwyvar will go down
like all the rest. The slut queen professes a great love for her Arthur, yet
she went willingly from his bed, never once imagining that she is the one
who leads him to his ruin. She thinks to save the Grail, and save her
hulking husband. In truth, she only hastens his end.
They are so trusting. They actually believed they would be saved, that
their god would rescue them. Perhaps they imagined the sky would open
up and their miserable Jesu would float down on a cloud to bear them
away to high, holy Heaven, where they would be safe forevermore.
Their disappointment, when the awful truth struck them full in the teeth,
was too, too wonderful for words. Their expressions of despair will
continue to delight me for ages to come. Indeed, I have so enjoyed the
pursuit, it is almost a shame to see it end so soon.
But the end swiftly approaches. All that remains is to wring the last
tincture of torment, fear, and pain from these, my woeful and wretched
adversaries. This is soon accomplished.
Morgaws has asked to use the Grail to help bring about their destruction.
A fine idea, that! We could allow them all a Last Supper, a final
communion wherein the cup is passed and its contents shared among
them. Oh, there are some exquisitely painful poisons where death is
delayed, and the victim lingers in agony - sometimes for days.
Watching them twitch and heave in the final extremity while cursing their
ineffectual god could prove highly entertaining.
I can already hear the voices of the dying as they scream out the last of
their lives in utter despair. True desolation is a thing of rare beauty - the
stark horror of the grave when every hope is shattered and swept away -
what can match it, what can compare?
But no, I do not want them dead just yet. They have not even begun to
suffer the agonies I intend for them. I mean to bring them to despair. I
mean to make them curse heaven for giving them life and leaving them to
their torment. I mean to harry them, removing their hopes one by one until
there is nothing left but the appalling certainty of oblivion - the
unendurable silence of the pit... endless... endless... endless.
Chaos reigned. All was thick smoke and fire-shattered darkness. Men
shouted as they ran, stoking courage to dare the flames around them.
Horses, the sting of smoke in their nostrils, screamed and thrashed,
desperate to escape. We clung to the reins and pulled the terrified animals
through the thick-tangled brush. The wood cracked and rang with the
sound of the fire and the shouts of men, urging their mounts through the
wall of fire.
Dodging burning branches, running, running, headlong and heedless, we
fled into the wood beyond the fire's greedy reach. Thus we came through
the flames and found ourselves deep in the forest once more, dazed by the
devilish assault and the dangers just braved. Like the others, I called out so
that we might locate one another by the sounds of our voices, and reform
the warband.
But the forest began to exert its malign power over us, for what should
have been a simple matter of drawing our scattered forces together soon
descended into a nightmare of futility. Once beyond the curtain of fire, all
sense of direction vanished. For the life of me, I could not tell where I
was, or where I was going.
I heard men calling and hastened towards the sound, only to hear them
again, somewhat further off, and often in another direction. Once, I heard
two men shouting - they could not have been more than fifty paces away -
and they answered when I called. I told them to wait and I would come to
them... only to discover that they were not there when I reached the place.
I heard them twice again, calling for me, but farther away each time. I did
not hear anyone after the last.
Strange, to hear men all around me - some near, some farther off- and not
be able to reach them. It was as if the forest itself were drawing us apart,
dividing us, keeping us from reaching one another - either that, or some
other, more powerful force for which the wood was merely a single
expression. Be that as it may, I kept my head, and when I heard the jingle
of a horse's tack just ahead, I rushed for the place, crashing through the
wood and shouting: Tor God's sake, wait for me!'
'Who is it?' called the nearest of the two as I stumbled through the
entangling brush and branches.
I recognized the voice at once. 'Bors!'
'Gwalchavad?' he wondered. 'However did you get there? We heard you
ahead of us but a moment ago.'
'Stay where you are,' I insisted, struggling forward and tugging my
reluctant mount behind me. A ghostly shifting light from the fire some
little distance behind shimmered in the low clouds above and reflected on
the surprised faces of Bors and the young warrior called Gereint.
'Finally,' I said, wiping sweat from my face, 'I have found someone.'
'We have been hearing Cymbrogi all around us,' Gereint said, 'but never
can find them. You are the first.'
'Let us hope I am not also the last,' I answered. 'Have you seen Arthur?'
'How are we to see anything in this murk and tangle?' Bors growled.
'Three of us came through the fire together, and held on to one another.'
'I see but two before me now,' I ventured.
'I know!' Bors cried. 'I could not keep even the three of us together, much
less find anyone else!' He puffed out his cheeks in exasperation. 'No one
will stay in one place!'
'Listen,' said Gereint, 'they are getting further away.'
Even as we listened, the sounds around us dwindled. We all shouted and
shouted again, but there came no answer, and in a few moments we could
hear nothing at all. 'Well,' I concluded, breaking the silence after a time, 'it
seems we are on our own.'
'So it appears,' agreed Bors. 'We can either stay here until morning and see
if we can raise a trail then, or we can go on and try to find some others.'
'Morning?' I wondered. 'You amaze me, Bors. Do you even now believe
that this foul night will end? I am thinking it never will.'
Stalwart Bors regarded me placidly. Then let us rest a little at least, for I
grow weary of stumbling through this godforsaken wood in the dark,
bashing my shins at every turn.'
Seeing no harm in the suggestion, I agreed, and we settled the horses and
sat down to rest before continuing the search. 'I did not mind the fire,' Bors
said after a time. 'At least it was warm. My clothes are still wet.' He
yawned, and added, 'I am starving.'
'We best not dwell on that,' I said, and suggested that we should try to
sleep instead.
'I will take the first watch,' volunteered Gereint.
'Very well,' I agreed. 'Rouse me when you get tired and I will take the
second watch.'
'Wake us if you hear anything,' Bors instructed through a yawn. In a few
moments I heard the gentle burr of a soft snore as Bors drifted off. Though
weary to the bone, I could not sleep, so I merely closed my eyes and let
my mind wander where it would.
I thought again about my dead swordbrothers, and a pang of grief cut me
like a spear thrust in the heart. Great Light, I thought, using Myrddin's
term, gather my fallen comrades in your loving hands and bear them
safely to your strong fortress. Give them the welcome cup in your halls of
splendour, and make a place for them in the forerank of your Heavenly
Host. May they know peace and joy and feasting forever in your company,
Lord of All, and grant me the strength to abide my trials until I, too, lay
down my sword and take my place among them.
This I prayed, not as the brown-hooded priests pray, but as a cry from my
own bruised heart. I felt better for having unburdened myself in this way
and, though I still rued the deaths of my swordbrothers, was in some small
way comforted by the thought that they would be welcomed and received
in Heaven's bright hall. So I lay back, listening to Bors' soft snoring.
Here was a wonder: a man who could sleep in the midst of the enemy's
camp, untroubled by fear or the frets of an uneasy heart. Here was a man
so secure and peaceful within himself that he could forget his troubles the
instant he lay down his head. Like a child, with a child's trust in the
moment - here, surely, was a true soul.
'Gwalchavad,' came a quiet voice in the darkness. 'Are you asleep?'
'No, lad,' I answered.
'I have been thinking.'
'So have I, Gereint,' I replied. I heard him shift in the darkness as he
moved closer. 'Have you thought of a way we might find our lost
companions?'
'No,' he said. 'I have been thinking that it must have been difficult for the
Pendragon - seeing all his men killed like that, and then being attacked by
his own champion.'
'I should think that would be difficult, yes,' I agreed. 'But Arthur has been
in many a difficult place, and he has never been defeated. Think of that.'
'He is the greatest lord I have ever known," Gereint confessed. There was
nothing in his voice but awe and praise -as if the distress of our present
adversity, and all that went before it, were nothing at all to him.
'When did you join the Cymbrogi?' I asked the young warrior.
'Cador came to us and said the Pendragon needed help to defeat the
Vandali. Tallaght, Peredur, and I answered the summons and joined the
warband.'
'Then you are Cador's kinsmen?'
'That we are,' Gereint confirmed.
'He was a good man, and a splendid battlechief. I was proud to call him
my friend. He will be sadly missed.'
'Indeed,' the young warrior replied, 'and we will lament his death when we
have leisure to do so.' He paused and added sadly, 'Tallaght and Peredur
also.'
My forgetfulness shamed me. In truth, the deaths of my own friends and
swordbrothers had driven poor Tallaght's demise completely from my
thoughts. We fell silent, each to his own bitter memories, and I recalled
the time Peredur, Tallaght, and I had gone to inform the people of Rheged
of their lord's rebellion and the resulting forfeiture of their lands. It was on
that errand that we had found Morgaws. Would that I had never laid eyes
on Morgaws! And now Tallaght was dead, along with so many other good
men, and probably Peredur, too.
Silent was the wood, and dark, as I say - dark as the night when the moon
has gone to rest and the sun not yet risen. The air did not move and there
was no sound. The darkness and unnatural quiet put me in a mournful
mood, and I began to think about my dead swordbrothers: Bedwyr, and
Cai, and Cador, and all the rest - dead and gone. I ached for the loss of
them. The darkness seemed to gather me into itself and cover me over. I
would have given myself to my black grief, but something in me resisted -
a hard knot of stubborn wariness that refused to yield itself to either
sadness or acceptance.
So long as we remained in the realm of the enemy, I would not indulge my
grief. In duty to my king, I must strive through all things for the enemy's
defeat. Thus, I determined to remain alert to any danger lest I, too, fall
victim to the evil which had stolen the lives of my friends. When battle is
done, I told myself, I will deliver myself to grief. One day soon I would
mourn. Soon, but not now, not yet.
The thought gave me some consolation, and I took what solace I could.
Arriving on the heels of my determination, however, came that sound
which, once heard, can never be forgotten: the strange, tortured bellow of
the loathly Shadow Beast. The eerie baying cry seemed to come from
ahead of us, though still some distance away. Bors came awake with a
start. 'Did you hear?'
'The creature,' Gereint said in a raw whisper. 'It must be the same one that
attacked us before.'
'Same or different, I will kill the vile thing if it comes near me again,'
blustered Bors. 'God is my witness: that monster will not escape this time.'
The bellow sounded again, farther off this time, and in a slightly different
direction. It was moving swiftly away.
'You may not get the chance, brother,' I told Bors. 'The creature is going
away from us.'
Bors grunted his disdain, and we roused ourselves and resumed the search
of our lost companions. We set off on foot, leading the horses. Lest we
become separated from one another, we held tight to all our bridle straps;
Bors led the way, and Gereint followed, and I came last - wandering a
hostile wood in the dark of a never-ending night. Less a search, I
considered, than an exercise in forlorn hope.
In the silence that pressed in around us once more, I heard Myrddin's
words: In the quest before us, none but the pure of heart can succeed.
The thought had scarcely formed when I felt a thin quivery shudder pass
up through the soles of my feet and into my legs. I froze in mid-step. The
reins in my hand pulled taut as Gereint, just ahead, continued walking. I
drew breath to speak, but even as I called for the others to halt, the sound
of my voice was lost in the weird screeching bellow of the baleful beast.
The monstrous creature was closing swiftly. I could feel the drumming of
the earth in my very bowels. Bors and Gereint stopped on the path ahead.
In the gloom I saw Bors turn; his mouth opened.
'Fly!'
In the same instant, there came a crashing sound as the trees directly
before us snapped like twigs and burst asunder. The monster was upon us.
                THIRTY-THREE


My terrified mount reared, snapping the bridal strap that bound it to the
others, and all three animals plunged into the wood. Branches and tree
limbs scattered and fell around me. I glimpsed a massive black shape like
a molten hillside charging towards me and knew the monster had found us
again.
I threw myself into the dense brush and scrambled for my life. Branches
tore at my face and hands. I heard Bors shouting, but could not make out
the words. Crawling like a frenzied snake, I dragged myself through the
tangled undergrowth.
I glimpsed a hole in the brush no wider than a badger set and dove
headlong for it. But even as I squirmed to pull myself inside, I felt a heavy
weight seize upon my legs and I was yanked off the ground. In the same
moment, the most foul stink assaulted me: a putrid stench of decaying
flesh, together with vomitus and excrement.
Choking, retching, I gasped for breath. Tears filled my eyes and streamed
down my face. The beast secured its hold on me and began jerking its
hideous head back and forth, shaking me hard to break my bones one
against the other before swallowing me whole.
Kicking and clawing, I twisted my body this way and that, trying to
scratch out one of the creature's eyes. In my frenzy, my hand struck
against a slick-furred neck below the massive jaw; I clenched the odious
fur in my hand and hung on, screaming and screaming for help.
The pain grew unbearable. I screamed and screamed again, beating at the
heavy flesh with my fists. Pain rolled over me in waves as darkness -
terrible, mind-numbing darkness - gathered around me. I could feel the life
slowly being crushed from me, and I knew I was breathing my last.
'God in heaven!' I cried in agony. 'Help me!'
No prayer was ever more heartfelt than that one, and the words were no
sooner out of my mouth than Gereint appeared.
He seemed to hang in the air above me, as if floating, or hovering. I
realized then that he had somehow contrived to scale the beast's back.
Plunging his knife to the hilt to secure his handhold, he began hacking at
the creature with his sword.
The young fool will get himself killed! I thought, trying desperately to free
my legs.
Up swung the sword, and down, striking at the back of the great beast's
skull. The vile creature's neck jerked up and its mouth gaped wide. The
monster roared in agony and I was sent sprawling to the ground. I fell
heavily on my side and fought to get free lest I be trampled to death.
My left leg would not move. I heaved myself forward and, on arms and
elbows, pulled myself into the brush. Once clear of the beast, I glanced
back over my shoulder to see Gereint. He was gone now, but his sword
was still stuck in the brute's bulging neck just behind the skull. The
monster was belling its agonized shriek with a sound to rip the earth
asunder. I threw my hands over my ears and hunkered down, trying to
hold out that hateful sound.
What happened after, I cannot say, for the next thing I knew, I was waking
up in the dark, silent wood. The black beast was gone, and I was alone.
My side felt as if it had been raked with a spearhead and then pounded
with an iron rod; my leg burned. Though it hurt to breathe, I drew great
draughts to keep from passing out again.
A swirling mass of fear churned within me, but I have been afraid before
and in equally trying circumstances. Forcing myself to remain calm, I lay
back and listened for a moment. When I did not hear anything, I made to
rise. Instantly, pain burst upon me anew, and I fell back.
Bors and Gereint are pursuing the horses and will return any moment, I
told myself. They know I am here and will not abandon me. I clung to this
hope, repeating it over and over.
The pain in my leg throbbed with a sharp, deep-rooted, urgent ache. It
took my mind off the raw pulse of pain in my side. With an effort I pushed
myself upright and leaned back against a fallen log. I reached down to
touch the place where the pain seemed the worse, and my hand came away
sticky and wet with blood. I tried to move my leg; the exertion sent a
searing bolt of fire into my head and I almost swooned, but at least the leg
could bend somewhat and no bones seemed broken.
My knife was still tucked in my belt, but my sword was missing; my spear
had disappeared with my horse. Using the knife, I contrived to cut a strip
from my siarc and bind my leg to stanch the flow of blood.
The effort exhausted me. I tied the knot and lay back panting and gasping.
A fragment of Myrddin's psalm came into my mind and I spoke it out.
There in the darksome forest, lying on my back, warm blood oozing from
my wounds, I said:
    The Lord is my rock!

   The Lord is my fortress, and my deliverer!
   God is my refuge; He is my shield!
   And the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

There was solace in the words. Just saying them aloud in that dolorous
place comforted me, so I continued:
   I call to the Lord, who is worthy to be praised,

   And I am saved from my enemies.
   The cords of death entangled me;
   The torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.

It was an act of defiance, I believe, to invoke the Great Light in that place,
for I felt my heart stir as courage returned. In truth, I surprised myself at
how much of these songs I could remember. Feeling a very bard myself, I
sent those heaven-breathed words into the darksome wood:
   The cords of the grave coiled around me

   The snares of death confronted me.
   In my distress, I cried to my God for help.
   From his temple he heard my voice.

