The Tower and the Emerald

by Moyra Caldecott

  For some the river was salvation: those managed to cross safely and scramble out the other side. Others met a quick death with spear in chest or throat. The worst fate was slow suffocation among the river fiends, the winding weed that throttled, the terror of the unknown.

  Idoc and Gerin had both gained the far bank when Neol, halfway across, suddenly drew back. Both forces had had enough.

  Chapter 9

  The Community of the Fish

  Hunydd stood pawing the ground where Viviane had left her and she flung herself upon the mare’s back, desperate to get as far away as she could from the fell tower. The mare needed no urging and moved like the wind, blood from the cuts on Viviane’s hands staining her white mane: the trees streaming past, their branches whipping ineffectually at rider and mount. As they rode, Viviane’s fear gave way to exultation. Idoc’s scrying mirror, which spied upon the lives of others, was destroyed.

  At last they were clear of the woods and out upon open hillside among the tall flowering grasses. The clouds that drifted high across the sky were like gold dust in the early evening sunlight, and two playful cloud dragons engaged in a slow and rhythmic dance, twisting and coiling sinuously around the fine white pearl of the moon. From what the priest had told her before they entered the fatal woods, she knew they were not far from Father Brendan’s community, and Viviane was determined not to stop again until they reached it. All the same it was nightfall before Hunydd limped exhausted through the gate of the sanctuary of the Fish.

  The monastery was housed in what had once been a ruined Roman villa. It had been patched and repaired and was now a strange mixture of wood and stone and different styles of architecture. It had taken its name from the magnificent mosaic floor of the inner courtyard, which, in the old days, had contained a pool with a fountain playing over it – the fish motif provided by the artist strangely given life by the movement of the water and the smaller living fish that had swum above it. Bordering it there was still a garden: decorative flowers mingling pleasantly with the useful medicinal herbs; roses brought by the Romans from their distant country still climbed around the bordering columns . . . The old peristyle was now the cloister. Most of the red Roman roofing tiles had long since disappeared and been replaced with local thatch, but the walls were still sturdy. The main hall of the villa had been converted into a church. It too was floored with mosaic: the motif here again a fish – but combined with the Chi-Rho symbol, since the original owner had evidently been Christian.

  As Viviane slid off her mare in sheer exhaustion, Father Brendan himself stepped forward and took her arm to steady her as she swayed. He was a big, loose-limbed man with kindly but penetrating eyes half shaded by enormous, shaggy eyebrows. His weather-tanned face was lined with age, yet strong with a kind of inward youth. She tried to greet him but the words caught in her throat. He took her other arm to prevent her sinking to the ground.

  ‘Child,’ he said in a deep, gentle voice, stooping to look into her tormented eyes. ‘You are safe here. Put away your fear.’

  ‘Father . . .’ she murmured. She could feel the tears building up – the flood of all that she had endured now ready to break through the barriers of self-control she had so carefully and fiercely upheld for so long.

  He glanced over her head to a tall nun standing near by. ‘Sister Bridget,’ he said quietly, ‘take her. Put her to bed. Let her weep.’

  Viviane next felt the strong arms of the woman around her, and for a moment almost thought she was at home with the sound of the sea in her ears and her mother rocking her to sleep.

  As she closed her eyes the last thing she saw was candlelight flickering on the design of two overlapping circles decorating the wall of the chamber in which she had been placed. Where the circles overlapped they made the unmistakable outline of a fish.

  * * * *

  Viviane’s sojourn with the community was a very strange and very beautiful experience. Walls of rock rose sheer on either side of the small valley, keeping it secluded and private. That this retreat from the world had been built by a Roman surprised her, but Father Brendan smiled when she told him this.

  ‘The Romans were individuals, too, you know,’ he said. ‘Not all of them were seeking conquest and power. The man who built this house was a Christian at a time when Christians were being persecuted. He chose what he believed for himself, though all the world was against him. That is why you see the fish symbol everywhere in this building.’

