by Mike Ashley
By the time he gathered his horse Merlin was already a good distance away and Arthur galloped after him. “Merlin,” he shouted, “Merlin!” but the wizard paid no heed. Arthur urged his horse to full gallop and came up behind the wizard and pulled to a stop in a flurry of stamping hooves. “MERLIN!” he bellowed with as much authority as the tone of his young voice could muster.
The wizard pulled his horse around and stood waiting, eyeing the youth. For some long moments king and wizard stared at each other, and then Merlin smiled inwardly and came trotting back. “Sometimes,” said Arthur coldly, “you forget who is king here.”
Merlin shook his head. “I forget nothing. What is it you wish of me . . . your majesty?”
Arthur patted Excalibur’s hilt. “Explain.”
Merlin shrugged. “What profit me to explain what you already know?”
“I know nothing,” snapped Arthur. “I closed my eyes for a few moments and when I opened them the sword was there – explain.”
“They were merely your physical eyes, your outer eyes. You must learn, Arthur, to hear with your inner ears and see with your inner eyes, for there are things to hear and see that are not of this plane of existence.”
Arthur sighed irritably. “I have but one pair of eyes and they saw nothing.”
The wizard brought his horse closer to Arthur’s. “If you cannot veil the physical world with your own effort of will then close your outer eyes so that you may see,” and he reached across and drew his hand down the young king’s eyes, closing the lids. “Picture the scene as you saw it, Arthur,” he whispered. “See the lake, see the reeds bend and sway in the dawn wind. Do you see, Arthur, do you see?”
And Arthur strove to see through the mist that veiled the inner. “Yes, yes, I seem to see – the lake, the water rippling.”
“Do you not see the dark barge creeping towards us, towards the shore where we stood?”
“Yes, yes,” whispered Arthur, “I see it,” and for a moment he really did see the barge, dark and sombre, gliding silently towards them.
“Whom do you see in the barge, Arthur?” said Merlin softly. “How many?” He saw the young king’s brow furrow as he strained to see. “Relax, do not strain – let the images rise, do not force them. Relax, Arthur, and tell me what you see.”
“There are two figures in the barge,” and Merlin’s countenance darkened sadly, “no, three, I see three,” and Merlin nodded.
“Describe them,” he said sternly.
“They are dark,” whispered Arthur, “three dark queens.”
“Why do you call them queenly?”
“Because they wear ancient crowns upon their heads.”
Merlin nodded, knowing now that Arthur saw truly. “Aye, ancient crowns they are, older then time, for they are the three goddess-queens who guard Excalibur.” He placed his hands on either side of the king’s head. “Look now beyond the queens, do you not see, there across the water, towards the middle of the lake – do you see? – do you see the arm rising from the water?”
And Arthur stared, and in wonderment saw that an arm clad in white samite had risen above the surface, the hand grasping a finely jewelled sword and scabbard.
“And that is the sword Excalibur,” said Merlin calmly, “and here comes the Lady of the Lake and her sister queens,” and Arthur saw the dark barge come to rest gently on the reedy bank where the mortal men were waiting, and saw three dark queens come ashore.
“Tell me what you see,” whispered Merlin.
“I see . . . I see one of the queens step forward and address you in sombre tones.”
“And what does she say?”
And Arthur, king, sat on his horse, his eyes tight shut, and saw and heard the matters that few dream of. “She says ‘Who is this who crosses the portal of the mysteries of Avalon?’”
“And what do I reply?”
And in his vision Arthur saw Merlin bow low and answer in grave manner. “One who seeks the sword Excalibur in order to be the better equipped to serve God and Man.”
“By what right does that one so seek?”
“By right of being the true Christian king of all Britain.”
“And who shall vouch that his claim is true and just?”
Then Arthur saw the wizard draw himself up and his voice was vibrantly powerful. “I, Merlin, Arch-Mage of all Britain, Priest after the Order of Melchisadek, do so solemnly swear and vouch that his claim is true and just.”
The Lady of the Lake acknowledged Merlin with a slight bow and turned to the fearful king. “Arthur Pendragon,” the vision said, “why do you seek to know the Sword?”
