Pendragon pc-4

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  'It is but a minor annoyance,' I answered. 'I am content.’

  ‘A man of your eminence would bear any hardship lightly, and I expected no less,' observed Ciaran, and those with him murmured approvingly. 'Perhaps it is as our Lord Jesu has said: 'This affliction has been given so that the glory of the Father may be revealed.' If that is the way of it, then perhaps I may be the instrument of that unveiling. Will you allow me?" The hall hushed to hear what I would say. The audacious priest was offering to heal me. Well, what could I say? I had been telling Fergus of the power of the Risen One. If I refused Ciaran's gentle challenge, then I would be shown a liar. If, on the other hand, I accepted his offer and he failed, I would be shown a fool.

  Better a fool than a liar, I thought, and answered, 'As for myself, I am content. But if the Ancient of Days desires my healing for his benefit, I stand ready to oblige.’

  ‘Then so be it.'

  Stepping close, Ciaran unwound the bandage and raised his hands before me; I could feel the heat from his palms on my skin, as if I had raised my face to the sun.

  'God of Creation,' the priest said, 'I call upon your Divine Spirit to honour your name and demonstrate your power before unbelieving men.'

  So saying, Ciaran touched my eyes, and the heat of his hands flowed out from his fingertips. It felt as if my eyes were bathed in burning white light. There was some discomfort – a little pain, but mostly surprise – and I flinched away. But Ciaran held me, his fingers pressing into my eyes. The unnatural heat increased, burning into my flesh.

  It felt as if my eyes were on fire; I squeezed them shut and clenched my teeth to keep from crying out. Ciaran took his hands away then and said, 'Open your eyes!'

  Blinking away the tears, I saw a throng of people looking at me in blank astonishment, their faces glowing like small, hazy suns. Arthur gazed at me in wonder. 'Myrddin? Are you well?' he asked. 'Can you see me?'

  I raised my hands before my face. They shimmered and shone like firebrands, each finger a tongue of flame. 'I see you, Arthur,' I answered, looking at him. 'I am healed.'

  This happy event caused a tremendous sensation in Fergus' house; they talked of nothing else for days. Even Bedwyr and Cai, who had seen wonders enough in their time with me, confessed amazement. Blindness is a wearisome nuisance, and I was greatly relieved to be quit of it. I felt suddenly lighter, as if I had shed a weighty and unwieldy burden. The hazy glow gradually faded and my sight became keen once more. My heart soared.

  'But what if you had not been healed?' Bedwyr asked me later. 'What if this priest had failed?'

  'My only worry,' I told him, 'was what doubters like Fergus would think if I refused. Since I could do nothing about the healing in any event, I agreed.'

  'But did you doubt?' he persisted. He meant no disrespect; he genuinely wanted to know.

  Did I doubt? No, I did not. 'Hear me, Bedwyr,' I told him. 'I believed the One who made men's eyes could restore my sight. After all, is that any more difficult than filling Ector's ale vats? A miracle is a miracle. Even so, I have lived long enough in the Great King's care to know that whether I am blind as a bump or own the eyes of an eagle is a matter of such small regard it does not bear thinking about, much less worrying over.'

  In truth, I was powerfully grateful to have my sight returned to me. Yet, lest men think that I cared only for the Gifting God in what I could get from him, I kept my joy to myself. Fergus, however, was much excited by this show of power. He took it as a sign of great import and significance that this wonder should have taken place beneath his roof.

  He leaped from his chair and seized Ciaran by the arms. 'Earth and sky bear witness, you are a holy man, and the god you serve is a remarkable god. From this day you shall have all that you ask of me – even to the half of my kingdom.'

  'Fergus mac Guillomar mac Eire,' replied Ciaran, 'I will not take one thing from you unless you give your heart into the bargain.'

  'Tell me what I must do,' Fergus answered, 'and be assured the sun will not set before it is accomplished.'

  'Only this,' the priest answered. 'Swear fealty to the High King of Heaven, and take him for your lord.'

  That very day Fergus pledged life and faith to the True God, and all the members of his clan with him. They embraced their new faith with much devotion and even more zeal. Fergus granted the good brothers leave to sojourn in his realm. He charged them also with the teaching of his household.

