“No,” said Menw, casting his eyes up at the scudding, grey clouds against the deepening red of the sky. “There is a strong northerly wind. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before! That wind will drive more water through the straits and cause an earlier slack water. We may even have missed it!”
They tried to leave the inn as inconspicuously as possible although Arthur knew he was not alone in wanting to bolt out of the place as fast as he could. If they could stop Anna before she set sail, the cauldron would be theirs and the Morgens’ plan defeated!
They broke into a run as they left the settlement and approached the river. It was little more than a muddy trickle at that time of day but it would soon swell with the incoming tide. They followed it down to the bay. Several fishing boats were beached on the mud awaiting the tide but all were too small to accommodate them.
Grassy dunes swept away to the right of the estuary and on their left, a long golden beach met the curling waves. In the far distance, across the rushing straits, the mountain ranges of their homeland could be made out.
“Look down there!” cried Beduir. “A boat!”
Down in the churning shallows, a small craft bobbed about. In its hold sat a bulky object wrapped in cloth while five Gaels unfurled the sails and steered the craft out past the breakers. At the stern sat a figure in billowing black robes.
“Damn them!” said Cei as the wind filled the small square sail and carried the boat out. He looked towards a collection of ramshackle huts surrounded by piles of netting. Several fishermen stood by, watching the evening’s events with interest. “Get over to those fishing huts and see if anybody has a boat. I’m not losing that cauldron now!”
They hurried over to the huts and the fishermen fled, not wanting to stand in the way of whatever seven hardened warriors and a girl with a bow wanted. A boat was found with a mast and sail that looked promising enough and they began hauling it down towards the gradually encroaching water.
“Up there, look!” cried Guihir, his eyes fixed on the dune tops behind the fishing huts.
Cei cursed. The outlines of several warriors could be seen etched against the darkening sky. “Our presence in the village did not go unnoticed after all,” he said. “Hurry!”
A spear thrown from the dunes whickered through the air and planted itself in the beach a few paces from Arthur sending up a spray of sand. Guenhuifar unslung her bow and drew an arrow from her quiver.
“Watch it, Guenhuifar!” Arthur called. “Don’t make yourself such an easy target!”
She ignored him as a second spear hurtled its way towards her, whistling over her head. She took aim and loosed her arrow at the man who had thrown it. The shaft lodged directly between his eyes and he fell back and out of sight without even a cry.
“By Christ, woman, but you can shoot!” said Beduir.
They were nearly into the shallows now and Guenhuifar loosed another arrow in the direction of the Gaels. They had ducked out of sight and were trying to creep around the dunes and come at them on their left flank.
Arthur felt the chill of the water seep into his breeches as they splashed into the waves and the boat rose beneath his hands, buoyed by the tide. The waves lifted and dropped the little vessel with such force that it threatened to overturn. Guenhuifar slung her bow over her shoulder and splashed towards them to help push them out.
“Those Gaels will be upon us any second if we don’t get this boat out past the breakers,” said Arthur, glancing up at the beach.
Sure enough, the dark figures of the enemy could be seen running across the sands towards them. “Come with us,” he said to Guenhuifar. “We can’t leave you here to face them. They’ll kill you.”
Guenhuifar hesitated. “My family…”
“You’re no good to them dead,” said Arthur, grabbing her by the arm. “It’s us the Gaels want, not them. Your family will be safe in Aberffraw for the time being. Come with us, Guenhuifar, I beg you. Come with us and help us win this war.” The waves lapped around their thighs and she stared at him, her eyes filled with indecision. “When it is all over, you will return to your family and live out your days in peace. I promise.”
“That is a big promise, Arthur mab Enniaun.”
“Come on!” bellowed Cei from the boat. Beduir and Cundelig were already unfurling the sail and the little craft bobbed about, listing and reeling as its crew found their seats.
Guenhuifar turned her gaze away from the beach and scrambled up into the boat, assisted by Cei and Gualchmei. Arthur followed, rolling into the keel just as the Gaels splashed into the shallows.
