Pendragon pc-4 Page 9

  Good Ector, last of his noble breed, lavished his best on us, giving all without stint. Of good bread and roast meat there was no end; freely flowed the ale and rich honey mead – no sooner was one bowl emptied than another appeared, filled from the huge ale tub Ector had established in his hall. White foam and sparkling amber filling the cups and bowls of the Lords of Britain! Sweet as the kiss of a maiden, sweet as peace between noble men!

  'I do not understand it, Myrddin,' Ector whispered, pulling me aside the evening of the third day. 'The ale vats are not empty.'

  'No? Well, it is not for lack of exertion, I assure you,' I replied.

  'But that is what I am saying,' he insisted.

  'You are saying nothing, my friend,' I chided gently. 'Speak plainly, Ector.'

  'The ale should have run out by now. I had not so much in store.'

  'You must have mistaken yourself. And a happy mistake, too.'

  'But the ale does not diminish,' he insisted. 'As many times as I send to it, the vat remains full.'

  'No doubt in all this merrymaking the servants have become confused. Or maybe we have not drunk as much as you think.'

  'Do I not know my own brewhouse, man?' Ectorius countered. 'Look at them, Wise Emrys, and tell me again I am mistaken.'

  'It is for you to look, Ector,' I replied, touching the bandage on my eyes. 'Tell me what you see.'

  'I did not mean – ' he blustered. 'Oh, you know what I mean.'

  'Be easy, Ector,' I soothed. 'I believe you.'

  'I know! I will tell Dyfrig – he will know what to do.'

  'Yes,' I agreed, 'send for the good bishop. He will be my eyes.'

  Ectorius departed at once. Meanwhile, the feasting continued unabated; the circling of the cups did not cease. Soon, the bottom of the tub began showing through the foam once more, and a cry went up for the serving lads to fill it again. This time, I went with them. 'Lead me to the alehouse,' I ordered the oldest boy, placing my hand on his shoulder.

  He led me out from the hall and across the foreyard to one of the stout outbuildings of Ector's holding. Inside were three great oaken barrels – two for ale, and one for mead. 'Bring the brewmaster,' I told my guide as the other boys set about replenishing their buckets. 'I will speak to him here.'

  Making my way to the nearest container, I put my hands on it and felt the wooden staves; I rapped the side with my knuckles and heard the frothy slosh as the boys plunged their buckets. As big around as a wagon wheel, and nearly man-height, it would hold a fair amount. Two such together, as Ector had, might supply a celebration such as ours for a day and a night – perhaps two even – but never three days and three nights.

  'How much is in the vat?' I asked the nearest boy.

  'Why, it is nearly full, Emrys,' the boy replied.

  'And the other? Empty or full?'

  'It is full, lord,' the boy replied.

  'When last did you fill from it?'

  The lad – I imagined him ten or twelve summers, judging from his voice – hesitated. 'Lord?'

  'The question is simple enough, boy,' I said. 'When did you last fill from the second vat?'

  'But we have not touched it, lord,' he answered. 'This is the only one we are allowed to breach.'

  'That is true,' confirmed an adult voice from the doorway behind me. 'Wise Emrys,' the man said, 'I am Dervag, brew-master to Lord Ector. Is there something wrong with the ale?'

  'I remember you, Dervag. Your ale is excellent, never fear,' I assured him. 'Even so, it is suspiciously plentiful. This has pricked my interest.'

  'My lord Ector keeps three casks,' Dervag explained, coming to stand with me. 'These three: two ale, and one mead. The boys fill from the standing vat, and only when the last drop is drained from the first will I allow anyone to open the next.'

  'Then perhaps you could look for me and see that all is as it should be.'

  The amiable man stepped up on the stone beside the vat. 'It is above two-thirds full yet,' he announced, growing puzzled. He hurried to the second barrel. I heard a wooden cover lifted and quickly dropped back into place.

  'This vat has not been touched.' The brewmaster's tone had become wary and slightly accusatory. 'What is happening here?'

  'An apt question, Dervag,' I replied lightly. 'How is it that men feast three days and nights and the ale vat shows less sign of ebbing than yonder lake? Answer me if you can.'

