by Mary Stewart
“Yes. This grail was there?”
“Indeed. A great golden cup, they say, jewelled and with wings for handles, along with other things – I forget what – but all priceless. Things saved from the emperor’s treasury and brought back to this country after his death abroad. It was kept secret somehow, and the treasure stayed buried while the Mithraeum rotted and fell in over it. Merlin took nothing but the sword. He –” Her voice was suddenly acid – “he thought he had no need of the grail.”
“But you have?”
“Need! I like to think not, but I desire it. Alex my love, I desire it!” She set her wine aside untasted, and turning with arms held out, took his face between her hands. “More, if it were possible, than I desire you! No, no, my dear, hear me out! That grail, cup as you call it, I believe it to be more magical even than the sword! I know that whoever owns it has power, and the protection of the greater gods. I have seen this in the crystal and heard it in the whispering of the dark spirits of the air.”
He would have drawn back at that, but her hands held him and her eyes compelled him. The fumes of the wine he had drunk were warm in his brain. He said, whispering in his turn: “I will get it for you, Morgan my enchantress. Of course I will! There can surely be no wrong in it, treasure buried by Macsen’s troops so many years back? And you are royal, of Macsen’s house; you have a right to it, as Arthur had to the sword! I will get it for you. At Segontium, you said? Only tell me where it is, this temple of Mithras!”
She let him go, and sank back among the cushions. “It’s there no longer. Nimuë has it.”
“Nimuë?”
“Yes, that bitch of Merlin’s. He told her where it was. She wormed it out of him as he lay sick and near death, and then she went and lifted the rest of the treasure, grail and all, from the ruins of the Mithraeum, and took it down to Arthur at Caerleon. I’m told that neither the High King nor old Merlin would touch it. So she took it back to her home in the north, and it has never been seen since that day.”
He said, after a pause: “And Count Ferlas?”
“Oh, yes. He went to Luguvallium and asked here and there, but no matter of that. It’s a long story, and he got nowhere. He could not come near Nimuë. He found out nothing, and his brother took ill of a fever, and died, so Ferlas came back.”
“Was it a spell, the sickness?”
“Who knows? Are you afraid?”
“I’m not afraid of witches, not now,” said Alexander, and laughed. She looked at him, momentarily startled by the suddenly adult and almost indulgent tone, then laughed with him.
“Nor you are, my lover. Then you will go and get this magical cup for me?”
“I said I would.” He hesitated again. “If you will promise me something.”
“Conditions? I have said I will love you.” A smile of charming mischief that hid a secret amusement. “I will even serve your wine in the grail when you bring it here.”
A half-shake of the head. He was quite serious now. “Only tell me – promise me – that when you have this magical cup in your hands with, what did you say? all the power of the greater gods, you will use it only to help yourself to freedom, and after that, in the service of the High King.”
For a moment he thought he had said too much. The sudden flash in her eyes reminded him that he was still, if not strictly a prisoner here in the Dark Tower, very much in her power. But she needed him. Her brother Arthur might move at any moment to have her transferred to stricter rule, and she had a shrewd idea that where the blunt soldier Ferlas and his predecessor had failed to come near Nimuë’s secret, the innocent and patently loyal Alexander might succeed. So she only smiled, with a kind of sad sweetness, and lifted a hand to touch his cheek again.
“All I want is the power the grail will give me to win clear of my brother’s mistrust, and stay free from my sister’s dreadful fate. To protect me, Alex, no more, and then to serve him. I know it can. Will you grant me this?”
“Of course I will! I promise it!”
Three days later, with his horse fresh, his weapons burnished, and a new embroidered cloak over his shoulders, Alexander set out for the north, and the kingdom of Rheged, where there was a castle belonging to Pelleas, husband of Nimuë the enchantress.
28
This had happened before; the day was fine, he was well armed, astride his good horse, and adventure lay ahead of him. But Alexander had no thought for the past. Then he had been a very young man, whereas now … His thoughts still full of his mistress, and of their farewell love-making last night, he rode at an easy canter along the river’s side.
His lovesick abstraction was almost his undoing. Though, warned by his former accident hereabouts, he was riding with some care for the roughness of the track, his horse shied so suddenly, and seemingly for no reason, that he was almost unseated. He came to himself with a mild curse, controlled the horse, and only then saw the ghost that had caused it to shy.
She did indeed look very ghostlike, a slight figure in a grey cloak that fluttered in the breeze, a lady whom he did not for a moment recognise. Then he saw it was the Lady Luned, alone, and apparently, from her pallor and the way she held to the stem of a young silver birch tree, frightened. The horse stood still, held hard, but rolling a white-edged eye. The lady took a step forward, still clinging to the sapling’s stem as if without its support she might have fallen. But she spoke prosaically.
“I’m sorry if I startled your horse. I thought it must be you, but I dared not be seen, in case –” She hesitated.
“In case?”
“In case perhaps it was one of the queen’s people.”
“Were you waiting for me, then?” The banal question came out of embarrassment. He had looked for the lady that morning to take his leave of her and thank her for her kindness, only to be told that she had not yet left her chamber. He should, in courtesy, have waited; he knew that quite well. But in his eagerness to be gone on his new mission, and at the queen’s insistence, he had left messages merely, and ridden out as soon as he had broken his fast.