Their curses were drowned out as the wind caught the sail and the boat rose and fell as it crested a wave. Up ahead, they could see the other craft, small and black, following the coastline of Ynys Mon as it curved around to the south-east and entered the straits. It was nearly high tide and the current was strong.
“She dares try and pass the straits at high tide?” Beduir marvelled.
“The northern wind caught her unawares and she is trying to outrun the tide,” said Menw. “Foolish, but we are no less so for following her.”
“On!” cried Cei. “There is no going back now! On and after her!”
The straits narrowed and the current picked up. The waters grew choppy and Beduir struck the sail. They had no need of it now.
“She’s heading into the Swellies!” said Cei.
“She has little choice,” said Menw. “And neither do we. We can’t fight that current.”
“This is madness!” said Gualchmei. “Look at those whirlpools! We’ll be hurled about like a spinning top!”
“Nothing for it, lad!” cried Menw. “Just hold on and pray to your gods!”
They did just that. The current caught them and sucked them along, jolting them back and forth as conflicting currents fought for dominance over the little vessel.
The water foamed and swirled about them as the boat rocked and bucked. Salty spray lashed their faces and slopped over the bulwarks. Rocks, treacherous and jagged could be seen poking through the water, threatening to rip a hole in their keel while the eddies that formed behind them sucked and twisted.
A large wave rolled up and slammed into the side of the boat, pushing it sideways. Arthur heard Guenhuifar scream as the boat lurched to one side. As water filled it, he lost his purchase on the slippery wood. He slid towards the bulwark and struck it hard. The wind was knocked from his chest and he tumbled over the side into the foaming torrent.
The water was cold and the current strong. He struggled to fight his way to the surface, his lungs choking for air. He reeled, end over end, not knowing which way was up. For a moment he heard the cries of his companions but then water filled his ears and blocked them out. Panic gripped him and all he could think of was Manawydan’s large, watery hands clasping him around his middle and dragging him down, down into the blackness.
Part IV
“The heavy blue chain held the faithful youth,
And before the spoils of Annwn woefully he sings,
And till doom shall continue a bard of prayer.”
- The Spoils of Annwn, The Book of Taliesin (trans. Mary Jones, 2015)
Arthur
Arthur felt grass, soft and warm under his cheek. There was a pleasant smell too, of apple blossoms in spring. He rolled over and saw blue skies above, clear without a cloud to spoil the perfect azure. He sat up. His clothes were dry. His last memories were of drowning in the straits. Now he was here in the sunshine surrounded by small dark apple trees engulfed in white blossom.
He got up and looked around. The orchard stretched for as far as he could see; rolling green hills dotted with apple trees. White petals drifted on the gentle breeze.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” said a voice beside him.
He turned to see a girl of about his age in a white dress standing next to him. She had auburn hair that looked on the verge of flowering into the fiery redness of adulthood. She put him in mind of Guenhuifar, only younger.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“In my country,” she replied.
“Am I dead?”
“No. But you will be if you remain here for too long.”
“Who are you?”
“I am the grass and the trees and the deep, dark earth. You are Arthur mab Enniaun Yrth, son of the Pendraig and you seek my cauldron.”
“Your cauldron?”
“Come, it is time for you to return to your companions and complete your quest.”
“How?”
She walked over to a tree which bore a single apple, red and ripe. She plucked it. “Take a bite,” she said, holding it to his lips.
She held his gaze as he bit down into the crisp fruit. As his teeth split the surface, the apple’s juices filled his mouth and he had never tasted anything so sweet. The breeze grew in strength and the branches of the apple trees bent and swayed. Their petals blew free and engulfed him, picking him up and carrying him away from the girl in the white dress.
He could see nothing but white petals and he felt suddenly cold. The petals washed away from him and he realized that they were petals no more. They were foaming, white waves rolling away from him.
