“Thus Taliesin spoke, bequeathing his bright vision to a world ruled by the Powers of Darkness. Today, it pleases the High King of Heaven to honor the words his servant uttered so long ago. People of Britain, hear me! Rejoice and be glad, the long-awaited day has dawned.”
The High King took his place beside Myrddin then. As I gazed upon Arthur, tall and strong, his handsome face lit by golden morning light, the white stone of the shrine fairly glowing behind him, I knew that the Wise Emrys, as ever, had spoken the truth. The High King drew his sword, Caledvwlch, and raised the naked blade like a cross and held it before him.
“Today, in your hearing, Taliesin’s prophecy is fulfilled,” he said. “My friends, the Kingdom of Summer is begun. Taliesin’s fair vision has become reality. Here we begin, and may the Living God crown our efforts with every virtue.”
Arthur lofted the blade-cross, and the host of people gave voice with a great cry of acclaim. “Pendragon! Pendragon!” Their shout became a flood rolling down the hillside to spread throughout the land. “Pendragon!” In that moment, the High King, bold and bright before them, became the long-awaited Summer Lord.
After a time, the cry died down, allowing Arthur to continue. Lowering the great sword, he placed the point of the blade against the stone at his feet, and folded his hands one over the other atop the pommel. Then, gazing out over the people and the valley beyond, as if into the far-distant future, he said, “What is begun this day will burn in the hearts of all who hear of it. What is begun this day will be a boon of rich blessing to the people of every race and tribe.
“What is begun this day,” Arthur Pendragon said, his face shining in the morning light, “will last to the end of the world, when God shall roll up the heavens like a parchment and return to Earth to reign in righteousness for all eternity. So be it!”
Delivering his sword to Myrddin, the king turned, stepped to where Avallach stood waiting, and, with a bow of acknowledgment to the Grail’s first Guardian, placed his hand on the casket and opened the lid. The world was lit with a sudden flash of radiance—as if lightning had been shut up inside the box to be released at this moment. The onlookers gasped as Arthur reached in and withdrew the Grail and raised it high. I do not know what others saw, but I beheld a footed cup which glittered and shone in the bright sunlight as if it, too, were alive to the light that danced over and around it. A row of rubies and emeralds glittered around its foot, and the rim was set with pearls; a broad band of impossibly ornate scrollwork bent around the bowl, catching the light and throwing it off like sparks from a golden flame.
My heart soared as I filled my gaze with that rapturous sight. I felt myself grow stronger and, yes, more noble—as if the light revealed the man I was meant to be, but so rarely was. And I was not the only one to feel this way: from the murmurs of amazement around me, I guessed that all who beheld the Lord Christ’s bowl were in that selfsame moment granted a vision of the Good God’s redeeming grace.
It happened in the blink of an eye, the narrow space between one word and the next—for yet was Arthur speaking. “Behold! I give you the Cup of Christ, which shall be the emblem of the Summer Realm, and a perpetual reminder of the source and sustainer of our good fortune.”
So saying, he stepped to the entrance of the shrine and placed the Grail on the altar stone which had been prepared for it. This done, he reverenced the cup with a bow and stepped away from the altar. Outside again, he retrieved his sword from Myrddin, raised it, and declared: “From this day I have done with war and killing. Strife and violent contention have no place in the Kingdom of Summer. Henceforth shall Britain be called a land of peace.” Stepping into the shrine once more, he laid Caledvwlch before the Grail, point on the floor and hilt resting against the altar stone, so that the blade looked like Bishop Elfodd’s cross. The High King then knelt before the altar and offered up a prayer.
Father in Heaven, never let me forget that sight: Arthur on his knees before the altar, his head back, face tilted upwards, his strong arms outspread, palms upwards to receive the blessing he sought. And above him, shining with the brightness of the sun itself, filling the shrine with a high and holy light, the Grail.
How long he remained in the shrine, I cannot say—for the moment was eternal and all creation held its breath. When he emerged, it was to a world subtly, but surely, changed. Arthur himself seemed fairer, stronger, more noble—as if all those lordly qualities which he already possessed in rare abundance had been expanded, increased, multiplied within him, and he now assumed a greater stature than before. If anyone doubted his own perception, he had only to look at Gwenhwyvar; the expression of admiration and love commingled in her eyes would have convinced the hardest skeptic that here before us stood a lord transfigured.
The High King, his face shining with the reflected glory of the Holy Cup, slowly raised his hands in a gesture of benevolence and said, “May the Grail which we have established in this shrine serve as a beacon of hope to all mankind. Let it hereafter be said that once upon this Island of the Mighty, men and women loved virtue more than their lives, and sacrificed themselves to the rule of truth and justice.
“Friends,” he said, “we have kindled a flame that will burn to the end of the world. We are men still, but God’s own Cymbrogi stand in awe of the things we shall do. Even now angels are gathering to assist us on the journey we have begun. Signs and wonders will become commonplace, miracles will multiply in abundance, and peace will wash over the Island of the Mighty like a great sea wave lifted on the wings of the storm.