He said quickly: “I looked for you earlier, but your women said you were not yet about. I wished to give you my thanks for all you did for me, and I’m very happy to have this chance to thank you. But why – I mean, how is it you’ve come out here alone, and so early? To speak with me? Why, lady? Surely not just to say God speed?”
“I rode out early, and left my women to say I was still abed. My horse is tied up back there, out of sight in the wood. I had to see you. While you were at the castle I was powerless to come to you in private, but now …”
Her voice died. Her hands plucked nervously at her cloak. He regarded her for a moment, frowningly, then slid down from the saddle and offered her his arm. “You have something to tell me? Some commission to give me? Willingly – though I don’t know how long it will be before I’ll be able to return. Come, lady, if it’s a secret matter, then let us go into cover and talk there. Where did you leave your horse?”
Her mare was tethered in a clearing some thirty yards back into the forest. Alexander slipped the chestnut’s reins over its head, and let the beast graze. He looked round for a stump, a boulder, a fallen bough for the lady to sit on, but there was nothing, and she shook her head, speaking urgently, and still with that look of fear.
“No. There’s no time. I must get back before she misses me. My lord, will you hear me out? I know – who does not? – that you are Queen Morgan’s man, and that she has sent you out today as she has sent others of her lovers –”
“This to me, madam? You cannot think that I will listen –”
“Oh, don’t be a fool!” The outburst was so sudden, so violent, so uncharacteristic of her, that he was silenced. She swept on, a spot of colour showing now in either cheek: “You can never have thought you were the first, or even the only one! Since her lord put her aside for Accolon, she has never been long without a lover. And now that she has this – this passion for Macsen’s treasure – oh, yes, everyone knows it!
– why do you think Ferlas went north for her? And Julian his brother? And at least one other before that! Did she tell you that Julian died? And now it is you!”
“Do you think I’m afraid of danger? And as for Accolon, that old tale, she was trapped by him –”
“As she was trapped by you?” She took a step nearer and her hand gripped his arm. The grasp was so fragile, the hand so thin and tremulous, that paradoxically he could not wrest himself away. “Please!” she begged him. “Please listen!” And by the same paradox, because she was not young and beautiful, but a plain woman who had shown him kindness, and whose hand shook on his arm with fear, he held himself in and listened.
“I only wish you well.” She spoke quickly, breathlessly. “I want you to know that. And that’s the only reason why I came here today to tell you the truth before you go further on this perilous quest for the queen. If what I have to tell you is hurtful, then I am sorry. But by any god you call your own, it is the truth.”
She stopped and cleared her throat. He said nothing. In some strange way he already half knew what she was going to tell him. In the brief ride from the castle in the bracingly sweet air of morning he had felt, once more, a sort of shamefaced relief at the freedom from the drowsy, honey-scented toils that had held him captive.
She went on: “It’s true that when King Urbgen put her aside it was for adultery, but this was a small matter beside her treachery to her brother the High King. It was Morgan who persuaded Accolon to steal the sword of power, and use it against the King. No, hear me! She said that the sword was for Urbgen, but that was afterwards, to clear herself of blame! The truth is that she gave the sword to Accolon to use in single combat against the High King, thinking that Arthur must needs be killed, and that afterwards she, with her lover, would have the royal sword of power. The plot failed, and because she is Arthur’s sister, she was not put to death, as her lover was, but put aside by King Urbgen, who is Arthur’s man, and placed under guard. You have seen how rigorous her imprisonment is! Comfort, luxury even, and the freedom to ride abroad when she wishes! Why do you think she wants this treasure? Did she tell you?”
“She believes there is a jewelled cup that holds some sort of power –”
“Yes, yes, this power. Why does she want that? She already has her own sort of power, as everyone knows, and as she would be the first to tell you.”
He hesitated. “Her imprisonment is not severe, I grant you that, but,” he quoted, remembering, “‘it is still imprisonment’. She wants the power to bring herself free and once more to her brother’s side, to help him with her magic. She – you said everyone knows she has magic at her disposal.”
“Magic?” Surprisingly, there was contempt in Luned’s voice. “Oh yes, she has magic, skills of one kind and another. No one denies that! And least of all should you, my lord!”
“Madam –”
“Oh, no, I don’t mean her woman’s wiles. I mean the magic she used to make them work on you. The drugs she uses. Has used, almost daily, on you!”
“Lady Luned –”
“Wait. I am nearly done. I only came to tell you this because I am afraid of what she might do were she ever to get this extra power, a power that both Merlin and the High King held in such awe that they hid it from men’s sight. My lord –” the tremulous hand was on his arm again – “I beg you, I beg you, now that you are free, stay away! Never come back! Never! Do you understand?”
“How can I? I am pledged –”
“Even so. It would be better if you never went to look for this treasure, but if you should ever find it, I want you to think hard before you bring it back to her. She told you that she would never use it for the High King’s hurt?”
“Yes.”