Wonder of wonders, even as I spoke those last words I saw a light shining
in the wood: so pale and dim, I first thought I must have imagined it. I
looked and the faint glimmer disappeared, but when I glanced away again,
I saw it once more. I raised myself up and stared at the place - as if to hold
it there so that it would not vanish again, leaving me alone in the dark. I
could not see the light directly for all the trees and brush. Desperate to
hold the fragile luminescence, I tried to remember the rest of Myrddin's
prayer. How did it go?
And he gazed with...
No, no... that was not right. The pain in my leg drove out everything else. I
could not think. I took a deep breath and forced myself to concentrate. In
clumps and snatches the words came to me and I spoke them out.
And he looked down in his anger and said: Because their love is set on me,
I will deliver them. I will deliver them from danger, for they know my
name. I will be with them in times of trouble; I will rescue them from the
grave, And bring them honour in my courts; I will satisfy them with
eternal life to enjoy their rich salvation.
As I spoke, the faint radiance seemed to strengthen, gathering itself into a
steady gleam like that of the moon on a mist-shrouded winter night. I
thought that the light might yet break forth, but though I continued
repeating the psalm over and over again, the fragile light remained a mere
pearly glimmering, and beyond that did not increase.
After a time, I felt the winter chill seeping into my bones. My clothes were
damp with sweat and the air was cold, and I began to shiver. Each tremble
sent a jolt of pain through me, as it meant moving my leg. I clenched my
teeth and willed the gently gleaming light to stay.
I do not know how long I lay there, shivering with pain and cold, grinding
my teeth, and praying for that small, thin glow to remain. It seemed a long
time, however - long enough for me to begin harbouring the suspicion that
I had indeed lost both Gereint and Bors, and was now completely alone.
Once this suspicion hardened into certainty, I decided to try to get up and
move in the direction of the light.
Searching around me for a sturdy branch to use for a staff, I put my hand
to a crooked tree limb; it was old and the rotten bark came off in my hand,
but the wood was strong enough to support me, and so I used it to pull
myself up onto my feet once more. My injured leg still throbbed with the
slightest movement, but I clenched my teeth, steadied myself, and started
off.
I found I could hobble only a few paces before the pain grew too great to
bear and I must stop and rest. Then, after a few moments' respite, I
staggered on. I saw that I was following the trail which the black beast had
forced as it crashed through the wood. This made my passage somewhat
less difficult, for I was able to steady myself against the fallen trees and
broken branches.
Thus, by halts and starts, I proceeded along the narrow path. Despite the
cold, I was soon sweating once more with the pain and exertion, my breath
hanging in phantom clouds around my head. I listened all the while, alert
to any sound in the forest. I strained to hear Gereint returning at any
moment, or Bors. Or the black beast.
But no. I was alone. Again fear boiled up, but I swallowed it down and
moved on, berating my companions for running off, as I supposed, after
the horses. How I had come by this notion, I cannot say. Consumed by my
own troubles, I had not spared a single kindly thought for them. Indeed,
they could have been lying wounded or dead in the wood nearby and I
would not have been any the wiser.
'Blessed Jesu, forgive a foolish man,' I sighed aloud, and then breathed a
silent prayer for the safety of my friends. These thoughts and prayers
occupied me as I staggered my slow way along the trail towards the faint
moon-shimmer of radiance.
At long last, the trail turned slightly and I came to a huge bramble thicket -
an infernally dense tangle of spiked vines and thorny branches. Had it
been a rampart of stone, it could not have been more formidable. Yet the
monstrous creature appeared to have crashed into this wall and, in its blind
rage, driven a ragged gap into the close-grown tangles. Although I could
not discern the source, the light seemed to be coming from somewhere
beyond the hedge wall.
I leaned on my crooked staff, gazing at the thicket. The throb in my leg
had become a steady pulse of pain, and my side felt as if live coals were
smouldering under the skin. I was shivering with cold and pain, and
sweating at the same time. I closed my eyes and leaned harder on my staff.
'Jesu, nave mercy,' I groaned. 'I am hurt and I am alone, and I am lost if
you do not help me now.'
I was still trying to marshal my waning strength to attempt the hedge when
I heard quick, rustling footsteps behind me. My first thought was that the
monster had returned. This fear swiftly vanished at the sound of my name.
'Gwalchavad!'
'Here!' I called. 'Here I am!' I turned to stare back down the narrow path
that had led me to this place. A moment later, I saw Gereint loping
towards me, his face gleaming ghostly in the pale light. He carried a sword
- mine, it was - and wore an expression of mingled relief and wonder.
'Lord Gwalchavad, you are alive,' he said as he joined me. Out of breath,
he stuck the sword in the ground, and bent over with his hands on his
knees. 'I feared you were - ' He paused, gulping air, then said, 'I feared I
had lost you, but then I saw the light and followed it.'
Observing my leg, he asked, 'Is it bad?'
'I can endure it,' I replied. 'What of Bors? Have you seen him?'
'Not since the attack,' he answered.
'God help him,' I replied; then leaving Bors' welfare in the Good Lord's
hands, I turned once more to the thicket. 'The light drew me here, too. It
seems to be coming from the other side of this hedge wall.'
'We will go through together,' said Gereint. Taking up the sword, he
stepped to the gap and began slashing at the briers. He cleared the path
before us, and reached a hand back for me.
'Go before me,' I told him. 'I will follow.'
He peered at me doubtfully, then turned and resumed his chopping at the
knotted branches. He hewed like a champion, slashing with tireless
strokes. The vapour from his breath hung in a cloud above him, and his
hair grew damp and slick, but he stood to his work, arms swinging,
shoulders rolling as he hacked at the dangling vines.
I followed, hobbling a step at a time, as the hedge parted before Gereint's
blade. In this way we proceeded, until...
'We are through!' Gereint declared triumphantly.
Glancing up, I saw the light shining through and Gereint standing in the
breach, sword in hand. Whatever lay beyond the hedge wall occupied his
complete attention.
                  THIRTY-FOUR


I staggered behind Gereint into a wide clearing. Beyond the all-enclosing
thicket, the ground was rocky and uneven, and the hedge wall stood back
in a circle all around. In the centre of the clearing rested a squat stone hut
with a steep, high-pitched roof, also of stone. The walls were squared,
solid, and without openings of any kind, and the roof was covered with
moss - in all a most curious dwelling.
Beside the house stood a stone plinth of the kind the Romans used to erect
for their statues and memorials. There was no memorial or statue now, but
a heap of broken rubble at the foot of the plinth suggested that once there
might have been.
These things I took in first, and only when Gereint spoke did I feel the
calming silence of the place. 'It is very peaceful here,' the young warrior
said, and even at a whisper his voice seemed to boom like a beaten drum.
Placing a finger to my lips, I warned him against speaking aloud until we
could discover whether we were the only visitors. Gereint nodded and
took my arm upon his shoulder and we proceeded cautiously towards the
dwelling.
We had been drawn to the clearing by the light. Now that we were here,
however, there was no light to be found and none to be seen -that is, there
appeared no source of illumination: no campfire, no torches, no subtle
sunlight shining down from above - yet the stone hut did stand suflused in
a softly gleaming radiance very like that of moonlight, and what is more,
this gentle gloaming bathed the entire clearing with a fine luminescence
that shimmered gently at the edges of my vision. Whenever I looked
directly at an object, this ghostly glimmering faded, though the soft glow
remained.
Wary with every step, we approached the stone hut, moving slowly along
the near side to what we took to be the front. There we found a door both
low and narrow, its threshold overgrown with weeds and grass. So small
was this entrance that only one could pass at a time, and that one must
bow almost to his knees to enter.
Gereint cleared away the growth with a few quick swipes of his blade,
then, sword in hand, stooped and entered.
A moment later, his face appeared in the doorway, and he said, 'It is
empty, lord. There is no one here.'
With some difficulty and no little pain - for I could no longer bend my
injured leg at all, and had to lie down and drag myself through the opening
- I joined him within. Gereint raised me to my feet again, and we stood
together in a holy place.
'It is some kind of chapel,' Gereint said, his voice filling the stone-walled
room.
The same weird light that played in the clearing outside also filled the
interior of the single, vaulted room, allowing us to see each detail of the
rich ornamentation - for every surface was carved with wonderful designs:
intricate knotwork panels and borders, countless triscs and spirals, and
hundreds of the elongated, much-entwined shapes of animals and men. I
recognized this adornment; it was that which the Celts of old made with
such zeal and delight. There were also innumerable crosses carved on the
walls and floors, many with odd runelike symbols which I could not read.
The room, unforgiving in its square, spare simplicity, seemed to dance to
the rhythm and movement of those wonderful carvings. To stand and gaze
upon floor and walls and roof was to inhabit a psalm or a glad song of
praise. I filled my eyes with the graceful dance of the room, and felt my
spirit rise up within me.
'Truly, this is a sacred place,' I said.
'An ancient place,' Gereint replied. 'Look how - '
'Listen!' I held up my hand to quiet him.
There came the sound of a soft footfall - someone was moving along the
wall outside. Gereint made a flattening motion with his hand and silently
stepped to the doorway, sword ready.
I stood stock-still, straining into the silence. There came no shouts, no
cries of help or alarm. I held my breath and heard only the rapid beating of
my own heart. And then -
A quick movement at the door and a dark shape burst into the room,
straightened, and became the familiar figure I knew.
'Bors!'
Gereint lowered the blade and fell back; he had been that close to striking.
'Here you are!' Bors cried, lowering the sword in his own hand. 'And here
was I thinking I had lost you for good.'
His relief was instantly swallowed in amazement as he beheld the walls
and floor. He turned his wondering gaze upon the beautiful carvings, and
we joined him in silent admiration. Explanations could wait; a greater
mystery commanded our attention.
When he spoke again, it was in a voice humbled with awe. 'It is
wonderful.'
'That it is,' I agreed. 'I have never seen the like.'
'It reminds me of those cells the monks make in Armorica. Look here,' he
said, moving towards the rear of the chapel, 'the altar still stands, and - '
He broke off so suddenly, I glanced quickly at his face, which now wore
an expression of revulsion: lips twisted in a grimace of distaste, eyes
narrowed in disgust. With my crooked staff, I struggled across the room to
join him. 'Damn them to hell,' he muttered, turning his face away.
Then I saw what he had seen, and turned my face away, too. The sight and
smell brought bile to my mouth and I coughed, feeling the burn in my
throat as I swallowed it back. 'Desecrated.'
On the altar before us lay the severed genitals of a bull, the members
placed atop a pile of human excrement. The bull's bloody horns with bits
of the skull, and tail with part of the anus attached, flanked the stinking
mound on either side, and the poor animal's tongue, torn out by the root,
completed the repugnant arrangement.
'Have you found something?' Gereint hastened to where we stood. I tried
to warn him off but was too late, and he pushed in beside Bors.
The young warrior looked at the altar. Clapping a hand to his mouth, he
choked and turned swiftly away.
'That is the worst of it,' I said.
'Holy Jesu,' he whispered in a small, wounded voice.
'This is not right,' Bors declared solemnly. 'I will not allow it.'
So saying, he stripped off his cloak and flung it over the obscene display. I
thought that he meant merely to cover the desecration, but he had another
plan, for he spread the cloak and then gathered up the defiling mass,
folding it into the cloth. Holding the bundle at arm's length, he bore it
from the chapel, returning a moment later with a double handful of grass
in each fist.
Striding to the altar, Bors took to scrubbing the flat stone with the grass. 'I
need some water,' he said through clenched teeth.
'Maybe there is a well outside,' said Gereint, darting away.
I leaned, exhausted, against the wall while Bors put the full strength of his
arms into the cleansing of the venerable stone. As he worked, a faint green
sheen began to gleam where the grass, crushed by its abrasion, left some
of its substance.
'See here, Gwalchavad,' Bors called, motioning me nearer. 'What is this?'
I hobbled closer, and only then did Bors notice I was wounded. 'But you
are hurt, brother. Forgive me, I should have -'
'I will live, never fear,' I said, waving his apology aside. Indicating the
altar, I said, 'What do you make of it?'
'It is a circle, and words, I think.' He pointed to a broken arc of spidery
lines which seemed to be etched in the stone. 'But I cannot read the letters.'
'Nor can I,' I told him. 'Perhaps if we could see more of it -' Bors fell to
scrubbing again, as if by brute effort he could make the words appear. But
for all his muscle, the thin, cracked lines did not mend or improve. 'It is no
use, Bors. Whatever is written on that stone is worn away and there is no
reading it now.'
Bors ceased rubbing, and stood with knots of grass clenched in his fists. 'I
should go see what has become of Gereint,' he said, but his eyes never left
the etched surface of the stone.
'Yes, and then we should decide what to do next.'
Curiously, we were both reluctant to leave the altar. We stood staring at
the fragmented lines, neither making a move... until Gereint returned a few
moments later. He burst into the chapel in a rush of excitement.
'There is a well!' he exclaimed, bustling towards us. 'And I found this bowl
on a chain. I had some difficulty getting the bowl free without spilling the
water, but -' He stopped when he saw what we were looking at. 'It looks
like writing.'
'Aye, lad, it is,' Bors affirmed. 'But we can make nothing of it.'
'Maybe this will help,' replied Gereint. Stepping quickly to the altar, he
raised the vessel and dashed the contents over the stone.
The water struck the stone with a hiss and a splutter, casting up great
vaporous clouds of steam while droplets of water sizzled and cracked - as
if the altar had been iron-heated in the forge. Bors and Gereint drew back
a step, and I threw an arm over my face and twisted away lest I be scalded
by the heat blast.
'Jesu be praised!' breathed Gereint. 'Look!'
Lowering my arm, I gazed once more upon the altar. Through the steam I
could see the incised lines glowing with a golden sheen. Even as I
watched, the thin broken lines joined, deepened, became robust and bold.
The flat altar stone had changed, too: glittering and smooth as a new
polished gem, it gleamed with the milky radiance of crystal shot through
with veins of silver and flecks of crimson and gold.
The image on the stone resolved clearly into that of a broad circular band
of gold with a cross inside; bent around the band was a finely drawn ring
of words. Flanking the circle and cross on either side were two figures -
creatures whose bodies appeared to be made of fire - with wings outspread
as if in supplication or worship.
'It is beautiful,' murmured Gereint.
'The words,' said Bors, his voice soft with awe. 'What do they say?'
'I have never seen writing like this,' I said.
'Is it Latin?' he wondered.
'Perhaps,' I allowed doubtfully, 'but it is not like any Latin the monks use.
See how the letters curve and twist back upon one another. I think it must
be some other script.'
Gereint, his face illumined by the soft golden light, gazed upon the altar
figures with a beatific expression on his face. Oblivious to all else, he sank
to his knees before the altar, his lips moving in an unspoken prayer. The
purity of this simple, spontaneous act shamed me and I averted my eyes.
Then I heard a movement beside me and when I looked back, Bors had
joined the young warrior on his knees.
The two knelt together shoulder to shoulder, hands upraised in the posture
of monks. Had I been able to bend my leg, I would have joined them.
Instead, I clung to my crude crutch, and raised my voice to heaven.
'Blessed Jesu,' I prayed, my voice sounding loud and clear in the sacred
place, 'I come to you a beggar in need. Great evil stalks this forest and we
are not strong enough to overcome it. Help us, Lord. Do not forsake us,
nor yet leave us prey to the powers of the Evil One.' Then, remembering
the ruined chapel and its desecration, I added, 'Holy One of God, accept
our poor offering of water poured out upon the stone. Sain this chapel with
your presence, and restore the glory of your name in this place. So be it.'
Into the silence of the chapel came the echo of a song - like one of those
Myrddin sometimes plays in which the harp seems to spin the melody of
itself: Gift Songs, the Emrys calls them -so quiet it took me a moment to
realize that it was not of my imagining. Bors and Gereint ceased their
prayers and raised their eyes above.
I, too, gazed around, for it seemed as if the music derived from the
heights. I saw nothing but the shadowed recesses of the high-pitched roof.
The music, exquisite in its simple elegance, grew louder, and I saw the
shadows fade as the carvings on the roof and walls of the chapel began to
glimmer and glow.
We gazed in wonder at the old, old markings as the delicate interwoven
lines filled with the same shimmering radiance that transformed the altar.
Soon we three were bathed in soft golden light. Suddenly the chapel was
filled with a sound like that of the wind swirling through long-leafed
willows, or the rush of feathered wings beating the air when birds take
flight. With this sound came music, very faint, but distinct and
unmistakable: the celestial music of the heavenly realms.
A joy like that which I had experienced when I knelt alone in the presence
of the Grail once more filled my heart, and it swelled to bursting for me to
hear the strains of that glorious song swirling like a graceful wind,
sweeping the crannies and corners of the chapel. I closed my eyes and
turned my face heavenward and felt the warmth of the golden light on my
skin, and knew a fine and holy rapture.
Then, more wonderful than anything that had gone before, there came to
me a fragrance far surpassing that of all the flowers that ever grew. I drew
the marvellous scent deep into my lungs and breathed the air of heaven
itself; and on my tongue I tasted the honeyed sweetness of that rarest of
atmospheres.
I tasted, and knew, even before I opened my eyes, that we were no longer
alone.
                   THIRTY-FIVE