  ‘I was going to ask you about that.’

  ‘The fish was the secret sign of the early Christians, when their lives depended on keeping their allegiance to the Mystery hidden. They took the initials of His Greek designation and found that they spelled the word ichthus, meaning fish. It stands for lesous Christos Theou Uios Soter: Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour.’

  She looked delighted. ‘The two circles in my chamber . . .’

  ‘We call that the Vesica Piscis. At the crossing of the circle of God and the circle of man, the fish manifests. It was another secret sign of the early Christians. But if I were to start telling you about all the significances of the Christ/Fish symbol I would not stop talking for a week. I think it would be better if you meditated on it yourself. That way you will learn what you really need to learn from it, and not only what I think you should learn.’

  As she had told him all that had been happening to her, he had listened quietly and seriously. But when she had pleaded with him that he help to defeat Idoc and rescue Caradawc, Father Brendan was silent a long time. Then he had said firmly that he could not do this – only she could. Her expression must have shown him her utter dismay at this, for he put his hands on her shoulders and continued gently but with deep conviction: ‘Up to now you have been floundering in the dark, only half understanding what is happening to you. When you leave here, you will see more clearly. You will act with the power of “inner seeing” and you will find that very different from acting “blind”.’

  She believed him instinctively – for everywhere she looked plants were growing, people were happy. She had visited monasteries before where the atmosphere was oppressively gloomy, as though it were necessary to hate this life to be given entrance to the next. But here the inhabitants seemed to take this life gratefully as a precious gift, as if they presumed that they could only pass easily from this life to the next if the two were in harmony with each other.

  Father Brendan held out a little fish made of silver.

  ‘Go to a quiet place. Hold it in your hand. Contemplate it. Then close your hand so that you can no longer see it with your earth-eyes. See it only with your inner-eye. Let it have motion. Let it have life. See where it swims. Learn from it.’

  Curiously she took the little image from his large, work-calloused hand. She made her way to the small bare chamber she had been given, its stone walls unadorned except with the Vesica Piscis; the only furniture a wooden bed and straw mattress. She sat on the edge of the bed, a shaft of light from the high, small window shining down warmly on her hand as she held it out, the silver fish catching the light and for the moment dazzling her. Then the sunbeam moved on, and the fish lay on the palm of her hand glowing faintly, as though transformed in some way by the passing light.

  She started by contemplating its beauty simply as an object. Then, as Father Brendan had instructed her, she tried to see it as a living creature in its natural habitat. At first, because she was not used to meditating, her mind drifted off, picking up stray and disconnected memories . . . At one point she wondered with some impatience how this understanding of the fish symbol was going to help her to solve the insurmountable problem of Idoc. But then she pulled her mind back, for she trusted Father Brendan. Symbols were like seeds, small and insignificant, yet containing within themselves the potential to grow into mighty trees. Now he wanted her to learn how to release that potential so that the seed might grow into a tree, and so that she might see across the landscape of her life with the eyes of the bird that perches in its highest br
anches and not of the worm that burrows in the ground beneath it.

  She shut her eyes and tried to ‘see’ the metal cipher in her hand as if floating in clear and translucent water at the edge of a great ocean. She saw flecks of golden sunlight touching the ripples and reflecting down on to the pure white sand. And the silver fish floated inertly in the aquamarine, catching the light, moving only as the water moved.

  She thought about the world without life, and she thought about the world with life.

  The fish started to move of its own volition; it made choices; it explored its environment; it reached out to the great ocean and began to swim away from the dry beach that was so inimical to it.

  She began to think of the ocean as the symbol for consciousness . . . the surface with its waves sometimes tossed by wind and storm, sometimes calm, representing our normal awareness . . . the depths representing all those other, deeper forms of consciousness, we don’t usually take into account. The fish swam deeply . . . to all levels . . .

  She followed. She called out to him . . . she asked questions . . .