She dropped the hand from his arm, and took a step away from him; another. When she turned to face him again, she looked older, frailer, honed down by fear. “Did she tell you what these ‘councils’ are that she holds in that private chamber in the east tower?”
“Of course. It’s all that is left to her of a court and a following.”
“And of course she invited you to join them?”
“She wanted to. She would have done soon. She said so.”
“Did she say what they discussed so secretly, up in the tower?”
“Since Ferlas came back she has been consulting with her knights about this quest that means so much to her.”
“Did she tell you that the knight who died, Count Ferlas’s brother Julian, was pledged to marry me?”
“Why, no! I didn’t know that. I’m sorry –” He began to stammer something, but she cut him short.
“She knew it, so she saw to it that he went on this quest of hers. And I believe,” said Luned, so calmly that against his will Alexander found himself believing it, too, “that if he did indeed die from some evil spell cast, it was she who cast it.”
“But why?”
“So that he might not return. Oh, yes, she would not like one of her following casting his eyes at anyone but herself, but it was more than that. She was afraid he would tell me of those meetings in the east tower. But she was too late. I already knew.”
Silence. Alexander stood like a stone, looking down at his feet, wondering what to do, what to say, what to believe. One did not give a lady the lie. Besides, he owed her much kindness, perhaps even his life. But this, from one who had been Morgan’s own lady-in-waiting? She was going on, still in that calm, expressionless voice which, by its very lack of emphasis, carried some sort of conviction. Something about a faction of young dissidents, men from the outlying Celtic lands, who were dissatisfied with the King’s peace and the strong central government that Arthur had imposed on the small kingdoms of Britain. Now that there were no wars to prosecute, and justice was in the hands, not of the petty kings, but of the council in the Round Hall at Camelot, many high-spirited and hot-headed young outlanders were fretting at the lack of action. The Young Celts they called themselves. Harmless enough when it had started, it now seemed as if the young adventurers were being banded together and manipulated by self-seeking men, against the interests of the High King and the united kingdom he had fought to establish. And Queen Morgan’s court was one of the meeting-places of the rebellious faction.
“You must believe me!” she was saying earnestly.
He was silent, remembering his own eagerness to avenge himself on March of Cornwall, the joy of his first skirmish, the excitement of the fight by the River Severn, and even this morning’s high anticipation of adventure. This much of her tale he could believe.
“And these are the councils that she holds here,” said Luned. “Not often enough to alert the guards who might report to the King, but whenever there is some excuse. Once Julian was pledged to me, he was a danger. So he did not come back.”
There were some things one could not believe. He still said nothing. She regarded him for another moment or two, then asked, gently: “You will still go on this quest?”
“I must. I am pledged. Besides, what you have told me –” He stopped.
“You cannot, or will not, believe? I understand that. I’ll say no more. Only this I beg of you, that if you do find this grail, and you still believe that it is only to be used in the High King’s service, that you do not carry it back here, or to Castell Aur, but that you go first to Camelot and let Arthur himself judge whether or not his sister is to have it.”
“How can I?”
“Without impugning her? Or is it because you know in your heart that he would not let her come near it?”
“Lady –” he said, desperately.
“And you would call yourself a loyal subject of the High King? Or would have done, a short few weeks ago?”
The only sounds in the clearing were the steady munching of the horses, and the sudden shrill song of a robin hidden somewhere in a holly-tree.
“Is that all?” he asked at length. His voice was rough.
She nodded, rather sadly. “That is all, except to thank you for liste
ning to me. I don’t even ask you to believe me; you will find out for yourself once you are away and free from – once you are away. But I have one other request of you.”
“What is that?”
From under the grey robe she brought a flask, gilt-stoppered, and housed in a leathern bag. “This is wine brewed by the monks in the house beyond the river bridge, and sent to us each year as a gift. I beg that you will accept it for your journey.”
He took it, and began a little awkwardly to thank her, but she smiled and shook her head.
“That is only half the request. The rest is this – that you throw away the cordial that the queen gave you last night.”
This time the silence was intense. Even the horses, as if sensing something, stopped their grazing to raise their heads and stare.
He said tightly: “How do you know she gave me a cordial last night?”
“Did you not understand what I said before? That you have been drugged, enchanted, what you will, from the moment she saw you, and marked you as the next man to be sent on this ceaseless search of hers for the power and influence she once had, and lost through treachery?”
Alexander, in after years, was never to cease regretting what he did next. Luned’s gilt-stoppered flask went hurtling to the ground, he jerked the chestnut’s head up from the grass and swung himself to the saddle, struck the spurs home and sent the big horse plunging out of the clearing and down to the road, leaving her standing there.
29
It must not be thought that Alexander was quite so blind and foolish that he had imagined his mistress to be blameless, or himself to be irrevocably in love. Queen Morgan herself boasted of her witchcraft, and he respected and feared her powers, which, in fact, had made her interest in him the more flattering and exciting. She was, besides, very lovely, and he was young, so when she seemed bent to use her magic to entrap him to her bed for the kind of love-making that was new to his youthful and somewhat limited experience, why then he had gone to her whistle, as they say, and had enjoyed himself hugely, in spite of the recurring weakness brought about by the low fever that he had seemed unable to shake off.