Gereint saw her first. Still kneeling before the altar, he raised his head, and
his eyes widened slightly in surprise, but there was neither fear nor alarm
in the expression, only delight. The light reflected on his face made him
appear wise and good.
Bors - kneeling beside Gereint, his still head bowed - had yet to apprehend
the visitor in our midst.
She took the appearance of an earthly woman; her features dark and
dusky, her skin smooth and clear as amber honey, she stood before us as
calmly and naturally as any mortal being, but with the dignity and grace
only the heaven-born possess. Her eyes were blue as the sun-washed sky,
pale against the tawny hue of her supple flesh. Hair the colour of autumn
chestnuts hung in long, loose curls around her shoulders, and spilled over
the fine, gentle curves of her breasts. Clothed in a robe of deepest crimson,
with a woven girdle of blue fretted with plaited gold, she seemed to me the
very image and essence of beauty, wisdom, and dignity conjoined in the
elegant, winsome form of a woman.
I could have lingered a lifetime in her presence and reckoned it only joy. I
could gladly have stood entranced forever and counted it nothing but
pleasure as, fairest of the Great King's servants, she bent over the altar,
gazing devoutly upon the object in her hands.
Her devotion drew my own; I looked and saw what it was that the maiden
had placed upon the altar: the Grail.
My first thought was that the Blessed Cup had been found, that she had
somehow got it away from those who had stolen it and was now returning
it to us. This notion was instantly dashed, however; as if in answer to my
thought, the Grail Maiden turned her head and looked directly at me, and
the fire that burned in those clear blue eyes was terrible to see.
'Turn away, Sons of Dust,' the angel said in a voice unyielding as the altar
stone. 'The cup before you is holy. You defile it with your presence.'
Speechless with shame and amazement, I could only stare at her and feel
the full depth of my worthlessness in her eyes. Glancing at Gereint, I saw
that he had bent his head under the weight of futility, and held his clasped
hands tight against his chest. Bors had collapsed inwardly upon himself,
his hands lying palm upward on the floor, his head touching his knees.
'Did you think me incapable of defending that which I have been ordained
to uphold? Blind guides! How is it that you can see so much, yet
understand so little?' Her words were like fire scorching my ears with the
vehemence of her anger. 'I do not know which is worse, your ignorance or
your arrogance. Think you the Great King requires the aid of any mortal to
accomplish his will? Is the Lord of Creation powerless to protect his
treasures?'
Her righteous scorn leapt like a flame, withering my self-respect and
misplaced honour with its indignant heat.
'O Mighty Guardians,' she demanded, 'where were you when the enemy
laid hand to your treasure? Did you imagine the Cup of Christ would be
protected by frail flesh?'
I stared in dismay and could not answer.
'Hear me, Sons of Dust! You held the Kingdom of Summer in your grasp
and you threw it away. You have destroyed the one opportunity you were
granted to bring peace to the peoples of the earth.'
I could not endure her anger any longer. 'Please!' I cried. 'I am an ignorant
man, it is true. If I have failed to - '
'Silence!' the angel cried, and the walls of the chapel quaked at the word.
The Grail Cup is returning to the hand that gave it. Look upon it, Son of
Dust! Look upon it and weep at your loss, for this is the last it will be seen
in this worlds-realm.'
Bending over the cup, she reached out to take it up once more, and I knew
no mortal being would ever again know its healing presence.
'No, wait!' I said, and the Grail Keeper hesitated, the light of righteous
anger flaring in her eyes again. I had braved it once, and would a thousand
times over if I could but stay her hand a little longer. 'Forgive me, lady.
My words and ways are crude, I know, but I mean no disrespect. It is only
that I do not know how to speak as I ought. Truly, I could not endure the
knowledge that this Holy Cup has passed from the world of men because
of my failure. If there is any way the Glorious Vessel can be redeemed,
only tell me and I pledge my life and all I possess to its redemption.'
The maiden regarded me with a look both piercing and pitying; her reply
was blade-sharp. 'Why weary heaven with your contemptible pleading?
Think you to sway what has been commanded from before the earth was
framed and the stars set in their courses?'
'Please,' I said, summoning every grain of courage I owned to one last
entreaty. 'It is not for myself that I ask, less yet for those whose duty it was
to defend the Grail, but for those who struggle in darkness for the light.
They have so little, and their needs are so great, the merest glimpse of the
Holy Cup is enough to give them courage to abide the misfortunes of their
lot with hope and faith in the life to come. It is for them that I plead. I beg
you, do not take the Grail away.'
The lady listened to my plea, but her face remained like flint and her fierce
gaze unaltered. 'Words cannot atone for your sin and failure.'
'Then take me instead, I pray. I will endure the fires of perdition, and that
gladly, if my suffering could be accounted for the reclamation of the
Summer Realm and the cup that upholds it.'
'You are a man, indeed,' she conceded, softening somewhat. 'But it is not
to be.'
So saying, she reached for the cup and took it between her hands. I knew I
looked my last upon the Most Holy Grail.
She straightened and made to turn away, paused, and raised her head; her
gaze lifted - as if heeding a voice I could not hear.
I saw this and hope leapt in my heart.
Nodding once, she turned to me again. 'Most fortunate of men are you,'
she said, 'for the Lord of Hosts has heard the plea of your heart and has
been moved to give you a second chance to prove yourselves worthy. The
Grail will stay.'
Joy flowed up and over me in a warm, giddy rush. But for my injured leg,
I would have thrown myself to my knees before her and kissed the hem of
her robe in gratitude. 'Thank you,' I breathed. 'Thank you.'
'Your petition has been granted,' she told me, 'for the sake of the king you
serve, and those who stand in need of the blessing of this Holy Cup.'
Before I could think what to say, she continued, her voice assuming a
commanding tone once more. 'Hear me, Sons of Dust: it has been decided
that you are to be shown what you have pledged your lives to protect, and
who it is that sustains you in your duty.'
Placing the cup upon the altar once more, her fingers described a graceful
figure in the air, and the Grail gathered radiance, drawing light to itself,
shining with a rosy brilliance as if reflecting the sunrays of creation's
dawn. When she removed her hands, I saw that a faint circle of light had
formed in the air above the rim.
'Behold!' she said, and spread her hands wide.
At once I heard a sound like that of a struck harp, and a bright light leapt
up, and the altar began to glow with a fine and holy light. I do not know
how to say it otherwise, but that this radiance expanded outward to
embrace the whole of the chapel. The stone walls began to shine, and the
incised designs seemed to move and grow in the light, entwining with one
another and spreading to form patterns of gleaming light. The next I knew,
those selfsame walls were not stone anymore, but gold! Still, the alteration
did not end there, for the patterns continued to grow and change and the
gold paled to white marble, and that gave way to crystal so pure I could
see through the very walls to the world beyond - all green and lush
beneath a sky of gold.
'Look upon me, Son of Dust, and know me as I am,' the lady said; I do not
think she spoke aloud this time, but I heard her clearly and, emboldened
by the tenderness of her invitation, I looked and saw that she, like the
chapel, had changed.
Indeed, the woman who stood before me now was taller and far more
noble in face and figure. Her long hair was silver-white, and so, too, the
robe which clothed her slender form. Her skin was pale as milk or
moonlight, and she seemed, despite her aspect and the obvious maturity of
her body, to manifest the spirited youth of a child. The visible
manifestation of her sustaining power rose behind her in two radiant arcs,
subtle, yet perceptible as a rippling rainbow in the sunlight, shimmering
with vital potency, overarching and sweeping out like enfolding wings to
sustain and protect. Her face, once fair to look upon, was no less beautiful
now, yet it was a piercing beauty almost frightening in its symmetry and
the compelling elegance of its proportions. Piercing, too, the radiance that
streamed from her - almost too bright to look upon, and of a quality that
penetrated the heart as well as the eye, and illumined both; for to see her
was to know one looked upon a glory that partook of the heavenly and was
the birthright of those who served in the High King of Heaven's celestial
courts.
'Behold,' she said again, and I saw that the cup had changed. No longer a
vessel of jewelled metal - indeed, there was neither ornament nor design:
no gold, gems, or pearls; no inscribed scrollwork; nor any other such
embellishment - yet it glittered and shone with a dancing brilliance as if it
were made of golden starfire, for it was garbed in its heavenly form now,
and was as high above the earthly cup as the Grail Maiden was above her
mortal sisters.
This! I thought. This is the True Cup of Christ!
These words formed in my mind before I knew what they meant. Even so,
I heard in them truth's clear and undisputed ring. The Grail Maiden raised
the Holy Cup from the now-translucent altar stone, turned, and, Holy
Saviour, offered it to me! I hesitated, glancing towards Gereint and Bors
for help, but their heads were bowed and their eyes were closed as if in
raptured sleep. It was to me alone that she extended the wondrous bowl.
Still, I hesitated lest I defile the Holy Cup with my touch.
Take it, noble Gwakhavad, the angel urged gently, her tone melting honey
and sunlight. With trembling hands, I reached out and received the Sacred
Bowl.
The blood of Christ, shed for you, Gwakhavad, she intoned. Drink deep of
it and be renewed in body, mind, and spirit.
My heart beating within me like a captive creature sensing its release, I
raised the Sacred Bowl and saw the liquid glint of deep crimson as I
brought it to my lips. I put my mouth to the rim, closed my eyes, and
emptied the cup. The wine danced on my tongue like cool fire; it was
sweet to the taste, but with a tart, almost bitter edge that revealed subtle
depths of flavour. Although I am no master of the vine, I would have said
that it must far surpass the finest wine ever poured into an emperor's cup.
As I swallowed, I felt the renewing warmth spread out from my throat and
stomach, passing through my limbs and out to the tips of my fingers and
toes. The sensation, after innumerable privations of the trail, was so
pleasurable I could not help smiling. My injured leg tingled and I realized
the pain was swiftly ebbing away to a distant memory. I flexed the limb
and discovered it whole and hale once more.
The Grail Maiden extended her hands and I released the wonderful bowl.
Inclining her head as she received the cup, she smiled at my delighted
surprise, and then, holding her palm above the cup's rim, turned to
Gereint.
Though I heard nothing, the instant she turned from me the young warrior
raised his head and opened his eyes as if summoned. The angel offered
him the cup, in the same way she had offered it to me, and Gereint took it
in both hands, lifted it, and drank, draining the cup in great, gulping
swallows, as if he could not get the liquid inside him fast enough. Then,
embarrassed by his immoderate quaffing, he bent his head and returned
the Holy Cup to the maiden, who accepted it nicely. She must have spoken
a word of encouragement to him, for Gereint raised his head and smiled.
Then it was Bors' turn to drink from the cup, which he did with his
customary exuberance. Seizing the proffered vessel in both hands, he
elevated it once, twice, three times over the altar, then brought it to his
mouth and drained it down - much as I had seen him do on countless
occasions in Arthur's hall. Tilting back his head, he swallowed and then
paused, savouring the draught before returning the empty bowl to the
angel. 'Noble lady,' he said, the only one among us to speak aloud.
The Grail Maiden bent her head in acknowledgment and replaced the
Sacred Cup on the altar stone, whereupon she raised her hands to shoulder
height, palms outward, and said, 'Rise, friends, and stand.'
This time she spoke aloud, and oh! to hear that voice was to know the
intimate ecstasy of a lover when beckoned by his best beloved. She called
us friends, and I vowed within myself to be worthy of the word to the end
of my earthly life.
'This day you have by grace been granted a foretaste of heaven's feast,' she
told us. 'Those to whom much is given, much is required. Draw near by
faith and stand at the altar where men's hearts are tried and known.'
Raising her face heavenward, she appeared to listen for a moment, and
then began reciting aloud the words as she was given them. She said:
'Receive the word of the Lord! The Kingdom of Summer is close at hand,
but the Evil One is closer still. He roars and raves, and roams the earthly
crust ever seeking those he might destroy. Hold fast to the truth, my
friends, and know in your hearts that where the King of Kings is
honoured, evil cannot prevail. Remember, greater is He who is in you than
he who is in the world. Fear nothing, but gird yourself for the battle to
come, and cling to the Sword of your Salvation.
'I tell you the truth, the greatest among you fell from grace through the sin
of pride. Trusting in strength was his weakness; trusting in wisdom was
his folly. Lusting after honour, he was bewitched by one who honours
only lust and lies. Thus are the mighty undone. Therefore, trust not in the
strength of your arms, nor the wisdom of your minds; rather, trust in Him
who made them, and who with His Swift Sure Hand upholds all things.
'Heed well the warning I give you: the battle is perilous, and it is deadly
earnest. Yet, in the twistings of the fight, as in the darkness of the night,
you are not alone. The Champion of Heaven rides before you; seize the
victory in His name.'
The Grail Maiden bade us farewell, saying, 'The Grail abides. For the sake
of all who stand in need of its blessing, I charge you to guard it well.'
Raising her right hand, she made the sign of the cross, and said, 'All grace,
and power, and righteousness be upon you now, and forevermore. So be
it!'
She seemed to grow both larger and taller as she spoke, and her form lost
its solidity, becoming crystalline and sharp before fading from sight in a
muted flare of dazzling starlight. The gleam lingered for a while where she
had stood, and then that, too, disappeared. When I looked, the Sacred
Grail had vanished, and in its place was the same vessel I had seen in
Arthur's hands at the consecration of the shrine. The altar stone was
merely a stone once more, and the chapel only a bare room with walls of
figured stone.
We three came slowly to ourselves, like men waking from a dream we all
had shared. I looked at Bors and Gereint, and my heart moved within me
to see them. Good and faithful men, noble-hearted, loyal through all things
- to death, and beyond. How was it possible that I should have gained a
portion of such friendship?
Gereint saw my look and said, 'If that was a dream, never wake me.'
'It was no dream,' Bors replied, stirring himself and looking around. 'Did
you not drink from the Holy Cup?'
'What did it taste like to you?' asked Gereint.
'It was the wine, of course,' I told him. 'And fine wine, too.'
'Wine!' roared Bors. 'I wonder at you, Gwalchavad. It was never wine.
Have I lived so long not to know mead when I taste it?' He looked to
Gereint to support this assertion. 'What say you, brother? Mead or wine?'
'It was the sweetest, most pure water I have ever tasted,' replied Gereint,
blissfully ignoring Bors' lead. 'Like water from a living spring.'
'Wine and water!' scoffed Bors, shaking his head in mystified disbelief. 'It
was mead, I tell you. Mead! Sweet elixir of life, and libation of kings!
How can anyone say otherwise?'
I gazed longingly at the altar. The cup remained, but not a glimmer of that
wild, exultant light persisted. 'How strange,' I murmured to myself. 'We
held eternity in our hands, had we but known.'
'Eh?' said Bors, glancing at me over his shoulder. 'What was that?'
'We have been given another chance,' I said. 'Let us vow here and now to
prove ourselves worthy of our charge this time.'
'Aye,' Bors agreed solemnly. 'She called us Guardians, and I will die
before I leave this place undefended.'
Gereint agreed, and we all pledged ourselves to stand guard over the Grail
until Arthur returned, or death overtook us. 'We had best look outside,' I
said, starting for the door.
'Lord Gwalchavad, your leg - ' Gereint began.
'There was healing in the cup,' I declared. 'I tell you, Bors, I feel more
refreshed and alive than I have in years.'
His smile was ready and wide. 'I believe you, brother. For my part, I do
not believe I ever felt this good.' He gazed around him in expectant
wonder, as if hoping to see something of the splendour that we had
witnessed only moments before. 'Truly, I begin to understand what Arthur
must have felt when he was dragged from death's door.'
With the greatest reluctance, we left the altar and crossed the chapel to the
door, where, one by one, we bowed low and passed through the narrow
way. In recognition of my healing, I placed my rude staff just inside the
door and stepped through. Once outside, the darkness struck us like the
blow of a fist. Though the clearing still glimmered as if with pale
moonlight, we reeled on our feet for a moment before finding our balance
again.
'All is quiet,' mused Bors, gazing around at the forest, dark and forbidding
as it loomed over the small circle of the clearing. 'As much as I wish it, I
doubt it will remain so.'
I was about to suggest that one of us should make a circuit of the chapel to
ensure that the clearing remained secure, when Bors said, 'Shh!' He
stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he stared into the darkness.
Gereint and I froze and waited for Bors to speak. 'Someone is watching
us,' Bors said after a moment, his voice low and tight. I heard Gereint ease
his sword from the strap at his belt, and wished I had something better
than a knife.
'Where?' whispered Gereint, stepping closer. 'I see no one.'
'There,' Bors replied, indicating the place with the blade in his hand. 'You
there - waiting in the shadows. Come out!'
'Careful, brother,' I warned. Taking my place behind his right shoulder, I
motioned for Gereint to guard Bors' left side. 'There may be more lurking
in the trees beyond.'
We advanced halfway across the clearing and stopped. 'You there!' called
Bors sternly. 'Come out and declare yourself.'
From the deep-shadowed darkness a voice called out. 'Bors! Gwalchavad!'
'It is Peredur!' said Gereint, starting forward.
Bors caught him by the arm and pulled him back with a warning look as a
solitary figure stepped from the surrounding wood into the clearing. We
waited. The young warrior stepped nearer and I recognized the familiar
shape and stance at last.
'It is Peredur,' Gereint insisted, and hastened to welcome his friend. 'I
feared you had been killed by the beast long since. Have you seen the
others?'
'Is there no one else here?' Peredur asked, looking past Gereint to Bors and
myself. 'Arthur and Myrddin - are they here?'
'It is only the three of us,' Gereint told him. 'We have seen no one else
since coming to this part of the wood.' Raising a hand to the chapel behind
us, he said, 'We have seen the Grail. It was here.'
'Truly?' wondered Peredur. 'I would give much to have seen that.'
The remark was innocence itself, but the way he said it made our holy
experience seem a petty thing. If we had said we had seen a green dog, or
a calf with two heads, it might have drawn the same remark.
Bors scrutinized the young man closely. 'Where is your horse?' he asked.
'Oh, nearby,' answered Peredur indifferently. 'I have ridden hard and the
animal is tired. I found a trail -1 think the others used it not long ago.
Come, we can find them and -'
'Did you come by way of the burning oak?' asked Bors abruptly. I noticed
he had yet to put up his weapon.
'No,' answered Peredur. 'I came a different way.'
The young warrior seemed disinclined to say more, but Bors pursued the
matter. 'Which way would that be, then?' he said, more in the way of a
demand than a question.
Peredur turned and looked Bors full in the face. 'I came by another way,'
the young man said, speaking plain and low. There was an edge to his
voice I had never heard before.
'Who can find their way in this wood?' said Gereint.
'How long have you been waiting out there?' demanded Bors.
Peredur's eyes narrowed as he gazed at Bors, but he made no reply.
Bors did not allow the query to go unanswered. 'It is perfectly simple,' he
said, bristling with animosity. 'How long were you standing out there
waiting for us?'
Gereint, who had been eager to interpose himself between the two, looked
to me for help. I warned him off with a motion of my hand and he stepped
back. Peredur put out his empty hands in a show of goodwill. 'Your
suspicions are ill-placed, my friends,' he said with an awkward laugh. 'Yet
I bear no grudge. Indeed, I forgive you right readily. Come, now, let us put
aside this contention and think what we must do to unite ourselves with
our swordbrothers once again.'
Peredur turned away and made to step around Bors. He had taken but one
step when Bors seized him by the shoulder and yanked him back around.
'Stay where you are!' he shouted. 'Gwalchavad, relieve him of his sword.'
Knife in hand, I stepped slowly towards the young warrior, saying, 'Stand
easy, brother. There is nothing to fear. We are your friends.'
'You behave like enemies!' he snarled, backing away. The hate in his voice
struck me like a balled fist.
'Stand!' said Bors, repeating his command with a jerk of his sword.
The man before us opened his mouth to protest, then hesitated - only for
an instant, but when he spoke, his demeanour had altered completely. The
hate and suspicion fell away from him and he became so mild and contrite
I felt ashamed of myself for doubting him.
'Cymbrogi,' he said, 'it is me, Peredur. Why are you treating me so
poorly?' Raising an inoffensive hand, he made to step by us. 'I am so glad
to see you. Truly, I thought I would never see any of you again. How long
have you been here?'
'Forgive us, brother,' Gereint said with a sigh of relief. 'We did not mean
to offend you.' He put up his sword and glanced at Bors expectantly. Bors,
too, lowered his blade.
'We should try to find Arthur and Myrddin,' Peredur said. 'They cannot be
far away. I will show you the trail. Come with me, it is not far.'
Instantly, my senses pricked. I felt a thin thrill of fear ripple across my
shoulders. Without a second thought, I stepped swiftly to Peredur. My
knife flicked up in the same quick motion, and I pressed the keen edge
hard against his throat.
'Step away from us, Gereint,' I commanded. 'Bors, take his weapon.'
Peredur gaped in disbelief. 'Have you gone mad?'
'Perhaps,' I replied as Bors, sword upraised, quickly snatched the blade
from the young man's hand. From the corner of my eye I glimpsed the
chapel, and it came into my mind how we might discern the truth. 'But you
will forgive us our madness, I think. We will not be deceived again.'
I grasped him by the upper arm and, my knife still hard against his throat,
I pulled him forward.
'Where are you taking me?' he asked, growing frightened.
'To the altar,' I answered, 'where men's hearts are tried and known.'
                     THIRTY-SIX