  It seemed to her that the fish understood her questions but that she could not always understand his answers. She was not worried. She knew that as she grew accustomed to these new levels she would begin to understand more and more . . .

  Her silver fish swam on . . . exploring deeper and deeper . . . leading her to see connections of which she had never dreamed. She followed him into caves so dark she did not at first recognize that they were in fact the secret places of her own heart – where shadows lurked that she would not previously acknowledge. There she confronted her deep desire for Idoc, realizing that it had been so strong in that ancient life that she had chosen at first to ignore his vicious cruelty to others, rather than give him up. Her so-called ‘love’ had made a mockery of real love. When she had finally admitted that she could no longer condone what he was doing and had then helped those who planned his destruction, she told herself that she was acting purely for the good of others, when in fact her real motive had been to remove him as far as she could from herself so that she would no longer be tempted by him. How ironic that it was still her desire for him that tormented her.

  What of the others?

  Her thoughts and memories were becoming strangely clear in the company of the Fish.

  Caradawc, Gerin, Rheged and Cai in their earlier existences had each had a part to play in Idoc’s imprisonment.

  Caradawc had at first been Idoc’s greatest friend and had been heavily under his influence, even, through fascination, going along with him against his better judgement. Later he had become sickened and tried to draw away, but the weakness of his own character had, like Fiann’s, made it impossible for him to do so. Thankfully he had joined the others, while still professing friendship with Idoc and still apparently condoning his evil practices. Because he had not had the courage to break free independently he was still bound and would remain so until, by his own strength, he freed himself.

  And what of Gerin? She saw now where he fitted in. He had been High Priest in that other life, and it had been his decision to do what they had done. But was he – even he – pure of motive? She had always looked on him as a wise and dedicated man and had turned to him with the turmoil in her heart. But one day she had seen the look in his eyes and knew that his desire for her was as strong as any she might feel for Idoc. It was the jealous man and not the High Priest who decided to pin Idoc’s soul to that patch of earth.

  ‘Ah Gerin,’ she thought sadly. ‘Our little schemes come to nothing in the face of all that we don’t know . . .’

  Cai and Rheged? She remembered them now, too.

  Rheged had undertaken the breaking of Idoc’s legs during the spellbinding ceremony. He had been carrying out the basic requirements of the ritual – but he had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed the suffering on Idoc’s face, just as much as Idoc had enjoyed the suffering of his own victims. What difference was there then in these two men? Rheged’s enjoyment of battle and his refusal to look at the suffering it caused were still a problem for his soul to work out. She thought of his present evident concern for his friend Cai and hoped that at last, through this, he would be able to free himself.

  And Cai?

  In this life Cai had so far mishandled all his relationships with women. Viviane frowned, trying to remember something that would give her a clue to Cai’s past – something that would help her to understand his present. He had been no more than a boy when she had first met him in that former life, and his devotion to her had been obsessional. Idoc had noticed this, and used it. He had promised the lad a night of pleasure with her in exchange for certain favours to himself, and when the boy had come to claim his reward, she, unaware of Idoc’s promise, had cried out in outrage. Idoc had had the boy publicly shamed and castrated, and he lived on amongst them, a eunuch, bitterly brooding on vengeance.

  * * * *

  The Fish was swimming back to the shore . . . sunlight penetrating the water . . . light dazzling her eyes . . .

  She found herself sitting upright on the edge of her bed.

  ‘Viviane,’ a voice was saying.

  Dazed, she looked about her. Sister Bridget stood at the door, smiling warmly. ‘It is time to return. We have a meal ready . . . then we are going to sing. Do you feel like joining us?’

  Viviane felt very much like joining them. She stretched and yawned and shook herself. She was very hungry.

  ‘Are things clearer now?’ Father Brendan inquired later that evening.

  ‘Much clearer,’ she said, ‘for I’ve seen how we’re all involved in Idoc’s death and punishment. And I know that we were each guilty of wrong motives in our actions then, and have to work this out now – yet what Idoc was doing was so evil he had to be stopped!’

