Gwenhwyvar spoke up. “I am a Christian, too, Conaire,” she said, coolly. “Do you think me weak-willed and witless?”
Conaire raised a warning finger. “Stay out of this, you. This is no concern of yours.”
“Is it not?” she asked. “I rather think it concerns all who hold the Christ as lord over them.”
“Then draw your weapon and stand behind your father,” Conaire told her. “And I will give you stroke for stroke what I give Fergus.”
“Go to it then!” cried Fergus. “Do your worst!”
“Oh, stop it—both of you,” Gwenhwyvar snapped. “Conaire, we do not have time for this. If it is a fight you want, listen to me now. The Vandal host is laying waste to Ynys Prydein. I have come to raise the warbands of Eiru to aid Arthur.”
Fergus was only too happy to be distracted from the tussle at hand. “Did you mean to keep it from us, daughter? Why, my men and I are ready; we will put to sea at once.” He turned to his warriors, who stood looking on. “Bid your kin farewell, men. Arthur needs us.” Turning back to Gwenhwyvar, he said, “Arthur in need? Say no more. That is good enough for me.”
Conaire frowned. “Well, I care little for that. I will not go.”
Gwenhwyvar could scarce believe the man’s stubbornness. “After all Arthur has done for you?” she challenged. “Is this the thanks of a noble lord? Britain suffers now because Arthur helped you.”
“What sort of king leaves his realm unprotected?” Conaire sniffed, putting on a brave display of indifference.
“He did it to save you!” Gwenhwyvar declared.
“More fool he,” replied the Irish king smugly. “I did not ask his help, nor did I need it.”
“If not for Arthur you would be dead now—you and all your people with you, Conaire Red Hand!”
“And if I were dead I would not have to keep hearing about Arthur!”
Gwenhwyvar, her face flushed with rage, spun from him. “Go, Father, ready your ships and men. Llenlleawg and I ride to rouse the southern lords.”
“This lord will not be roused,” Conaire insisted. “Nor any beholden to me.”
“Go your way, Conaire,” Gwenhwyvar told him. “You are of no consequence anymore.”
“I will not go—”
“Well and good!”
“—and neither will I allow my lords to sail to Britain,” he said. “This is no concern of the Uladh or its kin.”
“Arthur needs help and I am pledged to give it,” Fergus said. “All I have I owe to him. More, he is my kinsman through the marriage of my daughter. I am going to help him.”
“And I say you will not go.”
“And I say I will!”
“You will not—”
“Silence!” Gwenhwyvar screamed. She faced the Irish king squarely. “You can choose not to help us,” she said, anger seething from every pore. “That is your right. But you cannot prevent Fergus from going if he is so resolved.”
“No,” allowed Conaire, growing sly, “I cannot prevent him from going. But—” he turned a defiant gaze upon Fergus—“if you leave, your lands are forfeit.”
“Snake! Snake!” cried Fergus. “You cannot do that!”
“Stand back and watch what I do!”
“Do not listen to him, Father,” Gwenhwyvar said. “Go and ready the men.”
“Since you are going,” Conaire continued, “I advise you to take your priests and people with you, for I tell you the truth: there will be no home for you if you return.”
“Take the land!” Fergus bellowed, drawing himself up with immense dignity. “And I take back my oath of fealty to you. I once pledged myself to a true king, but you are not that man. Go your way, Conaire Crobh Rua. I am done with you.”
“What need have I of a faithless lord like you?” Conaire sneered. “I will give your lands to men who honor their oaths and do not go chasing after priests of strange religions.”
Fergus drew breath to reply. Gwenhwyvar put her hands on his chest and turned him. “Go now. Say nothing more.”
“Indeed,” her father replied, “there is nothing more to say.”
He turned and hastened back to his waiting warband and the gathered throng of his tribe. In a moment they began moving away.
“I leave also, Conaire,” Gwenhwyvar said. “My only regret is that I may not deal with you as you deserve. But hear me now: the day will come when you rue your shameful behavior, and on that day may your stone gods save you.”