The Grail is gone.
Morgaws telk me that it disappeared. The lying bitch insists she had it
secured, and that from the moment Llenlleawg delivered it to her, the
casket never left her sight. The casket she possesses still, but the cup is
gone; what is more, she claims it vanished at the moment the king's
champion attacked his king. Morgaws will pay for this blunder. Oh, yes,
she will pay dearly. I taught her better than this. Could she not see how
much they valued the Grail - that alone should have warned her to be on
her guard. How could she be so blind?
The insolent cow insinuates that it is my fault for not warning her of the
cup's true power. I remind her that whatever else it may be, the cup is just
bait in a trap so far as she is concerned, and that whatever powers it might
possess, the gaudy trinket certainly did not divert the doom which even
now crushes our enemies in its cold embrace.
The disappearance of the cup makes not the slightest difference; it will not
change anything. All is ordered as I have planned, and even now the end
swiftly approaches. Already, events are hurtling towards the
consummation of my plan: my crowntaking, and the reign of terror to
follow. My triumph will be devastating.
Some monarch, upon accession to the throne, declare the pardon of their
opponents, and the forgiveness of sins practised against them. I shall do
the opposite, however. The blood will flow from one end of Britain to the
other! I think I shall begin with bishops, and then... well, all in good time.
First, I must have that cup. Morgaws will devote her full attention to its
recovery - before the fools somehow discover what it was they let slip
away. The thought that they might get hold of it again does not sit well
with me. It may be time for me to intervene.
'Brother,' said Peredur, dragging his feet, 'there is no need for this. You are
anxious over nothing.'
I drew the young warrior forward a few paces, whereupon he stopped.
'Gereint,' he said, pleading, 'you are my kinsman. Tell them - tell them.'
Bors stepped behind us and prodded the reluctant warrior from behind
with the sword point in the small of his back. 'Move along, friend.'
Peredur, outmanned and unarmed, seemed to accept his lot. He nodded
and proceeded docilely. 'You are wise to be suspicious,' he said after a few
steps. 'But you know me. What can you possibly hope to achieve? It is
meaningless.'
At this I began to doubt. What did I hope to prove by making him swear
his faith and loyalty before the altar? It was, as he had said, a meaningless
exercise and would prove nothing.
I felt hard bone and muscle under my hand and doubt stole over me. Fool!
What are you doing? Has the enemy so confused and deceived you that
you can no longer tell the difference between friend and foe? Let him go!
As if echoing my thoughts, Peredur said, 'Let me go -1 will not think the
worse of you. Trust me; we can still find the others, but we must hurry.'
If I had been alone, I believe I would have released him then and there.
The urge to do so was stronger than my conviction to see the thing
through. But Bors, when roused, is not easily put off. 'Save your breath,'
he told the young warrior flatly. 'It is soon over, and no harm will come to
you.'
With that we marched to the chapel door, whereupon I removed the knife
from his throat and, shifting my free hand to the back of his head, pushed
Peredur down so he could navigate the low entrance. He stooped and bent
his back as he entered the narrow opening. But as his foot touched the
threshold, he suddenly froze.
'No!' he shouted, and made to squirm away. I renewed my grip on his arm
and held him tight. 'It proves nothing. I will not do it.'
Bors, close behind, put out a hand and pushed him further into the narrow
opening. The young man arched his back and dug in his heels.
'Get on with it, man,' Bors urged roughly. There is nothing to fear.'
'No!' he cried again, almost frantic this time, his fingers raking at the pillar
stones of the entrance. 'No!'
Bors, larger and stronger, pushed him further through the doorway.
Twisting and turning, Peredur fought, resisting with all his strength. He
shouted to be released, his distress turning quickly to rage. Bors, however,
was growing ever more determined and would not be moved. He stooped
and, with a mighty heave, shoved the struggling warrior through the low
entrance and into the chapel.
Bors followed him through and I pushed quickly in behind them. Peredur
had landed on hands and knees on the stone-flagged floor, and Bors stood
over him, reaching down a hand to raise him up. I joined Bors and, taking
hold of the young man's arm, said, 'Here, now - come stand before the
altar.'
As I took his arm, I felt a tremor pass through his body. His head whipped
around, mouth open to bite my hand. With but a fleeting glimpse of his
face, I released my hold and leapt aside. 'Bors!' I cried. 'Get back!'
In the same instant, Peredur gave out a tremendous guttural growl and rose
up, flinging Bors aside as if he were no more than a toddling child. Bors
fell on his side, his head striking the stone floor. He made to rise and
collapsed. I dove to his aid as Peredur, shaking in every limb, began
howling like an animal.
'Bors!' I cried, trying to shake him awake. 'Can you hear me? Get up!'
A ragged snarl of rage filled the chapel. I glanced over my shoulder to
where Peredur stood. I no longer recognized him at all: his neck was bent,
forcing his head down low onto his chest; his lower jaw jutted out and his
mouth gaped, revealing teeth both sharp and oddly curved; his shoulders
and arms were thicker, his back more broad, with humps of powerful
muscle. But it was his eyes that startled me most - red-rimmed and wild,
they bulged out of their sockets as if they would burst from within.
Still howling, he turned and slowly stepped towards me, long hands with
fingers like claws, twitching and reaching. Bors was still unconscious, and
I could not leave him. I looked for his sword, but could not see it.
'Gereint!' I shouted.
He entered the chapel at a run. Without a quiver of hesitation, Gereint
interposed himself between the monstrous Peredur and me, his blade
drawn. Taking no heed, the thing lurched nearer, growling and slavering
like a wolf for the kill.
Gereint held his ground; the blade in his hand never wavered. Heedless of
the sword, the brute lunged and made a raking swipe, which the young
warrior deftly deflected. The howling thing received a quick slash on the
arm. 'In God's name, stay back!' warned Gereint.
At this the creature threw back its head and shrieked, gnashing its teeth
and clawing at the air. Then, still shrieking, it started forth once more.
Bors came awake at the sound. He pushed himself up from the floor and
struggled to rise - only to slump back once more. 'I am with you, brother,'
I said, holding to him so as to protect him.
On a sudden inspiration, Gereint grasped the naked blade and turned it in
his hand, presenting the hilt upward in imitation of the Holy Cross - as
Arthur had done at the consecration of the Grail Shrine. Taking the blade
in both hands, he held the sword hilt before him, thrusting it at arm's
length into the brute's face.
The creature roared, and staggered backward. Gereint advanced, holding
the sword-cross and calling, 'In Jesu's holy name, be gone!'
The brute loosed a mind-freezing scream and began clawing at itself, as if
to tear the ears from its own hideous head. It sank to its knees, wailing,
keening, gnashing its teeth. Dauntless Gereint bore down upon it, calling
upon Christ to drive the thing away.
The wicked thing shrieked and shrieked again to drown out all sound but
that of its own torment. Then, even as we watched, the thing began to
change again: its body stretched, growing thinner and taller, until its
narrow head almost touched the rooftrees of the chapel - whereupon it
could no longer support its height and fell, doubling over itself, to writhe
and thrash, beating itself upon the floor.
Gereint, unyielding, his face hard as flint, clutched his improvised cross
and stood implacable. Wailing pitifully, the creature continued its hideous
transformation, its thin body becoming small and scaly and its terrible
voice waning away to a high, hissing scream. It rolled in its writhing coils
and then slithered for the chapel door, where, with the speed of a fleeing
serpent, it slipped over the threshold and disappeared into the night
beyond.
The young warrior, still clutching the sword-cross, hastened to where I
knelt with Bors. 'It has gone,' he said, his voice hollow, his face drained.
'Well done, Gereint,' I told him, and noticed the blood dripping from his
hands. He had gripped the sword blade so tightly, he had cut his palms and
fingers. I reached for the hilt. 'You can let go now, son. The fight is over.'
Gereint released the sword, which I returned to its place at his side, then
helped him cut strips from his cloak to bind his hands. I tied the strips in
place, and we turned our attention to Bors. Between us, we rolled the big
man onto his back, bunched up his cloak, and put it beneath his head to
make him as comfortable as possible. Then Gereint and I sat down
together; leaning against the stout wall, we rested and talked about what
had happened.
'What do you think it was?' Gereint wondered. 'A shape-shifter?'
'A demon maybe,' I replied. 'I have heard Bishop Elfodd tell about such
things.'
'Is that why you thought to bring it into the church?'
'Truly, I do not know what I thought,' I confessed. 'I only knew that
Peredur was a devout man and it would be no hardship for him to take an
oath before the altar.'
'But how did you know it was not Peredur?'
'Something about his manner made me suspicious. I cannot say what it
was. But then' -1 shrugged - 'it seemed silly to hold such a small thing
against him. I doubted myself and almost let him go.'
'But how did you know?' Gereint asked, then added ruefully, 'I was taken
in completely.'
'There is no shame in it,' I assured him. 'As to what warned me, I can but
say I did not like his manner. When I spoke of the Grail, he behaved as if
it were a thing of no importance.'
'Yes!' agreed Gereint. 'The true Peredur would have wanted to see it.'
'So I thought to test him at the altar. It seemed to me no one given to evil
could abide the presence of the Grail.'
Gereint nodded with sage admiration. 'You are a very Druid yourself, Lord
Gwalchavad. I would never have thought of that.'
'I only wish it had been Peredur,' I replied, and thought again how very
close we had come to believing the lie. It could easily have gone the other
way, and now we would certainly be dead and the chapel undefended.
As if to draw me out of my unhappy reverie, Bors awoke just then with a
groan and sat up holding his head. 'Be easy, brother,' I said, bending over
him quickly. 'All is well. The wicked thing is gone. Rest a little.'
'Mmm,' he said, craning his neck around. 'It feels like a wall has fallen on
my head. Here, help me stand.' I took him by the arm and he made to get
up, but fell back again at once, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain.
'Ahh! No, no - on second thought, I think I will sit here a little longer.'
'There is no hurry,' I told him. 'Let us fetch you a drink. Here, Gereint,
take the bowl and bring Bors some water.'
The young warrior retrieved the bowl from beside the altar and started for
the door. 'You should go with him,' Bors said, rubbing his neck.
'It is only outside,' Gereint protested.
'Go,' Bors insisted. 'I am well enough to sit here by myself. Go.'
'I could do with a drink, too,' I said, and told Gereint, 'Come, then, show
me the well.'
Gereint led me out and around to the rear of the chapel. The ground was
lumpy with mossy stones, and rose to a small, tidy outcropping a short
distance away.
'Here!' called Gereint, springing up the rocks. 'The well is just here.'
The well, as Gereint called it, was actually a small pool; sometime in the
past it had been edged with unshaped stones to form a low wall around its
oval perimeter. From a metal peg driven into one of the stones dangled the
bronze chain which had secured the bowl Gereint had used to fetch water
to help clean the desecration from the altar.
We dipped water and, as we drank, began speculating about how the
chapel and the well had come to be here. 'This must have been a joyous
place once,' Gereint mused, gazing over the clearing.
'I would like to have seen it in happier times.'
'Was there ever such a time?' he wondered.
'The Grail was offered here,' I replied. 'Whoever built this church must
have known it as a holy place.'
Oh, yes, I thought, but this is Llyonesse, the blighted land, desolate,
barren, and beset with strange airs and weird creatures. Perhaps it was not
always so. This little chapel still survives to tell a different tale, after all.
Perhaps there is yet some better hope for Llyonesse.
'We should go back before Bors wonders what has happened to us,' I said
and, leaning low over the water, refilled the bowl, and we hurried back to
the chapel.
Bors had moved himself to the near wall and sat against it. Accepting the
bowl, he drank his fill, set the vessel aside, and professed himself
refreshed and ready to resume his duty as Grail Guardian.
As if in answer to this declaration, Gereint cocked his head to one side,
half turned towards the door, and said, 'Did you hear that?'
'I heard nothing,' I confessed.
'Nor I,' said Bors.
'Listen!' Gereint whispered. Drawing his sword, he stepped lightly to the
door and out. I followed close behind, and we scanned the chapel yard. I
saw nothing, and was about to say as much when Gereint raised the point
of his sword and said, 'There they are.'
Until he spoke, I had seen nothing but the dark shapes of the trees rising
above the thick gloom of the encircling thorn wall. But even as he raised
his sword I saw the heads and shoulders of three warriors emerge from the
darkness of the hedge and step into the clearing. I saw the long spears
rising above the large round yellow shields they carried, and knew we
were in for a fight.
               THIRTY-SEVEN