  ‘Of course. But stopping Idoc was one thing; the conflict between good and evil within each of you was another. We are accountable for what we ourselves do – not for what others do. Do you understand that?’

  He could see that she did.

  He smiled and touched her arm. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘At this time I always walk – so that I don’t forget the stars.’

  She trod silently beside him through the garden, her eyes on the narrow little path between the rows of vegetables, brooding on everything that had occurred and everything she was just beginning to understand, and then she noticed Father Brendan had stopped walking and was staring up at the sky. Her eyes followed his and she couldn’t suppress a gasp. She had forgotten the stars! And now they blazed down on her in their myriad; brilliant against the darkness. It seemed to her that she, and Father Brendan who had loomed so large a moment before, became pinpoints against the vastness she was now contemplating. She reached up her arms and above her the mighty wheel of gold rolled and turned, the earth beneath her feet with it, the invisible regions and realms and the worlds beyond count . . . all moving together . . .

  * * * *

  When Idoc, in the body of Caradawc, discovered how Rheged had kidnapped Elined and brought her to Castle Goreu, he was furious, blaming him entirely for their defeat, since, due to the abduction, Neol had been armed and ready for their attack.

  ‘If my own men work against me, how am I to withstand my enemies,’ he raged. ‘Take him!’ he growled to the two guards who had escorted him to Cai’s chamber. ‘Throw him in the dungeon before he causes me more harm.’

  Rheged was dumbfounded. The face of his old friend Caradawc now was hard and cold, as he had never seen it before. He struggled to explain that he had acted only to save Cai’s life – but the man he thought was Caradawc was not moved. Standing beside Cai’s bed as the two guards roughly pinioned Rheged’s arms, he looked down coldly on the wan figure whose cheeks were hollow from fasting and whose eyes were dull and lifeless.

  ‘What life was there to save?’ Idoc growled harshly. ‘The man is a vegetable. He’s no use to me. Leave him. If he wants to die, let him die!’ And he turned and strode out of the room.


  On Idoc’s orders Rheged was beaten until the blood flowed, then manacled to a greasy wall among the rats. Goreu’s dungeon had housed a few unfortunates in the old man’s lifetime, but since Caradawc became king it had not been used. It was dark and damp, the filth of the previous occupants still mouldering in the straw. Rheged gagged as he hung from the wall. How could this be happening to him? How could Caradawc of all people! Caradawc who had been his friend since childhood . . .

  ‘When he thinks about it calmly he’ll release me,’ Rheged thought desperately. ‘He must. He was so angry at his defeat he wasn’t thinking straight. I’d have been angry too . . .’ Yet he felt uneasy at this rage in Caradawc. He had never seen him like that before. Perhaps Caradawc had more of his father in him than they had realized . . .

  * * * *

  Idoc sat alone on the throne in Caradawc’s great hall, his eyes smouldering with the frustrations that burned in him. He would like to cause mighty catastrophes. He would like to move whole peoples about to his whim. He would like to challenge God! But here he sat in a small castle in a small kingdom with stupid, incompetent and cowardly warriors at his command.

  As far as revenge on his five enemies was concerned, things were moving well. Caradawc had been dealt with. Cai was ailing and would die soon. Rheged was suffering, and soon would suffer more. He personally would supervise the breaking of his legs which would turn gangrenous in that dungeon. Even Gerin was tormented by his passion for a woman he could not have, and it was only Viviane who had escaped him for the moment.

  But despite these triumphs he still felt immensely restless . . . This place was too small for him. It was not worthy of him. Viviane’s father was High King over six smaller kingdoms, of which Caradawc’s was the southernmost. No doubt Goreu had had private ambitions when he negotiated a daughter of the High King for his son. Now he, Idoc, was married to that same daughter, and could easily take advantage of such family connections to manoeuvre himself into a place at the High King’s right hand. And from there . . .