Grail

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  I walked a little apart from the red embers of our exhausted fire, and looked to the low southern hills, where I saw the faintly flickering glow of a beacon flame. I watched for a while, and scanned the land round about for an answering fire, but saw none. Neither did I hear the wailing sound again. The beacon, if beacon it was, died away as quickly as a spark, and the darkness closed around the place. I waited, but the flame was not renewed, and so I returned to my rest.

  The next morning, after leaving a pile of rocks to mark the trail, we turned aside to find the place where the beacon had been lit, for I hoped to discover some sign of who had made it and why. As it happened, the ride led us farther south than I anticipated, but we found the site: an immense bed of still-warm ashes surrounded by a ring of earth erected to keep the dry hillside from taking light. Here and there we saw a few footprints—though very few—and those were scuffed and featureless.

  “They have taken care to leave nothing behind,” Peredur observed.

  “Who could have made it?” wondered Tallaght. “Llenlleawg and the girl?”

  “Better to ask who was meant to see it,” I replied, and then considered that the wailing began only after the beacon had all but spent itself. “Maybe they feared we would miss the signal, so they roused us another way,” I suggested lightly to my companions, but neither of them deemed it likely.

  “Probably it was only a wolf,” suggested Tallaght. “No doubt the smell of smoke disturbed the beast.”

  Now, I have heard wolves howling in the night more times than either of my young friends have swung rump to saddle, and I know it was never any wolf I heard. Still, I held my tongue and let the thing go. As there was nothing more to see, I went to my horse, gathered up the reins, and regained my mount, ready to resume the trail. “The day flies before us,” I called, urging them away.

  “A moment, lord,” cried Peredur. I looked around and saw him inside the fire-ring, squatting on his haunches, prodding the ashes with a length of branch unburned at one end. So saying, he lifted something from the smoldering ash pile and brought it to me. “What think you of this?” he asked, extending the stick towards me.

  I saw that he had found a scrap of cloth—fine stuff, tightly woven—which had been all but consumed in the flames. Taking the scrap between my fingers, I looked again, more closely, and to my dismay recognized it at once.

  “God help him,” I moaned, my voice a low croak. “It is a piece of Llenlleawg’s cloak.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I must have an infant—a child, my sweet. I need a child.”

  Loth, as I recall, merely shrugged. “No difficulty there,” he replied lightly. “I will send one of the men to the settlement. There are always brats enough, and no one squeals overmuch if one goes missing.”

  “No,” I said. “Not that way.” Taking up the camphor-wood box from the table, I removed the lid and dipped my fingers into the fine gray powder.

  “It is nothing. Last time we—”

  “This is different,” I insisted quietly. “It is not like last time.”

  Young Loth hesitated in the flickering candelight. A beautiful young man, he was the very image of his father. I dropped a pinch of the gray powder into the flame between us. Smoke puffed up, and a subtle fragrance filled the air. “I need a child,” I said, pressing my hands to my stomach. “It must be bone of my bone, blood of my blood. It must be my child.”

  I dropped another pinch of the powder—a potion of compliance—into the flame, replaced the camphor-wood box, and stepped nearer, lowering my voice slightly. “And you must give me this child, my darling.”

  “Me! But I—”

  “I will tell you about this child, shall I?” Putting my hands on his chest, I stepped forward, drawing him to me. “This child will grow to be a sorceress of rare and wondrous powers, and she shall be called the Bane of Britain. She will destroy that simpleton Myrddin and his tiresome pet, Arthur. She will lay waste to the Kingdom of Summer, and prepare the way for us to reign—you and me. Together we will establish a dynasty that will last a thousand years.”

  I drew him closer as I spoke. “Come, my darling Loth.” My hands found his arm, and began leading him away. “I have prepared the bedchamber for our pleasure.”

  “Mother, I—” he began, then hesitated, still uncertain. “Morgian, it is—”

  “Shh,” I hushed gently. “I ask nothing you have not done with other women. There is food within, and wine. We will eat and drink and, in the time-between-times, you will give me your seed for the making of a child.”