  The king's bards were far from pleased with this development. They grumbled against the king's new allegiance. But when I related what Taliesin had told Hafgan about the faith of Christ, they allowed themselves to be persuaded. 'It need not mean the end for you,' I assured them. 'If you, who seek the truth of all things, would embrace a higher truth, you will find your rank is not diminished, but increased. A new day is dawning in the west; the old ways are passing, as you must know. The man who will not bend the knee to Christ will find his place given to another.'

  Gwenhwyvar, who had learned the faith from Charis during her sojourn in Ynys Avallach, praised her father's courage. Fergus embraced his daughter. 'It is not courage, my soul,' he said. 'It is simple prudence. For if I did not acknowledge what I have seen this day, then I would be more blind than Myrddin ever was.'

  'I would that more British kings displayed such prudence,' observed Arthur.

  In all, we spent a fine time with Fergus and his people. No doubt we might have stayed with them a goodly while, but as the days passed, Arthur began looking more and more across the sea towards Britain. I knew he was thinking of his Cymbrogi and the day of leaving was close at hand. One night as we sat at the hearth with our long flesh-forks in our hands, spearing tender morsels of savoury pork from the cauldron while the bards sang, Gwenhwyvar approached with a bundle in her arms. The bundle was wrapped in soft leather bound with cords. She held it as if it were a child, and I thought at first that it was.

  'Husband,' she said, cradling the bundle, 'in respect of our marriage, I would bestow a gift.' She advanced to where he sat. Arthur lay aside his fork and stood, watching her intently, holding her with his eyes as he would clasp her in his arms.

  Extending the leather bundle to him, Gwenhwyvar placed it in his hands and then proceeded to loose the bindings. Layer upon layer of leather fell away to reveal a vellum scroll. I had heard of such before; they had been common in the days when the Eagles ruled in Britain. But I had never before seen one.

  Arthur regarded the object with bemused pleasure. So far was it from anything he might have expected, he did not know what to make of it. He looked to his wife for explanation and wisely held his tongue. Bedwyr and Cai exchanged bewildered glances, and Fergus beamed with magnanimous pride.

  Taking the scroll, Gwenhwyvar carefully unrolled it. I could tell by the way she touched it – gently and with utmost reverence – that it was of immense age and priceless in her eyes. This intrigued me. What written there could be so valuable?

  She spread the scroll before Arthur's eyes, and he bent his head over it. I watched his face intently, but his bewilderment did not abate – if anything, it increased. Indeed, the more he studied the scroll, the more perplexed he became.

  Gwenhwyvar watched him with a wary, yet knowing air. Grey eyes alert, dark brows slightly arched, she was waiting for his reaction, and testing him by it. Was he worthy of this gift? She was thinking, was Arthur the man she took him to be? Was the gift of her life entrusted to one who could respect its value?

  And Arthur, bless him, knew himself entangled in a decisive trial. He studied the scroll for a time, and then raising his head, smiled confidently and cried, 'Come here, Myrddin, and behold! See what my queen has given me!'

  It was a canny remark. Gwenhwyvar was well pleased, for she heard in it what she wanted to hear. And Arthur, seeing her reaction to his words, beamed his pleasure, for he had extricated himself most shrewdly. Fergus smiled happily, knowing the treasure of his tribe had found a worthy protector. Only I was unhappy now, for Arthur had cleverly shift
ed the burden to my shoulders; it depended on me to appraise the gift and offer an opinion of its value.

  I hesitated, curiosity and reluctance warring within me. I could decline Arthur's offer and force him to declare his ignorance. Or I could go to his aid. Arthur was waiting. Curiosity won over reluctance, and I rose and went to where Arthur and Gwenhwyvar held the scroll stretched between them.

  They turned the scroll towards me. I looked at the pale vellum, expecting to see a picture rendered there, or words of one kind or another. There was a picture, yes, and words, too- but in all it was like nothing I had ever seen.

  FOUR

  I now appreciated Arthur's discomfort, and why he had called upon me as he did. I stared at the proffered scroll and the strange markings on it. I opened my mouth to speak, thought better of it, and studied the scroll once more.

