Pendragon pc-4 Page 11

Against enchantments great and small,

  Against every foul thing that corrupts body and soul.

  Jesu with him, before him, behind him;

  Jesu in him, beneath him, above him;

  Jesu on his right, Jesu on his left;

  Jesu when he sleeps, Jesu when he wakes;

  Jesu in the heart of everyone who thinks of him;

  Jesu in the mouth of everyone who speaks of him;

  Jesu in the eye of everyone who sees him.

  We uphold him today, through a mighty strength,

  the invocation of the Three in One,

  Through belief in God,

  Through confession of the Holy Spirit,

  Through trust in the Christ,

  Creator of all creation.

  Then, coming once more before Arthur, I said, 'Bow before the Lord of All, and swear your fealty to the High King you will serve.'

  Arthur prostrated himself face down before the altar, stretching out his hands to either side in the manner of a vanquished battlechief before his conqueror. Teilo and Dubricius stood at either hand, with Illtyd at Arthur's head.

  Dubricius, at Arthur's right hand, said, 'With this hand you will wield the Sword of Britain. What is your vow?'

  Arthur answered, 'With this hand I will wield the Sword of Britain in righteousness and fair judgment. By the power of God's might, I will use it to conquer injustice and punish those who practise harm. I will hold this hand obedient to my Lord God, used of him to do his work in this worlds-realm.'

  Teilo, standing at Arthur's left hand, said, 'With this hand you will hold the Shield of Britain. What is your vow?'

  'With this hand I will hold tight to the Shield of Britain in hope and compassion. Through God's will, I will protect the people who keep faith with me. I will hold this hand obedient to my Lord Jesu, used of him to do his work in this worlds-realm.'

  And then Illtyd, standing at Arthur's head, said, 'Upon your brow you will wear the Crown of Britain. What is your vow?'

  'Upon my brow I will wear the Crown of Britain in all honour and meekness. By the power of God's might and through his will, I will lead the kingdom through all things whatever shall befall me, with courage, with dignity, and with faith in the Christ who shall guide me while my body holds breath.'

  At this, the good priests replied, 'Rise in faith, Arthur ap Aurelius, taking the Christ to be your lord and saviour, honouring him above all earthly lords.'

  Arthur rose and Illtyd placed the slender golden circlet upon his head. Dubricius turned to the altar and took up Caliburnus – that is Caledvwlch, or Cut Steel, Arthur's great battle sword – and placed it in the king's right hand. Teilo took up Arthur's great battle shield, Prydwen, washed white and painted anew with the Cross of Jesu, and placed it in his left hand.

  I stepped close and, finding the brooch by touch, unfastened the cloak from Arthur's shoulders. Teilo and Dubricius brought forth a fine new cloak of imperial purple with gold edging – an emperor's cloak, and its significance would not be lost on men like Paulus and Urbanus. This cloak the blessed priests fastened at Arthur's shoulder with the silver stag-head brooch of Aurelius.

  Raising my staff once more, I cried, 'Go forth, Arthur Pendragon, to all righteousness and good works; rule justly and live honourably; be to your people a ready light and sure guide through all things, whatever may befall this worlds-realm.'

  Gripping the sword and shield, the new purple cloak around his shoulders, Arthur turned to gaze upon his subject lords.

  'People of Britain,' I called, 'here is your High King! I charge you to love him, honour him, serve him, follow him, and pledge your lives to him even as he has pledged his life to the High King of Heaven.'

  As if awaiting these words, the great doors of the church burst open with a tremendous crash. Cai and Cador, somewhere below the altar, shouted to the Cymbrogi. The crowd roiled with alarm and confusion. I heard steel sing out as weapons were drawn.

  'Do not move, Myrddin!' Arthur shouted, dashing away.

  'What is it, Arthur?' I demanded. 'What is happening?'

  Just then Dubricius cried, 'Hold, men! There will be no bloodshed on this holy day. Put up your weapons.'

  I heard the sound of their footfall on stone as the intruders advanced. I gripped my rowan staff tightly. 'Bedwyr!' called Arthur. 'Stay with Myrddin!'

  In the next heartbeat, I felt Bedwyr's hand tight on my arm, pulling me aside. 'Stay back, Myrddin,' Bedwyr said. 'I will protect you.'