“I ask you, who can stop the waves? Who can tame the ocean’s fury, or harness the sea’s colossal strength? Who can bid the sun to halt in the sky, or stay the steady march of the seasons?
“I tell you the truth, we shall do all these things and more who pledge fealty to the Kingdom of Summer and its Eternal Lord. For if we remain loyal through all things, Britain will be the wonder of the world: a torch that is never quenched, a holy fire that cannot be extinguished. And all the nations that dwell in darkness will lift up their eyes and will behold the light of their salvation, burning as a beacon in the night. They will look up, and they will rejoice, and so great will be their rejoicing that the sound of celebration will overwhelm the sound of war. That hateful craft will pass away, never to be remembered.”
If the acclaim before had been thunderous, the roar of approval which met this pronouncement was deafening; it seemed to go on and on and on. During this exuberant and joyous outpouring, Bishop Elfodd stepped forward and, lifting holy hands to the Lord of Hosts, began saining the shrine with prayers of consecration. But the ceremony was effectively finished; even as he prayed, people came crowding forward for a better view of the sacred cup.
Arthur signaled the Grail Guardians to take their places, which we did, standing in a wide double rank to form a narrow pathway through which the people might pass into the shrine. Men and women, young and old, hastened forward, jostling one another in their eagerness to kneel before the Grail and offer up their own heartfelt prayers.
Once begun, the flood became a tideflow which washed up the side of the hill and into the shrine. We Guardians stood and watched them come, some anxious and halting, some so a-tremble with awe that they could hardly move, some with touching reverence, others bold, as if they would lay hold of the kingdom and claim its mighty promise for themselves.
No matter how they went in, all emerged changed—some more, some less, but no one who entered the shrine remained the same after having seen the Grail. I saw one old woman with a withered hand emerge with her hand restored, and a man on a wooden crutch walked out on two strong legs to throw the stick as far away as he could hurl it. Another man, so ill he lacked the strength to walk, was brought to the altar by his friends, only to emerge leaping and jumping for joy.
These were but the first of many healed that day. I saw men and women bent double by grief and care enter the shrine, and leave with heads high and the fire of hope shining in their faces. Many emerged
with tears glistening in their eyes and on their cheeks; more than a few had to be removed from the shrine: dazzled by the glory of the Blessed Cup and overcome by the holiness of the moment, they were transported into a rapture of bliss and were borne out by kinsmen and friends.
The evening stars were shining in the eastern sky when the last of the worshippers departed. Bishop Elfodd lit the torches either side of the doorway, and replaced the Grail in its wooden casket. Only then were we able to sit down and rest our aching feet. Despite watching all day, Bedwyr, Cai, and Cador volunteered to take the first night’s watch. Llenlleawg and I were allowed to return to the Tor—with Cai’s admonition to remember the watchers their supper.
The first night passed peacefully in the Summer Realm, and the next day remained so tranquil and serene it was easy to believe that the world had indeed changed. The few folk who visited the shrine went away manifestly blessed—one crippled woman, a girl given to fits, and two boys with skin diseases were healed. The prevailing mood of peace and elation made our guard duty pure pleasure. We ended the second blissful day full of brotherly love and kindly thoughts for all mankind.
Ah, but word of the miracles accomplished in the presence of the Grail was spreading through the land. Already the news had gone out beyond the borders of the realm, and like a spear hurled from the hand, there was no calling it back.
Chapter Twenty-one
All night long, visitors streamed into the valley. To everyone’s surprise, there were more than a few Saecsens among them. How word had flown so far so fast was more than I could credit. Obviously, they had been traveling day and night to reach the Grail Shrine and, once arrived, they waited patiently, sitting in groups on the ground, or sleeping on the hillside. The monks brought food and water, and cared for the sick through the night until they could be admitted to the shrine the next morning.
Arthur, upon receiving information that Saecsens were coming to the shrine, was visibly delighted, and declared that the Grail was already fulfilling its highest purpose. “One day,” he said, “every citizen of Britain will have made his way to this place to see the Most Holy Grail, and the world will be made new.”
There was much in what the Pendragon said. For on the third day more people came to the shrine, and the arrivals did not stop at dusk, when the Grail Shrine was closed; the people kept coming, and were contented to wait through the night to be admitted the next morning. On the fourth day the numbers swelled; a steady flow of visitors trickled into the valley all through the day and into the night. By the fifth day it was clear that the numbers were steadily rising; thus, the chore of guarding the shrine was growing increasingly wearing for the five Guardians.
Admittedly, if even one of us had thought beyond that first day’s duty, we might have seen how inept our scheme really was. If we had not been distracted by the blissful exhilaration of our position, and if we had properly understood the nature of the object we were guarding, we might have anticipated the eagerness of the people, driven by desperation and need to obtain healing.
Thus, it did not take a bard’s wisdom to see that our simpleminded notion of five Grail Guardians standing perpetual watch was—after only a few days—breaking down under the sheer weight of numbers. Clearly, a new plan was needed.
“Brothers,” said Bedwyr as we looked out upon the gathered pilgrims in the fading light—so many had arrived through the day that they would not now get in to see the Grail until the morning—“you are mighty men all, and far above me in every way. No doubt you could stand before the shrine day and night for a thousand years and never feel the strain, but I cannot. In short, I am tired.”
