He made to turn away, stumbled, and would have fallen if not for Llenlleawg's quick reaction. The Irish champion threw an arm around the king's shoulders and held him up. 'For the love of Jesu, Arthur, sit down and let me tend you.'
But Arthur would not hear it. 'Walk with me to the chariot,' he said to Gwenhwyvar.
'Let me bind your arm at least,' I objected.
'I will leave the field as I came,' he growled. His skin was ashen and waxy; he was on the point of fainting. 'Join me when matters are concluded here.' He gripped my arm. 'Not before.'
Arthur walked with slow, painful dignity to the waiting chariot, Llenlleawg on one side and Gwenhwyvar on the other. Upon reaching the chariot, Llenlleawg all but lifted his wounded king onto the platform, and the queen took her place beside him to steady him and keep him upright. They drove from the battleground to the ecstatic cheers of the British. The Cymbrogi hailed him loudly as he passed, but Arthur kept his eyes on the far horizon.
I bade Mercia summon the remaining Vandali battlechiefs and there, over the corpse of their dead leader, I received their surrender.
Mercia, assuming command, made bold to answer for all. Through the captive priest, he said, 'The battle was fought fairly. Our king is dead. We accept your terms and stand ready to give whatever spoils you ask, whether hostages or victims for sacrifice.'
Cai did not like this. 'Do not trust them, Myrddin. They are all lying barbarians.'
'You will be disarmed,' I told Mercia. 'Your people will be taken from here and returned to your camp to await the Pendragon's pleasure.'
Hergest repeated my words in their tongue, whereupon, under Mercia's commanding glare, the Vandali battlechiefs threw their weapons upon the ground. When they were disarmed, the young chieftain spoke once more, and Hergest said, 'You called the king of Britain a strange name: Pendragon. Did you not?'
'I did,' I replied.
Mercia spoke up, addressing me directly. 'What means this word?'
'Pendragon – the word means Chief Dragon,' I explained. 'It is the title the Cymry use for the supreme ruler and defender of the Island of the Mighty.'
Hergest translated my words, and Mercia placed his hand on his heart and then touched his head. It was a sign of submission and honour. 'I place my life in the hands of the Pendragon of Britain.'
Leaving Bedwyr, Cai, Cador, and the rest of the lords to deal with the Vandali, I returned to the line, mounted the nearest horse, and raced back to camp as fast as the beast could fly.
I pressed through the worried throng gathered before Arthur's tent. The few women and invalid warriors who had not attended the battle – but had witnessed their wounded king's return – swarmed the entrance to his tent, anxious and worried. Pushing my way through, I entered the tent to find Gwenhwyvar cradling Arthur against her as she held him, half-sitting, half-lying on his pallet. Her clothing was smeared and stained with blue woad and red blood. 'It is over, my soul,' she soothed, dabbing at his arm with a cloth. 'It is finished.'
'Gwenhwyvar, I-it is-' Arthur began, then winced, pain twisting his features. He bit back the words and his eyelids fluttered and closed.
'Be easy, Bear,' she said, kissing his brow, then raised her head and looked around furiously. 'Llenlleawg!' she cried, saw me, and said, 'Myrddin, help me. He keeps fainting.'
'I am here.' Keeling beside her, I took the cloth and, gently, gently, oh so carefully, I lifted Arthur's arm; he groaned. Gwenhwyvar gasped at what she saw.
The point of the lance had been driven through the arm, passing between the two arm bones. The broken shaft protruded from one side – a mass of splinters where Amilcar had hacked at it – the thick iron tip poked through the other. But there was more. The force of the thrust had driven the spearhead through the arm and into the soft crease above his thigh, where the veins gathered thick. One of these had been severed. He was bleeding into his abdomen. I pressed the cloth to the gash, and sat back to think.
'Where is Llenlleawg?'
'I sent him for water to bathe the wound.'
'Hold tight,' I told her, indicating Arthur's arm.
'What are you going to do?' Gwenhwyvar asked.
Easing the arm upright, I took hold of the Black Boar's broken spear. Grasping the splintered stump, I gave a quick, firm pull.
'Aghh!' Arthur gasped in agony.
'Stop it!' shouted Gwenhwyvar. 'Myrddin! Stop!'
'It must be done,' I told her. 'Again.'
