Voices of the Stars

by Rowena Whaling

  I cannot say what really happened next, only that of a sudden there was a great conflagration at the pyre. Yet I was still standing at the smaller Fire, from which the torch had been lit.

  When Princess Rowena’s attendants revived me from my faint, I could remember nothing after my lighting the torch. They confirmed my remaining at the small Fire. But, with looks upon their faces somewhere between awe and dread, they told me that in the instant of my lighting the torch a great Flame had leapt from my hand, across the courtyard to engulf Vortigern’s pyre.

  Who knows? Tales abound of those Times. I suppose this is why Morgan has had us write our histories as we remember them.

  Chapter 6

  Endings and Beginnings

  Gwyddion

  My life with Uther the Pen Dragon in the years that followed…

  All that the “Voices” had whispered into my ears – of the bidding that I would be asked by Uther to do – about Igraine and of the babe – came to pass.

  Now, in my old age, I have heard tales of how it was because of his betrayal of Gorlois that Uther had lost his Kingdom. But he had not even been King at that Time.

  At the Celebration of Treaties, Uther had been honoured for his role in the winning of the so-called “Alleluia Battle” by killing Vortigern; yet in truth, he was not the Commander of that battle. No, it was much later that he had become a “King” of sorts. But news travels very slowly across this Island, so I can understand how people might have confused events.

  In the fifth year after the so-called “Alleluia Battle,” Uther’s, and my, renowned brother Ambrosius Aurelius died. I knew this had happened before anyone told me so, for upon that Day I looked up into the Sky and to my amazement beheld a great Comet. Like a Dragon with a Fiery red tail it was, signaling the Death of one of Briton’s greatest sons. I grieved mightily. Ambrosius was a good man and a true hero. I had Loved my brother well.

  Events transpired in such a way that after Ambrosius’ Death many battles against the marauding Eire were fought and won by Uther, the Champion. The Time came when all the Dux and Chieftains seemed to fall under his charismatic sway and almost unanimously decided to make Uther Great War Commander over all the Clans of the West, the North and the Roman-styled Britons alike. They called him a King.

  So it seemed that the wish and The Dream that had been born in Macsen Wledig had finally come to pass. So it seemed.

  But Uther was a man who allowed his emotions to rule him, and little by little, over Time, this became evident to everyone.

  He meant to be a man of his word, but he gave too many pledges and promises to too many people, which were impossible for him to keep – much as I believe he would have wished to do so. He drank too much and he talked too much when he drank. In his drunken stupors he would offer this to this Chieftain or that to that Clansman... many Times his offers conflicted.

  I had stayed by Uther’s side, to watch these events unfold, for I had a great stake in what was to be the future of Uther the Pen Dragon’s son, Arthur. For it was he who would become the true High King of these Fair Isles.

  I acted as councilor to Uther for over fourteen full years, although my frustration kept mounting, for he rarely listened – or acted – upon a word I said. I believe that he kept me around because he Loved me in his own way. I stayed by Uther’s side, watching these events unfold – and as much as my honour would allow, I helped him to patch things up when he made stupid and foolish mistakes. But finally there came an end to it.

  The Time came that, because of his debaucheries, his power and his prowess began to wane. He grew fat and began to lose battles. This caused much disgruntlement against him amoungst all the other Commanders and nobility and even amoungst the common people.

  One Day when I was reading a book in my chamber, my thoughts were interrupted by a feeling of impending doom. Uther... Where was Uther? Something made me get up from my repose. I grabbed my cloak and staff, ran out of Uther’s fortress and began to run South. To whence I did not know, but I ran. From morning to near Sundown I pursued my fear. Finally I came to a small grove of Ash Trees on the edge of where the trail began a serpentine course into a more deeply Forested area. I stopped. “Yes, this is the place…” I thought to myself. I caught my breath and stood watching from behind an old Tree. Uther would be here soon.

  It was the evening of the rising of the Dark Moon. The Sun had already fallen well below the line of Treetops and twilight had begun. Twilight.. my favourite Time... an Enchanted Time... A ‘tween Time... neither Day nor Night. A Mist was rising. I began to feel a prickling on the back of my neck.

