Soon we stood in our circle, regarding one another with glances of shrewd and thoughtful appraisal. Here was an activity to which we men of war were least suited. The best that could be said was that, while it might have been an unequal battle, at least we did not down weapons and surrender the field. Shouldering our responsibility as best we could, we embarked on what amounted to a long and fruitless wrangle.
In the end, the Dragon Flight, unused to cultivating decisions of this kind, turned expectantly to their battlechiefs. First to speak was Bedwyr. Perhaps, as the one who enjoyed the High King's closest confidence, he had gleaned greater knowledge of Arthur's intentions than we had heard, for he said, 'Brothers, if you will permit me to break into your meditations, I would offer a suggestion.'
'Speak!' cried Cai, impatient to get on with the proceedings. 'By all means, we will be forever beholden to you. Unless someone takes the tiller, we will be circling these waters forever.'
Everyone laughed at this, and our burden was eased considerably. The stiff awkwardness of our high calling – as Arthur had deemed it – disappeared, and we became merely comrades with a duty to discharge.
'My suggestion,' Bedwyr continued, 'is simply this: that each man among us should declare three choices, and those whose names come most often to the lips of their comrades will scout out the path by which we are to proceed.'
A fine plan, I thought, but one of the younger Cymbrogi made bold to amend Bedwyr's proposal. 'If you please, noble lord,' he said, seizing his chance in the outcry of approval that followed Bedwyr's address, 'it is in my mind that the issue before us is both sacred and profound – and no less portentous than battle, where life and limb are placed at hazard beneath the rule of those who lead us.'
Leaning near to Cai, I whispered, 'He speaks well, this one. Who is he?'
'He is one of Cador's kinsmen,' Cai replied. 'He goes by the name of Gereint, I think.'
'Ah, yes.' I vaguely remembered the fellow, although, in truth, so harried were we in our battles against the Vandali, I had yet to fully acquaint myself with the more recent additions to our number.
Gereint continued: 'Thus, I would gladly submit in peace to those I willingly trust in the heat of the fight. Perhaps I may be so brazen as to propose that we bestow the honour of ordering this Fellowship upon those to whom we have already sworn our loyal submission, namely, the Pendragon's battlechiefs.'
Well, the proposal was carried forth on a rolling wave of noisy enthusiasm. Bedwyr's eminently sensible, if less valiant, suggestion was forgotten in the eager rush to advance the proposition. The Cymbrogi gave voice to the plan, and all departed in high spirits, assured at having discharged their duty properly and well – all, that is, save the five battlechiefs who were now saddled with the task: Bedwyr, Cai, Cador, Llenlleawg, and me.
What happened next shames me to confess, so I will simply say that we fell to long and fevered discussion about how the thing should be accomplished. Oh, it was thirsty work, too, for as the day drew on and the weighty task conspired to steal our strength, we sought refreshment in Avallach's good ale – a dubious remedy, perhaps, but if it did little to ease the burden of decision, at least it helped us think better of our chore – for a short while anyway.
After a long, wandering discussion, we arrived once more precisely where we had started. Taking Arthur at his word, we framed this modest proposition: that the Most Holy Grail, rarest of treasures, must be guarded. 'That means,' Cai maintained over the rim of his bowl, 'a perpetual guard.'
'Well and good,' replied Bedwyr. 'But the Grail Fellowship is to be more than guard duty. Arthur said it is to be a sacred calling -'
'We are to protect pilgrims and wayfarers, too,' Llenlleawg pointed out. 'That means we must have warbands to ride the land.'
'He did not say anything about riding the land,' said Cador.
'He said very little at all,' retorted Bedwyr, growing impatient.
'What is so difficult?' demanded Cai. 'We are given a free hand to order the Fellowship how we will, and all you can do is find fault with Arthur for allowing us the honour.'
'The onus, you mean,' muttered Cador.
'Onus!' Cai flapped an impatient hand at Cador, who took a deep draught of the cup. 'Man, where do you get such words?'
'It is Latin,' Cador informed him loftily.
'Are we to be monks now,' Llenlleawg inquired sourly, 'spouting Latin and psalms at one another?'
