Grail pc-5 Read online

  Desperate to save my panicky mount, I threw myself from the saddle and instantly sank to my knees in the vile bog. The mud shuddered and heaved around me as the unseen waves lent it eerie life, but I gritted my teeth and tightened the reins around my hand, and then, with an effort, raised my foot from the mire and lumbered ahead one step.

  Half turning, I coaxed my mount forward, speaking in a soft, soothing tone. Eyes wide and rolling with terror as the killing mud sucked at her hooves, the grey struggled gamely forward, rearing up and plunging, but succeeding only in sinking us both more deeply. I made to wade forward and felt my insubstantial footing give way. I now stood hip-deep in the muck, and could feel cold water seeping through the ooze and up around my legs.

  Tallaght and Peredur, having reached the bank, secured their mounts, threw off their cloaks, and hastened back to help me. I saw them floundering over the mud and tried to warn them away, but they came on regardless.

  Throw me the reins!' shouted Tallaght. Having come as near as he dared, he lay himself upon the mud and stretched out his hand. 'Let me take her,' he called. As I could do nothing more for the beast, I threw the reins to the young warrior and concerned myself with my own fate instead.

  For his part, Peredur, holding his spear above his head, waded out to me. Stretching himself flat upon the mud, he extended the butt of the spear. I leaned towards him; cold water gushed up around my thighs and I promptly sank to my waist.

  Peredur wormed closer. 'Take hold!' he cried.

  Seeing the spear within reach, I raised my right leg and brought it down smartly so as to jump up. I did not so much leap as lurch, flinging my body forward in a sorry imitation of cuChullain's salmon leap. Though laughably awkward, the manoeuvre gained me a hairsbreadth of distance. I felt my fingers close on the butt of Peredur's spear, and I grabbed hold with a grip that Death himself could not shake loose.

  The young warrior, by the strength of his arms alone, pulled me nearer. I slithered from the wallow and came free with a squelchy sucking sound, but there I stopped, and Peredur could not draw me further without hauling himself in as well. I tried snaking my way to him, but even the slightest movement sent the bog quivering. I lay still and began sinking once more. 'We need a rope,' Peredur called.

  Alas, we had no rope, and well I knew it.

  'A moment, lord.' Peredur wormed his way to dry land, where he ran to his horse and stripped off the tack. Drawing his knife, he cut the reins from the bit and tied them together, then came to the edge of the mudflat and threw the end of the leather strap to me. It fell just out of reach, so he quickly pulled it in, took two steps nearer, leaned out, and threw it again. The second throw went wide, as did the third, but I snagged the line on the fourth try and wound it around my wrist.

  'Haul away!' I called, and Peredur, holding tight with both hands, edged slowly back and back. At first I feared the strap would break, but it was good leather, and though it stretched taut as a harp string, it did not break. One step… and another… and then he reached the bank, gained his feet, and pulled hard until I was sliding smoothly over the morass.

  Upon reaching the bank, I scrambled to my feet. With a whoop of delight, Peredur threw down the leather line and ran to me, grinning at his accomplishment. 'Well done, lad!' I said, clapping him heartily on the back. That was quick thinking.'

  Tallaght's shout brought us back to the task at hand: 'Help! I am losing her!'

  I turned to see that the grey was sunk to her belly in the black ooze, and the young warrior was in over his knees, but still clinging tightly to the reins. Peredur and I ran to his aid. In my haste, I struck a piece of slate and my foot slid out from under me. I fell back, but rose on the instant with an idea.

  'Here, now!' I called to Peredur. 'Help me with these!'

  So saying, I stooped to gather an armful of the larger slates, choosing the broadest ones I could find. Peredur saw what I was about and leapt to; digging beneath the surface layer, he found several pieces of fair size and carried them to the edge of the quicksand bog.

  Placing the first slate atop the morass, he stepped out on it and found that it would support him. 'It will serve!' he shouted, and I began passing him more slates, which he put down a step at a time, forming a stepping-stone path out to where poor Tallaght was now almost sunk to his waist.