He was on a lone stretch of muddy beach. The skies were grim and the hills grey. He knew this coast. It was the northern coast of Venedotia. The tide was going out and it was morning.
He staggered to his feet and looked about. He felt frozen to the bone and standing upright made his stomach heave. He bent over and vomited seawater. When he was done coughing and retching, he tried to make sense of what had happened.
He must have been washed ashore after he fell out of the boat and lain here unconscious all night. He remembered his dream about the orchard and the girl in white. It must have been a fever dream. And yet, surviving the straits was a miracle in itself. He had no answers and knew he wouldn’t find them on that grim beach.
His stomach, now emptied of seawater, cried out for food and he climbed up off the mud and into the thick gorse and long grass. He had to find Cei and Guenhuifar and the others but first he had to find out where exactly on the stretch of coastline he was. If he wasn’t careful, he could wander close to the enemy at Cair Dugannu.
He headed east, hoping to find some sign of the boat, wrecked or not. He saw nobody. The beach vanished as cliffs sank down to meet the water and he was forced into the woods that grew thick on the clifftops.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a large animal either in pain or fear. He had been around horses all his life and to him the awful sound was the sound of a brother in pain.
He followed the noise and came to a large hawthorn bush. In among the spiky tendrils was a beautiful white horse. It was a young one – only a foal – its white mane and tail tangled up in the coils of the bush. It was clearly trapped and frightened. It rolled its eyes and tossed its head from side to side in its effort to free itself but succeeded only in tearing its skin. Red blood streaked the downy whiteness of its flanks.
Arthur looked around for signs of its herd but the foal seemed to be alone. He wondered if it had strayed from its fellowship or perhaps they had abandoned him, unable to free him from his thorny prison. It did not look starved so its herd could not be too far away.
He approached slowly, wading through the thickness of the bush, palm outstretched while he made the sounds he had learned from boyhood that would calm a panicked horse. “Easy, boy,” he soothed. “I’m going to get you out of this.”
The horse tried to back away as Arthur drew the knife at his belt. He placed his palm on the foal’s neck to calm it. He could feel its sharp breaths and fast heartbeat and he patted the soft white coat. Beneath that shining down, powerful muscles flexed. This horse might only be a foal, but he was a strong lad.
With a few quick cuts the mane was free and Arthur moved himself over to reach the tail. Soon the foal was able to bolt from the hawthorn bush and cantered around the clearing, tossing his shaggy mane and shaking his head with joy.
Arthur laughed as he sheathed his knife, his spirits lifted at the sight of the freed animal. It truly was a magnificent beast; sturdy, handsome and of the purest white but for a speckling of grey on its hindquarters. It trotted a little way ahead of him and stopped, twitching his ears and flicking his tail.
“Well, so long little one,” said Arthur as he made to leave in the opposite direction. “Go and find your family. I must look for my own.”
But the foal whinnied angrily as Arthur left and reared up on its hind legs, kicking outwards with its front hooves.
“What is it, boy?” asked Arthur, surprised at the horse’s objection.
The foal blinked his long lashes and nuzzled his nose against Arthur’s chest.
“Well, I suppose our way might lie together,” he said. “For a while at least.”
They left the forest and crossed green hills. The foal led the way, seemingly intent on some direction unknown to Arthur. They followed the coast until a large bulge of land could be seen poking out into the sea. Arthur recognised it as the limestone headland which thrust out from the Creuthin peninsula, shielding Cair Dugannu.
“We should go no further, friend,” said Arthur to the foal. “Up ahead lies the mouth of the Afon Conui and the lair of the enemy. Those Gaels will kill me and set you to stud for their mares if they find us.”
But the foal would have none of it and wandered on ahead, ignoring Arthur’s best efforts to draw him back. He was intent on going a little further and veered towards the sands below them.
Arthur followed reluctantly. He kept his eyes open for Gaelic patrols, ready to flee for the cover of the woods if he spotted any. Then he froze.