  'Who are they, Bedwyr? Do you know them?'

  'I have never seen them before!,' answered Bedwyr, his voice tight. 'There are twelve. They carry spears and -' he paused, wonderingly – 'these strangers – they all look like Llenlleawg! And there are – ' He halted again.

  'What? Tell me, Bedwyr. What do you see?'

  'I do not believe what I am seeing.'

  'Nor will I, unless you tell me. I cannot see, Bedwyr,' I reminded him hopelessly.

  'Maidens, Emrys,' he replied. 'Twelve – no, sixteen of them, I think – all wear mantles of white and… what is this? Each maiden holds a white dove between her hands. They enter the church behind the warriors and advance to the altar. They are coming towards us, Myrddin.'

  He halted again and I heard the sharp crack of the butts of spears upon the stones. There was silence for a moment, and then the crowd gasped. I could tell someone had entered the church.

  'Bedwyr!' I demanded harshly. 'What is happening? Tell me, man!'

  'Why, it is Gwenhwyvar,' he answered, mystified. 'I think she has come to honour Arthur.'

  Stupid man! I thought, divining at last the significance of the maidens and doves. 'Honour him!' I snapped. 'Bedwyr, she has come to claim him!'

  THREE

  Ah, Gwenhwyvar! White Goddess of DeDannan's enigmatic tribe, deeply did I resent you on that day, and deeply, deeply did I fear you. Perhaps I may be forgiven my rancour and alarm. Dearest of hearts, I did not know you.

  Let it be said that you never repaid my resentment with spite, nor held my fear against me, less yet gave either of them justification. In those next years you proved your nobility a thousand times over. Gwenhwyvar, you were never less than a queen.

  I saw Arthur as the Lord of the Summer Realm, and that vision cast all else in unreckoning shadow. But you saw Arthur as a man; he needed that, and you knew it. Gwenhwyvar, in the wisdom of your sex, you were a very druid. And more! It made my heart soar to see how you and Arthur grew to one in honour and courage. I do not wonder that God himself formed you for Arthur.

  Let it also be known that never did you deserve the slanders that gathered thick about your name. It is ever the way of small-souled creatures to pull down the giants in their midst. Strangers to virtue, they cannot abide such nobility; lacking it in themselves, they will not tolerate it in others. So they gnaw away at it, as the insect gnaws at the root of the oak, until the mighty forest lord falls. Christ knows, they have their reward. Still, on your marriage day, I was no friend to you. For, as Arthur was king of all Britons, it was in my mind to get for him a British wife. Most canny of your kind, you knew better. Arthur, like the Summer Kingdom, was larger than Britain only. You taught me that, Gwenhwyvar-though I was long in the learning.

  Bending low before Arthur, as Bedwyr described it, the Irish queen placed her white spear crosswise on the floor. Gwenhwyvar then stood and pressed the white dove she held into Arthur's hands. Seizing Caledvwlch from Arthur's side, she raised the naked blade to her lips, kissed the crosspiece of the hilt and cradled the Sword of Britain to her breast.

  'Swords and doves, Bedwyr!' I said. 'Think what it means!'

  'Am I a bard?' growled Bedwyr. 'Tell me, Myrddin.'

  'It means she has claimed him for her husband,' I told him. 'Does Arthur accept the dove?'

  'He does,' Bedwyr replied. 'He holds it in his hand.'

  'Then he has accepted the match,' I told him, realizing the ruin of the day. It was over before I could make a move to prevent it.

  In tru
th, I should have known it was finished the day Fergus brought the treasures of his tribe to Arthur as tribute, placing his daughter and his champion in Arthur's care. In accepting Fergus' tribute he tacitly accepted the proposed match.

  From the moment Gwenhwyvar set eyes on Arthur, she had chosen him for her mate. That is the way it is done among Ierne's royalty. For the sovereignty of the Eireann Island race runs through its women. That is to say, a man derives his kingship through his wife. Among the Children of Danna, kings enjoy their season, but the queen is queen forever.

  And Arthur, innocent of the significance, made no complaint. Why would he? She was beautiful: hair black as a raven's breast, plaited in hundreds of tiny braids, each one bound with a golden thread and gathered to fall around her shoulders and neck – blackest jet against pale white skin. Her eyes were grey as mountain mist; her brow was high and smooth, and her lips cherry red.