  'Let go of the horse!' I told him, my heart falling at the thought of abandoning my handsome mount.

  'If she goes,' Tallaght answered between clenched teeth, 'we go together.'

  'Son, there is no need,' I replied. 'Let her go. Save yourself.'

  The unseen waves of the incoming tide set the mud heaving and shuddering around him. Water showed in a queasy ring around the young warrior's waist.

  Peredur placed the last slate but a few paces from Tallaght. 'Brother,' he said, stretching forth his arm, 'the tide is flowing. It is take my hand, or sink and drown.'

  Realizing the danger at last, Tallaght relented. With a groan he released the reins and threw out his hand. Peredur caught him and pulled him free. Though the stepping-stones were themselves beginning to sink, they yet bore up the two young men, who skittered across and clambered thankfully onto solid ground.

  We three stood for a moment, panting with the exertion of our efforts and staring unhappily at the grey tossing her head and whinnying with fright. The two young men suggested throwing down more slates and somehow getting the animal to walk on them. 'Even if the horse was willing,' I replied, 'we could never lift her onto them.' Observing the eerily rippling bog, I added, 'The tide is beating us besides. I am not fool enough to risk all three of us in a hopeless cause. I fear we must let the sea have its way.'

  Tallaght stared, and opened his mouth to protest, but Peredur took his arm and silenced him with a conclusive 'Lord Gwalchavad is right.'

  Now, I am as steadfast as any man I know, but I could not find it in me to stand and watch that beautiful animal die. 'Come away,' I said to my companions. 'We can do nothing more.'

  Tallaght resisted. 'Will you not even end it with a spear?'

  Glancing back, I shook my head and turned to leave.

  'Lord,' he called, insistent still, 'let me do it if you will not.'

  I stopped, and though I had no wish to berate him, I addressed him with my thoughts. 'Lad, a warrior should have a friendly feeling for his mount, and your affection does you credit. But this is a hostile land, and we may well be glad of our spears before another day is run. Even had we weapons to spare, killing a horse with a single thrust from this distance would take a fortunate cast indeed. I own no such skill, and will not see the poor beast suffer any more than need be. In light of these unhappy facts, I think we must leave the thing where it is.' Turning away once more, I said, 'I am heartily sick of this place and wish I had never seen it.'

  Peredur snatched up the reins of his mount and fell into step behind me, and after we had walked a few paces, Tallaght also took up his reins and came along. We moved inland, climbing up the low bluffs above the estuary, where I paused briefly to look back at my doomed mount – now plunged to her flanks in the killing bog and screaming terribly. The sound of that wretched creature cut me to the quick. I made a sorrowful farewell and moved on, miserable, wet, and stinking from toe to head. Oh, my heart was low and regretful, but there was nothing for it but to drag ourselves away.

  My two companions fell into a fretful silence, from which I tried to raise them, but gave up trying after a while; I felt as bad as they did, and with the day's passing, the foreboding grew more, not less.

  I found myself wondering what disaster would befall us next, for although calamity can overtake anyone at any time -especially travellers in the wilds – in my present mind I deemed our misfortune nothing less than an assault by a malevolent power dogging our every step since we had entered this accursed realm. It seemed to me that the rocks and bare hills conspired against us, and even the low, brooding sky wished us ill. I remained firm in this woeful assessment for a considerable time.

>   As I warmed myself by the campfire later, I consoled myself with the thought that it could have been worse. We might have lost far more than a good horse; and, to be sure, if I had been riding alone, I would have died with my horse. Accordingly, I thanked the Good God for my quick-thinking young friends and took our narrow escape as a warning, vowing to be on better guard from now on.

  TEN

  The search for a suitable fording place took us far out of our way. By the time we accomplished our crossing, twilight had come to that forsaken land – no wholesome twilight, mind, but a murky dusk of rising mist that made the air dank and heavy.

  Our clothes were still damp and repugnant to us, but we found no clean water in which to wash and so were forced to wear them whether we would or no. And though we gathered enough twigs and brush to make a fire, the fickle flame did little to dry us. The stench of the mud took away our appetites, so we did not bother trying to cook or eat anything, contenting ourselves with a few mouthfuls from the waterskin Tallaght carried behind his saddle.