  'But, Lord Emrys, I cannot answer. Since the warband's return, I have been day and night in the brewing house, preparing to refresh these vats when they are empty. I bethought myself that when the lad came to fetch me, it was to open the second vat. But this' – he struggled to make sense of it – 'this is most unchancy.'

  'Nonsense!' declared the cleric, arriving with Ector just then.

  Dyfrig, Bishop of Mailros, though a big-hearted, cheerful man, maintained a precise and particular mind worthy of any scholar. He went to the cask, peered in, and declared that to his eye the vat appeared full.

  'Yet this single observation is no true test,' he stated.

  'But we have drunk from this selfsame ale vat for three days,' Ector insisted. 'And it is no less full than when we first began.'

  'Be that as it may,' Dyfrig allowed, 'I was not here to see it.' Turning to the boys standing by with their buckets and cannikins, he commanded, 'Fill the lot, lads.'

  Dervag himself filled two buckets and, when the last one was full, the bishop again mounted the stone step. 'You will all mark,' his voice echoed from inside the great cask, 'that I am reaching inside the vat and pressing my thumbnail into the wax. I have scratched a line at the level of the remaining ale.'

  He turned to us and stepped down. 'Now then, my friends, we will watch. And I will look inside again when the cannikins have been refreshed for the third time.'

  'Go, lads,' Ector ordered, 'do your work.'

  We waited in the brewhouse – Dervag, Ector, Dyfrig and I – passing the time cordially. After a time, the serving boys returned, the buckets were replenished, and we waited again. After filling the buckets the second time, Ector ordered torches to be lit because it was growing too dim for them to see properly. We talked of the feast and of the splendid victory at Baedun.

  In a little while, the lads returned for the third time and, as before, Dervag refreshed their cannikins from the vat. 'Will you look now, Dyfrig?' Ector said.

  Dyfrig mounted to the stone. 'Give me a torch.'

  A moment's silence… and then a sharp intake of breath: 'Upon my vow!'

  'Do you see your mark?' Dervag asked.

  'I do not see it,' the bishop replied quickly, 'by reason of the fact that the level of the liquid is now higher than when I made the mark.'

  'Let me see.' I heard a scuffling sound as the brewmaster joined the bishop on the step, almost toppling him from the stone in his excitement. 'It is as he has said,' confirmed Dervag. 'Bring the jars!'

  The boys rushed forward and the jars were filled yet once more. Then the two of them looked again. 'I see the mark!' the brewer shouted. 'There it is!'

  Bishop Dyfrig descended the step and stood once more before us. 'It is a wonder,' he said. 'I am satisfied.'

  'What does it mean?' said Ector, demanding an explanation.

  'Rejoice, Ectorius!' the bishop told him, 'for even as Our Lord Jesu at the marriage feast turned water into wine and transformed five loaves and two fishes into a feast for five thousand, so has the Blessed Christ honoured your feast with a rare and precious gift. Rejoice! Come, we must share the glad news.'

  Share it, he did. Word of this wonder carried everywhere. In time, the story of Ector's Excellent Ale Vat took its place beside the tale of Bran's Platter of Plenty and Gwyddno's Enchanted Hamper.

  But on that night, when the good bishop finished telling the assembled warriors what he himself had witnessed, the gathering sat silent, pondering. Then up jumped Bors. He stepped from bench to table and stood in the midst of the gathering with his arms outspread.

  'Brothers!' he shouted, his
voice loud in the hall. 'Is there now any doubt what is required of us?'

  'Tell us!' someone cried; it might have been Gwalchavad.

  'Here is Arthur!' He thrust his hand to the bemused Arthur. 'Victorious Battle Chief, Conquering War Leader, acclaimed of men, and favoured of the Great God. It is time we made our Duke of Britain a king!'

  The warriors lauded the suggestion. 'Well spoken,' some shouted. 'So be it!'

  Bors, fists on hips, challenged them. 'Then why do you yet sit here when there is kingmaking to be done? Up! Stand on your feet, brothers, I tell you not another night shall pass before I see the kingly tore on Arthur's throat!'

  At these words those closest to Arthur leapt to their feet and pulled him from his chair. They hoisted him to their shoulders and carried him from the hall. 'I think they mean to do it,' observed Dyfrig. 'Is there anything to prevent them?'

  Ector laughed. 'If all the battle host of Saecsland could not prevail against them,' he said, 'I do not think anything in this worlds-realm can prevent them now.'