  Then I saw him coming, riding his great Warhorse in a panic. He had a look of terror upon his face. His Horse, whose mouth was foaming, was stumbling over rocks, for Uther was leading him off the path and into unknown terrain.

  That was when I heard other movement. Six riders were in quick pursuit of him. Uther was being ambushed by some of the most powerful men in the Kingdom. I recognized them…

  Uther seemed like he had aged thirty years in the more than twelve since that fateful Night of his mating with Igraine. He was an older man now – old beyond his years. His face had a deep expression of sorrow and resentfulness upon it – and a bubbling anger was in his heart. He was a cynical man. I read his thoughts: “Look at all I have done for this Island – look at all I have done for them and now they seek to betray me – to kill me. I wonder which ones they are?”

  “I have heard that they fight amoung themselves already, of who would be King when I die... When I die! I am not dead!”

  But they came ever closer and the evening fog grew thicker.

  I began to run swiftly toward him. But then, it seemed that I turned into the Hawk that is my namesake. My consciousness left me and I flew into the heights. I encircled Uther and peered down upon the scene. Had he seen me?

  Then one man, who was the swiftest, caught up to him.

  Uther took out his sword – the sword of the King. It had been made for him. It was very beautiful and he kept the blade as sharp as a blade could be. He withdrew it, held it up and said, “Come on then! If you would be King, if you would have me not be King, see if you can defeat me. I am Uther, The Pen Dragon! I am the terrible, wonderful King Dragon! – the Chieftain of the Dragons!... Come and get me if you will!”

  They closed in on him. Just then his Horse stumbled and he was thrown to the ground. His sword flew from his hand. His Horse staggered and fell over his left leg and crushed it. Uther howled for a moment in agony, for he was sorrowfully injured – but then he stopped. He knew that he was trapped. But he would not show fear. If this was his Time to die he would die like the great Warrior that he was.

  They stood around him, with their swords pointed at him, and they threw accusations at him – no doubt trying to make themselves feel better about killing their King. But Uther said:

  “I am an unarmed man. I lie injured beneath this Horse – what fairness is there in this? Which one of you will claim that you bested me in battle? You cannot truthfully say it and you would be dishonourable in the sight of the Gods if you did.”

  They looked at each other, and almost with one voice said: “True, there is not one of us can claim this, Uther.”

  Uther gave them a crooked smile and said “Ahh!” – in understanding. Just then all the blades at once were pointed at the center of Uther’s chest and plunged into it. His expression was one of surprise – just for a moment – and then his expression did not change.

  Therein was the end of Uther, the Pen Dragon, so called “King” of the Britons – and the end of The Dream that all had shared – or so they thought.

  The men looked at each other and as if at a word simply walked away to leave him where he had fallen. There would be no hero’s pyre for Uther... No Warrior’s salute... In fact, one of his former compatriots spat upon his corpse!

  Then I ran to Uther’s body from my hiding place in the Oaken thick – from whence I had been watching this disgracefu
l assassination. The men who were abandoning their former “King” to the “Feast of Ravens” saw me approaching and became horrified. For in fact, all knew that I was the King’s Magician!

  By this Time in my life I had attained such great fame that a fearfulness and a dread of me was held by each and all – except of course, for those who Loved me well.

  I said to the assassins, “So be it then, if this is how you will have it. But remember – forget not – that Uther died as King of the Britons. Remember always...”

  They looked quizzically at each other then replied, “What difference does this make now? There be no heir of his blood!”

  As far as anyone yet knew, that was true. Of course, no one knew of Arthur – the boy called “The Bear.” For, even though Uther had a voracious sexual appetite that seemed as though it could not be quenched, never had there been so much as a rumour of a child of his loins being born.

  I replied in a stern voice, “I tell you remember! Remember that you named him King. You called him Pen Dragon!”

  As I said these words I stared into each of their eyes. There was a blazing and a searing which emanated from my eyes, etching directly into theirs an indelible thought.

  “You named him King.”