And Arthur tore his eyes open. “No, no!” he cried, and his horse shied and skittered away. “These things are images, dreams, strange scenes that wizards put in the minds of men for their own purpose.”
Merlin came after him and gentled the nervous horse – and king. “It is not so,” he said softly. “You shied away because you suddenly saw that it was so, that what you saw was true. Shhhhh, hush now, close your eyes, Arthur Pendragon, and see again. Look now and see yourself as you answered the Lady of the Lake,” and Merlin closed the king’s eyes.
And Arthur saw the Lady and heard again the question, and saw himself answer her. “I desire to know in order to serve,” he whispered, using ritual words that he had not known he knew.
“Worthily answered, King of all Britain,” said the goddess-queen, “you may safely embark upon the Lake of Avalon, for where the heart is pure and single no evil can enter. Excalibur shall be yours for a time if you vow that it shall be returned from whence it came when you can no longer wield it truly, or no longer wield it at all in earthly life.”
“I do so swear,” said Arthur.
“Then take thou my barge and cross the waters of Avalon and take the most ancient of swords.”
Again Arthur wrenched his eyes open. “It is not true. This way lies madness – madness!”
Merlin gripped him fiercely. “It is the truest experience of your life. Do not deny it – do not deny. Do you not remember how I led you onto the barge and sat you in the prow? And do you not remember how the vessel moved across the water under its own power and drew alongside the mysterious arm?”
“And I drew back in fear,” whispered Arthur. “I remember, I remember. You laid your hand on my shoulder and I took heart and grasped the sword and the scabbard firmly, and immediately the strange and eerie arm, clad in white samite, disappeared below the surface, and the barge returned gently to the shore.”
“And we stepped ashore together, you and I, king and priest,” said Merlin, “but there was no sign of the three dark queens, and when we turned we saw that the barge too had vanished, leaving the lake as still and empty as when we had first arrived. Do you remember, Arthur, do you remember?”
And Arthur Pendragon, King of All Britain, remembered and his heart was uplifted by joy and wonderment.
“But was it real?” said Arthur. “Or was it a dream?”
Merlin grunted sourly as they turned the horses away. “Sometimes I despair of this world.”
Arthur brought his horse alongside as they made their way up the trackway. “Well, was it?”
“Each plane has its own reality,” grunted Merlin. “To the uninitiated it is the physical plane that seems to be the only reality, all else being a dream, imagination, a vision. When he moves upon another plane then the events that occur on that plane are equally real to him. Only when he returns to the physical plane does he begin to doubt and question the reality of his experience.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“No, no ‘buts’,” said Merlin firmly. “Did you not see the dark queens? Did you not hear the Lady of the Lake when she spoke to you? Did you not smell the incense that lingered on the barge? Did you not taste the salt spray that blew in your face as we moved across the water? And did you not feel the touch of that mysterious hand as you took the sword from its grasp?”
“Yes, all these things seemed real at t
he time.”
“Then they were real. If a watcher had been hidden in the reeds he would have seen us arrive, sit for a few minutes, and then ride away again. He would not have seen the three queens, the barge, or the arm, and certainly he wouldn’t have seen us cross the water.”
“He would have seen the sword,” said Arthur shrewdly.
Merlin nodded. “Yes, he would have seen the sword in your hand as you stood at the water’s edge and perhaps wondered why he had not noticed it before – that is all.” He shook his head warningly. “Try not to reject the reality of this experience, or you will be the poorer for its loss.”
“But I am not a priest or a wizard,” said Arthur. “To me these things are dreams, visions. It is natural that I should question their reality.”
“Very well,” said Merlin sourly, “if you must question the truest experience of your life, then ask yourself this – if it was all unreal, untrue, mere imagination, then where did the sword come from?” and he spurred his horse and cantered on ahead.
As Merlin breasted the rise he saw on a further ridge at the foot of Chalice Hill a figure standing motionless. Although it was too far for recognition the wizard knew that it was Morgan le Fay, looking for him, and that she was the bearer of no good tidings. He waited for Arthur to catch up with him and then said shortly: “I must leave you for a while. Return to Cadbury. I will join you there as soon as I can.”