  'It comes to this, Dyfrig,' I told him. 'Will you make Arthur king, or will I?'

  'By your leave, Merlinus,' the bishop said, 'I will do the deed, and gladly.'

  'Come then!' Ector said. 'We stand here flapping the tongue and we will be left behind.'

  Out from the hall and through the yard, down from Edyn's rock and through the glen, the war host of Britain bore Arthur. The warriors carried him to Mons Agned, also called Cathir Righ, for the number of sovereign lords who had taken their kingship on its throne-shaped summit.

  And there, in the cool blue dusk of a long summer day, a scattering of stars alight in a high bright northern sky, Arthur was made king. Placing Arthur in the great rock chair, the warriors gathered at the base of the seat. Bors approached and, drawing the sword from the scabbard at his side, placed the blade at Arthur's feet. 'As I lay my sword, I lay my life, and hold myself under your authority.' So saying, he stretched himself face down on the ground, whereupon Arthur placed his foot upon Bors' neck. Then Arthur bade Bors rise, and Cador also came and stretched himself upon the ground at Arthur's feet. Owain came next, and then Maelgwn and Idris and Ector – all of them hugged the earth and stretched the neck before Arthur in full sight of the war host and their own kinsmen. If you have never seen this, I tell you it is a powerful thing to witness proud lords humbling themselves before a heaven-blessed king.

  The Cymbrogi, Companions of the Heart, passed before Arthur then and, laying aside their spears, they knelt and stretched forth their hands to touch his feet. Cai, Bedwyr, Rhys, Bors, Gwalchavad, Llenlleawg, and all the rest. Each swore faith to Arthur, and pledged him life for life and owned him king.

  When all had been observed as it should be, I came before the Bear of Britain. 'Arise, Arthur!' I declared, raising my rowan rod over him. 'By the witness of those who have pledged fealty to you, lords and kinsmen, I do proclaim you king of all Britain.'

  The warriors extolled this with jubilant shouts and wild cries of acclamation. Oh, it was good to hear their strong voices ringing out as if to fill the Island of the Mighty with a glad and happy sound. When the cheering had abated somewhat, I said, 'All praise and worship to the High King of Heaven, who has raised up a king to be Pendragon over us! All saints and angels bear witness: this day is Arthur ap Aurelius made king of all Britons.'

  Turning to the gathered warriors, I raised the rowan and, in the bard's voice of command, I called, 'Kneel before him, Cymbrogi! Fellow countrymen, stretch forth your hands and swear binding oaths of fealty to your lord and king on earth – even as you swear life and honour to the Lord of All Creation!'

  They knelt as one, and as one plighted troth with Arthur. When this was done, I turned again to Arthur. 'You have heard your sword brothers pledge life to life with you, Arthur. Is it your will to receive these oaths?!

  'I do receive the oaths plighted me,' he answered.

  Upon receiving this assurance, I summoned the waiting Dyfrig. 'Come here, friend, consecrate this lord to his sacred duty, and make him king indeed.'

  The Bishop of Mailros stepped to the rock seat. In his hands he held a tore of gold, which he raised, and in a loud voice charged Arthur, 'Declare this day before your people the God you will serve.'

  Up spoke Arthur. 'I will serve the Christ, who is called Jesu. I will serve the God, who is called the Father. I will serve the Nameless One, who is called the Holy Spirit. I will serve the Holy Trinity.'

  To this, Dyfrig demanded, 'And will you observe justice, perform righteousness, and love mercy?'

  'With Blessed Jesu as my witness, I will observe justice; I will perform righteousness; I will love mercy.'

  'And will you lead this realm in the true faith of Christ so long as you shall live?'

  'To the end of my strength, and the last breath of my mouth, I will lead this worlds-realm in the true faith of Christ.'

  'Then,' Bishop Dyfrig declared, 'by the power of the Three in One, I raise you, Arthur ap Aurelius. Hail, Arthur, Protector of Britain!'

  'Hail, Arthur!' shouted the warrior host in reply, their voices resounding in the twilight. 'Hail, Protector and Pendragon of Britain!'

  I thought that the bishop would place the tore of kingship on Arthur's throat then, but he gave it to me instead. I felt the cool, solid heaviness of the golden ornament between my hands as I stepped once more to the stony seat. Arthur's touch, light but steady, directed me to the mark. I spread the ends of the tore and slipped it around his neck, feeling the warm pulse of blood flutter beneath my touch.