  There were several long columns of words scratched out in a language I did not know: neither Latin nor Greek, which I can, if pressed to it, make out. And there was a picture – not one only, but several: one large drawing flanked by three smaller ones. The drawings were almost as inscrutable as the words, for they showed a strange hive-shaped object resting on a short stack of thin disks and floating in a blue firmament – water perhaps. But it was not a boat, for there was an entrance, or at least a hole in the side which would let the water in. The smaller pictures showed the same object, or similar objects, from different views. The thing was without markings of any kind, so I could get no hint of its function.

  I knew Gwenhwyvar was awaiting my appraisal. 'This is indeed remarkable! I perceive you have treasured it long in your clan.'

  'The vellum scroll before you has been given hand to hand from the first days to this,' Gwenhwyvar explained. 'It is said that Brigid, queen of the Tuatha DeDannan, brought it to Eire.'

  'That I can well believe,' I told her. 'And can you yet read the words written here?' I indicated the delicate tracery of symbols.

  Gwenhwyvar's face fell slightly. 'Alas, I cannot. That art is long vanished from our kin – if indeed any ever possessed it,' she replied. 'It was my hope that you, Wise Emrys, might read them out for me.'

  'I wish I could,' I told her. 'But I am unused to studying script, and would no doubt make a poor assessment.' Then with sudden inspiration I said: 'Still, it may be that the priest Ciaran knows this script and can tell us what it means. If you agree, we might take it to him tomorrow.'

  'Your counsel is good,' replied Gwenhwyvar, 'but let Ciaran be summoned here. It is not right that our treasure should be carried through the realm as if it were a thing of little value.' Fergus agreed with his daughter, and dispatched a messenger at dawn to bring the priest to Muirbolc to view the scroll.

  'What do you think it pictures, Myrddin?' wondered Arthur the next morning while we waited for the monk to arrive. We were sitting on the rocks above the shore. The day was bright and the sea calm as it washed back and forth over the rocky shore below.

  'It would appear to be a dwelling of some kind,' I replied. 'More than that I cannot say.'

  He fell silent, listening to the seabirds and feeling the sun's warm rays on his face. 'A man could grow to love it here,' he murmured after a while.

  Cai and Bedwyr, who were beginning to look longingly towards home, approached then. They settled themselves on either side of us. 'We thought you were readying die ship,' Bedwyr said. 'We did not want you to forget us here.'

  'Arthur was just saying he did not wish to leave at all,' I told them.

  'Not return to Britain!' Cai exclaimed. 'Artos, have a care. If we must endure any more of their piping we will certainly go mad!'

  'Peace, brother,' Arthur soothed. 'Myrddin is jesting. We leave tomorrow as planned. Even now the ship is being readied.' He opened his eyes and pointed down the beach a short distance to where our boat was drawn up. Several of Fergus' men, and our own pilot, were shaking out the sails.

  'We came to tell you that Ciaran has arrived,' Bedwyr informed us. 'Fergus is waiting for you and Myrddin to join them.'

  Arthur jumped to his feet. 'Then let us attend him. I am determined to solve at least one riddle before I leave this place.'

  Ciaran greeted us happily. 'You will have good weather for tomorrow's sailing,' he told us. 'I will come to see you away.’

  ‘Oh, do not talk of leaving,' Fergus cried. 'It is my heart you are taking from me when you go.'

  'Your place is assured with me,' Arthur told him. 'Come visit us when you will."

  Gwenhwyvar approached with the scroll and proceeded to unwrap it. The priest was eager to see it, and pronounced it a prize beyond price. 'I have seen such before,' he said, bending his head over the close-worked script. 'When I was pupil to the sainted Thomas of Narbonne, I attended him on a journey to Constantinople. The priests of that great city preserve the world's wisdom on scrolls of this kind. It is said that the oldest come from Great Alexandria and Carthage.'

  Fergus smiled, well pleased with this assessment. 'Can you tell out the marks?' he asked.

  Ciaran bent his head still lower, pulled on his lip, and then said, 'No, I cannot. It is not Greek or Latin, or any other tongue I know. But,' he continued, brightening, 'that is of little consequence, for I know well the object represented here.’

  ‘Then tell us!' urged Arthur.

  'It is called a martyrion,' explained Ciaran. 'There are many kinds, and this is -' Seeing our confusion, he halted.

  'If you please,' I said, 'our learning in these matters is not as great as yours, good monk. Is this martyrion a building to the memory of the illustrious dead?'