'Bring Bors,' I commanded. 'Tell him to prepare for battle.'
'Bors is ready,' the big warrior said, taking his place beside me as three
more enemy warriors joined the first three already advancing towards us
across the clearing. More were coming from the thorn hedge.
Within the space of six heartbeats, we were surrounded. There must have
been twenty or more foemen, each armed with a spear and a shield; some
wore pointed helms and others the metal shirts of Saecsen men, but most
were naked to the waist, and I could see the pallor of their flesh as they
advanced into the half-light of the clearing.
If it was not bad enough that we were woefully outnumbered, we had but
two swords between us - Bors' and Gereint's - and I had only a knife. 'Two
blades and a dagger are not much against twenty,' I observed, wishing I
had not lost my spear.
'This blade is yours, lord,' replied Gereint, delivering it into my hand.
'Keep it, lad,' I told him, but he would not hear that.
Darting forth, he ran a few paces into the clearing, stooped, snatched
something from the ground, and returned, bearing the sword we had taken
from the false Peredur. 'It is a good weapon,' said Gereint, swinging the
blade to get the feel of its heft and balance. 'It will serve.'
'Good man,' commended Bors approvingly. Turning his attention to the
advancing warband, he said, 'Shoulder to shoulder, brothers. Keep your
backs to the chapel, and do not allow any of them to get behind us.'
Silently, silently, they advanced, shield to shield, forming a bristling wall
around us. Then, without so much as a whispered command, the spears
swung level and they prepared to attack.
'Now!' I cried, and we three sprang forward as one, slashing with our
swords and shouting. I was able to cut the spearheads off two shafts with
as many chops; Bors and Gereint fared just as well. When we broke off
our foray, six of the enemy had lost the use of their weapons.
If I expected the loss of their spears would daunt them, however, I was
sadly mistaken, for they came on regardless, holding their headless spear
shafts as if the lack of a killing blade were of no account.
We waded into them, three Cymbrogi, undaunted, united in heart and
mind. Shoulder to shoulder we stood to our work, and the bodies toppled
like corded wood beneath the woodcutter's axe. Time and time again we
struck, the steel in our hands pealing like the ringing of bells. The enemy
now clambered over the corpses of their kinsmen to reach us, and still we
cut them down... and still they came.
'It is no use,' complained Bors as the enemy regrouped for another assault.
'They will not break ranks.'
'Perhaps we can change their minds,' I suggested. Scanning the enemy
ranged before us, I saw where several advancing foemen carried the shafts
of spears from which the blades had been lopped. 'There!' I shouted,
pointing with my sword. 'Follow me!'
With that we all three ran for the spot I had marked. The foemen stood
their ground, apparently unconcerned that their spears had no heads. They
held their ground, but since their weapons were blunt, it was an easy
matter to cut them down. Three fell without so much as a murmur, and we
were rewarded with a momentary confusion as the enemy jostled one
another to repair the gap in their shield wall.
Hacking hard to my right, I was able to kill another enemy warrior, and
Gereint yet another. We then turned to help Bors, who was struggling to
fend off two more. These went down under a frenzied attack by Gereint,
who rolled beneath their shields and stabbed them as they tried to loft their
spears to strike.
Thus we suddenly found ourselves standing alone as the enemy fell back
to re-form the wall once more.
'This is the calmest battle I have ever fought,' Bors observed. 'I have never
been in a fight where I was not deaf from the clatter.'
It was true; even in a small skirmish the sound is a very din, and in most
battles it is a deafening roar. The shouting of combatants, the clash of
weapons, the screams of the wounded and dying - it all melds together to
produce a distinctive clamour which can be heard from far away, and
which, once heard, is never forgotten.
But these foemen stood to their grim work in utter silence -no shouted
commands, not even a curse or cry of pain when a blow landed. Whether
they were attacking or dying, the only sounds to be heard were the
swishing rustle of their feet through the long grass and the dull clanking of
their shields where our swords struck.
Moreover, the enemy was curiously lethargic. Their actions were the
lumpen, clumsy gestures of bodies with no force behind their movements.
Their faces - when I glimpsed them from behind their shields - were grim
and grey, but expressionless, betraying neither rage nor hate. Tight-lipped
and dull-eyed, they seemed to be performing a laborious and tiresome
chore, and nothing so dangerous or desperate as battle. Indeed, they
lurched and lumbered like men asleep, heavy on their feet and slow to
react.
Even as I turned to offer this observation to my companions, Bors
muttered, 'I do not believe it.'
He was looking at the place where the first combatants had fallen. I
turned, too, and saw the slain warriors rising from the ground. Like men
throwing off sleep, they simply arose with a start, climbed to their feet,
and joined their mute companions.
The weird, silent foe shuffled forth once more. Despair, black and bleak,
yawned before me like an open grave as the realization broke over me: we
could cut them down, but we could not kill them.
'God help us,' was Bors' terse reply. He had no time to say more, for the
foemen renewed the attack, and we were quickly engaged in trying to
regain the small space we had carved for ourselves.
In the confusion of the next attack, Gereint succeeded in getting hold of
one of the enemy shields. This he used to guard his left, affording both of
us better protection on that side, for he made it a virtue to stay close to me.
We fought side by side, and it put me in mind of the times my brother,
Gwalcmai, and I had laboured together in all those battles against the
Saecsen host.
The attack - as poorly conceived as the others - soon foundered and the
battle settled into a sluggish, lumpen rhythm. Thrust and chop, thrust,
thrust and chop... I found it absurdly easy to strike them down, for the
slowness of the foe and their dull reactions quickly told against them.
They fell as they fought, without a sound, readily collapsing and expiring
without a murmur - only to rise again after a small space, and join in the
fight as if nothing had happened.
This made Bors frustrated and angry. He railed at the enemy, filling the
dull, dreadful silence with taunts and challenges which went unanswered.
He hewed at them mightily, slashing with powerful strokes. Once, he
lopped the arm off one hapless foeman - the limb spun from the wretch's
shoulder in a bloodless arc, still gripping the spear shaft in its dead hand.
The enemy fell and Bors let out a whoop of triumph. But the unfeeling
creature merely picked itself off the ground and came on again - even
though it could not longer wield a weapon.
This provoked the big warrior so much that he beheaded the creature next.
'Shake that off, hellspawn!' shouted Bors, thinking he had at last
succeeded in removing at least one combatant from the fight.
Alas, he was wrong. The headless torso lay still for a time, only to rise and
resume the attack, a gaping wound on its shoulders where its head had
been. As before, no blood spewed from the wound, and it brought no
diminution of persistence; the corpse stumbled forth, reaching with empty,
clutching hands.
Unfortunately, we had not the stamina of the undead, for though they
could fall and rise and fall, only to rise again -though we hacked the
weapons from their hands, or severed the hands themselves, or heads! - we
could not. Our hands and arms were growing weary, and our wounds bled.
'They do not mind dying,' Bors observed, deftly striking the fingers from a
hand stretching too close, 'because they are dead already. But when I lie
down, I will not get up again so easily, I think. What are we to do,
brother?'
There was no stopping them. Despite the practised efficiency with which
we dispatched the foe, we received only the smallest respite before they
awakened and rose to fight again.
I could feel the strain in my shoulder and arm. My fingers were cramped
from gripping the hilt, and the blade seemed to have doubled its weight.
Bors, too, was labouring; I could hear his breath coming in grunting gasps
as he lunged and thrust time after time after time. Gereint's blade struck
again and again from under the near edge of the shield, but even his
youthful strength could not last forever. No doubt that was their sole
tactic: to wear us down until we could no longer lift a blade to defend
ourselves, whereupon they would simply overwhelm us and tear us limb
from limb.
We had no other choice, however, but to stand our ground and fight. Thus,
I raised the sword again, and again, and again, slashing and slashing while
the undead warriors stumbled ever and again into our blades. Sweat ran
freely down my neck and chest and back, mingling with the tears of
exhaustion welling from my eyes and spilling down my face. Jesu, help
us! I prayed as I cut the arm from the wretch before me. The warrior
shambled ahead, pushing his shield into my face. Sidestepping the clumsy
lunge, I brought the sword blade down sharply on the back of his neck and
he sank like an anvil, falling against my legs and throwing me off-balance.
I tried to kick the body aside, but could not shift the dead weight and fell.
Two enemy warriors bore down upon me. Squirming on my back, I kept
my sword in their faces and tried to regain my feet as they woodenly
jabbed at me with their spears. I shouted to Bors for help, but could not
see him. I shouted again, and dodged a spear thrust; the stroke missed my
chest, but I got a nasty gash in the side. Seizing the spear shaft with my
free hand, I flailed with my sword and succeeded in getting to my knees.
Clutching the hilt in both hands, I whipped the blade back and forth,
desperate to gain a space in which I might climb to my feet. But the blade
struck the iron rim of a foeman's shield.
My fingers, long since numb from the relentless toil, could no longer hold
the hilt and the sword spun from my grasp.
The long spears drove down upon me. I threw myself to one side, rolling
in a desperate effort to escape. One spear jabbed at my head and grazed
my cheek. Seizing the spear shaft, I tried to wrest the weapon from my
foe, but his grasp was like stone. As I struggled, another spear thrust at my
side, and I felt my siarc rip as the blade sliced through the fabric, narrowly
missing my ribs.
Lashing out with both feet, I kicked the nearest in the leg and he staggered
back. I jumped up quickly, and was just as quickly surrounded once more.
Three more warriors had joined the first two, and all pressed in on me,
spears level, aiming to take me in the chest and stomach.
Just as they prepared to make their final lunge, I glimpsed what I thought
to be a flash of light out of the corner of my eye, and heard Gereint cry out
in a loud voice. Taking the shield by the rim, he spun around and flung it
into the foremost of my attackers. The iron rim caught the luckless wretch
as he turned; his face crumpled and he collapsed, taking two others down
with him.
Before I could struggle to my feet, Gereint was over me, half lifting, half
dragging me from danger. Bors cleaved the skull of another in two, and
the enemy, beaten back for the moment, retreated to regroup and attack
again.
'You are hurt, Lord Gwalchavad,' Gereint said, seeing the blood flowing
freely down my side.
'I lost my sword,' I told him, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the pain
in my side began to bloom like a flame taking hold of dry tinder.
Ignoring my protests, Bors examined the wound and said, 'I do not like the
look of that one. Does it hurt?'
'Not so much,' I told him.
'It will.'
'Just help me bind it up before they come at us again,' I said.
'Let us wash it at least,' Bors suggested doubtfully. 'Here, lad, help me get
him to the well. I could do with a drink myself.'
They bore me to the well between them, and sat me down on a rock at the
pool's edge. Gereint dropped his blade to the ground and fell face-first to
the water and began drinking noisily.
'I think we must abandon the field,' Bors said, raising the edge of my siarc
to splash water on the wound.
'We are pledged to the fight,' I insisted, squeezing my eyes shut against the
shock of the cold water on my hot wound.
'I will die before I run from a battle,' Gereint maintained staunchly. He
lowered his face to the pool again and cupped water into his mouth in
great gulps.
'Did I say we should give up the fight?' growled Bors, tearing a strip from
my siarc to bind around my waist. 'I only meant that we should retreat into
the chapel. The entrance is low and narrow - they will not find it easy to
get at us in there.'
I recognized this as the last desperate tactic of a warband forced to the
extreme. Once we were inside, there would be no coming out again. But at
least we would die on holy ground, protecting the Blessed Cup we were
sworn to defend.
Bors tied off the binding, regarded his crude handiwork, and said, 'There -
that is the best I can do for now.'
'I am certain it will serve,' I told him. With difficulty, I turned and leaned
painfully down to drink. I cupped water in my hand and raised it to my
mouth, spilling most of it before wetting my tongue.
Gereint, having drunk his fill, was looking across the clearing to where the
enemy, much mutilated and ravaged, was yet again re-forming the battle
line. 'We must fly,' he informed us, 'if we are to reach the chapel.'
I took a last gulp, then leaned low over the well to splash water on my
face. Bors stepped beside me and reached down a hand. As I made to
stand, the dull gleam of a submerged object caught my eye.
In truth, I do not know how I saw it at all: the pale gloaming of a moonlit
night lay upon the chapel clearing, and all around us bristled the deeper
darkness of the forest. But I saw what I saw - the faintest glimmer of gold
in the shape of a cross.
My first thought was that I had found the altarpiece. Of course! It must be
the cross which had adorned the chapel's altar. In the desecration of the
altar, the cross had been taken and thrown into the well. And now I had
found it, and could restore it to its rightful place.
'See here!' I said, my heart leaping at the thrill of my find. 'I give you the
missing altarpiece.'
To my companions' amazement, I reached down into the pool. My fingers
closed on cold metal, and grasping the topmost arm of the cross, I drew it
slowly out. The expressions of astonishment on their faces were wonderful
to see, and caused me to forget for a moment the fiery pain burning in my
side. Indeed, I was so enjoying their amazement, I did not myself see the
object until I had pulled it from the water.
'A curious altarpiece, that,' observed Bors. Gereint, wide-eyed with the
strangeness of it, nodded.
Only then did I look down to see that I held not a cross, but a sword. A
mass of vines and weed wrack dangled from the long, tapering blade - the
weapon had been wrapped in the stuff to disguise it, I reckoned - still, I
would have known the weapon anywhere. How not? I have seen it nearly
every day for the past seven years.
'That was well done,' enthused Gereint. 'You have got yourself another
sword.'
'Not just a sword, son,' I told him, clutching the hilt tightly in both hands.
'This is Arthur's sword.'
                THIRTY-EIGHT


'Caledvwlch!'
Gereint knelt quickly beside me and stretched out his hands to receive the
sword, which I delivered into his eager grasp. Taking up the weapon, the
young warrior proceeded to tear away the slimy tangle and then plunged
the sword into the well and washed it clean.
'There,' he said, drawing the weapon from the water. 'It is ready to serve
the king once more.'
Then, before Bors or I knew what he was about, the young warrior lofted
the Pendragon's battle sword, threw back his head, and shouted, 'For God
and Arthur!'
With that he darted away, his cry echoing through the wood. Bors leapt
after him to pull him back, but the youth was already beyond reach.
'Gereint!' shouted Bors. The young warrior, flying headlong to meet the
undead enemy, did not even break stride.
'Go with him,' I urged. 'Help him.'
'For God and Arthur!' came the cry again.
Pressing Gereint's sword into my hand, Bors said, 'I will return as soon as
I can.'
He hastened away in a tired, rolling lope to engage the enemy one last
time. I sat on the edge of the well, clutching my sword and praying for
protection for my friends. 'Great of Might,' I said aloud, 'we are weary and
we are overcome. We have no other help but you, and if you do not
deliver us now, we will surely die.'
Having spoken my mind, I made the sign of the cross over my heart and
then, using the sword as a staff, pulled myself up onto my feet and
stumbled painfully to join my swordbrothers in the fight.
The undead warriors had regrouped and were advancing once more. Bors
had almost reached the battle line, but Gereint was yet a dozen paces
ahead of him. Loosing a loud battle cry, the impetuous young warrior leapt
forward, the great sword a blur of gleaming steel around him as he flung
himself headlong into the centre of their ranks.
Oh, it was bold. It was brave. It was foolhardy beyond belief, but my heart
soared to see him as he charged alone into the fray, brandishing the sword
and bellowing his wild war chant.
Behold! Even before Gereint could strike a blow, the enemy's relentless
advance staggered to a halt. Heedless, Gereint raced ahead and the ranks
of the undead collapsed before him. He swung Caledvwlch around his
head and leapt to the right and left. Everywhere he turned, the enemy fell
away.
Back and back they fled, stumbling over one another in their haste to
escape. Wonder of wonders, it was as if they could not abide the sight of
the sword, much less stand against it!
The mere sight of the Sovereign Sword of Britain made them cry out in
alarm and dismay, for whenever Gereint came near, they opened their
silent mouths and filled the air with piteous wails. The thin, bloodless
sound tore up from their hollow throats in long, biting shrieks that ended
in raking sobs and clashing teeth. Their faces, once impassive, now
convulsed in the hideous rictus of abject, mindless terror. Though rarely
seen elsewhere, it is an expression common enough on the battlefield, and
I had seen it more times than I like to remember - on the faces of men who
knew themselves bereft of every hope and doomed to swift destruction.
That the sight of Caledvwlch should inspire such horror amazed me so, I
stood flat-footed and stared as, all around me, the enemy abandoned their
weapons and fled the field in a mad, futile effort to escape. They trampled
one another and, falling, clawed their way over their comrades in a blind
panic.
But Gereint was not daunted. Leaping and spinning, striking with clean,
efficient strokes, he cut them down as they fled before him. With each
stroke and every thrust, another enemy fell - and this time they did not rise
again, but expired, screaming as they died.
God help me, their shrieking was more appalling than their loathsome
silence. It cut me to the quick to hear it, even as I rejoiced in the victory.
The young warrior became a very reaper, cutting a wide swath of
destruction and havoc through the crumbling ranks of the undead. As the
last of them fell before Caledvwlch's fury, I saw Bors standing a little
distance away, his shoulders bent, his sword dangling at his side. 'Brother,'
I said, 'it looks as though we live to fight again.'
Gereint, exultant in his triumph, came running to where we stood, his face
glowing with exertion and pride. 'Did you see?" he cried, almost shaking
with jubilation. 'Did you see?'
'That we did, lad,' Bors assured him. 'You swinging that sword and cutting
them down as they fled - it is a sight I will never forget.'
'A glorious sight,' I agreed. 'Gereint, my friend, you are a very Bard of
Battle.'
'It was never me,' Gereint replied. 'It was the sword.' He raised the blade
and regarded it with awe. 'Caledvwlch spoke and I obeyed.'
'If you had not obeyed when you did,' Bors declared, 'I am certain we
would all be drawing breath in the Otherworld right now.'
We fell silent then, each to his own thoughts. I closed my eyes and
breathed a prayer of thanks that we had survived our ordeal. While I was
yet praying, a gurgling sound reached my ears - like that of a cauldron left
too long on the hearth. It seemed to be coming from the corpses on the
ground. I turned in the direction of the sound and saw that the dead were
decomposing - and this with such rapidity that their bodies seemed to
crumple inwardly, melting into one another, congealing into a lumpen
ooze that bubbled and spurted with escaping fumes.
As we stared at the horrific sight, a stench like that of rotting entrails rose
from this swiftly liquefying coagulation. All around the clearing, the
corpse heaps were dissolving into a stinking mass as once-firm flesh
turned into a sighing, quivering mass. Amidst the muck, I could see long,
pale bones protruding - here a slender leg bone, there the twinned lengths
of an arm, or the swept curves of a rib cage - and all of them sinking into
miry dissolution.
The vapours gurgling from the vile quagmire hung in the air, giving off a
faint, noxious glow. The air was so rank with the stink and belch of the
putrid slurry, I gagged and wretched, vomiting bile onto the ground.
Dragging my sleeve across my lips, I tried to wipe the bad taste from my
mouth, to no avail.
'I think I preferred them when they were trying to kill us,' Bors said
through clenched teeth.
Retreating into the chapel, we sank down upon the cool stones. I lay there
drawing clean air deep into my lungs, grateful for the peaceful sanctuary
of this holy place. Exhausted from our ordeal, we rested then, content to
simply await whatever should befall us. I slept and awakened some while
later much refreshed; the pain in my side had eased a great deal, and I
found I could move without difficulty. Leaving the others to their sleep, I
got up and went to the chapel door and looked out to find that the vile
heaps of putrefaction had vanished.
I roused the others and we went out.
Not a scrap of bone or a shred of clothing was anywhere to be seen; gone,
too, was any sign of the battle we had fought: no splintered shafts or
broken blades; no dented helms or discarded shields... nothing. The
ground was as smooth and untrammelled as we had first found it.
'It is a wonder,' Bors declared. 'Not so much as a footprint remains.'
'The holy ground has done its work,' I replied, and was reminded of the
Grail Maiden's challenge: Think you the Great King requires the aid of
any mortal to accomplish his will? Is the Lord of Creation powerless to
protect his treasures?
No, the High King of Heaven required nothing from us but obedience. It
was for us that his gifts were given, his commands likewise. What we did,
we did for our own welfare, not his.
We had been commanded to guard the Grail, and it was to secure the boon
of blessing that we obeyed. Thus, we stood before the chapel, weapons
drawn and ready, waiting, listening. But no sound greater than the wind
whispering in the bare treetops met the ear.
I felt the first faint breath of a breeze on my face, and Bors said, The wind
is rising.'
Even as he spoke, I felt a gust of cold air and the thorny hedge wall began
to quiver, as the sighing in the treetops became a moan of regret for the
storm to come.
We stood before the chapel, listening to the wind gather strength, gusting
in the treetops, making the high boughs creak and groan. Far off, I heard
the keening howl of a storm wind sweeping towards us, and I could feel
the air growing steadily colder. Something was coming that despised all
warmth and light, and it advanced on the wings of a storm.
                    THIRTY-NINE


