Grail pc-5 Page 4

  I drank – the brew was cool, dark, and sweet – and with great reluctance passed the bowl to Tallaght. 'Your welcome cheers me,' I told the chieftain. 'It is too long since I have tasted ale so good. Already I am regretting that we cannot stay longer.'

  He offered the cup around once more, and said, 'Be it short or long, your stay is more than agreeable. We have had no word from the south at all.'

  A quick, sharp thrust is best, I thought, drawing a deep breath. 'Word is not good,' I told him. 'The war is over, but the price has been high.'

  'I feared as much,' remarked Hwyl grimly. 'Is Urien dead?'

  'No,' I answered, grateful for the opportunity to set the matter in a different light. 'No, he is not dead – though perhaps he might prefer it.'

  Suspicion clouded Hwyl's features. 'Death is more than enough for most men, I find.'

  'Hwyl,' I said, 'your lord has been banished from Britain.' I let that sink in a moment before explaining. 'Urien broke faith with the High King and joined a faction that rebelled against Arthur. The rebellion was crushed, and the leaders exiled to Armorica along with any who would go with them. Urien will not be returning to Rheged.'

  Hwyl, staring at the empty board before him, was shaking his head and muttering to himself. I might have let him find out later at the council, but I know if I were in his place, I would wish to learn the worst as soon as possible so that I could warn the settlement and begin making plans.

  'I am sorry to bear such bad tidings,' I continued, and then drove the blade home: 'The lands of all who joined in the rebellion are forfeit to the High King, and he has given them to another.'

  The chieftain raised his eyes at this. His face was ashen with shock and dismay. But his reply surprised me. 'Bad tidings, you say,' he mused, shaking his head ruefully, 'and that is only the half of it.' He looked at me as if staring hopelessness in the face. Then, turning once more to the contemplation of his barren table, he said, 'God's truth, I always feared the worst.'

  'Did you, now?'

  'Alas, Urien is no steady man; as a boy he was a flighty lad -so unlike his father. I always hoped he would come to a better nature, but no – he has grown reckless, headstrong, and inconstant. Unhealthy in any man, such character is perilous in a ruler. Even so, I hoped…' He looked at me with sad, haunted eyes, his mouth quivering, his voice thick. 'That we took him for our lord I do most deeply regret.'

  'I am sorry it has come to this,' I told him.

  Hwyl, struggling to hold himself, simply nodded; he was too overcome to speak. Peredur extended the bowl to me, indicating that I should give it to the chieftain, which I did. Hwyl accepted the ale and braced himself with a last, long drink.

  'It is bad for you, I will not deny it,' I said when he had finished, 'yet it need not be the ruin you fear.'

  'No?' His interest pricked. 'If there is some way to avert the judgment, lord, I beg you to tell me.'

  'There is,' I assured him, 'if you will abide it.' I then extended the small hope I had brought with me. 'The man who has been given these lands is not willing that any should be cast out. He has said that any who wish to stay in their settlements may do so, and has vowed that the protection he affords his own people will be extended to all who remain in his realm.'

  Thinking he saw the answer to his troubles, Hwyl seized the proposition at once. 'Then we will stay! By God, we will stay.'

  'Wait until you have heard all,' I cautioned. 'You may have different thoughts when I tell the rest.'

  Hwyl, unwilling to throw aside the promise so quickly embraced, said, 'Tell me, then. It can be no worse than I have heard already.'

  'It is this: the man of whom I speak is not a Briton.'

  'No?' A frown of concern creased his brow. He imagined the worst, and confronted it head-on. 'Is he Irish, then?'

  'He is not Irish, either,' I said. Peredur and Tallaght knew what was coming and tensed as if to meet a blow. There was no way to say otherwise, so I told him the blunt truth. This man is the lord and leader of the enemy we have been fighting in the south.'

  'Blessed God in Heaven,' breathed Hwyl, aghast at such harsh justice.

  I allowed him to grapple with this, wishing we had another cup or two to help digest this meal of stones. 'His name is Mercia, and he is lord of the Vandali, who have been conquered. The enemy king who made war on Britain has been vanquished, and in exchange for peace, his lords have sworn fealty to Arthur Pendragon. It is Mercia's desire to occupy unsettled lands; he purposes that his people should raise their own settlements and strongholds. What is more, this Mercia has vowed that he will take nothing that is not given freely, and will strive for peace between his people and the Britons who remain under his care.'