I tightened my grip on the stub end, greasy with blood. Gwenhwyvar, her lips a tight line, held Arthur's arm in both her own, clutching it to her breast. Blood welled from the wound, spilling over her hands.
'Now!' I shouted, and yanked with all my might.
Arthur gave a strangled cry, his head lolled on his shoulders. The shaft broke away from the head, but the blade did not come free. I had succeeded only in making the wound bleed more freely.
Llenlleawg entered the tent with a basin of water. He brought it to me and knelt down, holding it. I took the bit of cloth he offered, dipped it into the water and began to bathe the wound, washing away the blood and dirt.
'Is the arm broken?' asked Llenlleawg.
'No,' I replied, probing the injury with my fingertips, 'but this is not the worst.' I told them about the groin wound. 'Truly, that alarms me far more than the arm.'
I rose, making up my mind at once. I turned to Llenlleawg. 'There is room in the chariot for three. You will drive; Arthur and Gwenhwyvar will go with you. I will ride ahead to alert Barinthus and ready a boat.' I turned, starting away. 'Make him as comfortable as possible, and come at once.'
'Where are we going?' demanded Gwenhwyvar.
'To Ynys Avallach,' I called over my shoulder.
FIFTEEN
Charis, grave with concern, emerged from the room where Arthur lay. 'I think the bleeding has stopped at last,' she said solemnly.
'Thank God,' Gwenhwyvar breathed, her relief almost tangible.
'But,' Charis continued – there was no comfort in her voice – 'he is very weak.' She paused, looking from Gwenhwyvar to me. 'Truly, I fear for him.'
Gwenhwyvar shook her head, denying what Charis was saying. 'The wound is not so bad,' Gwenhwyvar insisted, her voice growing uncertain. 'Once the blade was removed, I thought… I thought he would…' Her voice cracked, very close to tears.
'Arthur has lost much blood,' Charis said, putting her arm around the queen's shoulders. 'It often happens that loss of blood is more harmful than the injury itself. We must pray he awakens soon.'
'And if he does not?' asked the queen, horrified by the thought, but asking nonetheless.
'It is in God's hands, Gwenhwyvar,' Charis said. 'We can do no more.'
After a breathless chase through the vale and Barinthus' swift boat across Mor Hafren, we had reached the Fisher King's palace. Charis and Elfodd had taken over Arthur's care. With skills honed by long experience, the point of the broken lance had been carefully removed from the High King's arm, and he had been given healing draughts to drink.
Arthur had seemed to revive at first; he sat up and talked to us. Then he slept, and we thought the rest a benefit to him. The thigh wound had opened again in the night, however, and by morning, he had lapsed into a dull, insensate sleep. He slept all through the day; and now, as evening stole across the quiet hills, Arthur could not be roused.
Charis was clearly worried. She squeezed the queen's shoulder. 'It is in God's hands,' she whispered. 'Hope and pray.'
Gwenhwyvar clutched my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh. 'Do something, Myrddin,' she urged. 'Please! Save him. Save my husband.'
I took her hand and clasped it tightly. 'Go with Charis and rest a little. I will stay with him now, and send for you if there is any change.'
Charis led Gwenhwyvar away, and I entered the chamber where Arthur lay on the litter the Fisher King used when his old affliction came upon him. Abbot Elfodd raised his head as I came to stand beside him. He saw the question in my eyes and shook his head.
'I will watch with him now,' I whispered.
The good abbot declined to go, saying, 'We will watch together.'
We stood a long time in silence listening to Arthur's slow, shallow breathing. 'God will not let him die,' I said, willing it to be so.
Elfodd looked at me curiously. 'I remember another time when I stood here like this and another spoke those selfsame words.' He paused and indicated Arthur's sleeping form. 'But it was you, Myrddin, lying there in the sleep of death, and it was Pelleas standing over you, refusing to let you go that way.'
My mind flooded with the memory: we had been in Armorica, Pelleas and I, where Morgian thought to slay me with a wicked enchantment. Pelleas had brought me to Ynys Avallach for healing, much as I had brought Arthur.
'I remember,' I said, thinking of that strange, unhappy time. 'With all thanks to you, I was saved.'
'With no thanks to me,' the abbot objected. 'It was Avallach's doing, not mine.'