Morgaws is showing signs of weakness. When I have established my
reign, I will teach her the true uses of power. She must learn, as I did, how
to harden her heart and bend all things to her will. Sympathy, compassion,
mercy - what are they, but weakness by other names? The Queen of Air
and Darkness is beyond weakness, beyond frailty, beyond all human
imperfection. Morgaws will learn this, or Morgaws will die.
She denies she has made any mistakes, and in the same breath informs me
that Llenlleawg has failed, the Grail has not been recovered, and three of
Arthur's warriors have mounted a pitiful resistance. It is of no
consequence, I tell her, but she insists they have succeeded in finding the
chapel and suspects they may have regained the Grail.
All the better, I say; it saves us the trouble of finding it again. The Irish oaf
will join his churlish master in the pit, and the opposition will be crushed.
But Morgaws complains that the resistance is very strong -powerful
enough, at least, to defeat the warriors I conjured for her.
Forget swords and spears - children's playthings. I taught you better than
that, Morgaws. I suckled you on venom and bile, girl - use it!
There are other ways, I tell her... other ways. The end is decreed. It will
be. I grow tired of waiting. lam ready to ascend to my rightful throne.
Finish it!
'We should make a fire,' Bors said, trying to fend off the sensation of
menace flowing out of the forest on the cold wind. No one replied,
however, and we slipped back into an anxious, dread-filled vigil. The
wind, fretful and restless, whined in the treetops and tore at the hedge
wall.
Foreboding swirled in the dead leaves at our feet, and the long grass hissed
and rippled like snakes across the clearing. Long, frosty fingers of despair
sought me; I could feel them reaching, reaching, stretching out from the
bleak heart of the forest to poison my spirit with their malignant touch.
How long must we endure? I wondered. Will this torment never end? I
would die right gladly - if only to be free of this ceaseless travail. Yes,
death... death would be a welcome release.
The barrenness of the thought brought me to myself once more. It was not
my wish, but that of the enemy seeking to unnerve me. I glanced at
Gereint beside me and saw that his eyes were closed.
Take heart, brother,' I told him. 'There is no solace in death. We can
endure this, and we will.'
He opened his eyes and looked at me. 'How did you know what I was
thinking?'
'Because I have been thinking the same thing myself,' I replied. 'But listen,
we are warriors of the Summer Realm and Guardians of the Grail. I drank
from the Cup of Christ; I tasted the wine of his blood on my tongue, and I
was healed - we all were. And though the Devil himself and all the
demons of Hell assail us, I say we shall stand. But whether we stand or
fall, our souls rest in the hollow of the Swift Sure Hand, and no power on
earth can snatch us from his grasp.'
Bors, grim-faced, said nothing, but tightened his grip on the weapon in his
hand, and gazed steadfastly into the onrushing night. The darkness surged
and roiled around us like a tempest-torn sea. Clouds blacker than that of
the surrounding wood streamed around the chapel clearing: rivers of
darkness flowing, rising on a flood tide of foreboding, bleak and dire.
Soon it seemed as if the entire forest was in motion. The thorny hedge
tossed this way and that, as if gripped by monstrous hands intent on
tearing it out. Gaps began appearing in the surrounding wall as the thicket
gave way before the enemy's approach.
Meanwhile, the cold wind clawed at us. Shivering, freezing, huddled
against one another, we stood our ground, awaiting the enemy's
appearance.
They arrived all at once.
The wood seemed to convulse and the enemy warhost simply stepped out
from the forest to the edge of the clearing -line on line and rank upon rank
of dark warriors encircled the chapel. I tried to see the end of them, but
their numbers stretched back into the forest and were lost to the darkness
whence they came.
At the foe's abrupt appearance, the fretful wind stilled, lapsing suddenly
into an eerie, menace-fraught calm. A sickly yellow radiance like that of a
foul, false sunrise dawned over the chapel clearing. The bruised light gave
off a putrid glow which made everything seem filthy and lurid.
In this ghastly dawn, the thronging multitude gathered, moving among the
trees like a noiseless flood; the warhelms rising above the rims of their
round shields looked like a great swath of rocky shore, or a beach of
rounded stones stretching as far as the eye could see; the upright spear
shafts in tight clusters of ten and twenty were like narrow plumes of sea
grass rising ridge upon ridge.
There were so many!
'God save us,' breathed Bors. Gereint made the sign of the cross over
himself, and swallowed hard, but said nothing.
'Why do they wait?' I wondered aloud.
They stood in silence, but for the slight rustle of their clothing where they
brushed against one another, or the hollow clink of shield rims gently
touching. Line on line, and rank on rank, they stood, silent as the fog on
the night-dark sea. I studied the nearest faces - more the dread, for they
were cold countenances each and every one: long-featured with flat noses
and mouths which were little more than bloodless slits in their pale, waxy-
fleshed faces. The eyes staring back at me were large and black - indeed,
the black filled the eye so that no white showed at all - like the eyes of
beasts; and though the expressions remained impassive, the eyes gazing at
us across the grassy clearing were baleful and malevolent. I could almost
feel the coldhearted hatred burning across the short span between us like
flames of a frozen fire.
One look in those unblinking eyes and I knew beyond all doubt that they
wished us dead, yes, and more than dead: they willed our annihilation; we
were to be completely and utterly destroyed and our souls obliterated. Yet
they waited, a malign and brooding mass beneath a gruesome yellow sky.
'Why do they just stand there?' Gereint said, his voice quivering - with
cold, I think, not fear.
'Perhaps their battlechief has not arrived,' Bors suggested. 'Or maybe they
await the command to attack.'
'Come on,' muttered Gereint. 'Let us finish it!'
'Patience, lad,' said Bors. 'Life is short, and death is long. Use what time
you have left to make your peace.'
'God knows I am more than ready,' replied Gereint evenly. 'Let it begin, I
say.'
'Look there,' I said, directing their attention to a disturbance in the
rearward ranks. In a moment, it emerged that the warhost was dividing
along a line back to front.
'They are preparing to attack,' said Bors, flinging his cloak away from his
arms in preparation.
'I think their war leader has arrived,' I said. 'He is taking his place at the
forefront of his warhost.'
The ranks continued parting until a wide way stood clear. I could see
several figures moving towards us along the opened course. One of them,
taller than the others, appeared to be advancing at the head of the others.
I watched him stride nearer, and recognized the familiar gait. I had seen it
so often, I would have known it far more readily than my own.
'It is Arthur,' said Bors. 'He is alive.'
The Pendragon came to the edge of the clearing and stood regarding us
silently. His clothes were ripped and torn - as if he had been dragged
through the wood by horses. His face was lined with fatigue; he looked
haggard and old. His right cheek was discoloured with an ugly bruise, but
he held himself erect, head high.
'Arthur!' I shouted. 'Here! Join us!'
The king made no reply, but turned and stepped aside; only then did I
notice that his hands were bound with chains. Llenlleawg, spear in hand,
advanced directly behind Arthur with Morgaws at his side. I could also see
Myrddin and Gwenhwyvar, with Rhys and Peredur coming up behind
Llenlleawg; their hands were chained also, and they stood with their heads
down. Their clothes, too, were ragged and bloodstained, and they wore the
look of warriors who knew the battle was lost and their lives were swiftly
approaching a bloody, wretched end.
At a nod from Llenlleawg, Arthur turned once more to address us. He
called us by name, and said, 'You have fought well, my friends. But the
battle is lost. It is time to surrender.'
'Is it really the Pendragon?' whispered Gereint uncertainly.
'Never!' declared Bors. The true Arthur has never so much as breathed a
word of surrender, and never will.' Raising a hand to his mouth, Bors
shouted, 'Take your words of surrender to hell with you! We are
Pendragon's men, sworn before God to guard the Grail. We will not stand
down for anyone.'
The Pendragon, humble and sorrowful, appealed to him, saying, 'Bors, old
friend, do as I say. You have pledged loyalty to me, whether in victory or
defeat. It is time to end this battle.'
'In God's name, Arthur,' Bors cried, 'what have they done to you? Join us,
lord, and fight them! We will go down together!'
Ignoring this outburst, the king continued calmly. They have come for
Caledvwlch and the Grail. The fighting can stop, but you must do as I say
and bring the sword and cup.'
Bitterness and bleak desperation welled up inside me. I had known defeat
before, but never like this. Never! This... this ignoble submission was not
worthy of the Pendragon I knew. Myrddin would have moved Heaven and
Earth before giving in, and even the least of the Cymbrogi would have
fought to the last dying breath rather than be party to such a shameful
capitulation.
I stared across the clearing as across a great divide; my king stood on one
side, and I on the other. Could I defy my king and continue the fight? Or
must I obey him, even to my shame and degradation?
See, now: one who has never served a True Lord, nor vowed loyalty
through all things to the end of life, cannot know what it is to behold that
lord defeated by wicked enemies, humiliated, and disgraced. Those who
know nothing of honour cannot comprehend the pain of dishonour. I tell
you the truth, it is a pain worse than death, and it does not end.
Thus, I stood staring at Arthur, his head bowed in defeat, and the tears
came to my eyes. I could not stand the sight and I had to turn away.
'The fighting can end,' the Pendragon repeated, his voice broken and
weary. 'Bring the Grail. Give it up.'
Bors' face clenched like a fist, and his refusal was anvil hard. 'Never!' he
cried, shaking with rage. Taking Caledvwlch from Gereint, he flourished
it, shouting, 'To get the Grail, you will have to pry this blade from my
dead hands.'
It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw the merest
shadow of a smile flicker across Arthur's face as he received Bors' reply.
Turning towards Morgaws, he made a gesture with his hands - as much as
to say, Well, I tried - and Llenlleawg prodded him aside into line with the
butt of his spear.
The Irish champion took hold of Myrddin and dragged him forth. But
Morgaws, impatient with Arthur's feeble efforts at persuasion, stepped out
from among the enemy warriors. Flame-haired, features ablaze like a torch
with hate and triumph and spite all mingled together in her wild
expression, she was both terrible and magnificent. The flames of her
passion had given her a fearful, feral beauty, like that of a ravening she-
wolf leaping to the kill, or lightning striking from a storm-fraught sky. Her
smooth white brow fierce, fiery hair streaming from her temples, lips
drawn back in a malevolent smile of rage and dominion, she appeared a
goddess of destruction - the fearsome Morrighan of the old tales could not
have been more appalling in aspect and allure.
'The cup! Give me the cup!' Morgaws cried in a voice swollen with
exultation. Long gone was the maid I had found wandering lost in the
wood that day; like everything else about her, the mute innocent was a lie,
too.
I watched Morgaws now, and remembered our first meeting. I had stepped
from among the trees and there she was, sitting on the ground, her
carefully gathered mushrooms scattered around her. She had tripped and
fallen, spilling her harvest. I helped her retrieve them, as I recall. Peredur
and Tallaght were with me, and we had simply stumbled upon her, alone
and lost... Ah, no, no, it was not that way at all. It was the song - the song
led us to her. She had been singing and we heard it and followed, and that
was how it began.
Had I not been so beguiled, I might have stopped long enough to wonder
how it was that a maid who could sing yet lacked the power of speech.
Alas, I was deceived like all the rest. I hung my head and asked Jesu to
forgive my blindness.
As if in answer to my reproachful thoughts, I heard again the song that I
had heard that summer day in the wood. Glancing up, I saw Morgaws
standing before me, the song still fresh on her lips. She smiled and I knew
at once that I had judged her far too harshly.
'Do not think ill of me, Brave Gwalchavad,' she said in a voice both soft
and low. She stepped closer. 'I am just like you. I, too, have suffered at
Morgian's hands.'
It was true, I thought. Like all the rest of us, she was caught in Wicked
Morgian's designs. And like everyone else, she had suffered for it. A pang
of genuine regret speared my heart, and I opened my mouth to express my
sorrow at her distress.
But Morgaws prevented me. 'Say nothing,' she whispered, placing her
fingertips against my mouth. 'It is over, my love. We can forget the pain
and hardship, and begin again. We must make a new start, and we can.
You do believe me, Gwalchavad. We can show the others, the doubters.
We can show them, you and I.'
She smiled again and the last particle of doubt melted away in the bright
sun of her smile. She looked at me and I saw nothing but love in her eyes.
'Come with me, Gwalchavad. Come away with me, my love. We can be
together, you and I. Together always.'
Oh, I did believe her. And I so wanted the travail to end. In that moment I
think I would have done anything she asked. 'Come, bring me the Grail,
my love. You do not need to guard it anymore. Bring it to me, and we can
begin anew.'
When I hesitated, she urged me on, saying, 'I want you, my love. Is the
cup inside?' She glanced at the chapel expectantly. 'Go get it, Gwalchavad.
Bring the cup to me. Hurry! Then we can leave this place forever.'
I heard Bors raise a protest behind me, but I could not hear what he said. It
did not matter. Morgaws, beautiful and yielding, stood before me, and
desire was in her eyes. 'Come to me, my love,' she said, extending her
hands to embrace me. I looked at those long, lovely arms - so fine and
shapely and inviting - and lust leapt like a flame within me. I looked at her
rounded hips and breasts and I wanted her. I ached to hold her in my arms
and to take her.
In that instant the watching world disappeared - the enemy host with its
rank on rank of baleful-eyed warriors, my friends and comrades, the
chapel and surrounding forest - everything vanished in the white heat of
my ardour and was instantly forgotten. It was as if a dull, thick fog
descended over the world, blotting out everything but Morgaws and my
aching need; nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. Only Morgaws
and I remained, only we two, a man and a woman. One look at the hunger
burning in her eyes, and I knew she wanted me as much as I wanted her.
'Come to me, my love. Take me, lie with me - make love to me. I want
you, Gwalchavad. Come to me.'
I stepped nearer, my breath coming in raking gasps, desire making me
weak. I could feel the last restraining cords of will dissolving.
Morgaws smiled knowingly. Her lips parted as she put her head back to
allow me to kiss her throat. At the same time, she opened her robe so that I
could admire her body. I saw the white, white skin and her gently rounded
thighs and rose-tipped breasts; I saw the welcome in her eyes and the
temptation of those half-parted lips, and wanted so much to taste the
sweetness there.
'Gwalchavad,' she said, closing the distance between us with a swaying
step. Take me.' Her voice was husky with longing, and she moaned with
pleasure as she pressed her body against mine. I felt her hands on mine,
pulling me nearer. 'The Grail, my love,' she whispered, her breath hot in
my ear. 'Give me the Grail and I am yours....'
Jesu save me, I turned and started towards the chapel, intent on fetching
the Grail and yielding it up to her. But as I turned, the gleam of gold
caught my eye - Caledvwlch, clutched tight in Bors' fist - and I heard
again the Grail Maiden's admonition to cling to the Sword of Salvation. I
heard her solemn warning: Lusting after honour, he was bewitched by one
who honours only lust and lies. Thus are the mighty undone.
'Bring me the cup,' Morgaws said, subtle insistence rising in her voice. She
stepped nearer. 'Give it me, and I will be yours, my love, forever.'
'No,' I said, and the sound of my voice was harsh in my ears. 'I am sworn
to guard the cup.'
'The Grail,' Morgaws moaned, rubbing her body against mine. 'I am yours,
Gwalchavad. Take me now.'
I felt her touch hot on my skin as she raised my hand to her mouth. 'I want
you,' she whispered, bending her head towards my hand. I saw her lips
draw away from her fine white teeth as she prepared to bite.
I jerked my hand away, as if from a serpent. This angered her.
'Gwalchavad!' she said sternly. 'You will give me the cup.'
Confusion assaulted me. Morgaws' voice boomed inside my head, urgent
and insistent. The Grail! Give me the Grail!
'No,' I said, shaken, confused.
'Maggot!' Morgaws advanced, her presence overpowering. 'I killed all the
rest, and I will kill you, too. For the last time, bring me the cup.'
'No,' I said, forcing strength into my voice. 'I will not.'
She turned on her heel and moved to where Llenlleawg stood, spear in
hand, watching the proceedings with a hostile eye. 'They have the Grail,
my darling,' she said, her voice softly cozening once more. 'Kill them, and
it is ours. We can rule forever, you and I.'
Llenlleawg's gaze shifted from me to Morgaws. I saw him glance down
the length of her body, and an expression of loathing appeared on his face.
'You said you loved me,' he rasped in a voice so tight he could hardly
force out the words.
'The Grail,' she whispered, moving closer. 'They have the cup, my love.
Kill them and it will be ours!'
Llenlleawg's jaw tensed and he turned his face once more towards me.
Morgaws lifted her hand to his cheek and put her face close to his. She
whispered something to him, and pressed herself against him. I saw
Llenlleawg's free hand come around behind her to gather her into his
embrace as her lips parted in a kiss. Llenlleawg's hand moved up from her
waist to her shoulders and was lost in the snaking tresses of her hair.
Morgaws kissed Llenlleawg again and, still clinging to him, turned her
face towards me, her expression haughty, exulting in triumph. 'Kill them,
my lo -' she began, but never finished, for suddenly her head snapped back
sharply.
She made to cry out, but Llenlleawg tightened his grip on her hair and
pulled her head back still further. The scream stuck in her throat. Her eyes
bulged in terror as Llenlleawg put his lips to her pale cheek.
'Farewell, my love,' he growled, then jerked her head sharply back and to
the side. The bones of her slender neck snapped with a meaty crack and
Morgaws fell dead to the ground.
The next thing I heard was a queer, hushed clatter. In the same instant, the
entrancing fog vanished from my head and I raised my gaze from
Morgaws' corpse to see a thousand spears swinging level.
Then Dread Morgian's dark minions attacked.
                           FORTY