As if to demonstrate his point, he yawned, and said, “We must have help, and I see no reason why the Cymbrogi should fritter away the days in idle pursuits while we labor on. It is neither fitting nor right.”
“Are you suggesting that we compel our swordbrothers to help shoulder this duty?” I asked.
“I am suggesting that very thing,” confirmed Bedwyr with another yawn.
“Man, why did you not speak up the sooner?” blurted Cai. “It is all I can do to put one foot in front of the other, and here am I thinking you enjoy standing like a pillar all day long.”
“As much as I enjoy it,” Cador remarked, “I yet might be persuaded to let a few of the Cymbrogi take my place—if my brother Guardians were so disposed.”
“That is the Cador I know,” Bedwyr replied, adopting an admiring tone, “generous to the last. As for myself, I deem it no less an honor for sharing it among my swordbrothers. Let them have it, I say!”
“Then it is settled,” I said. “We all agree that the duty should be shared out among the Cymbrogi.”
“Llenlleawg has not said what he thinks,” Cai pointed out, indicating the tall Irishman standing silent as a pillar.
“Well?” inquired Bedwyr, swinging towards the Irishman. “What say you, Llenlleawg?”
Arthur’s champion shrugged. “If everyone else agrees,” he muttered, glancing away and down, “I am for it.”
Bedwyr stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide what ailed the man. “So!” he said, turning away abruptly. “We have made our first addition to the rules of order.”
As the last of the day’s visitors made their way into the shrine, we then fell to discussing how to divide the watch, and it was quickly decided that one Grail Guardian should stand as overseer to eight of the Cymbrogi. To further ease the hardship of the duty, the day guard would be relieved at sunset by those who were chosen to watch the night. Thus, we would only be required to stand one watch in every five—an obviously superior arrangement, for we would enjoy a day of rest between. We then drew straws to see who would begin the new order of rotation. As luck would have it, I drew the next day’s watch, but Llenlleawg drew the short straw and was forced to stand watch that very night, after having stood guard all day. Though luck went against him, he made no complaint.
While there were still many people waiting in the gathering twilight, we had no choice but to declare the shrine closed. Bedwyr told the people the Grail Shrine would open again at dawn, and the attending monks bade those in need to come to the monastery for food and shelter. One old man became agitated at this announcement and began shouting. “I have waited all day!” he said. “I cannot wait any longer.”
“Just until tomorrow, friend,” said the monk firmly, but not unkindly.
“Tomorrow will be too late,” the man insisted, his voice and shoulders shaking with the effort. He carried a long stick, which he leaned on for support. “Please, I must see the Cup of Christ tonight.”
“Come to the abbey and we will take care of you,” the monk told him. “You can come back in the morning.”
“I am old and sick. I may die tonight!” the man said stubbornly, and turned to appeal to Bedwyr. “You there! You are the king’s man—you can let me see the cup before I die. Please!”
The monk took hold of the old man’s arm and made to lead him away. Bedwyr intervened, however. “Wait! Let him in. But no more today—he will be the last.”
The monk relented and led the old man forward. They entered the shrine and Bedwyr undertook to inform all the other visitors that food would be provided at the abbey for any who required it, and that they were welcome to return to the shrine at dawn, when they would be cheerfully admitted. The people muttered over this, but accepted their lot and began making their way down the hill to the valley below, where most of them would spend the night.
The rest of us, meanwhile, fell to discussing who should make up the watch for the night. We quickly chose the guard and informed Bedwyr when he rejoined us; a moment later, the old man emerged from the shrine. He walked directly to Bedwyr, seized his hand, and kissed it, saying, “Bless you, son. Bless you. Bless you,” ducking his head with each benison. “I can die a happy man,” he said, and then walked away, carrying his stick in his hand.
“A friend for life,” Cai observed. “Now let us be gone.”
&nb
sp; Llenlleawg wished us a restful sleep in our good, soft beds, and bade us remember him his supper. He then urged us to haste lest he starve before the food should reach him.
We promised to send his supper along with those who were to take the watch with him that night, whereupon Bedwyr, Cai, and I rode back to Ynys Avallach. We passed through the gate to find the yard alight with torches and filled with people and horses. “Someone important has come,” one of the Cymbrogi told me as I dismounted.
“Who?” I asked, but he did not know.
Thinking it might be Gwalcmai, I threw the fellow the reins and commanded him to take care of my mount. While Bedwyr called for volunteers to stand guard duty, I ran to the hall to welcome, not my brother, alas, but someone almost as dear and good to me: Bors.
See now: I have known Bors for a long time. He and his brother, King Ban of Benowyc, were among the first of the Pendragon’s advocates. Having supported Aurelius and Uther—Arthur’s father and uncle, the first High Kings of Britain—they had aided the young Dux Britanniarum in his struggles to unite the lords of Britain and conquer the Saecsens. For Bors, that meant more than merely providing men; he had joined the Cymbrogi and lent his sword to the cause.
Grail: Book Five of the Pendragon Cycle Page 20