  It has been said that a couple of these men went mad – for Day and Night all they could do was to remember and repeat my words over and over, “You named him king. You called him Pen Dragon.”

  The rest of them kept their sanity, but every Day, even if only once, they remembered that they had named Uther “King.” Never did they forget. This was to be useful to me in the future, because of Arthur.

  The reason why it was so important that they all remember that Uther had been murdered as King and had not been bested by another Champion was this: It has been, for Time out of memory, the Clans’ custom that when a King dies without an heir of his blood, the one who bests him in battle and defeats him has the best claim to become the next King.

  When these men had fled the scene, I buried Uther. Atop the mound of soil covering his grave, I heaped a pile of Stones and began to mark it by placing the King’s Sword upright amoung them. Something restrained me. I wondered if Uther’s sword could be the “Flaming Sword” of my Vision. I did not believe that it was, but perhaps... I thought it would be a fitting emblem for Uther’s rightful heir, the next King – King Arthur. So I wrapped it in skins, and took it with me to hide with Brennos, for I had decided that it was Time to go back to the Snowy Mountains, so as to rest awhile in his Cave of Wonders. So, instead of the sword, I tied two sticks together with vine in the shape of a cross and placed it to mark the place of Uther’s final rest.

  So it was that, in the eleventh year of the Bear’s life, the man from whose lust and greed he had been conceived, had died.

  My brother Uther was gone... And indeed, I did shed some tears.

  Return to the Cave of Wonders...

  Brennos and his Cave had been the saviours of my boyhood. The measure of comfort I felt then and have always felt there with Brennos is one of the greatest treasures of my life. So, immediately after Uther’s slaying I began to wend my way back to Brennos.

  It took several Days of walking to finally arrive at Brennos’ Cave. When I did, I called out as I had done when a child:

  “Is anybody here? Does anybody live here?”

  The very old voice of my teacher laughed and said, “Come in, my boy – I have been waiting for you!”

  We embraced, both joyous in our hearts. I was “home” once again.

  “Come and have some wine with me!”

  I replied, “Thank you so much Master Brennos, but I do not drink the Fruit of the Vine which has fermented. However I would take some hot Water with honey, if you have it.”

  “Certainly” said he.

  I remember that we lit two wall lamps inside the Cave as darkness fell. The light from these gave sparkle to the Crystals embedded in the walls surrounding us. Oh yes, this was a Magical place – for Brennos was a Magical being.

  I told him of Uther’s decline and Death and reminded him of my Vision of the “Flaming Sword.”

  He sat silently in amazement at all the happenings which had been maneuvered into place by the Weavers – and was in awe of those things which he then understood were yet to take place.

  I pulled out of my travel sack the great sword of Uther’s that I had taken from his side on the Day he was slain. I unwrapped it from its leathern covering, so as to show it to Brennos.

  “Brennos, when I hold this Sword in my hands I feel the fading of power – the dwindling of a Dream. I feel what is left of the Spirit of Uther, my brother. But I do not feel that this is the Flaming Sword of my Vision. For one thing, it does not appear the same as did that one.

  “This Sword is a Roman Long Sword and it has not a cruciform hilt. And it holds not the heat of true power.

  “These things, in themselves, would not bother me – for Visions are not always solid, but are shifting things like as seen through Water – though at other Times Visions are as clear as the Crystals here in your Cave. Still, I trust my Visions.

  “I believe that the only flame it has ever held was the passion of Uther. But now Uther’s flame has been extinguished through his own folly.

  “I think this is not the sword of my Vision – what think you, Brennos?”

  Brennos, of course could not see the Sword well, so I placed it into his hands – for, although mostly blind, he had vision as clear as the Eagle of Rome – through his “inner eye.”

  He said, “No, I do not feel the power of the Gods coursing through this Sword.”

  “Still, I would leave it with you Brennos, if this is alright, so that you might protect it, for I believe that it may prove valuable in assuring others of Arthur’s true paternity.”

  “Of course it is alright, Gwyddion; I will keep it for you…

  “However, the Time has come for me to tell you a great secret that was told to me by my master, who trained me to be the Creature that I am.”