Arthur looked at the distant figure but asked no questions. He had had enough of the priestly world for one day. “So be it, then,” he said, and with the wondrous sword and scabbard at his waist he rode away.
Merlin waited until he was out of sight and then set his horse towards the distant ridge. When he drew near he reined the horse and leant forward in the saddle. “Greetings, Morgan le Fay,” he said grimly. “Our paths have crossed many times on the inner, but this is the first that we have met on the outer for twenty years, not since a small girl threatened me in the courtyard of Cadbury Castle.”
“Things might have been different, Merlin, had you heeded me then,” she retorted.
“Perhaps. Who can say? But what of now? I fear you have grim news for me, if I read the signs correctly.”
She looked up at him and nodded. “Though not of my choosing, or my intent, nevertheless I am responsible for the death of your priest, Silvanus, and of three of my own priestesses,” and she told him of the tragically ironic accident that had occurred at dawn that very morning.
When she had finished they both remained silent for some time. Presently Merlin said heavily: “You owe a debt to the souls of the dead which you will have to repay in full measure, Morgan le Fay, and your act of murder is also a crime against the life-force itself.”
“Not so. I acknowledge the debt to those who died, but not to the life-force, for their deaths were an accident, not murder, indeed three gave their lives in an attempt to rescue the priest.”
“Yes, to rescue him from the predicament in which you had placed him.”
“His obstinacy was of his own choosing. Tragically he delayed too long. I am the cause of his death but I am not guilty of his murder.”
Merlin shook his head grimly. “You argue a fine point, Morgan le Fay, but it is not for me to lay judgement upon you. You are answerable to the One, as indeed are we all, and you will find that the scales will not fall in your favour. But that judgement will come to you at another time and in another place. In the meantime I have lost a friend and a priest, and you have lost three priestesses, four lives utterly wasted for no good reason, for even if you had known of my purpose there was nothing that you could have done about it.”
“Don’t underestimate my powers, Merlin.”
“I don’t, but neither do I rate them as highly as you do yourself. You are the High Priestess of the Elder Faith and as such you owe allegiance to the Lady of the Lake whose powers are infinitely greater than yours. I can scarce believe that you would have had the temerity to oppose your own goddess in this matter. Since the Lady of Avalon was willing to hand the Sword to Arthur what on earth do you think you could have done to stop it?”
“I only know this, Merlin,” said Morgan le Fay calmly, “that I will do anything and everything in my small power to prevent the Sword remaining in the hands of a Christian king, for to me it is the ultimate blasphemy. We of the Elder Faith have served the One faithfully for thousands of years, but these so-called Christians call us evil and thus blaspheme the Great One. I wish that they could be plunged into the fires of the inner earth and be thus wiped from the face of the earth and all their blasphemy with them.”
“Do you then oppose the Christ?” cried Merlin.
“No. He is of the Star Logoi, a great one from beyond the Veils of Limitless Light. I do not oppose the manifestation of the One, but I do oppose with all my being these so-called Christians who are no true servants of the Christ.”
They both fell silent for some time, and then presently Merlin said quietly and sadly: “For all my perception I can see no resolution to this confrontation. The Cup and the Sword should be as one, for Christianity and the Elder Faith are but two different parts of the same path to the Throne of God. But one will destroy the other and in so doing the destroyer will sow the seeds of its own ultimate destruction. There is opportunity now for the Most Holy Grail of God to descend into earth itself for all men to behold and be uplifted by its glory, but it cannot descend while such confrontation exists.”
Morgan le Fay shook her head. “You are wrong, Merlin. The time has not yet come for such a manifestation, and you blaspheme in attempting to bring it to pass before its allotted time.”
“There is no allotted time. All that is needed is for men’s hearts to cry out for its coming and it will surely come, but for as long as you and those like you oppose its coming then it will not be perceived except by the very few. Your intentions are good, Morgan le Fay, for you do but seek to serve the One, but you are so very wrong in your assessment of these matters.”
The High Priestess gathered her robe more closely about her. “It is not I who is wrong, Merlin, but yourself, but you are too blind to see it.”