  Downhearted, dejected, and tired from our ordeal, no one felt like talking, so we rolled ourselves in our cloaks and tried to sleep. Even sleep did not come easily. No sooner had we closed our eyes than the moon rose, bulging full and yellow like a great baleful eye in the heavens. The light it cast seemed filthy, mean, and pestilential – a plague moon, Peredur called it, and we agreed.

  Thus we passed a wretched night and rose ill-rested to begin a day which nevertheless held the promise of coming good; after our wasted night we welcomed the clear blue sky and fine bright sun. Both sky and sun swiftly faded, however, to a dull, bleached-bone white which hurt the eyes and brought an ache to the head.

  We worked our way back down along the tidal estuary in search of the trail we had followed the previous day, still feeling fairly certain that Llenlleawg, and possibly two others, had passed this way. As I had no horse, we took it in turn to ride and walk, and sometimes Peredur and Tallaght shared a mount. The bank was rough and rocky, and made for slow going – whether on horse or afoot, we could move no faster. And then, when we finally reached the place where we had tried crossing the day before, we could not raise the trail again.

  For all Peredur's exemplary skill and keen eye, we found neither track nor trace of whoever it was we had been following. 'The bog took them, I suppose,' suggested Peredur gloomily, 'the same as it took the grey.' Indicating the empty stretch of slowly undulating muck, he said, 'The horse is gone, and the tide is hungry still.'

  He need not have mentioned the calamity; carcass or no, I was only too aware of the poor beast's demise. Losing a good horse is as bad as losing an arm or a leg. And that is the end of it.

  After a time, we gave up searching among the rubble rock shingle and decided to continue in the direction the tracks had been leading when they encountered the quagmire. I freely confess the plan made little sense; there was no good reason to suppose that whoever made the trail had crossed the bog when we could not – unless they knew how and where to ford, and if so, that fording was not to be found by us. Indeed, we discussed this very thing, and the two young warriors were of the opinion that it would be best to range farther downstream, since our quarry might easily have gone the other way.

  But something in me urged for pressing on. As it happens, I am not a man given to whims or obscure proddings, and in any event, I seldom receive them. Yet I was seized by such a powerfully insistent urging that I threw aside all reason and followed it. Perhaps because I am unaccustomed to receiving these ethereal promptings, my own inexperience made me gullible. Then again, perhaps something beyond human ken was hard at work, but I was too blind to read the signs.

  The three of us proceeded to a nearby hilltop for a better view of our position. We paused to scan our surroundings and found that we had come up out of a valley and onto a wide, hill-crowded barrens. In happier times those same stark hills might have appeared green-clothed and agreeable, a welcoming sight for man and beast alike. After a season or two of drought, however, the sight of numberless bald crests rising one after another into the distance – like so many withered, wind-grizzled heads – failed to lift a heart already labouring under the unrelenting bleakness of that desolate place.

  What few trees existed were stunted, twisted things, tortured into strange shapes by the coastal wind. For, yes, I now determined that we were journeying into Llyonesse – a long, ever-narrowing spine of land thrown up by contentious seas to separate and quell their warring natures: the Irish Sea on the right hand, and Muir Nicht on the left. Long deemed an inhospitable land, it is a queer place, a realm more fitting for outcast souls and wild beasts than upright men. Ah, and I remember: it is also the unholy battleground where Myrddin fought the wicked Morgian for his life.

  See, now: the disappearance of Pelleas, the Emrys' friend and servant, was but one of the misfortunes issuing from that desperate battle; another was the leaving of my twin and brother, Gwalcmai. Deeply do I miss him, for until that dreadful day my brother and I had rarely been out of sight of one another so much as a single day but that we were together again by nightfall.

