Arthur

TEN

With a shout of joy we all rushed to him. Merlin is restored! The spell is broken! Glory to our Great Redeemer! Merlin is alive! Our praise rang from the rooftrees, and echoed through the corridors of the Fisher King's palace.

And suddenly Charis appeared in the doorway, her face anxious and alarmed. But dismay quickly gave way to delight as she saw her son rising up from his deathbed.

She rushed to him and gathered him in her arms. Merlin wept still and she wept with him, holding him, rocking him gently back and forth as if he were her babe once more. I stood near enough to hear him murmuring, 'I am unworthy… unworthy… Great Light, why was I born so blind!'

A strange thing to say. Merlin born blind? But he wept like a man broken by grief, as if his heart lay riven in his breast, as if nothing could ever heal the rent in the gaping wound of his soul. I do not think I have ever seen or heard a man so forlorn and inconsolable.

His misery was complete.

I see them there still. I see it all: Charis holding her son, the two of them swaying gently back and forth; the monks encircling, uncertain, caught between joy and distress; candles bright, the room hazy with heavy light; the heave and shift of Merlin's shoulders as the sobs break from his wounded heart.

And the woman – the Bright Bearer who released Merlin from his enchanted sleep – where is she?

She is gone. Vanished as quietly, as mysteriously as she appeared. She is gone, and the marvellous Grail with her.

Yes, and I feel again the numb despair stealing over me… the howling emptiness of futility… the staggering desolation of defeat, of knowing the battle is yet to be joined, and that the battle will be lost.

Merlin understood this at once. He was a true prophet; he saw it all. In the dazzling light of his release, he saw the cold, sodden ashes of his failure.

Small wonder that he wept.

He could speak not a mote of this for some time. Later, when he could fit words to it, I began to understand why he wept.

'It was arrogance!' he told me. 'It was pride. I was blind and stupid with it, Pelleas. Do not think to say me otherwise! Vanity! You should have let me die.'

I made to soften his reproach, but there was no stopping him.

'I went to Broceliande searching for a sign. I am given no end of signs, yet I heed them not! You see how ignorant I have been? How foolish? The Queen of Air and Darkness traps me with a child's trick! Such a splendid idiocy! Do you not love me for it, Pelleas?'

'Surely, master – '

'I wonder that you still call me master. I am unworthy of it, Pelleas. Trust that I am telling you the truth. No man was ever more unworthy.'

'But you did not know.'

'Did not know? It is my duty to know! I belittled her power. I ignored the danger.'

He began to pace the hall restlessly. 'How could I be so close to her and not realize it? How is it possible that she could disguise herself so completely?'

'Nimue?'

'Oh, it was more than a new name, Pelleas. She was innocence itself. How is it possible that such an immense, corrupting evil can cloak itself in such beauty and purity?'

It was, could only be, he concluded, a measure of Morgian's power. That she could so disguise herself – both in form and nature – was indeed a dire wonder.

'Oh, great Merlin!' he jeered in self-mockery. 'He is so wise and powerful. Merlin is invincible! Do you not see it, Pelleas? Morgian can act openly, and with arrogance, and we are powerless against her. There is nothing to stop her now.'

I was becoming frightened. I had never seen him in such a state. There is the Grail,' I said, grasping for any aid I could lay hand to.

Merlin stopped stalking. He turned and gazed at me with the light in his golden eyes.

'Yes,' he replied slowly, placing a finger to his lips. There is the Grail. I must not forget that.' Then he looked at me sharply. 'I saw it once, you know. I have never told that to anyone. I think Avallach has seen it, too. And now you, and Elf odd and the others.'

'Yes, but what is it exactly?' I wondered. No one had yet explained it to me.

'It is,' replied Merlin slowly, choosing his words, 'the cup Jesu used at his last supper, brought here by the tin merchant, Joseph of Arimathea – the same who founded the first shrine on Shrine Hill and established the teaching of the Christ in the Island of the Mighty.

The very cup Jesu blessed, saying, "This is my blood which is shed for your sins." The cup was passed hand to hand among the Twelve on the night he was betrayed. Our Lord drank from it.

'Joseph it was who paid for the room, and for the supper that night. After the Christ's death and resurrection, when his followers were sent out to tell the Gospel, Joseph came here. And he brought the cup.'

I had never heard the story before, and said so.

'No?' Merlin replied. 'Well, I suppose not. It is an old story and not something voiced freely about. Those who see the cup are most reluctant to speak of it. There is a mystery and a power at work here – '

That is not the half of it!'

'Be that as it may, the Grail is possessed of a high holiness, and one does not speak lightly of such things.'

Indeed, Merlin would speak no more about it.

The next day, having prayed for him and blessed him, the monks departed. Merlin thanked them for their help and devotion, and gave them presents to take back to their homes with them. Elfodd was last to leave; having seen the others on their way, he lingered to speak to Merlin.

'I will not ask how such an enchantment came upon you,' the abbot said. 'But it is clear that there are great and terrible forces working in the world. I would rest the better to know where you stand on this matter of sorcery.'

Merlin cocked his head to one side. 'Why, Elfodd, do you think I caused this hurt to myself with some obscure dabbling?'

Elfodd frowned. 'I do not reproach you, my friend. But we have seen much in the way of evil spirits and such at the Shrine. It is almost as if we are under siege here.' The abbot's frown deepened. 'We hear many rumours of the druids.'