  Never forget she was a warrior queen. She carried a spear, a sword, and a small round shield of bronze; her fair form she clothed in silver mail, of rings so small and bright they rippled like water when she moved. And Llwch Llenlleawg, her champion and battlechief, served Arthur well and took his rightful place among the Cymbrogi; but the tall Irishman was the queen's guardian first, last, and always.

  It was true that the kings and lords of Britain would never have tolerated a High King whose wife was not a Briton born. But Gwenhwyvar, shrewd and subtle, had already triumphed.

  Before anyone knew it had begun, the contest was over. She simply waited until Arthur had claimed the kingship; then she claimed him. True, she waited not one moment longer than necessary lest any rival enjoy even the slightest chance. On the day that Arthur took the crown for the second time, that day was Arthur also wed.

  We stayed in Londinium six days in all – feasting the kings and lords who had come to pay homage and tribute to the new High King. The feast became Arthur and Gwenhwyvar's marriage repast as well, and no one enjoyed the celebration more than Fergus of Ierne, Gwenhwyvar's father. I do not think I ever knew a happier man.

  Arthur was pleased, as well he might be. He admired Gwenhwyvar for her boldness, and stood in awe – almost everyone did – of her beauty. Still, he did not love her. At least, not yet. That would come; in time they would learn a love which bards would celebrate a thousand years hence. But, as is so often the way with two such strong-willed mates, their first days of marriage chafed them both.

  When the last lord had departed to his hearth, we also departed: the Cymbrogi with Cador and Bors to Caer Melyn, and the rest of us, Cai, Bedwyr, Llenlleawg, myself and Arthur, to Ierne with Gwenhwyvar. It is a short voyage and the weather stayed fair.

  I remembered Ierne as a green gem set in a silver sea. It is a shallow bowl of an island, lacking Prydein's rough crags; what hills Ierne boasts are gentle and wooded, and its few mountains are not high. Expansive and numerous are its plains, which grow good grain in plenty. If the island's contentious kings ever stopped slaughtering one another, they might find themselves possessing grain-wealth enough to attract trade from the east for the upbuilding of their people.

  It is a damp land, alas, suffering almost continual inundation by both sea and sky. Even so, the rain is soft, filling the rivers and streams with sweet water. The ale of the Irish is surprisingly good, for all they make it with scorched grain – yet another mystery concerning this baffling race.

  We sailed into a bay on the northeastern coast. I heard a loud whoop, and Cai, standing beside me at the rail, said, 'It is Fergus, bless him. He is wading out to welcome us.' Even as he spoke I heard the splash of someone striding through the tidewash.

  Fergus shouted something which I did not catch, and a moment later, a strange, shrill wail sounded from the beach. 'What is happening, Cai?'

  'Fergus' bards, I think. He has his retinue with him, and the bards are making a sort of music for us with pig bladders.' He paused. 'Most peculiar.'

  I had encountered the instrument before: an odd conflux of pipes which in their hands produce a laudable variety of sounds: now crooning, now crying, now piercing as a scream, now sighing and low. When played with the harp, which they often did, this piping made a most enjoyable music. And the voices of Eire's bards are almost as good as those of the Cymry.

  Many among the Learned Brotherhood hold that the men of Green Ierne and the black hills of Prydein were brothers before Manawyddan's waters divided them. Perhaps that is the way of it. The people are dark, for the most part, like the mountain Cymry, and they are keen-witted and as ready for laughter as a fight. Like the Celts of elder times, they are generous in all things, especially song and celebration. They love dancing, and think themselves ill-treated if they are not allowed to move their feet when their filidh play the harp and pipe.

  Fergus was lord of a small realm on the northern coast in Dal Riata; his principal stronghold was called Muirbolc after one of his noble kinsmen. His hall and holding, as Cai described it to me, was fashioned on the old style: a number of small round houses – dwellings, grain stores, craftsmen's huts, cookhouses – surrounded a great timber hall with a high-pitched roof of thatch. An earthen wall topped by a palisade of sharpened timber had been flung around the whole. Beyond the wall were fields and cattle pens, and forest.

  Inside the hall, which served as the king's house as well as the gathering place for all his folk, the great stone hearth blazed both day and night. Along the walls on either side of the hearth were booths with wicker-work walls where people could rest or withdraw more privately, and at the head of the hearth stood an enormous table, the king's table, fixed to the rooftrees on either side.