  Well, my ears perked at this and I said, “Tell me!”

  “Well, then, I will... this is what my master Ea Kunagos told me – word for word – I remember it clearly: ‘There is an ancient Sword of Kings on these Isles, going back farther in Time than anyone remembers. Macsen Wledig himself wielded this sword. It was by and through this Sword that he won all of his battles. Its blade is of a metal sharper than any other known – which looks as if – and is stronger than – silver, but of course, is not. Where the blade meets the hilt of solid gold are two Dragons’ heads, which extend from its sides. Each Dragon’s head has precious Stones of red as its eyes. Where the hilt meets the blade, it is embellished with one great clear green Stone, which sits centered between the Dragons. Legends claim that the green Stone is a piece of the Star Stone that fell from the Heavens and now sits upon the Altar in the center of the ring of Standing Stones atop the Tor, on the Isle of Apples. It is said that when Macsen lifted the sword in battle, it glowed green, then flamed blue! Its name is Caledfwlch.

  ‘Macsen Wledig came to his Kingship of Briton by right of his marrying Princess Helen who held the royal blood of King Hen Coel of olden fame, whose sword Caledfwlch had also been.

  ‘But Macsen Wledig, when he knew that it was near to his Time to die, hid it away from all sight; for it is said, “He found not a man living of righteous intent, who would be King.”

  ‘Or mayhap he was simply too prideful to admit his waning power. It may even be that the Voices – which he would have thought to be Angelic – whispered in his ears that the true King must find the sword himself! No one really knows. Caledfwlch has been lost to the world of men ever since.

  ‘It is said that only when the rightful King – or Queen – wields the “Sword of Kingship,” will its flame glow – the sign that they cannot be defeated in battle. For, this is the Magic of the ancient sword, “Caledfwlch.”

  ‘Know this too; any imposter or usurper, who covets it and tries to wiel
d it un-deservedly, will be struck down dead by a bolt from the Thunder Gods, the moment he, or she, holds it in their hands.

  ‘Farther back beyond King Hen Coel, its glory enters into the Time of Gods, Heroes, and myth.

  ‘The oldest myth of all says that Caledfwlch was first brought to this Island by Igraine’s people – the Old Dark Tribes… that it arrived upon one of the first one hundred boats cast off from the Island that sank beneath the Waves... Who knows?’

  “But, back to Macsen Wledig...

  ‘He and Helen had a son named Flavius Victor. His son, in turn, was also named Victor. He was known in the Cymru tongue as Gwidr the Younger... Gwidr – or Victor – the Younger and his true wife had two sons. The eldest was Ambrosius Aurelius, and the younger was Badraig Constantius – known as Uther the Pen Dragon. Later, Victor begat you upon your Mother Alexandria, who was, through her Mother, Grandmother and Grandfather, also in the direct Royal hereditary line of King Hen Coel.

  “Some say that Caledfwlch lies hidden in the protection of the Lady of the Lake.”

  Each Time Brennos said “Caledfwlch,” my skin prickled and my heart quickened. My head inside felt as if it would explode with my eyes popping outwards. Everything around me became wavy and translucent. I knew this feeling well. It was “the sickness” – a bit of nausea, dizziness, and spinning... Such an unearthly feeling it is – as though I lie suspended betwixt two realms... un-grounded in either... apart... ill. It comes with the “sight.” Then the “Voices of the Stars,” once again, whispered into my ear.

  “Yes Gwyddion, that one is the Sword of Kings, the sword of flaming truth. Caledfwlch... Caledfwlch is for the one and rightful King to wield.

  “Ambrosius is dead now, Gwyddion, and so now is Uther. You know that you are the rightful heir in the line of Macsen and Hen Coel, through your Father, Victor – but also through your mother. Yes, Gwyddion, it is you who has the truest hereditary right to the rulership of Briton... Blood tells blood, Gwyddion – bastard or no. Only a true heir of Macsen’s and Helen’s blood will ever find the Sword of Kings. All other lines have died out.