'A sad day has dawned when a man cannot say what he thinks,' sniffed Cador into his cup.
'And I say: give me a sword and I will guard this Grail,' Llenlleawg declared.
'See! See!' cried Cai, almost upsetting the ale jar in his eagerness to clap Llenlleawg on the back. 'Llenlleawg agrees -the Holy Cup must be guarded. We are to be Guardians of the Grail.'
'Easy, brother,' Bedwyr said, saving the jar. He poured another draught and took a long pull from the bowl and put it down with a thump. 'I say we have talked enough for one day.' He pressed his fingertips to his temples. 'My head hurts.'
Drink and frustration had worn us down, and tempers were beginning to fray at the edges. I did not like to see my swordbrothers quarrelling, so determined to end the discussion before we were at one another's throats. 'I agree with Bedwyr -we have talked enough for one day,' I suggested. 'Let us part while we are still friends and come at this again tomorrow.'
'Aye, and what do you suggest we tell the king?' asked Cai. 'Arthur is awaiting word from us.'
'Tell him,' I replied, 'that our deliberations are well begun, but that a duty of such significance takes time – a day or two more at most, I should think.'
The others liked the sound of that, and agreed that another day or two should give us ample time to complete our task. It was decided that we should come together again the following morning with a mind to setting matters to rights. Cai hastened away to tell Arthur, and Cador retreated to his bed for a nap; Llenlleawg quickly departed on errands of his own, leaving Bedwyr and myself to contemplate the ruin of the day.
'We must finish tomorrow,' Bedwyr confided. 'I could not bear two more days like this. Is everyone always so contentious?'
'Always,' I assured him.
He shrugged. 'I never noticed before.' Looking towards the empty doorway through which Llenlleawg had just disappeared, Bedwyr said, 'Our Irish friend has something on his mind.'
'You mean there is somewhere else he would rather be?'
Bedwyr favoured me with a knowing look. 'The mysterious Lady Morgaws.'
'Oh, aye,' I agreed. 'I have seldom seen anyone so afflicted.'
'Those who fly highest fall hardest,' Bedwyr observed, shaking his head slowly. 'Not that I know anything about it.' He paused, growing pensive. 'I can almost envy him.'
SEVENTEEN
That evening at table, I watched for Llenlleawg and Morgaws, but neither of them appeared. I thought this highly suggestive, but if anyone else noticed their absence, I heard nothing about it. Then again, neither did Arthur or Gwenhwyvar join us for supper, and no one thought ill of that – why would they? The king and queen often took their supper in each other's company, and that is only right.
Still, I determined that a word with Myrddin would probably not go amiss. Also, I wanted to ask him what he thought about Arthur's shrine-building venture, and now there was the Grail Fellowship to discuss. Making quick work of my meal, I took myself off to find the Emrys – a chore far easier said than done, for it is a commonplace that Myrddin is seldom to be located where one first thinks to search. His errands are many, and as varied as they are obscure. One moment he is at the Pendragon's side, the next he is away to Caer Edyn in the north, or sailing back from lerna, visiting this lord or that one, consulting bishops and abbots, testing the wind for portents, delving into Druid lore… and who knows what else besides.
Consequently, it was not until very much later that I was able to find the ever-elusive Myrddin. 'A little sudden, this Fellowship – is it not?' I said, coming upon him as he poled the small
boat to the shore. He had been fishing on the lake below the Tor, a pastime much favoured from his childhood, I believe.
'Is it?' Myrddin wondered. 'Walk with me, Gwalchavad.'
Taking me by the arm, he steered me onto the narrow lakeside path. Night was seeping into the still, quiet evening. The sky was fading gold, and the first of the stars were already alight.
'I think it sudden,' I replied.
'Whenever was there ever a better time?' he asked, stooping to pluck a reed from the bank. 'Must goodness stand forever in the shadows, waiting for her opportunity to shine?'
'Heaven forbid,' I answered. 'Yet it seems to me that no sooner have we made peace with the Saecsen than we are forced to fight the Vandali. And if that were not enough, we must also face a season of drought and plague which drives our people to abandon their homes and quit these shores for foreign lands. I had thought we had enough to occupy ourselves without…' -the words eluded me – 'without all this!' I waved my hand vaguely in the area of the Tor to signify what had taken place there.