  Fergus led us to his stronghold and stood before the gate. 'You are welcome in Fergus' dwelling, my friends. Enter and take your ease. Let your cares be as the mist that melts at morning's touch. Come, let us eat and drink, and celebrate the union of our noble tribes together.'

  He greatly prized the marriage of his daughter and regarded Arthur as both kinsman and dearest friend. Never have I seen a lord so desirous of pleasing his guests as Fergus mac Guillomar. His good humour never flagged, and bounty, such as he could command, flowed from him like the waters of the silver Siannon. Fergus' fortunes, while still scant, had nevertheless improved since allying himself with Arthur. He possessed a fine herd of horses, and bred hounds second to none. He gave gifts to us all, and to Arthur he also gave a hound pup, which would be trained to battle and the hunt.

  Fergus' daughter, too, was desirous of securing our good favour. Gwenhwyvar had brought Arthur to Muirbolc to deliver her dower to him, and a most unusual gift it was. But before I tell of it, I must first tell of the miracle that took place while we sojourned in Eire.

  There were priests in the region who constantly sought to persuade Fergus to grant them lands on which to build a church and community for themselves. They also wished the king to join the Christianogi, of course, though they would settle for land.

  Fergus did not trust them. He had got it into his head that once a king bent the knee to the Lord Christ, he became impotent. As Fergus was a man who greatly enjoyed the company of beautiful women, in which his realm abounded, it was a difficult thing for him to look favourably on any belief which threatened his pleasure.

  'That is absurd,' I told him, upon discovering the source of his reluctance. 'Do not the priests take wives like other men? I tell you they do – and children are born to them. Their faith does not make them less potent than other men, God knows. You have swallowed a lie, Fergus.'

  'Oh, I am certain these priests are excellent in every way. I hold no enmity for them,' he agreed lightly. 'But why tempt calamity? I am happy – never more so than now that my daughter is wed to the High King of Britain.'

  'But Arthur himself is beholden to Christ,' Bedwyr informed him, joining the discussion. 'Faith has not made him impotent. Look at the two of them together – reclining together in their nook, drinking from the same cup. Ask Arthur if his faith has stolen his manhood. Better yet, ask Gwenhwyvar; s
he will tell you.'

  'It is the way of the Britons,' the Irish King allowed, 'to hold strange gods and stranger practices. We all know this. But it is not our way.'

  'It is the way of many of your kinsmen, Fergus,' I countered. 'Many now embrace the Lord Christ who formerly held to Crom Cruach. I ask you again, where is the harm?'

  'Well,' Fergus said, 'they have grown accustomed to it, I expect, and it does them no harm. But I am not so accustomed. I fear it would go ill with me.'

  Nothing anyone could say would convince him. But, several days later, a group of monks arrived and sought audience with the king. As always, Fergus welcomed them and gave them gifts of food and drink – for they would not accept his gold. Curious, I went to the hall to hear their appeal.

  The leader of this group of wandering brothers was a priest named Ciaran. Though yet a young man he was already strong in the faith and very wise. Learned in Greek and Latin, articulate and well-spoken, his renown was such that many fellow monks, both British and Irish, had pledged themselves to his service to aid him in his work among the heathen clans of Eire.

  'We heard that the great War Leader of the Britons is here,' Ciaran declared. 'We have come to pay homage to him.'

  This impressed and pleased Arthur. He did not imagine that his name was known outside Britain.

  'You are welcome at my hearth,' Fergus told the priest. 'For Arthur's sake, I give you good greeting.'

  'May Heaven's King richly bless you, Fergus,' Ciaran replied. 'And may the High King of Heaven honour his High King on Earth. I give you good greeting, Arthur ap Aurelius.'

  Arthur thanked the priest for his blessing, whereupon Ciaran addressed himself to me. 'And you are surely the Wise Emrys of whom so many wonderful tales are told.'

  'I am Myrddin,' I answered simply. 'And I stand ready to serve you, brother priest.'

  'I do thank you, Wise Emrys,' he replied. 'This day, however, it is for me to serve you.' I sensed movement before me as he stepped closer. 'We heard that you were blind, and now I see for myself that this is so.'