'Cut me free!' cried Arthur, struggling to his feet.
I staggered towards him, amazed that I could move again.
'Hurry, Gwalchavad!' Behind him, I glimpsed Morgian's massed battlehost
surging to the attack.
There was no shout of command, no battle cry. One moment they were
standing at the ready, and the next they were in motion, swarming down
upon us.
'Gwalchavad!' cried the Pendragon, holding out his chained hands. 'For the
love of God, man, cut me free!'
I was beside him in an instant. Raising the sword, I took careful aim, and
brought the blade down sharply. The blow made not the slightest mark on
the chain. I tried again, and yet once more - with no greater success than
before - and then the enemy was upon us.
Turning to meet the attack, I put myself between the king and the
onrushing foe, and shouted for the others to join me. 'Bors! Gereint!'
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Bors as he raced to take his place
at my right hand. Expecting Gereint on my left, I turned, and when I did
not see him, I shouted for him. He did not answer.
'Gereint!' I cried again.
'Here I am!'
I heard his voice behind me as he dashed for his place on my left. He came
up with me, but did not stop. Instead, he raced on ahead. I saw a flash of
gold in his hands as he blew past.
'He has the Grail!' Bors shouted.
Gereint, holding the Blessed Cup between his hands, ran to meet the foe
alone. Lofting the Sacred Bowl, he cried, 'In the name of Christ Jesu,' he
shouted, 'be gone!"
Confusion descended upon the onrushing host. The foremost ranks halted
ia mid-step and fell back. Those behind kept coming, trampling the leaders
underfoot before they could halt themselves.
The young warrior, defiant and unafraid, stood in the midst of the chaos.
'In the name of the Father God, the Blessed Son, and the Holy Spirit,'
Gereint shouted again, 'I command you to leave this place. Return to Hell!'
All at once there arose the sound of a thousand wings taking flight, and the
enemy host flew. They appeared to shrivel and diminish, wrinkling and
shrinking like the flesh of rotten fruit in the sun. Even as we stood looking
on, they became no more than husks of grain, brittle and dry, and though
there was no wind, they appeared to rise up into the air as if scattering and
dispersing before a mighty gale. The power that had called them and
sustained them was broken, and now they fled, away from the realm of
light and life, and back to the nameless pit from which they had been
summoned.
Spinning and tumbling into the void, the last of them disappeared and they
were no more. A great peal of thunder broke over us and I looked up to
see the leaden vault of the sky crack open and a single shaft of light
stabbed down into the gloom of the forest. Like a spear thrown from on
high, the beam struck the chapel, transforming the stone to silver, dazzling
our light-starved eyes. In the same moment a scream pierced the air high
above us- a wounded cry, dying away even as it was born. Myrddin lifted
his head at the sound and said, 'Morgian is defeated.' His voice sounded
tired and old, but the light in his eye was undimmed. 'We have driven her
back to her darksome lair and, God willing, she will not trouble us again
for a very long time.'
The thunder cracked once more and I felt something wet on my face. 'It is
raining!' someone shouted, and as the word was uttered, the heavens
opened and down poured the precious water. The blessed rain fell from the
sky, striking down through the empty air to bathe the long-parched earth.
We raised our faces to the glorious water and drank it down.
'The chains -' called Gwenhwyvar, holding up her hands, 'I am free!'
Myrddin and Arthur held out their hands, and Rhys and Peredur. As with
Gwenhwyvar, wherever the rain touched the links, the chains parted and
the pieces fell to the ground, the shattered links melting like ice.
Standing in the rain beneath that low, leaden sky, I looked around and
understood that we alone had survived; of all the multitude, only we were
left: Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, Bors, Gereint, Peredur, Rhys, Myrddin and
me, and, alas, Llenlleawg. Dazed and bewildered, we all gazed at one
another, trying to comprehend our miraculous survival.
Arthur moved to where Bors and Gereint and I stood. Falling to one knee,
he put Caledvwlch point downward on the ground and held the bare blade
in both hands. Then, as if swearing a solemn oath upon the Holy Cross, he
said, 'Most noble friends, I owe you my kingdom and my life. No king
was ever served by more loyal and honourable men, and no king was ever
more aware of his failing. I beg your forgiveness, and offer my pledge, as
I would offer it to Jesu himself, that I will never forget the debt of
gratitude and honour that I, and all Britain, owe you.'
Bors, touched by the king's words, rushed forward and embraced him,
saying, 'Rise, Arthur, rise. You owe me nothing, and there is nothing to
forgive. I did only what I have ever done in your service.'
Gereint, shamed at the sight of his king kneeling to him, bent his head
nervously and looked away. I stepped forward and prostrated myself
before Arthur. 'Lord Pendragon,' I said, 'it is I who must beg your
forgiveness. It is through my weakness that this evil has befallen us.'
Arthur stood, reached down, and raised me to my feet. 'Where is the fault?
You have remained steadfast through all things. What lord could ask
more?'
So we stood together, my king and I, the rain falling over us.
Gwenhwyvar, Rhys, and Peredur joined us and, in delight and eagerness,
everyone began talking at once.
'God love you, Bear, but it is Earth and Sky to be with you again,' Bors
said, his grin wide and handsome. 'I thought I would never see any of you
again.'
It was exactly what Bedwyr would have said, and grief awakened at the
words. 'Lord,' I said, turning to Arthur, 'I fear the answer, but I must know.
What happened to the rest of the Cymbrogi?'
'I never saw any of them after the fire,' replied Arthur sadly. 'We all
became separated in the forest. I fear they are dead. Rhys, Myrddin, and I
somehow stayed together. I thought we were the only ones left until we
saw you.' He then told us how they were ambushed in the darkness while
they slept; Llenlleawg, leading a host of the foe, delivered them to
Morgaws, with whom they found Gwenhwyvar and Peredur bound and
waiting. 'There was nothing we could do,' Arthur said. 'You saw how
many warriors she commanded. We fought, but were overwhelmed from
the start.'
We then told Arthur how it was with us: how we had come upon the
chapel and had cleaned away the defiling filth. We told how the Grail
Maiden had appeared and returned the Holy Cup, how we had found
Caledvwlch in the well and fended off each attack made on the chapel.
'You have done well,' Myrddin declared. 'Heaven has blessed your efforts.
Your reward is assured.' Lifting a hand to the chapel, he said, 'Come, let us
thank God for the victory he has given us.'
'You are right to remind us of the source of our salvation,' replied Arthur.
'But say not that we have won a victory this day; rather, say that God in
his mercy has cut short the tribulation and spared our lives.'
The Wise Emrys motioned to Gereint, who, bearing the Most Holy Grail,
entered the chapel. We followed, silently, each wrapped in his separate
thoughts, to join the young warrior at the altar. He had replaced the cup
and it sat on the stone, glimmering softly in the light of its own gentle
radiance. The king gazed long upon the cup, then bowed his head and
wept for his lost Cymbrogi. In this he was not alone; I, too, gave myself
over to my grief for the dead, as did we all.
After a time, Myrddin stirred and, in his clear, strong voice, began singing
a lament for the dead. He sang The Last Returning, a fine and fitting song
for a warrior who has fallen in the fight and will not be going home with
his king. Then the Wise Emrys led us in prayers of thanksgiving for our
deliverance.
Our voices filled the chapel and our hearts lifted under the benison of
Myrddin's comforting words. Holding fear at bay for so long is a
wearisome labour, and I felt my spirit ease as the prayers did their work. I
cannot say how long we stayed in the chapel, but when I rose at last, a
massive weight had fallen from my shoulders.
Myrddin was attracted to the carvings on the walls; while the others talked
in low voices at the altar, I joined him to ask what he made of the strange
markings. 'Do they speak to you?' I asked.
They do.' The Bard of Britain ran his strong hands across the etched
designs as a mother might trace her fingers over the sleeping face of her
much-loved child. Entranced, he walked the walls and embraced the
messages in silent wonder.
'Make no mistake, Gwalchavad,' he said, turning to me at last. 'Llyonesse
was not always the wasteland it is now, and it will be redeemed. One day
Llyonesse will prove a boon of great blessing to all Britain.'
The others joined us then, and the king, awed by the chapel, remarked on
the mystery of the place. 'To think,' he mused, 'this chapel has been here -
here in this blighted realm - from the beginning.'
'The beginning?' said Myrddin. 'Know you, the beginning was long, long
ago.'
'And yet the chapel remains,' Bors pointed out. 'It was not destroyed.'
'Yes, the chapel remains,' agreed the Wise Emrys. 'Let all who love the
truth think on that and engrave it on their hearts.'
Turning abruptly, he stepped before the altar and, while we all stood
watching, took the edge of his cloak between his hands and tore off a
portion. Then, bowing in reverence to the cup, he carefully covered the
Grail with the cloth. This done, he took up the cup and addressed us. 'The
Holy Cup of Christ has been reclaimed. It is time to make our way back to
Ynys Avallach.' Cradling the cup, Myrddin stepped from the altar.
We emerged from the chapel into a cold, grey dawn. The vile yellow had
washed from the clouds and the rain pattered steadily around us. We stood
for a moment, looking into the sky as the healing rain streamed down our
faces. Water dripped from the branches of the trees all around, filling the
air with the woodland scent of wet bark and leaf mould. Even in the pale
dawnlight, I could see further into the wood than before. Darkness had
loosed its hold on the land and shadows no longer reigned in this place.
Morgaws' body lay where she had fallen, eyes wide in the shock of her
undoing. Llenlleawg sat a little apart, his back to her, his head low, rain
beating down on him. Arthur, calm and resolute, strode to where
Llenlleawg sat, and stood for a moment looking down at his fallen
champion. 'Get up,' he commanded after a moment.
Llenlleawg did not so much as raise his head.
Summoning Peredur and Gereint, the king indicated that they should raise
the Irishman between them. The two pulled Llenlleawg to his feet and
remained beside him - more to support him than to prevent him from
escaping.
Llenlleawg stood before the king as if he no longer possessed the use of
his limbs, or perhaps lacked the will to stand and did so only by
happenchance. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, abject in every line and
ligament, he swayed slightly on his feet. Remorse dripped from him like
the rain which spattered upon his head and trickled from his sodden hair in
rivulets, dribbling off his downcast face. Guilt pressed full on him and he
bent under the terrible weight.
Arthur gazed upon his former champion and friend. I could see the
conflict warring in the king's features: his mouth frowned with repugnance
and distaste even while his eyes, soft with sorrow, searched for some
redeeming sign. 'Do you know what your betrayal has wrought?' asked the
king at last, his voice tight, almost breaking.
Llenlleawg gave not the slightest indication that he had heard, so Arthur
repeated the question. Still Llenlleawg made no answer.
'I take your silence to mean that you own the consequence of your deeds,'
said the king. 'Do you have anything to say in your defense?'
Unable to bring himself to look upon the lord he had betrayed, Llenlleawg
did not raise his eyes, but muttered something in a voice so low, I could
not hear it.
Gwenhwyvar, stepping close, said something to him, and the Irishman,
glancing quickly from under his brow, breathed a quiet reply before
lowering his head once more. Gwenhwyvar, grave and sorrowful, relayed
his words to the king; her eyes never left her kinsman as she said, 'He
offers no defense, but begs his lord for the judgment due his crimes. He
wishes to be killed now and his body left to the birds and beasts.'
'So be it,' Arthur concluded. 'By reason of your treachery, I condemn you
to the death you ordained for your swordbrothers.' With that he took
Caledvwlch in both hands and raised the blade.
'Arthur, no!' called Gwenhwyvar. She stepped boldly between her kinsman
and the king's upraised sword. 'Do not kill him.'
'Step aside, woman,' the king said. 'Justice will be served.'
Gwenhwyvar flared at this. Drawing herself up full height, green eyes
ablaze with righteous anger, she glared at her husband. Turning to
Myrddin, she demanded, 'Am I not a queen? Am I not both daughter to
and wife of a king?'
'You are,' Myrddin replied.
Facing Arthur once more, she said, 'As Queen of Britain, I claim my right
to intercede for this man's life.'
'He has betrayed his lord, slain men who were under his command, and
aided an enemy who schemed to destroy us all,' Arthur replied firmly. 'Do
you deny that he has done these things?'
'I do not,' replied Gwenhwyvar smoothly. 'Neither do I deny that any one
of these crimes is worthy of death.'
'Then step aside,' said Arthur.
'I will not, my lord. I speak on behalf of my champion - your champion.
He saved our lives. When awakened to the knowledge of his error and
Morgaws' wickedness, he roused himself to our defense and killed the true
traitor.'
'If not for him,' the Pendragon countered, returning his queen's defiant
stare, 'such defense would not have been necessary. He knows his crime
and accepts his punishment.'
'Then punish him, by all means,' Gwenhwyvar replied scornfully, 'but
know you this - hear me, all of you.' She turned and included the rest of us
in her appeal. 'Llenlleawg was bewitched and he was beguiled. His will
was weak and he chose to follow that temptress, yes. But we were all of us
deceived by Morgaws, and we all took part in her schemes.'
Arthur lowered his arms and rested the sword. 'All men are responsible for
their actions,' he maintained stolidly. 'Some gave in to evil and allowed it
to overtake them; others did not. I do not make him answerable for the
evil, but only for his failure to resist it. For this failure, I do condemn him.'
Queen Gwenhwyvar folded her arms upon her breast and gazed
imperiously at the men around her. 'It seems to me you condemn him not
for his failure, but for his weakness. What is more, it is a weakness all men
share.
'Tell me now,' she demanded, exquisite in her wrath, 'who among you has
never experienced a moment's weakness at the sight of a beautiful
woman?' When no one answered, she searched the circle of faces and
called us by name: 'Gwalchavad? Bors? Peredur? If Morgaws had fastened
on you, could you have resisted? Rhys? Myrddin? How long before you
would have given in? Look into your hearts, all of you, and tell me that
you would not have weakened if you were in Llenlleawg's place. If you
had been the prey the huntress stalked, would you have escaped
unscathed?'
I cannot speak for the others, but I was only too painfully aware how very
close I had come to giving in to Morgaws' seduction. I knew full well how
weak I was, and I had not experienced even the smallest part of what she
had directed at Llenlleawg.
'He succumbed, and others did not,' Arthur maintained. 'Do you think I
take pleasure in this judgment? Lady, I do not. But justice must be done.'
'Is there no place for mercy in your justice, Great King?' Gwenhwyvar
stepped close and put her hands over the king's hands as they rested on the
sword. 'Please, Arthur,' she said softly, pleading for her kinsman's life, 'we
have all been bewitched in one way or another. Let us not presume to
judge Llenlleawg more harshly than we judge ourselves.'
The Pendragon looked to his Wise Counsellor for advice, and we all
turned to see what Myrddin would say. The Emrys joined Gwenhwyvar,
taking his place between Arthur and Llenlleawg. 'God knows death is
justified nine times over for his crimes,' he said. 'Punishment is your right,
and justice demands it. But there is much we do not yet know of Morgian's
insidious designs. Therefore, I beg you to withhold judgment until we
have penetrated the dark heart of this lamentable affair.'
The Pendragon regarded his wife and his counsellor for a long time,
contemplating what he should do. We all waited on his decision. At last,
he said, 'Very well, let it be as you say. I will make no judgment until our
understanding is complete.' He made a motion with his hand. 'Now step
aside.'
Gwenhwyvar and Myrddin moved aside and took their places with the rest
of us looking on. The king gazed upon his friend sadly and said, 'Hear me,
Llenlleawg: from this day you are no longer my champion, and your name
will never again be spoken in my presence. Further, you will go with us to
Caer Melyn, where you will be put on a ship and exiled to lerna, where
your crime will be known to your people. There you will stay until I make
my final judgment.' Having delivered his decree, Arthur considered the
abject warrior. 'Do you understand?'
A warrior myself, I understood only too well. It occurred to me that
Llenlleawg might rather have parted with his head than with his lord and
swordbrothers. In Ireland he would be an outcast among his own people -
a disgrace to them and to himself. Llenlleawg's honour, whatever might be
left of it, could not long endure... and then what would become of him?
The Irish champion nodded slowly. 'How long must I wait your decision?'
he asked, and oh, the defeat in his voice cut me to the heart.
But Arthur was not moved. 'God alone knows,' he replied, then added,
'Seek Him - perhaps He will show you the way to your salvation.'
So saying, the king turned on his heel, leaving his former champion
standing lonely and forlorn - bereft of dignity and friendship, yes, but not,
I think, without hope of redemption, however remote.
We followed the king from the chapel yard. Gwenhwyvar waited until
Arthur had reached the perimeter of the clearing, then offered a hasty
word of farewell to her kinsman. She pressed his hand and, after a last
sorrowful look, hurried after the king. Peredur, at Arthur's nod, resumed
the duty of guarding the prisoner and led him away.
With few weapons and no provisions to carry, we could travel lightly, if
hungrily, until we reached the nearest habitation where we could get food;
and, as we did not know when we might get good water again, we all took
a long drink from the holy well before setting off. I was the last to drink,
and after a final lingering look at the Grail Chapel, I turned away and
hurried to join my friends.
                     FORTY-ONE