  While Arthur and the Cymbrogi crossed swords with the Saecsen in the north, Myrddin, warned by signs and portents, had gone alone to confront the Queen of Air and Darkness. When Myrddin did not return, Gwalcmai rode with Bedwyr to discover what had become of him. The two of them found the Wise Emrys bloodied and blind in Llyonesse. Alas! Pelleas, who had taken up the search before them, has never been seen again, and Gwalcmai, overcome with remorse and shame, undertook exile. Or, as Myrddin says, True man that he is, Gwalcmai could no longer abide his tainted lineage and went in search of redemption.'

  Tainted lineage! Truly, Morgian is no kin of mine. To speak plainly, the affair sits no more comfortably with me now than it did when I first heard of it. Allowing Gwalcmai to go away like that, however noble the purpose, has always seemed ill-advised to me. Had I been there, you can well believe I would have had a word or two to say about it. Well, I was not there, and nothing can be done about it now – save pray we are reunited one day, which I do, and so look forward to that happy reunion.

  These things, then, were in my mind as we made our slow way into the empty hills. I scanned the bleak horizon, alternating this unproductive activity with picking mud-clots off my tunic and trews. After riding a fair while, we came to a small, briar-choked burn snaking along the bottom of a narrow gully. Though much shrunken from the stream it had been, the water was still good, and so we stopped to refresh the horses and replenish the waterskins. Then we washed ourselves and our clothes as best we could and sat down to rest and eat a bite of hard bread. When our clothes had mostly dried, we then journeyed on until the desultory sunlight faded and night stole in around us once more.

  At the failing of the sun, a murky, tepid dusk drew over the land. Discouraged by the long and futile day, we halted and made camp in a hollow. While Tallaght busied himself with the horses, Peredur fussed at making a fire; the wood was rotten and unaccountably damp, and produced more smoke than heat. As they were about these chores, I walked a little to the overlooking hilltop to see what might be learned of the night sky.

  The haze which had obscured the day yet persisted, thickening as daylight dwindled so as to keep out the light of any stars. A mournful wind from the southwest moaned over the barren hills and set the bare branches of the dwarfed trees chattering like naked teeth. Storms often attend such nights, but there was not the slightest hint of rain in the air, and the wind tasted of sea salt.

  Nor was I better encouraged when Peredur called out to advise me that he had found the source of the damp: a small spring of water seeping from the hillside. I left off my scrutiny and went down to attend this new discovery, hopeful that we might get some fresh water at last. I should have guessed my hope, like all else in that dismal realm, would die forlorn. Though Peredur delved with his hands into the hillside and removed several stones, the spring remained little more than a soggy weepage soaking up from th
e earth.

  I dismissed the spring, saying, 'Were it ten times the trickle, it still would not serve the horses.'

  Peredur persisted, however, and collected enough in a bowl to give us all a drink. As he had discovered the spring, we granted him first draught – which also became the last: the water tasted of spoiled eggs.

  'Gab.!' He spat, wiping his tongue on his sleeve to get the taste out of his mouth.

  Tallaght laughed at the pinched expression on Peredur's face, which caused the stricken warrior to rail angrily at his kinsman. Tallaght responded with harsh words, whereupon Peredur took offense at this abuse. If I had not been standing over them, I have no doubt the thing would have come to blows.

  'Enough!' I told them sternly. 'It is nothing. Put it behind you.'

  They glared at each other and backed away to nurse imagined resentments the rest of the evening. I was only too thankful to let the night smooth our ragged tempers, but this was not to be.

  The fretful wind waxed stronger with the setting sun, gusting out of the east, blowing dust from the hilltops, and swirling it around the hollow. At first I hoped merely to ignore it, but the dry thunder mumbling in the distance chased away any thought of sleep. I lay wrapped in my cloak, listening to the storm, and thought I heard the sound of a bell – such as monks often employ to call their brothers to prayer.

  It came to me that the sound, tolling regular and slow, was gradually growing louder. I rose and climbed the slope to have a look around, and in the darkness at the summit stumbled over Peredur, who had roused himself with the same notion. He whirled on me with a start and struck me with his fist before I succeeded in convincing him that he was not under attack.

  'Peace, lad. It is myself, Gwalchavad.'

  'Forgive me, lord,' he said, much relieved. 'I did not know you were awake.'