  Then, pressing the soft yellow metal carefully, I closed the circle once more and stepped away, leaving Arthur to glory in the loud acclaim of lords and men. The long dusk had given way to a clear bright twilight, and the glad cries shook the very hills, as Arthur took up his long-denied sovereignty in the Region of the Summer Stars.

  TWO

  If they had been jubilant before, the warrior host became ecstatic. They embraced their new king with such zeal and enthusiasm, I began to think he would not survive their adulation. They seized him and up! up! they raised him, high upon their shoulders. Down from the rock they carried him, and through the glen, singing all the way. Upon returning to Caer Edyn, Arthur bestowed gifts on his lords and men – gold and silver rings and brooches; he gave knives and swords, cups, bowls, armbands, and precious stones.

  'I would honour my crowntaking with gifts,' he explained to Dyfrig, 'but I think you would not esteem gold rings or silver cups. I am thinking a strong roof over those ruins of yours would please you more.'

  'God bless you, Arthur,' replied the bishop. 'Gold rings are little use to a monk – especially when wind blows and rain falls.'

  'Therefore, I return to you all that the Picti and Saecsen have taken. And I entreat you to take from the battle spoils as much as you require to rebuild your abbey – and not only Mailros, but Abercurnig church as well. For I am persuaded that winds blow and rains fall at Abercurnig ever as much as anywhere else.'

  'In Christ's name, I do accept your gift, Arthur,' replied Dyfrig, well pleased.

  'Then I would ask a gift of you in return,' the new-made king continued.

  'Ask, lord,' Dyfrig said expansively, 'and if it is in my power to grant, be assured I will give it.'

  'I would ask you to take as much more from the spoils to cause a chapel to be built at Baedun.'

  'A chapel?' wondered the bishop. 'But we have an entire abbey nearby. What do you want with a chapel?'

  'I would have the monks of Mailros employed there to sing the Psalms and offer prayers for our brothers who now sleep on Baedun's slopes. I would have good prayers made for Britain perpetually.'

  This request delighted the bishop. 'It shall be done, lord,' replied Dyfrig. 'Let there be Psalms and prayers day and night, perpetually, until the Lord Christ returns to claim his own.'

  Nor was Arthur content to allow his honour to rest there. Early the next morning, he rode out to the settlements surrounding Caer Edyn to offer
gifts to the widows – wives of men killed defending their homes, or fallen to the Sea Wolves in battle. He gave gold and silver from his battle chest, and also sheep and cattle so they should not suffer want in addition to their grief.

  Only then did Arthur return to Caer Edyn to celebrate his kingmaking. I let him enjoy himself for a time, and when I judged the moment most propitious, I gathered my cloak around me and took up my rowan staff and tapped my way to the centre of the hall. In the manner of a druid bard, I approached the place where he sat at table with Cai and Bedwyr, Bors and Cador, and the Cymbrogi.

  'Pendragon of Britain!' I called aloud.

  Some of those looking on thought I meant to offer a song. 'The Emrys is going to sing!' they said to one another and hushed their talk to hear me. Quickly, the hall fell silent.

  It was not a song I intended, however, but a challenge.

  'May your glory outlast your name, which will last forever! It is right to enjoy the fruit of your labour, God knows. But you would find me a lax and stupid counsellor if I did not warn you that away in the south part of this island there are men who have not yet heard of Baedun and know nothing of your kingmaking.'

  Arthur received this with puzzled amusement. 'Peace, Myrddin.' He laughed. 'I have only just received my tore. Word will reach them soon enough.'

  I was prepared for this reply. 'Blind I may be, but I was not always so, and I am persuaded that men believe their eyes more readily than their ears.' This observation met with general approval.

  'True! True! Hear him, Bear,' Bedwyr said; Cai and Cador and others slapped the board with their hands.

  'So it is said,' agreed Arthur, growing slightly suspicious. 'What is your meaning?'

  I held out my hand to those gathered in the hall. 'Fortunate are the men of the north,' I told him, 'for they have ridden beside you in battle and they know your glory full well. But it is in my mind that the men of the south will not be won with such news as conies to them in time.'