Thus we began our journey, walking in silent file behind Myrddin along
the rain-wet trail. We had not travelled far, however, when the sun burst
through the clouds and sent dazzling bright spears of light striking through
the trees.
It had been so long since I had seen the sun, I stopped in my tracks and
turned my face to the glorious light as if to drink it deep into my soul. A
winter sun, but no less welcome for that, I felt its warmth bathe my
features and thanked the Lord who made me that I yet roamed the world of
the living.
We continued on and it was not long before I noticed a very strange thing.
All around me, the woodland was steaming as the sunlight penetrated the
wet trees and ground. Now, that in itself is not remarkable, but as the
misty vapours rose and curled in the sun-struck air, the forest itself seemed
to be dissipating, fading away with the mist - as if the very trees
themselves were nothing more than a night fog which vanishes when
touched by the light of day. The forest was thinning and receding before
my eyes.
We all stopped and gaped at this wondrous sight. And when we turned
once more to the path, the woodland had grown thin and the way stretched
wide before us. We moved on, and quickly paired with one another -
Arthur and Gwenhwyvar walked together, heads bent near in close
discussion; Bors began questioning Rhys about what had happened after
the Cymbrogi became separated in the forest. Peredur dutifully followed a
half step behind his prisoner, who lumbered forward with head and
shoulders bent. I found myself walking beside Gereint, amiable enough in
his silence, but I had questions that needed answers he could not supply.
I saw that Myrddin walked alone at the head of the party, and decided to
join him. 'Here, now,' I told Gereint, 'let us hear what Myrddin has to say
about all that has taken place.' Adjusting our pace, we soon fell into step
beside the Wise Emrys.
'How long must Llenlleawg remain in exile?' I said, asking the first
question that came to mind.
'Until the penance for his crimes has been fulfilled,' the Wise Emrys
declared, then added in a gentler tone: 'God alone knows how long that
may be, but I believe that either he will die there, or Arthur will one day
welcome his champion back into his service.'
'To think it could happen to the likes of Llenlleawg,' I mused. 'I wonder
why Morgaws chose him to aid her treachery.'
Myrddin gave me a sideways glance. 'She deceived us all! Gwenhwyvar
spoke the truth: Morgaws bewitched and beguiled every last one of us.'
'We were all deceived, of course, but only Llenlleawg sided with her and
carried out her purposes.'
'Why wonder at that? Great Light! Only by God's good grace do any of us
stand or fall. I think it praiseworthy so many resisted.' He was silent for a
moment, meditating on this; when he spoke again, he said, 'But you see
how it is. Even though she could deceive us, she could not overwhelm us;
her powers were not of that kind. She could seduce but she could not
subdue, and that is the way of it.'
Again I confessed I did not understand, so Myrddin explained. 'The
Enemy's powers are far less than we imagine. The Evil One cannot
overwhelm us by force. Indeed, he can use against us only the weapons we
give him.'
I allowed that this might be so, but it did seem that Morgaws had no
trouble getting whatever she wanted.
'Did she not?' demanded Myrddin. 'See here: Morgaws wanted the Grail
and she wanted Arthur's sword. For all her vaunted powers, she could not
get these simple things for herself. No, she required someone else - and
even then, she could not keep them. Despite her skills and schemes, she
could not meet us face-to-face, but required one of our own who could be
turned to her purposes.' Myrddin sighed. 'Alas, it was Llenlleawg who
succumbed.'
'I still do not understand why he did it,' Gereint put in. 'Betraying the
king...' He subsided, shaking his head as if it were a thing that would
remain forever beyond his comprehension.
'Evil ever chooses the weak and willing,' Myrddin replied. 'But I think it
was really Gwalchavad she wanted.'
'Me!' He startled me with this unexpected announcement.
'You were the first to find Morgaws,' he stated simply. 'You are Lot's son,
after all, and Morgian knows you. It would have served her purposes well
to bend you to her will.'
The thought made me uneasy. 'Then Morgian was behind it after all?' I
asked.
Myrddin pondered this before he answered. 'I believe Morgaws was
Morgian's creature from the beginning, and acted on Morgian's command,'
he said, then, in a voice heavy with regret, added, 'Would that discernment
had come to me sooner - how much suffering might have been saved... the
waste... the sad, sad, waste.'
'What will she do now?'
'We have removed yet another weapon from the fight,' he answered. 'I
have no idea what she will do now. But I think it prudent to assume we
have not seen the last of Dread Morgian.'
The threat implicit in this statement hung over me for a long time. I fell
silent, thinking about the things Myrddin had said, and was roused some
while later when Gereint suddenly cried out, 'Riders approaching!'
The shout startled me like a slap in the face. Deeply immersed in my
reverie, I had not been attending to what was happening around me. I
looked up to see that the forest had completely disappeared: every tree -
root, branch, and twig -had vanished with the mist. There was nothing of
the forest to be seen anywhere, and we were once more in the low-hilled
barrens of the blighted land.
I had no time to marvel at this, for Myrddin and Gereint stood a few paces
ahead of me, and beyond them, some small distance away, a mounted
warhost was advancing swiftly.
Arthur, with Gwenhwyvar beside him, joined us quickly, and Bors and
Rhys pushed in as well. We stood there in a tight knot as nearer and nearer
they came. Soon I heard the dull rumble of the horses' hooves on the
ground, and I scanned the onrushing ranks quickly and determined that
there must be close to fifty riders - too many to fight, if it came to that.
'Maybe they are some of Cador's kinsmen,' speculated Rhys, shading his
eyes with his hand.
Before anyone could reply to this, Arthur loosed a wild whoop and started
running to meet the riders.
'Arthur!' shouted Gwenhwyvar; she darted forward a few paces, halted,
and called back to us over her shoulder. 'They are not Cador's men. It is
Cador himself.'
'And Cai, and Bedwyr, and all the rest,' proclaimed Myrddin, a great,
exuberant grin spreading across his face. 'They are alive!'
It was true.
By some miracle known only to God himself, they lived. Within moments
we were surrounded by the very kinsmen and swordbrothers we had
committed to a fiery grave in the forest. Alive again! They were all alive!
Words alone cannot tell how startling and rapturous was that miraculous
reunion. My heart soared like an eagle as I ran to greet them.
'Cai! Bedwyr!' I cried, rushing to embrace them as they slid from their
saddles. 'Cador! You are alive, praise God. You are...' That was all I
managed to get out before the tears came. I am not ashamed to say that I
stood before my friends and wept; I cried the happy tears of one who has
had his fondest wish answered before he could even articulate the longing.
For their part, the lost Cymbrogi regarded us with bewildered amusement.
They stood shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other while we tried
to express our immense relief at their unanticipated resurrection. We all
talked at once, and tangled over one another, and succeeded only in
making the thing more obscure for all our explanation.
'What do you imagine happened to us?' asked Bedwyr, eyeing us with
bemused curiosity.
'Brother,' announced Bors, 'we thought you dead!'
'Why should you think that?' wondered Cai, squinting in amazement.
'We saw your bodies!' Rhys exclaimed, exasperation making him blunt.
'Back there in the forest.' He gestured vaguely behind him to the low,
barren hills.
'Truly,' said Arthur, his handsome face alight with the all-surpassing
pleasure of seeing his friends once more, 'we saw your corpses hung up in
a tree like the carcasses of deer after a hunt. Indeed, we burned the tree so
that you should not be dishonoured in death.'
Bedwyr shook his head and looked to his companions, who merely
shrugged and allowed that some dark mystery had clouded events - which
was only to be expected, after all.
'After you entered the forest,' Bedwyr told us, 'we lost sight of you. The
fog came down and -'
The fog,' echoed Arthur softly. 'I had forgotten about the fog.'
'When we could no longer find the path, we made camp and waited until
the daylight to resume the search.'
'You have been searching all this time?' asked Rhys.
'Aye,' affirmed Cai, 'since first light this morning.'
'How can that be?' Bors blurted. 'It is at least seven days since we last saw
you.'
'Seven if one,' agreed Gereint, then added uncertainly, 'Though we had no
sun to go by. Still, it seemed a long time.'
'You make it more than it is,' replied Arthur confidently. 'Indeed, it could
be no more than three days by my reckoning. Though it is true the sun did
not show itself the while.'
'Three days and nights together at least,' Gwenhwyvar confirmed.
Cador, shaking his head solemnly, said, 'However that may be, I assure
you all, only one night has passed, and that quickly. We rode out to find
you as soon as we had light enough to see the trail.'
'It is but one night since we left you,' Cai maintained doggedly. 'But can
you imagine our surprise when we could not find the wood we left just the
night before?'
Well, it could not be denied that the wood had disappeared. Cai suggested
that perhaps the same enchantment which had shown us the corpses of our
friends had somehow stretched one night to seven for those who had
entered that bewitched domain. We then speculated on how this could be
accomplished. Myrddin, growing impatient with our ignorant babble, put a
stop to it.
Drawing himself up, he said, 'You speak where you should be silent.
Heaven is not the only eternity; Hell is eternal, too. If more explanation is
required, let us simply say all that passed in the forest was, like the forest
itself, wrought of sorcery. Yet, by the Great Light's grace, we have
endured the worst the Enemy could devise and we have prevailed: the
Summer Realm is saved, and the Most Holy Grail is restored.'
He straightened himself, and turned his face once more towards the trail,
saying, 'Look your last on the Wasteland, my friends; Llyonesse is no
more.' He paused and, as if gazing beyond the veil of years, added, 'Ah,
but what was once will be again. Hear me: when the Thamesis reverses its
flow and the sea gives up that which has been given to its keeping, the
world will marvel at the glory that is Llyonesse.'
So saying, he put his feet once more to the path and, without a backward
glance, began striding towards Ynys Avallach. Arthur and Gwenhwyvar
walked beside him, refusing the mounts offered them by Bedwyr and the
others. However, I did as I was bade and stood for a moment to look upon
the Wasteland one last time,
Then I turned and followed the Pendragon and his Wise Emrys back to the
land of the living, where the Summer Realm was waiting for its king.
See, now: more seasons have passed than I care to count. I see the land
blossoming with peace and plenty under Arthur Pendragon's reign, as
under the warmth of a bright summer sun.
To be sure, the drought and plague persisted into the following year,
giving way only slowly and grudgingly. They continue to bring painful
memories to all who survived them, and we will be a long time restoring
the damage. As always, there is so much to do.
And in the doing, there is blessed forgetting. Most of those who followed
Arthur into Llyonesse do not willingly talk about what happened, and very
few outside the Dragon Flight have heard what took place during that long
snowless winter. Britain will never know how close she came to
destruction. Yet it seems that not a day passes but I find some reminder of
the terrors we endured. It is often that I have sat alone at day's end, gazing
into the dying light and contemplating all that took place during those
strange, confusing days.
It still seems a dream to me in many ways. I see her face before me, and I
feel her breath hot on my neck. My passion stirs within me and I wonder:
would I have given in? If it happened again, would I be able to hold out? I
would like to say that it could never happen, that I would remain steadfast
and strong. In truth, I cannot say I would not fall. Therefore, I pray God I
will never be tested beyond my endurance.
The Queen of Air and Darkness was the power behind Morgaws' actions,
of that I am certain. Some have said, and some believe, that Morgaws was
simply Morgian in a different guise. The Wise Emrys never believed this,
however, and after long contemplation, I fear he is right. Morgaws was not
Morgian - much as I might wish otherwise. Who, then, was she?
The power of evil is another mystery to me. How was it we believed those
endless deceptions? Why did it assume such mastery over us?
Bishop Elfodd, whose advice I have sought on this matter more than once,
believes that the power of any evil - great or small, it makes no difference
- derives not from its own strength, much as some profess and many
believe. 'No, in order for it to succeed,' the bishop explained one day in the
spring following our return, 'evil must first remove the preserving
goodness of the thing it would destroy. For the truth is that even the
smallest good is more powerful than the greatest evil.'
'All appearances to the contrary,' I added wryly.
'Oh, yes!' he exclaimed, growing excited. 'Appearances are always to the
contrary - always. Much of Morgaws' power lay in her ability to make
herself appear something very different from what she was. It is the Evil
One's oldest deception, and we are no less vulnerable to it than we ever
were.' He shook his head sadly. 'Yes, and it is also the one deception that
must be preserved at all costs, for once mortals truly understand what a
weak and contemptible thing evil really is, the Ancient Enemy's
destruction is assured.'
I did not fully believe Elfodd when he said that, but as I have puzzled over
the thing, I am persuaded he may be right. It would explain why Morgaws
stole the Grail and desecrated the chapel - that is to say, she made
Llenlleawg do it, because I think she could neither possess nor command
the objects she so desired. Llenlleawg also threw Caledvwlch into the well
-perhaps because even at his most depraved and hopeless, he could not
bring himself to wield that weapon against his king. So it was that by
cleansing the altar, Bors, Gereint, and I, however unwittingly, prepared the
way for the Grail Maiden to reconsecrate them. Though we did not know
it at the time, we helped return a mighty weapon to the battle.
What to say of Llenlleawg? Myrddin and Arthur remain adamant that all
men must answer for their actions. Bishop Elfodd, too, is of the opinion
that the former champion must be punished for his sins. 'Remember,' the
good bishop has said, 'we are not required to defeat evil, but only to stand
against it. That is enough - the outcome remains with God; it is His battle,
after all. However, we are required to refrain from actively helping the
Enemy, and Llenlleawg helped the Enemy greatly.'
That he did. No one denies it. Llenlleawg, exiled and outcast, is paying the
price for his treason now. But I know how easy it is to slip, to fall, to be
overtaken by a will greater than your own. Perhaps alone of all the rest, I
understand Llenlleawg best -because I, too, stood near the flame and was
very nearly singed. 'We were all deceived,' as Gwenhwyvar said, and it is
true.
Moreover, I believe that deception began long before we knew it. I long
considered I was the first to set eyes on Morgaws; however, now I am
persuaded that Rhys met her before I did - that day he went out to look for
water. He has no recollection of it at all; he remembers neither leaving nor
returning to camp, nor the bite on his arm. But I remember, and I think he
met Morgaws by that pool, surprised her, perhaps. Or maybe she tried her
seductions on him and failed. She tried me next, but found an easier victim
in Llenlleawg. Who can say? So much of Morgaws - like the deaths of the
Cymbrogi - was illusion, after all.
'Be that as it may,' the Pendragon is quick to point out when asked, 'the
fact that their deaths were an illusion does not lessen Llenlleawg's
treachery. Let us never forget eight brave warriors died defending the
Grail Shrine that night, and fifteen pilgrims were slain.'
He is right to remember, of course. Those deaths are lamentable. Still, the
fact that the Cymbrogi were not slaughtered has gone a long way towards
softening Arthur's heart where his former champion is concerned. At least
the king no longer speaks of taking Llenlleawg's life in expiation of his
crimes. Therefore, I will continue to hold out the hope that one day soon a
way will be found to redeem the Irishman and allow him to take his place
in the king's service once more. Who knows? After that night in the forest,
I never again expected to see Bedwyr, Cai, and Cador drawing breath in
this world, but here I drink ale with them every night as if nothing had
ever happened. So who is to say what miracles may occur?
In the meantime, life goes on. There is Caer Lial to rebuild, and that work
takes up most of our time. The old City of the Legions in the north is
home once again to Britain's defenders. Upon our return to Ynys Avallach,
Arthur understood that the Grail Shrine was a mistake, and that the Grail,
most precious and holy treasure, must be guarded with more subtlety and
greater vigilance.
Therefore, the High King returned it to its first and foremost Guardian:
Avallach now keeps it, and that is only right. But the Grail is known now,
and will continue to draw the attention of anyone who hears about it.
Thus, the Pendragon has determined that the Grail should be removed to a
place of greater safety. Together, Arthur and Avallach are making plans
for a new stronghold - somewhere in the north, far away from Llyonesse.
Arthur never held a great love for the south, in any event - a northerner
myself, I know he finds the southern hills too close and the wooded
valleys too cramped; it makes him uneasy when he cannot look out across
the wide and empty hilltops and see the distant horizon - and Caer Lial,
though long abandoned, yet possesses strong walls, and enough rubble
stone for restoring many of the buildings.
Thus we have come north - where my tale began, and where it now ends. I
have set the thing down in the best way I know. Make of it what you will.
See now: I lay down my sharpened reed and I will not take it up again.
Tomorrow, when I arise, I will be a scribe no more. I mean to take my
place beside the Pendragon and, God willing, there shall I remain until the
end of my days.