'Avallach?' I had never heard that part of the tale before. 'What do you mean?'
Elfodd regarded me with an expression close to suspicion. 'No?' he turned away. 'Perhaps I have said too much. I have spoken above myself.'
'What is it, Elfodd? Tell me, I charge you. There is a mystery here and I would know it.' He made no answer. 'Elfodd! Tell me, what is it?'
'I cannot,' he said. 'It is not my place.’
‘Then tell me who may speak?'
'Ask Avallach himself,' the abbot said. 'Ask your grandfather. He knows.'
My heart quickened within me. Leaving Arthur to the abbot's care, I fled the chamber and went in search of Avallach. It did not take long. I found him at prayer in the small chapel he had made in one of the rooms in the west wing of the palace. I entered the chapel and went to kneel beside him. He finished his prayer and raised his head.
'Ah, Merlin, it is you,' he said, his voice a soft rumble of thunder. 'I thought you might come here. How is Arthur?'
'Weak and growing weaker,' I replied, speaking the full force of my fear. 'He may not live through the night.'
Avallach's generous features assumed an expression of heart-sick grief. 'I am sorry,' he said.
'The Bear of Britain is not dead yet,' I replied, and told him what Elfodd had brought to mind.
'I remember it well,' Avallach agreed. 'Oh, we were worried for you, Merlin. We almost lost you.'
'Elfodd said that but for you I would have died. Is that true?'
'It was a miracle of God's blessing,' the Fisher King replied. 'And when I asked him what he meant, Elfodd would only say that he had spoken above himself. He would tell me nothing more about it. He said I must ask you.' I stared at him hard. 'Well, Grandfather, I am asking you: what did he mean?'
Avallach regarded me for a long time in silence, then lowered his curly, dark head. 'It is the Grail,' he answered at last, his voice still and low. 'He is talking about the Grail.'
I remembered: the holy cup of the Christ. It had come to Britain with the man who had paid for that last meal in the upper room, the tin merchant, Joseph of Arimathaea. I had seen it once, years ago, while praying in the shrine. 'I have always thought it was a vision,' I said. 'It is more than that,' Avallach answered. 'Very much more.'
My heart leapt with sudden joy. 'Then you must use it to heal Arthur, as you used it to heal me.' I jumped to my feet and made to hasten away.
'No!'
Avallach's stern refusal halted me before I had taken two paces.
'Why? What do you mean? Arthur is dying. The Grail can save him. If you have it, you must use it to heal him.'
The Fisher King rose slowly; I could see sorrow like an immense weight upon his shoulders. 'It cannot be,' he said softly. 'It is not my place to decide such things. It is God's place; He must decide.'
'It is ever God's good pleasure to heal the sick,' I insisted. 'How can you withhold that healing if it is within your power?'
He merely shook his head. 'The Grail,' he said gently, 'the Grail, Merlin, is not like that. It is not to be used so. You must understand.'
'I do not understand,' I declared flatly. 'I only know that Arthur is dying, and if he dies the Kingdom of Summer dies with him. If that should happen, Britain will fall, and the West will die. The light of hope will fail and darkness will overtake us at last.'
'I am sorry, Merlin," Avallach said again. 'I would it were otherwise.' He made to return to his prayers.
Now it was my turn to challenge and refuse. 'No!' I shouted. 'Do not think to pray for Arthur's healing when you hold that healing in your hands yet refuse to give it.'
'Death,' replied the Fisher King sadly, 'is also God's good pleasure. Do you think this easy for me? I sit here every day and watch people die. They come to the shrine – this plague has oppressed us sorely! – and we do what we can for them. A few live, but most die. As I said, it is for God to decide. He alone holds power over life and death.'
'He has given you the Grail!' I argued. 'Why has he done that if he did not intend you to use it?'
'It is a burden more terrible than any I know," moaned Avallach.
'Yet you used it once to heal me,' I persisted. 'You took it upon yourself to decide then. You saved my life. Where is the harm?'
'That was different.'
'How so?' I demanded. 'I see no difference at all.' He looked away, sighing heavily. 'You are my daughter's only child; the only son of your father. You are my flesh and blood, Merlin, and I am weak. I could not help myself. I did it to save you.'