She turned, leaving him gaping after her. Gwenhwyvar swung into the saddle, wheeled her mount and galloped away.
Conaire turned to me and put out a hand, as if he would explain. “You have had your say, O king,” I told him. “May your hasty words be a comfort to you as you sit in your friendless hall.” I paused, allowing him to think about this. “But it does not have to end that way. Put conceit behind you; join Arthur and help him now as he helped you.”
His handsome face tightened like a fist. “That I will not do.”
“So be it.” I turned my mount and rode after the others.
When Fergus reached Muirbolc a short time later, he was less happy with his decision. He sat downcast on a stool while around him the clan prepared to leave their home for ever. Gwenhwyvar did her best to console him, but she was anxious to be away once more.
“I am sorry,” Fergus sighed. “I lost the land—land our fathers have held since the dew of creation was still fresh on the earth.”
“You did well,” Gwenhwyvar assured him. “Better an empty bowl with a true friend than a feast with an enemy.”
“I lost the land.” He sighed, shaking his head sadly. “I gave it to him.”
“Arthur has a surfeit of land,” she told him. “I am certain he will reward your loyalty most generously.” That was all she said, but it remained with me for some time after.
Leaving Fergus to oversee the work, we three continued on. Llenlleawg led as he had recently come this way on an identical task. We rode first to Aedd—perhaps the most ardent supporter of Arthur among the southern Irish, and also the nearest—and, two days later, received a hearty reception.
“Hail and welcome!” Aedd called as we dismounted before his hall. The sun was well down, stretching our shadows long; we were travel-weary, and glad to quit the saddle. “I give you good greeting, my friends.” The Irish king spread his arms wide in welcome. “I have been hoping to see you again, but I did not think it would be so soon.”
We greeted and embraced him, and Gwenhwyvar said, “It is no happy chance that brings us.”
“There is trouble,” Aedd said, glancing from one to the other of us. “I see that it is so.”
“We have come to—” Gwenhwyvar began.
But Aedd would not allow her to demean herself by asking his aid. “You have come to share the welcome cup with one who would be numbered among your many friends,” he said quickly. “Come, take your ease.”
Gwenhwyvar, agitated at her inability to make herself understood, tried again. “Would that I could,” she said, “but, I fear we must—”
“You must not worry about anything while you are here,” Aedd said. He took her hand and drew her away with him towards the hall.
“Perhaps you should explain, Lord Emrys,” Llenlleawg suggested, watching his queen disappear into the hall.
“Let us trust Aedd in this,” I said. “In any event it is late and we can go no farther this day.”
“I could ride to Laigin on my own,” the stalwart champion proposed.
“Stay,” I advised. “Let us eat and rest and see what tomorrow brings.”
Aedd could not do enough for us. He commanded servants to wait upon us while we were with him—a man each for Llenlleawg and myself, and a maiden for Gwenhwyvar. He summoned forth the best of food and drink, and directed his chief bard and harpers to sing soothing music. When we finished eating, he engaged us in amiable conversation, but would not allow any talk of the trouble that had brought us to him. Thus we rose and went to our beds w
ell satisfied with all, save the most important part of our task.
“I will speak to that man in the morning,” Gwenhwyvar vowed. “I will not be put off again. It is well for him to sit before the hearth spinning his nets of fine words, but I am not a salmon so easily caught. I will speak to him at first light, and he will listen.”
“Then let it rest until the morning,” I remarked. “It is a fine gift he has given us. We have enjoyed a night’s peace, and the friendship of a generous lord—far from the battle clash and the carping of small-minded men.”
The queen bit her lip uncertainly. “I hope you are right. I keep thinking of Arthur, and how he needs the aid we must bring.”
“That is a worry for tomorrow, Bright One.”
She smiled at the epithet and did indeed brighten. “Then I will leave it there.” She leaned close, raised her lips to my cheek and kissed me. “God be good to you, Myrddin. Sleep well.”