  Hwyl was silent for a time, coming to terms with what I had said. 'We can stay – that is certain?' he asked finally.

  'Mercia has made this promise -1 cannot honestly vouch for its certainty. But you need not answer me now. Hold council with your people,' I advised. 'Summon the other chieftains and talk to them.'

  'If we left our lands, where would we go?'

  'There is no provision for you elsewhere.'

  'So that is the way of it,' concluded Hwyl bitterly. 'It is either remain and be ruled by an enemy, or become like the Picti and wander the hills knowing neither hearth nor home.'

  I did not allow his budding anger a chance to flower. 'Yes, that is the way of it. In the Pendragon's name, you and your chieftains are summoned to a council of all whose lands are forfeit,' I informed him. 'You are to deliver your decision then.' I signalled to Peredur and Tallaght that it was time to go. The two rose at once, and I instructed them to ready the horses.

  'Will you not stay the night?' asked Hwyl, but the warmth of hospitality had grown cool. His shoulders were slumped now, as if under the weight of his grief and the hard judgment he must endure.

  'We have disturbed the peace of this place more than enough,' I answered. 'I think we should leave you to your deliberations.'

  Hwyl did not disagree, but merely nodded and said, That might be best.'

  I told him when and where the council would be held, and then took my leave of him. He walked with me out of the hall, passing by the place where the young woman lay. The two looking after her rose as we approached. 'She is sleeping soundly now,' the elder woman reported.

  'Was it the sun?' I asked.

  'Aye, it was,' the woman replied. 'Nor, I surmise, has she had a bite to eat for a good few days.'

  'She was gathering mushrooms when we found her.'

  The woman regarded me suspiciously. 'Those? Even one of those would kill a horse,' she explained as if I should have known better.

  Hwyl asked, 'What would you have us do with her?'

  'Might she stay here?'

  'She does not belong here,' said Hwyl firmly. 'That much I know.'

  'Her people may be searching for her,' the woman offered. 'But she is in no wise fit to travel.'

  'Perhaps,' I suggested, 'you could take care of her for a few days and bring her with you when you come to the council. There will be people from other settlements in the region; someone may know her.'

  'That we will do,' Hwyl replied. 'Now I bid you farewell.'

  'I wish our meeting had been otherwise,' I told him. 'I am sorry.'

  The chieftain shook his head. 'Urien has brought this calamity upon us, not you. I must speak to the people and decide what is to be done. We will come to the council and give our answer."

  We left the settlement then, all thoughts of ale vats far behind us, and rode as far as we could before daylight left us. We made rough camp along the way, and slept under the stars. I was long awake, however, thinking about the young woman we had found, and the strangeness of that finding. But stranger things were to come.

  FIVE

  Rejoining the Cymbrogi next day, we found the entire lakeside camp in an uproar. We rode into the midst of a throng, shouting and clamouring outside the tent. Everyone was so excited that it took some moments before I co
uld make myself heard. Finally, leaning down from the saddle, I seized the shoulder of the nearest warrior. 'Why this turmoil?' I demanded. 'What trouble?'

  'Trouble!' he cried, twisting around to see me. 'There is no trouble, Lord Gwalchavad,' he replied, grinning, 'unless you think the happy return of our Pendragon a quarrelsome thing.'

  'Arthur returned?' I wondered. 'So soon?' Handing the warrior the reins of my horse, I left him to care for the animal as a reward for his impudence, and pushed my way nearer the tent. I caught sight of Cai, attempting to subdue the enthusiasm of the crowd with an inadequate supply of gestures and grimaces.

  Pressing my way to him, I said, 'Where is he?'

  'Ah, Gwalchavad! Thank God you are here. I could use another hand.'

  They say Arthur has returned -'

  'Aye,' he confirmed. 'He lies within' – Cai indicated the tent behind – 'and might welcome a mote of peace and quiet.' Turning once more to the crowd, he frowned. 'Listen to them now!'