  He looked through the door and into the candlelit interior beyond. “Come, my darling,” I said, my voice like warm mead, sweetly intoxicating and seductive, “the night awaits.”

  “I would not hear you speak so, even in jest,” Tallaght intoned ruefully.

  “As I breathe, son, it is no jest. Either this is all that remains of our swordbrother’s cloak, or I know him not at all.”

  Turning his gaze once more to the ash pile, he said, “Then we best make certain there is no more of him here than that.”

  And so we did. Stir the embers how we might, the ashes revealed nothing more. Keen-eyed Peredur, meanwhile, busied himself with searching the surrounding hillside, and his labor bore fruit.

  “See here!” he cried, drawing our attention. “They passed this way!”

  Hastening to where he stood, we saw the tracks of two people—and possibly a third—leading away from the fire-ring. I bent low to examine the faint markings—little more than bent grass and scuff marks in the dirt—and marveled once more at Peredur’s ability. “Son,” I said, for he was that young, “wherever did you learn to track?”

  “My father kept the game runs for King Cadwallo,” he answered. “I have ridden with him since I was old enough to sit a horse.”

  “Well, lad, he taught you well.” Tucking the burned scrap of cloak under my belt, I said, “I think it best we follow the trail we are given. Lead on.”

  Thus we continued on our way, pursuing our new course south and east, slowly passing beyond the lands of the Summer Realm. I took care to mark our progress, for we were moving into territory strange to me. Trusting Peredur to keep the trail, I occupied myself with watching the rocks and hills round about, keeping an eye for any sign that we might be watched. Save the occasional lonely crow, I saw no living thing.

  Even so, the further we journeyed into that queer land, the more certain I grew that we were being watched. I have ridden into battle often enough to know when an enemy is lurking near, hiding and awaiting the chance to attack an unwary warrior. That was the feeling that overtook me in this place. Once, as we descended a steep defile between two overhanging bluffs, the skin prickled on my back as if danger stalked us from behind. Spear in hand, I wheeled my horse to see…the empty path, and nothing more.

  This occurred three times before the sun reached midday, and each time it took me by surprise. Though it does me no credit to confess it, the last instance so unnerved me that I called Peredur to halt at the next opportunity, thinking to water the horses and collect myself somewhat. This he did soon after, for directly we came upon a tidal estuary and climbed down from the horses. The bank, such as it was, consisted of loose slaty shingle and wrack cast up by the tide. As ill luck would have it, the tide was out, leaving an expanse of mud wide as a battleground with only a thin rivulet of rank green water oozing down through the center.

  Loath to let the horses drink this foul brack, we looked up and down either side to see if we might yet come to some better place, but were frustrated in the attempt. The estuary stretched far inland and maintained its breadth beyond sight.

  “This is an unhappy place, God knows,” remarked Tallaght, scanning the mud before us.

  “It will not grow more agreeable for standing here,” I replied. Seeing nothing for it but to strike on and make for the other side, I swung up into the saddle once more. “The sooner we put the place behind us, the better I will feel.”

&nbs
p; Peredur, who had ridden a few hundred paces upriver to the first of a series of low bluffs rising from the bank, returned to say, “The trail ends just here. There is no better fording that I can see. They must have gone across at high tide, or we would see the prints.”

  “Then we have no choice.” So saying, I lifted the reins and struck off across the muddy broad.

  It was vile stuff: thick black sticky muck with a stink that turned the stomach. The rancid slime sucked at the steed’s hooves and released a stench which assaulted the nose and watered the eyes. I pressed on regardless, anxious to get across as quickly as possible. That was my mistake.

  For, having almost reached the slow-trickling flow in the middle of the mudflat, I realized that my proud mount was sinking deeper into the mire with every step. Halting, I turned in the saddle to warn the two behind me. “Come no further,” I called. “We must go around another way.”

  With that I lifted the reins and made to turn the gray. Peredur’s shout stopped me. “Stay, lord!” he cried tersely. “Do not move!”

  Glancing swiftly behind me and all around, I saw nothing to alarm me and was about to say as much when Tallaght joined in the warning. “Lord Gwalchavad,” he called, his voice tense. “Look around you!” He thrust out his hand and pointed to the mud.