Myrddin regarded me with his keen golden eyes for a long moment. When he spoke at last, he said, 'You speak my thoughts exactly.'
'Truly?'
'Does that surprise you?'
I confessed that it did, and said, 'But you are his Wise Counsellor.'
'Our king has a mind of his own, or have you never noticed?'
'Yes, but -'
'He is impatient!' Myrddin retorted before I could finish. 'He is impetuous and stubborn. I tried to tell him. "Wait just a little, Arthur," I said. "We have come so far. The quest is nearly at an end. It would be wrong to force our way now." Will he listen? No, he will not. "The Summer Realm is aborning, Myrddin," says Arthur. "We cannot hold it back. The world has waited long enough. It would be a sin to withhold that which can do so much good." And so it is as you have seen,' Myrddin concluded. 'He rushes from one thing to another, full of holy zeal and heavenly ambition. And no one can tell him anything, for he will not hear, much less heed.'
'What of Elfodd?' I asked. 'The king seems to have more than enough time for the good bishop. Perhaps Elfodd might prevail -'
'Save your breath,' Myrddin interrupted. 'Elfodd is just as bad as Arthur. After Arthur's healing, the bishop is convinced that the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand, and that the High King is God's instrument for establishing it here and now. It is hopeless; the two of them goad each other.'
'And Gwenhwyvar? Might the queen find a way to persuade her husband to reason?'
Myrddin sighed wearily. 'Ah, she might – if it were not that she had seen her husband lying at death's gate in this very place not so very long ago. Gwenhwyvar is only too pleased to have Arthur hale and whole once more, so, in her eyes at least, this overzealous Arthur is preferable to the other. No, she cannot bring herself to reproach him.'
Well, it was no worse than I suspected. Arthur, miraculously healed and delivered of his enemies for once and all, was suddenly ablaze with virtue and good works. Where was the harm? Who was to say he was wrong? Might not Arthur, the one to whom the miracle had happened, possess a keener insight? Might not the one who had seen the vision be best able to describe it?
'I thought the Summer Realm was earth and stars to you, Myrddin,' I said as we resumed our walk. 'I thought you wanted it above all else.'
Swift as a hawk swooping from the sky, the Emrys fell upon my remark. 'I do! I do!' he exclaimed. 'No one knows how much I crave it, nor what its advent has cost me. Truly, Gwalchavad, I desire it more than my life,' Myrddin said, growing solemn. 'But not like this.'
I waited for him to continue, and he did, after biting the tender end off the reed and sucking the juice. 'The Kingdom of Summer is near, Gwalchavad, nearer now than ever – of that you can be certain. But it will not be compelled. If we try to force it, I fear we can only do great violence to it and to ourselves. We have a chance now – a chance that may never come again – and my best instinct tells me we must proceed with all caution.'
'It does seem the soundest course,' I concurred.
'Ah, but what if I am wrong?' Myrddin murmured, and I heard the anguish in his voice. 'What if I am wrong, and Arthur is right? What if God's hand is on him to accomplish this great and glorious feat? To oppose it, even by so much as the merest hesitation, would be to hinder God himself. I ask myself: does God now perform his works in this worlds-realm only with Myrddin's permission?'
I let the question hang.
Myrddin continued, slashing the air with the reed in his hand. 'Can it be that I, who have laboured so long to advance the Summer Kingdom, cannot recognize it now that it is upon me? Is it possible that it is God's good pleasure to reward his faithful servants even before they have completed their labour?'
I did not know what he meant by this last statement, but before I could ask him, he declared, 'There is one certainty, or none at all: if this thing flows from God, nothing can stand against it.'
'And if it is not of God?'
'Then it cannot stand,' he concluded simply, flinging the reed into the lake.
Wise is Myrddin, and keen of insight. He had not only discerned the heart of my own feelings and perceived my objections, but offered lucid consolation as well.
Moving to the matter uppermost in my mind, I said, 'Have you discovered anything more about Morgaws?'
'Only that she is a noblewoman of Caer Uintan,' he replied, his face hard in the dusky light. 'Or so it is said.' I could almost hear the gates slamming shut to keep me out. Why? Ignoring his reluctance, I pressed on regardless.