  He made to renew his efforts at silencing the clamorous Cymbrogi, but I restrained him. Putting my hand flat on Cai's chest, I demanded, 'But is he well, brother? Just tell me that.'

  'See for yourself,' he replied, brushing off my hand. 'For if you will not help, at least get out of the way.'

  Cai's reply gave me little direction for my expectation. I stepped quickly to the tent and reached to withdraw the flap, not knowing whether I should find a king more dead than alive. The mood of the warriors was high, but as downcast as they had been since the High King was taken away, they might have easily mistaken Arthur's return – holding it a thing more hopeful than was otherwise warranted. Crowds, I know, have a way of believing only what they want to believe.

  Oh, but I had seen the wound. Men who sustain such injury, even if they survive, rarely recover their full vigour – as many a battle-scarred veteran will attest. Though I am no healer, I know whereof I speak, for ever since I was old enough to throw a spear without falling off my horse, I have followed my king into the fight and have seen the crippled and dying afterwards. May God have mercy, I have myself sent to the Judgment Seat more men than I can remember.

  Yes, I had seen Arthur's wound: deep it was, and brutal. The blood ran dark in hot, pulsing rushets. When they carried him from the field, his skin was pale as that of a corpse, his hair lank, and his eyes sunk back in his skull. As I say, I was no stranger to that appearance. Still, I never thought to see Arthur wear it.

  Plucking up my courage, I grasped the tent flap, pulled it aside, and stepped quickly in. Scarcely less crowded inside than out, I shouldered my way farther into the tent's interior, straining for a glimpse of Arthur, and saw the back of Bedwyr's head, and beside him Rhys; Cador and Llenlleawg pressed near also. I shoved closer, almost trembling with uncertainty.

  I pushed in between Bedwyr and Cador. Bedwyr, glancing back, saw that it was me, and shifted a half step aside. And there was Arthur, sitting in his camp chair, impatient with Myrddin, who was bending over him. Gwenhwyvar stood behind, resting her hands on his broad shoulders, a satisfied smile curving her lips.

  Arthur looked up at my appearing, and cried, 'Gwalchavad! Welcome, brother; I hoped you would soon join us.' He made to rise in greeting, but the Emrys tugged him back down into the chair.

  'Let me finish,' Myrddin muttered.

  'I cannot sit here all day!' Arthur complained. The men are waiting. I must speak to them.'

  'We will be at this all day if you do not sit still long enough for me to put this on you!' snapped Myrddin.

  'Ah, look at you now,' said Arthur, glancing around and grinning at what he saw. 'It is Earth and sky to see you, brothers.' He reached out to seize Bedwyr by the arm.

  'Stop squirming,' Myrddin insisted. 'A moment more.' Arthur raised his eyes heavenward as the Emrys bent over his work. 'There!' said Myrddin finally, stepping back. 'We are finished.'

  Arthur glanced down, holding up his arm, bent at the elbow. I saw the dull gleam of red-gold encircling the High King's upper arm. It was an armband, but unlike any I had seen before: a dragon, its serpentlike body encoiled, glaring fearlessly upon the world with red-flecked ruby eyes. A handsome ornament, to be sure; God alone knows where Myrddin got it.

  It came to me that the trinket's form was not unlike the image on the standard which Uther had made and carried into battle. Having revived Uther's old title to such magnificent acclaim, Myrddin thought to adorn the occasion with a worthy reminder of Arthur's lineage; tradition, they say, is a powerful and influential friend to those who honour it.

  'At last!' said Arthur as he jumped up, making for the tent flap. There was not the least hesitation or difficulty in his movements. If I had not seen him sprawled at death's gate, life ebbing with every beat of his heart, I would have thought myself deceived. Could this be the selfsame man? How was it possible a wound of such dire consequence could be healed so quickly?

  He pushed through the crush of onlookers, patting their backs and calling their names, but moving on, eager to get outside. 'We will drink together, friends,' he called, lifting the oxhide flap and stepping through. That was Arthur, truly, forgetting that we had only tepid lake water – and were fortunate to get that, much less any ale! – with which to hail his safe return.

  Snagging hold of Llenlleawg as he followed Arthur out, I asked, 'How is it possible?'

  The lanky Irishman merely looked at me and grinned, but passed along with no reply. Turning to Myrddin, I said, 'Will no one tell me anything?'