  Look I did, but saw only the scum of the fetid mire glimmering under a baleful sun. And then, even as I watched, the whole dully glistening surface began to shiver and then to tremble. I stared in disbelief as the muddy flats quaked with sudden, sluggish life, and the horror of my predicament came clear. The inrushing tide was flowing once more, and the whole unstable mass was quivering and heaving in the slow-rippling waves of quicksand.

  “Go back!” I shouted. “Save yourselves!”

  Both warriors turned their mounts and began struggling back towards the bank. I made to follow them, but the gray had sunk still lower and could not lift her legs.

  Pulling hard on the reins, I succeeded in making the horse rear onto its hind legs, whereupon I swung the frightened animal’s head and completed the turn. The gray succeeded but two further steps before sinking to the hocks once more.

  Desperate to save my panicky mount, I threw myself from the saddle and instantly sank to my knees in the vile bog. The mud shuddered and heaved around me as the unseen waves lent it eerie life, but I gritted my teeth and tightened the reins around my hand, and then, with an effort, raised my foot from the mire and lumbered ahead one step.

  Half turning, I coaxed my mount forward, speaking in a soft, soothing tone. Eyes wide and rolling with terror as the killing mud sucked at her hooves, the gray struggled gamely forward, rearing up and plunging, but succeeding only in sinking us both more deeply. I made to wade forward and felt my insubstantial footing give way. I now stood hip-deep in the muck, and could feel cold water seeping through the ooze and up around my legs.

  Tallaght and Peredur, having reached the bank, secured their mounts, threw off their cloaks, and hastened back to help me. I saw them floundering over the mud and tried to warn them away, but they came on regardless.

  “Throw me the reins!” shouted Tallaght. Having come as near as he dared, he lay himself upon the mud and stretched out his hand. “Let me take her,” he called. As I could do nothing more for the beast, I threw the reins to the young warrior and concerned myself with my own fate instead.

  For his part, Peredur, holding his spear above his head, waded out to me. Stretching himself flat upon the mud, he extended the butt of the spear. I leaned towards him; cold water gushed up around my thighs and I promptly sank to my waist.

  Peredur wormed closer. “Take hold!” he cried.

  Seeing the spear within reach, I raised my right leg and brought it down smartly so as to jump up. I did not so much leap as lurch, flinging my body forward in a sorry imitation of cuChullain’s salmon leap. Though laughably awkward, the maneuver gained me a hairsbreadth of distance. I felt my fingers close on the butt of Peredur’s spear, and I grabbed hold with a grip that Death himself could not shake loose.

  The young warrior, by the strength of his arms alone, pulled me nearer. I slithered from the wallow and came free with a squelchy sucking sound, but there I stopped, and Peredur could not draw me further without hauling himself in as well. I tried snaking my way to him, but even the slightest movement sent the bog quivering. I lay still and began sinking once more. “We need a rope,” Peredur called.

  Alas, we had no rope, and well I knew it.

  “A moment, lord.” Peredur wormed his way to dry land, where he ran to his horse and stripped off the tack. Drawing his knife, he cut the reins from the bit and tied them together, then came to the edge of the mudflat and threw the end of the leather strap to me. It fell just out of reach, so he quickly pulled it in, took two steps nearer, leaned out, and threw it again. The second throw went wide, as did the third, but I snagged the line on the fourth try and wound it around my wrist.

  “Haul away!” I called, and Peredur, holding tight with both hands, edged slowly back and back. At first I feared the strap would break, but it was good leather, and though it stretched taut as a harp string, it did not break. One step…and another…and then he reached the bank, gained his feet, and pulled hard until I was sliding smoothly over the morass.

  Upon reaching the bank, I scrambled to my feet. With a whoop of delight, Peredur threw down the leather line and ran to me, grinning at his accomplishment. “Well done, lad!” I said, clapping him heartily on the back. “That was quick thinking.”

  Tallaght’s shout brought us back to the task at hand: “Help! I am losing her!”