  'A House of Honour,' Gwenhwyvar affirmed. 'That is what the old ones called it.'

  'Yes! Of course!' Ciaran agreed eagerly. 'Forgive my presumption. What you are seeing here – ' he lightly traced the painted picture with a fingertip – 'is indeed a House of Honour – of the kind called rotonda, for its round shape. And, you see, it is tabled, for it is raised on many mensi.' He traced the round stone tables which formed both the foundation and steps leading to the entrance.

  'These are known in Rome?' wondered Arthur. Cai and Bedwyr still appeared perplexed.

  'Not even Rome boasts such constructions,' Ciaran informed him. 'The art of their making is lost to Rome now. And there is but one in the City of Constantine, and it is a very marvel. I know because I saw it.'

  'Can this House of Honour be made from the drawing here?' Arthur asked, turning his eyes from the priest to me as he spoke.

  'It is possible,' I allowed cautiously. 'Taking the drawing as a guide.'

  'But that is the purpose of this scroll!' cried Ciaran. 'It is meant to guide the builder. You see?' He indicated a row of numbers in one line of the script. 'These are the very measurements and ratios the builder must use as he assays his work. The martyrion is meant to be built.'

  'Then I will build it,' Arthur declared. 'I will raise this Tabled Rotonda to the memory of the Cymbrogi who died on Baedun. And they will have a House of Honour such as cannot be boasted even in Rome.'

  That night we drank the king's good ale and vowed to visit one another often. Arthur had found in Fergus a boon companion, a king whose loyalty was secured through mutual respect and strengthened through marriage. God knows, the lords of Britain had caused Arthur enough heartache and trouble. Ierne allowed Arthur to escape the petty kings and the clamour of their incessant demands.

  Thus, when we put to sea the next morning it was with renewed vigour for the rest we had enjoyed, but with some small reluctance as well. Fergus promised to attend Arthur at Caer Lial, where we would observe the Christ Mass together. Even so, Arthur and Gwenhwyvar stood long at the rail, watching the green banks of the island disappear into the sea mist. They looked like exiles cast adrift on the fickle tide.

  We sailed along the northern coast, intending to follow the channel and cross over to Rheged where the sea is narrowest. As the boat passed the last headland and came into the narrows, we saw the black sails of strange ships. They were yet some way off to the s
outh, but were drawing swiftly nearer.

  'I make it seven of them,' said Bedwyr, scanning the glittering sea. The day was clear and the sun shone bright on the water, making it difficult to see. 'No – ten.'

  'Who are they?' wondered Arthur aloud. 'Do you know them, Cai?'

  'The Picti, and others, like the Jutes and Danes, will fly blue,' Cai replied, eyes narrowed. 'But I know of no tribe that flies black sails.'

  Arthur thought for a moment, and then said, 'I want to see them. We must get closer.' He turned and called the order to the pilot, Barinthus, who dutifully swung the boat onto a new course.

  We watched, standing at the prow, shading our eyes with our hands as we stared into the white sun-glare. 'I count thirteen now,' Bedwyr said after a moment.

  'The ships are large,' observed Cai. 'Larger than any we have. Who can they be?'

  More sails appeared. 'Twenty,' Bedwyr informed us, straining forward to count the sails. 'Yes, twenty, Myrddin, and they are coming towards -'

  'I see them,' I reminded him, gazing at the black ships hastening across the water. 'And I like not what I see.'

  'I cannot see anyone aboard,' remarked Gwenhwyvar. 'They hide themselves from us – why?'

  Closer, more sails were becoming visible as still more ships sailed into view. 'Twenty-eight!' called Bedwyr. 'No… thirty!'

  'Arthur, who besides the Emperor has a fleet so large?' asked Cai.

  'Rome perhaps. Though the Romans would be reluctant to launch such a fleet in northern waters, I think.'

  We allowed the nearest vessel to come within spear-throw, and then steered onto a parallel course. Huge round leather-covered shields hung from the rails below a rank of raised oars, ten on either side, and spears jutted out from between the shields. Long wooden bankers formed a narrow roof over the rowing benches, and provided a platform for the warriors. The square sail bore the image of an animal crudely outlined in white against the black. 'What is that?' wondered Cai, squinting at it. 'A bear?'

  'No,' I answered, 'not a bear – a pig. It is a boar.'