'Indeed!' I cried, my voice ringing in the rock cell. 'My life was saved so that the Kingdom of Summer would not die. Perhaps I was saved so that I could stand here before you this night and argue for Arthur's life.'
The Fisher King observed me thoughtfully. 'Who is to say?'
'You preserved me, and so preserved the vision of the Summer Realm. Hear me, Avallach, the Kingdom of Summer is near – closer now than it has ever been. How can we let the Summer Lord die?'
He said nothing, though I could see that he was wavering. 'If you are the keeper of this Grail,' I said solemnly, 'then it is for you to exercise the power of your position for the good of all. I tell you the truth, there is not another life the worth of Arthur's, and even now it is slipping away from us. Saving that life will lead to the salvation of generations yet unborn.'
Avallach pressed a hand to his head wearily. 'Do you not know I have been entreating the Throne of Heaven on his behalf? I have not left off one moment since he arrived.'
'God will welcome Arthur in his time,' I affirmed. 'But that time is not yet. This I know. If a life is required, I stand ready to give mine.' I raised my hands to Avallach in supplication. 'Save him. Please, save him.'
'Very well,' Avallach relented. 'I will do what I can. Though I do not command the Grail, as you seem to think. I can only ask. The Grail answers how it will.'
I did not know what form the Fisher King's ministrations would take; but, as we hurried back across the yard to Arthur's chamber, I offered to help in any way I could. 'Tell me what is to be done, Grandfather, and it will be done.'
Avallach stopped beneath the gallery roof. 'No one can aid me, Merlin. What I do, I must do alone.’
‘As you will.'
'Every mortal creature must be removed from this place,' Avallach continued. 'Every male and female, all mortal flesh, whether human or animal, must be removed beyond the walls of the palace. Arthur only may remain.'
I wondered at this, but accepted his instructions. 'It shall be as you say.'
While Elfodd and I ran through the Fisher King's palace, rousing everyone from bed, Llenlleawg awakened the stable hands and began moving the livestock from the barns and pens. By torchlight we made our way down the narrow twisting path to the lake. Some led dogs on leashes, others horses; several drove cattle: sheep, kine, and goats; two or three carried bird cages, and one child held an armful of kittens. In a little while, all who lived in the palace – mortal, Fair Folk, birds, and beasts – were gathered at the la
keside below the abbey. The horses and cattle grazed quietly in the long grass.
Charis and Gwenhwyvar were the last to leave Arthur's side. 'Come, lady, we can do nothing more for him,' Charis said, taking Gwenhwyvar by the hand. 'It is time to give him up to the care of another.'
'I am loath to leave him, Lady Charis,' Gwenhwyvar said, tears swelling in her eyes. She lowered her face to Arthur's and kissed him. A tear splashed on the king's cheek; she kissed it away.
'Come,' I said gently, 'for unless you leave, he cannot be healed.'
Charis and I led the queen from Arthur's deathbed. At the doorway, I paused and looked back at his body sunken in the cushions of the litter, so still, so silent, as if already sinking into dissolution and decay. Gwenhwyvar hesitated and turned; she ran back to the litter and, unfastening the brooch at her shoulder, removed her cloak and spread it over him.
As Gwenhwyvar covered Arthur with a cloak, I covered him with a prayer: Great Light, banish the shade of death from the face of your servant, Arthur. Shield him this night from hate, from harm, from all ill whatever shall befall him. So be it!
She kissed him again and murmured something in his ear, then rejoined us, dry-eyed now and resolute. We hastened through the all-but-deserted palace. I looked for Avallach, but saw no sign of him as we passed quickly through the empty hall and gallery, and then flitted across the vacant yard and out through the open gates.
In darkness, we made our way down the narrow path to join the others waiting at the lake. Elfodd and Llenlleawg were there, holding torches; the rest of the palace-dwellers were scattered along the shore, sitting in small clumps, or standing, some on the hillside, some by the lake. We appeared an exile band, cast out from our homeland in the dead of night. The air was warm and calm. Though the moon had already set, the sky overhead blazed with stars, casting a pale silvery light over all below.
'Are you certain all the animals have been removed?' I asked.
'Every dog to the smallest pup,' Llenlleawg answered. 'Every horse and colt, sheep, lamb, and cow. Nothing on four feet, or two, remains behind.'
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