Gwenhwyvar’s maid appeared with a rushlight to lead the queen to her sleeping-place. I watched them go, thinking how fortunate was Arthur to have a wife with such intelligence and courage. And so thinking, I asked forgiveness of the Great Light. “More fool the man who regards her lightly,” I whispered. “There beats the heart of a lioness beneath that breast of beauty. Yes, and an iron-clawed will sheathed in a lithe and supple form.”
3
I WAKENED THE NEXT MORNING to an ill-hushed commotion outside my sleeping-hut. I sat up. The sun had risen, but only just; the light was thin, the air still, yet ringing with the sound that had roused me: the jingle of a horse’s tack.
In a moment the sound came again, but it was not that of a single horse. Meanwhile, the slap of bare feet gave way to the whisper of excited voices. I threw aside the lambskin covering and rose from the pallet, quickly pulling on my clothes. Seizing my staff, I went outside.
Upon emerging from the hut I saw the first horses arriving and knew at once what Aedd had done. Without word or hint to us, the canny king had dispatched messengers to each of the other southern lords and these had instantly assembled their warbands, riding through the night to arrive at dawn. This he had done to delight his guests.
“God love him,” Llenlleawg said when he saw the warriors standing in the yard. “Here breathes a noble Celt indeed.”
Like a sovereign of an elder time, Aedd had seen to the needs of his guests with a graceful, self-effacing generosity. It was a virtue still lauded in song, but now rarely encountered. One could be forgiven for believing that it had passed out of this worlds-realm altogether. But here was a man, king in more than name only, holding to the old way. This nobility lifted him up and exalted him in our eyes, and in the esteem of all who would hear of it in the days to come.
The three southern lords had come: Laigin, Diarmait, and Illan; with their massed warbands—numbering in excess of two hundred, and all on horseback. Aedd’s stronghold could not contain them all, and most waited beyond the bank and ditch. Gwenhwyvar, likewise roused by the noise, appeared and hurried to where Llenlleawg and I stood watching Aedd as he gave orders to the warriors.
Seeing that we had discovered his surprise, Aedd joined us. “Have you told them of Arthur’s need?” Gwenhwyvar asked.
“And demean that great king?” Aedd replied, chiding her gently. “I would never say such a thing.”
Gwenhwyvar watched the teeming yard and wondered, “But you must have revealed something of the urgency of our distress to bring them at such speed.”
“Lady”—Aedd smiled expansively—“I have simply told them that Arthur is desirous of increasing his joy with the pleasure of their company in his various adventures. I may have mentioned the merest possibility of a battle. They fought among themselves to be the first to respond to the summons.”
“My lord and I thank you,” the queen said. “I pray your kindness will be rewarded many times over.”
Aedd inclined his head, then with a sudden sweep of motion, caught up her hand and kissed it. Gwenhwyvar blushed prettily. “This is my reward,” he told her. “I desire nothing more. As for these—” he lifted a hand to the assembled lords and warriors—“the chance to fight alongside Arthur and encourage him with Irish valor is all they ask.”
One of the lords, approaching us just then—Illan, I believe—overheard this remark. “Arthur has rightly shown his virtue,” he said. “Now we must demonstrate ours, or for ever hold ourselves men of small regard.”
Again, I heard the echo of an older sentiment in his words. Llenlleawg had recognized it and named it, and he was right. Here in this Emerald Island, the old ways still lingered on. The Irish, for all their failings, yet held to the ideals of their ancestors and clung to the beliefs of an earlier age—when kings were more than power-hungry hounds ever attacking one another and killing off the weaker members of the pack.
Oh, there were Irish kings as grasping as any, of course. But it warmed my heart to see that these few, at least, were not like their brothers.
“I must warn you,” Gwenhwyvar was saying, “there is sickness in Britain. Plague is there, and more are dying of fever than ever see a Vandal.”
“One enemy is much like another,” Aedd answered. “Each will be fought in its own way. The plague will be to us only another enemy to be met and matched. We will not shrink from the fight.”