Down on the beach was a vessel with a splintered mast and torn sail. It had been dragged up into the shade of the cliffs where it would only be visible to somebody approaching from the west.
A campfire had been built on the sand and two people squatted by it, tending a couple of roasting fish. Arthur recognised them as Cei and Guihir and nearly gave out a whoop of joy despite the need for caution.
“You did it, friend!” he said, patting the foal on the flank. “You found my companions!”
He half ran, half slid down the sandy embankment and, as he hit the wet beach below, Cei and Guihir rose up, drawing their weapons. When they saw that it was him, they sheathed them and ran to greet him.
“God be praised!” said Guihir. “We had all but given you up for dead!”
“We thought Manawydan’s watery grave had received a new tenant,” said Cei. “However did you survive?”
“I am not sure myself,” admitted Arthur.
“Who’s your friend?” Guihir asked, glancing at the white foal which had made its way down to the beach and was nosing the curl of the tide.
“I found him tangled up in a hawthorn bush,” said Arthur. “And he led me to you. I think he may have seen your shipwreck earlier today and knew that I was looking for more of my kind. A truly remarkable animal.”
Arthur glanced at the vessel they had stolen from Aberffraw. It was hopelessly wrecked and it was hard to believe it had carried his friends to shore at all. “What happened? Where are the others?”
On cue, Menw and Cundelig emerged from the makeshift shelter they had built under the brow of the cliffs, stretching and rubbing their joints.
“We awake seeking our breakfast and find our lost comrade has returned to us,” said Menw. “And not alone, either.”
“Beduir, Gualchmei and Guenhuifar are out looking for you as we speak,” said Cei. “They set out before dawn to scour the coast for you. Wherever did you wash up?”
“On a muddy strand further west,” Arthur replied. “I must have been unconscious all night. I had the strangest dreams…”
“Indeed?” asked Menw. “I would very much like to hear them. It is not everybody who is fortunate enough to survive a tumble into the straits at high water. But first I must feed my belly. I see Cei has done us proud and procured a feast from the w
aves!”
It was sarcasm but not of a cruel sort. Cei was no fisherman but he had managed to catch a couple of mackerel which crackled and spat over the flames.
They devoured the two fish and, when they were licking the juices from their fingers, Beduir, Gualchmei and Guenhuifar appeared on the clifftop above them.
“So, the lad thinks he can have us running around all morning looking for his body while he sneaks into camp and eats our breakfast!” said Beduir, a wide smile on his face.
“You’ve led us a merry chase, cousin!” said Gualchmei as they descended to the beach.
“As have you me,” said Arthur. “I’ve been wandering about all morning wondering if I was the only one of us left alive.”
Guenhuifar said nothing but a half-smile on her face told Arthur that she was relieved to see him alive. He wondered why that made him feel happier than even finding his comrades did. She carried Gualchmei’s bow and a brace of coneys over her shoulder.
“Guenhuifar couldn’t find any Gaels to shoot so these poor creatures had to do,” said Beduir. “Just as well, by the looks of things. Somebody needs to give you lot fishing lessons.”
Guenhuifar set about gutting and skinning the coneys while the others scavenged for more driftwood to burn. Menw sat down beside Arthur.
“I think it’s time we had a chat, lad.”
Arthur told him everything; about his dream, about the orchard and the girl in white. Menw listened intently, his dark eyes barely blinking until Arthur had finished.
“I think the goddess has looked upon you favourably,” said the old bard at last. “Few who wind up in the straits come out alive. And fewer still travel further than the boundaries of our world and return.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you’ve been to Annun, boy.”
“Annun? I was delirious, surely! I haven’t been quite myself since that slingshot to the head…” he fingered the stitches in his left temple.
“Perhaps,” mused Menw. “Or perhaps you drifted beyond death to the Isle of Apples and Modron herself sent you back to this world to finish what you have started.”
Sign of the White Foal Page 16