  I turned to see that the gray was sunk to her belly in the black ooze, and the young warrior was in over his knees, but still clinging tightly to the reins. Peredur and I ran to his aid. In my haste, I struck a piece of slate and my foot slid out from under me. I fell back, but rose on the instant with an idea.

  “Here, now!” I called to Peredur. “Help me with these!”

  So saying, I stooped to gather an armful of the larger slates, choosing the broadest ones I could find. Peredur saw what I was about and leapt to; digging beneath the surface layer, he found several pieces of fair size and carried them to the edge of the quicksand bog.

  Placing the first slate atop the morass, he stepped out on it and found that it would support him. “It will serve!” he shouted, and I began passing him more slates, which he put down a step at a time, forming a stepping-stone path out to where poor Tallaght was now almost sunk to his waist.

  “Let go of the horse!” I told him, my heart falling at the thought of abandoning my handsome mount.

  “If she goes,” Tallaght answered between clenched teeth, “we go together.”

  “Son, there is no need,” I replied. “Let her go. Save yourself.”

  The unseen waves of the incoming tide set the mud heaving and shuddering around him. Water showed in a queasy ring around the young warrior’s waist.

  Peredur placed the last slate but a few paces from Tallaght. “Brother,” he said, stretching forth his arm, “the tide is flowing. It is take my hand, or sink and drown.”

  Realizing the danger at last, Tallaght relented. With a groan he released the reins and threw out his hand. Peredur caught him and pulled him free. Though the stepping-stones were themselves beginning to sink, they yet bore up the two young men, who skittered across and clambered thankfully onto solid ground.

  We three stood for a moment, panting with the exertion of our efforts and staring unhappily at the gray tossing her head and whinnying with fright. The two young men suggested throwing down more slates and somehow getting the animal to walk on them. “Even if the horse was willing,” I replied, “we could never lift her onto them.” Observing the eerily rippling bog, I added, “The tide is beating us besides. I am not fool enough to risk all three of us in a hopeless cause. I fear we must let the sea have its way.”

  Tallaght stared, and opened his mouth to protest, but Peredur took his arm and silenced him with
a conclusive “Lord Gwalchavad is right.”

  Now, I am as steadfast as any man I know, but I could not find it in me to stand and watch that beautiful animal die. “Come away,” I said to my companions. “We can do nothing more.”

  Tallaght resisted. “Will you not even end it with a spear?”

  Glancing back, I shook my head and turned to leave.

  “Lord,” he called, insistent still, “let me do it if you will not.”

  I stopped, and though I had no wish to berate him, I addressed him with my thoughts. “Lad, a warrior should have a friendly feeling for his mount, and your affection does you credit. But this is a hostile land, and we may well be glad of our spears before another day is run. Even had we weapons to spare, killing a horse with a single thrust from this distance would take a fortunate cast ideed. I own no such skill, and will not see the poor beast suffer any more than need be. In light of these unhappy facts, I think we must leave the thing where it is.” Turning away once more, I said, “I am heartily sick of this place and wish I had never seen it.”

  Peredur snatched up the reins of his mount and fell into step behind me, and after we had walked a few paces, Tallaght also took up his reins and came along. We moved inland, climbing up the low bluffs above the estuary, where I paused briefly to look back at my doomed mount—now plunged to her flanks in the killing bog and screaming terribly. The sound of that wretched creature cut me to the quick. I made a sorrowful farewell and moved on, miserable, wet, and stinking from toe to head. Oh, my heart was low and regretful, but there was nothing for it but to drag ourselves away.

  My two companions fell into a fretful silence, from which I tried to raise them, but gave up trying after a while; I felt as bad as they did, and with the day’s passing, the foreboding grew more, not less.

  I found myself wondering what disaster would befall us next, for although calamity can overtake anyone at any time—especially travelers in the wilds—in my present mind I deemed our misfortune nothing less than an assault by a malevolent power dogging our every step since we had entered this accursed realm. It seemed to me that the rocks and bare hills conspired against us, and even the low, brooding sky wished us ill. I remained firm in this woeful assessment for a considerable time.