  'Greetings, Gwalchavad.' The Emrys spoke soothingly. 'You had a successful journey, I hope?'

  'Never mind about me,' I answered. 'How is it that Arthur is healed? What is the meaning of the armband? And why is it that -'

  'Peace!' said Myrddin, raising his hands against my onslaught. 'I can answer but one question at a time. We have been to Ynys Avallach,' he said, 'as you know – to obtain for Arthur the healing we could not effect ourselves.'

  'You have succeeded marvellously well,' I remarked. The others had quickly cleared the tent, leaving Myrddin and me alone for a moment. Outside, the cheering grew loud and then died away as Arthur began to address the Cymbrogi.

  'I had little to do with it,' Myrddin assured me. His voice grew solemn. 'Arthur lived, but only that much and no more.' He held up a finger pressed against his thumb to show how narrow was Arthur's claim on mortal life. 'I do not know how he clung to a cord so slender, but he did.'

  'Yes? And then?'

  'Heaven was with us, and he was healed,' Myrddin answered, regarding me mildly. 'He is as you see.'

  'Yes, yes,' I said, impatience getting the better of me. 'I can clearly see, but how?'

  'It was a miracle,' he explained, 'but a miracle of such provenance that it allowed no witnesses. I cannot tell you how, nor will Arthur speak of it. Perhaps one day he will tell us, but not yet.'

  Despite Myrddin's words, I sensed there was still much that he would not say. 'But Cai said -'

  'Cai refuses to believe his eyes,' Myrddin declared flatly. 'As for the golden armband,' he continued, 'it belonged to Uther. Ygerna had it made for him after they were married; it gave him the idea for the dragon standard. When Uther died, Ygerna kept it for her son, always believing he would one day become High King like his father.'

  'Why did you wait until now to give it to him?'

  'Whenever did I have a better chance?' Myrddin demanded. 'We have scarcely had space enough to draw breath from one battle to the next.'

  'No doubt that will change,' I mused. 'Now that we have rid ourselves of invaders and rebellious Britons, we can enjoy a season of peace.'

  'That is what I have been saying all my life,' Myrddin replied tartly.

  SIX

  I remember lost Atlantis. Though I was but a babe in arms when the calamity came upon us, I can still see the Isle of Apples as it was then, before the destruction. The Great Palace was much reduced from its former glory; owing to Avallach's long, wasting illness, everything was falling into neglect. Even so, to
my childish recollection all was leaf-green and golden sunlight, endless gardens and mysterious rooms no one entered anymore.

  My mother turned the gardens to her use. Lile was wise in the ways of root and stem; she knew the lore of herbs, and her medicines were most potent. We would spend entire days in those gardens, my mother and I- she working among her herbs, and I playing at her feet. She believed me too young to understand, yet she told me everything she knew about the plants. 'This is Three Hearts,' she would say. 'It is useful for stanching the flow of blood, and for purging the bowel.'

  In this way Lile awakened in me the thirst to master the plants of healing and death. But there was much, much more than she knew. The Magi of Atlantis had amassed the lore of every age and realm, and though it took what would have been a lifetime for a mortal, this lore I also acquired. In Broceliande's deep wood I found what I sought. A remnant of our race had taken root there – Kian's people, Avallach's son and Charis' brother. There among the tall trees and deep shadows, they had built a city. I found it, and found, too, the knowledge I craved.

  There was a book -from Briseis' library it came. The queen loved her books. I do not think she ever read it, but it was saved. I think Annubi, the royal family's faithful sage and counsellor, may have had something to do with that. If Lile kindled the flame of love for secret lore, Annubi fanned that flame into an all-consuming fire. At first it gave him pleasure to tell me things; he was lonely, after all. Later, however, he had no choice. I made certain of that. He served me, and lived at my command.

  Annubi was the first man I bent to my will, and I learned much about the power of the female sex. When I had wrung him dry, I let him go. Indeed, I hastened him on his way. He was the first, but not the last. Far from it! There have been so many. Each has had his purpose – wealth, power, position, blood – I choose them well, and take what they have to give. Whatever is required, I become: queen, wife, lover, whore. It is all the same to me.