'And since I am a bard, you think – '

'Do you deny receiving the druid learning?'

'I deny nothing! And for the sake of our friendship, Abbot Elfodd, I will forget at once what you have just said.'

'It is out of friendship that I tell you!'

Merlin paused and drew a long breath. 'You are right. Forgive me.'

Elfodd waved aside the apology. 'I take no offence at your words. Do not take offence at mine.'

'I forget that the Learned Brotherhood is not what it once was,' Merlin admitted sadly.

'No, it is not.' The abbot clasped his hands earnestly. 'It grieves me to see you troubled like this. You must understand that you cannot fight the enemy with the enemy's weapons – even for good.'

'I understand, Elfodd.' Merlin sighed. 'Never doubt it.'

'Sorcery is an abomination – '

'And never doubt my loyalty,' Merlin added. Though he spoke softly, I heard the steel in his voice. 'I will do what I have to do.'

The abbot gazed at Merlin for a moment, nodded, and turned to leave. 'Farewell, Merlin.' he called. 'Come to the Shrine for a blessing before you leave.'

'Farewell, Elfodd.' Merlin watched until Elfodd had crossed the yard and disappeared beyond the gate, then turned to me. 'He thinks I practise sorcery – they all think that. For the love of God, are they insane? Why do they doubt me?'

'They doubt because they do not know you,' I said, although no reply was expected.

'Have I lived this long in the service of the Truth only to be reviled? They believe me a traitor, Pelleas.'

They are confused. They do not know.'

'Then they do not think!' he growled.

It was no use talking to him; I could only make matters worse trying to reason with him. He would hear nothing I said.

Anyway, I did not know myself what answer to make. My heart agreed with Merlin: that of all men the faithful should have more faith in him. His every thought was for the Truth, and for Britain and the good of its people. As some have said: Merlin is the Soul of Britain.

He had power, yes. Very great power.

But I tell you the truth, Merlin never used his power for his own gain. All Heaven bear witness! If he had so chosen, he could have been High King. He could have been emperor!

Downcast and discouraged, Merlin sought solace in his time of need. He walked along the lake, and among the apples hanging golden and ripe for the harvest, letting the peace of the Glass Isle spread its healing into his soul. Left to himself, I think he would happily have stayed at Ynys Avallach for ever.

But the days turned grey and the wind blew a chill reminder of the winter to come, and Merlin heeded the warning. 'Time is fleeting, and we are needed elsewhere,' he said, one rainy morning. 'Arthur will be wondering what has become of us.'

By this I knew that the Glass Isle had completed its work in him and he was ready to face the world of men once more. Avallach and Charis were sorry to see us leave so soon, but accepted Merlin's decision with all good grace. I spent the day assembling the necessary provisions for the journey, and Merlin rode to the Shrine to pray, and to take his leave of Elfodd as he had promised.

I finished late in the afternoon, but Merlin had not returned. I waited. Charis came into the hall, then, and we talked of this and that, but I noticed that her eyes kept stealing to the doorway and the yard beyond. She too was anxious about Merlin's return.

As the last light of afternoon faded from the sky to the east, she said, 'Something has happened to him. We should go down there.'

I agreed. We rode the steep and narrow trail down to the causeway below the Tor, across the marsh and around the lake to the little abbey that stands at the foot of the Shrine.

We were met by several monks, who indicated that Merlin had indeed gone up to the Shrine and had asked to be left alone. No one had seen him since. No one had dared disturb him.

Charis thanked the brothers and we continued on our way, climbing the path leading to the Shrine.

Shrine Hill is a small hump of earth lying hard by the Tor. It is an ancient and holy place, for it is here that word of the Blessed Christ first reached the Island of the Mighty. And here the worship of the True God first began in this land.

The Shrine itself is a small, round building of wattle and mud, washed white with lime. The bare earth floor is swept every day, and the thatched roof is continually renewed, so that the tiny chapel always appears new-made.

In recent years, an abbey was constructed nearby at the foot of the hill, so that the Shrine will never lack for care. The abbey itself has become a place of healing – due largely to the ministrations of Charis. The Lady of the Lake, as she is called by the humble folk, is known to be a skilled and compassionate healer.

We mounted the hill and walked to the Shrine. No sound came from within. The air was dead; nothing moved, no bird sang the evensong. We listened for a moment, then stepped through the low doorway. Inside the shadows deepened to dusk.

At first we did not see anything but a dark heap before the altar – as if a careless monk had left a tangle of clothing there. We approached and Charis knelt down.

'Merlin?' She reached out a hand and the heap moved at her touch. There was a rustle of cloth and Merlin rolled over. 'Merlin?'

'Oh – Mother… ' His face shone pale in the fading light. 'I – I must have fallen asleep.'

'Come,' said Charis, bending over him, 'we will take you home now.'

'Mother,' said Merlin, getting to his knees and unwinding the altar cloth from around him. He appeared haggard and gaunt – as if he had been battling demons in his sleep. 'I am sorry. I meant to have this day with you, and I – '

'It is well,' Charis replied quickly. 'Come, we will go home now.'

Merlin rose slowly. I picked up the altar cloth, shook it out, and placed it back on the altar. As I turned to follow Merlin and Charis out, I noticed a dark place on the ground… Sweat? Tears?

The earth was damp where Merlin had lain his head.