Merlin sighed wearily knowing that nothing more could be said, and an hour later he rode away with the body of Silvanus across his saddle, leaving Morgan le Fay to bury her own dead.
A full moon rode high over Chalice Hill. A few wisps of wind-driven cloud scurried across its face. Dark trees rustled their leaves and black bushes crouched in the shadows. The night was foreboding, ominous, the shadows made more menacing by contrast to the silver radiance of the moon.
In the hollow at the foot of the hill Morgan le Fay, robed in blue, stood with arms upraised to the night sky. Her eyes were closed and her lips moved soundlessly. For a long time she remained thus, unmoving save for the silent words of prayer, and then she lowered her arms, made a deep obeisance to the moon, and then moved gracefully and soft-footed to the ancient and most holy well that nestled at the foot of the sacred hill.
Another woman rose to meet her, she too robed as a priestess. The High Priestess knelt by the rim of the well and motioned the woman to kneel by her side. Together, silently they gazed into the still waters which reflected the Queen herself and the far-riding stars, but the two priestesses did not see the earthly images for with an ease born of long practice they had adjusted their eyes slightly out of focus, creating as it were a cloudy mirror in which the inner images could rise.
“O Queen of the Night,” murmured the High Priestess, “Daughter of the Lord of All, hearken to me, thy Priestess in Earth. Uncloud my eyes that I may see the foul deeed of thine enemies that I may strike them down in the midst of their blasphemy.”
The cloudy surface moved as though stirred from within. Morgan le Fay bent a little closer, her brow furrowed to a frown at what she saw. The day was clear and bright, the sky a summer blue, the trees and grass that vivid green that comes from bursting life, and there in the image, winding its way between the hills, was an ancient tra
ckway along which a score of men and six great horses struggled with some monstrous object in tow. Two knights directed the labours and by their helms she knew them to be from the court of King Lodegreaunce, long-time friend to King Arthur. The peasants struggled and cursed, and the horses’ flanks steamed with sweat, their eyes rolling and their nostrils flaring. Strapped and roped to the great cart was a massive wooden flat-topped contraption which she could not at first identify, and then when recognition finally dawned the vision faded and vanished.
For a long time the two priestesses remained silent. “What did you see?” said the second woman.
The High Priestess looked at her sharply and then pursed her lips in dissatisfaction. “I would have been happier had you seen it too, then I would have known that it was a true vision.”
“But what was it you saw?”
“Two of King Lodegreaunce’s knights and a score of peasants and six great horses struggling along a trackway with a monstrous great round table.”
“Ah,” said her companion, “I know about that table. I heard the tale from a master craftsman who was but lately at Castle Camylarde. Lodegreaunce commissioned the table as a wedding gift to Arthur. It is similar to one that used to belong to Arthur’s father, Uthr Pendragon, before it was destroyed by fire. The present one, I hear, is based on the same design but far larger.”
“But why round?”
The woman shrugged. “Who knows? The original table was designed by Merlin, I believe, who also suggested this present model to Lodegreaunce.”
Morgan le Fay frowned even more deeply. “If that arch-fiend is involved then there is mischief afoot that bodes no good for the Elder Faith. But why . . .” She broke off sharply as a sudden revelation burst within her mind. “Oh, of course – the Table Round!”
“The what?”
Morgan le Fay snapped her fingers impatiently. “The Round Table of Glory. It was a concept known to the early Druids though there were no rituals based on it. It was considered far too early in human evolution to attempt to manifest such a concept in earth, even by having a physical plane symbol of it.” She rose to her feet suddenly. “The Company of Just Men Made Perfect. It is one of the great inner plane symbols of a time in the far future when mankind will have reached the zenith of its evolution. At each seat at that table is a figure representing the perfected example of each type of human soul, and collectively they represent the totality of God’s concept of humanity. And from the centre of that table springs the living essence of the godhead itself, overflowing a great golden chalice from which all at the Table may drink to thus achieve fusion with the living God – and another name for that Chalice is the Holy Grail. Now I understand the whole of Merlin’s dream, the fool!”