'Llenlleawg seems to have reversed his opinion of her,' I observed. 'Before she disappeared, he could not abide her. Now that she has returned, he cannot bear to have Morgaws out of his sight.'
'Yes, it is all very strange,' agreed Myrddin.
'Is that all you have to say? You seemed more than concerned before.'
'Was I?'
That was all he said, but I suddenly felt foolish for having involved myself in matters that did not concern me. After all, if there was anything amiss, the Wise Emrys would know; ever alert to the subtle shiftings of power and the hidden meanings of events, Myrddin would know.
'Well,' I conceded, 'no doubt I was overhasty in my judgment. She has done no harm.'
Nodding, Myrddin resumed walking, turning back the way we had come. The palace atop the Tor was black against the pale purple sky. 'Watch and pray, Gwalchavad,' Myrddin said absently. 'Watch and pray.'
He returned to the Tor then, leaving me to my thoughts. It came into my mind to visit the shrine – the old shrine where the tin merchant Joseph erected the first church in the Island of the Mighty, and where the Grail was first seen in this worlds-realm. No more than a hut made of sticks and mud, it stands on the place of that first small church on the hill above the lake.
The good brothers of the abbey often say prayers in the shrine, and I wondered if I should meet any of them, but as I approached, I saw that I had the place to myself, which is how I much preferred it. See, now: I am faithful in my own way. It is not that I dislike the good brothers, God knows, but I have not their learning, and I always feel a pagan whenever I encounter monks at prayer. The brothers are not to blame for this; I own the fault right readily. Perhaps the purity of their example shames me; such virtue and devotion as they demonstrate is to be lauded, but I am not cut of that cloth. My days are spent on the back of a horse with a shield on my shoulder and a spear in my hand. So be it!
The shrine was black against the fading sky, and I stood for a moment just looking at its looming shape and feeling the immense age of the place. Slowly, and with mindful reverence, I mounted the slope of the hill and went inside the shrine. It is a simple, bare room, large enough, perhaps, for three or four, but no more. A single, narrow window opens above the altar made of three shaped slabs of stone. There was a candle on the altar, but it was not lit, and the interior of the shrine was dark as a cave.
Dark it might have been, but I was aware only of an immense and restful peac
e which seemed to fill the tiny chapel with a serenity as deep and wide as the sea. Entering, I knelt and closed my eyes, plunging myself into this ocean of calm; the irresistible tide pulled me down and down and down into its fathomless depths.
I did not pray – that is, I said no words aloud – but allowed my mind to drift along on the deep-flowing current of peace. If I had any thought at all, it was merely to bathe myself for a while in the calm of all calms, and perhaps touch for a moment the source of all serenity. Perhaps this is prayer by a different name; I do not know.
Neither can I say how long I remained like this; time was swallowed in eternity, I think, for it seemed to me that I had inhabited the shrine for a lifetime of lifetimes – in all that time knowing nothing of earthly strife and clamour, knowing nothing of desire or striving, knowing nothing but blissful contentment, and the desire that I might abide like this forever. To stay just as I am, I thought, would be joy surpassing all pleasures.
I held that thought in my mind, clung to it, and, clinging, cried out in my heart of hearts: Great King, cast me not aside! The cry arose unbidden, but I knew it as my own, for I had uttered my deepest fear. Nor was the reply long in coming. For all at once my hands and face began to tingle with an exquisite sensation, and I imagined beams of light, or flames, dancing over my flesh. I was immersed – not in water, but in living light! The notion grew so strong in me that I opened my eyes, and saw the shrine awash in a pale, golden luminescence, shifting and shimmering over the interior walls like the reflection of light on water.
Another time I might have been amazed at this wonder, but not now. In my present mind, it seemed wholly natural and expected that this should be. The only curiosity was that the dancing light had no point of origin: it simply shone of itself, and was everywhere manifest, gilding the rude-built shrine with glimmering gold. Ah, but to see it gleam and shine was pure delight, and I was seized by an inexpressible rapture. My heart soared and I felt as if I were a child once more, enfolded by a bliss which surpassed all understanding.
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