Laigin called, “Are we to grow old standing here? There is honor to be won, and I mean to get my share.”
“Hear him!” shouted Diarmait. “Why do we linger even a moment longer when we could be gaining everlasting renown?” At this the gathered Irish sent up a great clamor to be away.
Gwenhwyvar, overcome by the eager affection of her countrymen, turned once more to thank the king. But he would hear nothing of it. “You see how it is,” Aedd said. “They will have their share of glory. Send them now, for I can no longer hold them back.”
Gwenhwyvar stepped a few paces nearer the lords. “Kinsmen and friends,” she said, “if Arthur were here before you he could in no wise offer you greater thanks than I do now. Go and join him—you will be welcomed. Even so, do not think to increase your renown. For I tell you truly—” she paused, tears shining in her eyes—“any glory you win in battle cannot match that which you have already earned this day.”
The Irish lords, and those men close enough to hear, were greatly cheered by Gwenhwyvar’s words. No sooner had she finished than Diarmait shouted, “A blessing! Send us with a blessing!”
Aedd turned to me. “Myrddin? Would you?”
I took my place beside Gwenhwyvar and raised my staff. Stretching my other hand high, palm outward, I said:
Strength of fortress be yours,
Strength of kingship be yours,
Strength of love and pride of homeland
sustain you through all things.
The circling of Christ to protect you,
The shielding of angels to guard you,
The aiding of God to support you
in the hot rage of battle and the
twistings of the fight.
Be the Holy Christ between you
and all things hurtful,
Be the Holy One of Heaven between you
and all things wicked,
Be the Holy Jesu between your shoulders,
turning every harm to good,
Upholding you with his Swift Sure Hand,
Forever upholding you with his Swift Sure Hand!
So saying, I sent them on their way to Muirbolc and the waiting ships. Aedd bade us dine with him before leaving. Gwenhwyvar declined. “We will break fast in the saddle, I think, or we shall be left behind.”
We departed the fortress as soon as the horses were saddled. Aedd summoned his chief bard and one of his noblemen and directed them to hold the caer in his absence, saying, “I give you full freedom to serve me in every cause while I am away. Should evil befall, I bid you to seek the best for the people. If your lot is good, then I urge you to seek its increase and impart the benefit to all within your care.”
>
Both bard and chieftain vowed to uphold the king’s will and extend his renown, whereupon Aedd bade them farewell and we left the stronghold in a white haze of dust.
Upon reaching Muirbolc once more, we dismounted and stood on the cliffside overlooking the bay while the warriors and crewmen undertook to board the horses, a task made difficult by the swirling surge of the tideflow. Once the animals were blindfolded, however, the boarding process proceeded smoothly. Soon the first ships were putting out to sea.
Turning to Aedd, Gwenhwyvar put her hand on his arm. “Thank you, my friend,” she said. “You do not know how much your courtesy and thoughtfulness have encouraged me.”
“Never say it,” Aedd replied. “What I have done is but a small kindness when held against all that you and Arthur have given me.”
“Lord,” Gwenhwyvar wondered, “what have we given you—save the chance to die on foreign soil fighting an enemy that is no more threat to you?”
“Lady,” the Irish king answered, “you have granted me the opportunity of raising sword alongside the most exalted hero of this age. If I die, so be it. At least my blood will be mingled with that of champions, and I will enter heaven’s fair hall in the company of men of vast and terrible renown. What warrior dares hope for more?”
We joined the ships then, picking our way down the cliffside to the shore. As Llenlleawg boarded the horses, Aedd, Gwenhwyvar and I hurried to our ship waiting a little way out in the bay. The Irish used small round hide boats—hardly larger than leather shields—to carry us so that we would not have to wade through the surf.
Barinthus helped us aboard, leaning low over the side to steady the small coracle. “The wind is fair for a change and the sea is running. I would we were away, Lord Emrys,” he said as soon as we were all aboard. “We will make good sailing if we leave at once.”
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