Arthur

ELEVEN

'Myrddin should have returned before now. Something is wrong!' Bedwyr threw down his bowl and stood up.

'He said to wait. What else can we do?' Gwenhwyyar asked, her voice raw with torment.

'He said he would come back in three days. Well, the third day has passed and he has not returned!'

Indeed, since dawn, when I arose and took up my place of vigil, we had watched and waited, gazing out over the western sea whence the Emrys' boat would come. I stood my watch all day, relieved by Bedwyr from time to time, or Gwenhwyvar, or sometimes both at once. We talked of this and that, small things, matters of no consequence. The one thing we did not mention was the boat, though our thoughts were full of nothing else.

The day had faded into a dull and sullen sunset. Still none of us saw so much as a thread of sail or a sliver of mast. But one day before, the bay had been alive with ships. The queen had let it be known that the Pendragon and his Wise Counsellor were communing together and did not wish to be disturbed. She bade the lords and kings of Britain return each one to his own realm and await the High King's pleasure. The Cymbrogi she ordered back to Caer Lial.

Fergus and Ban grew anxious and approached the queen in private. Yet, through all her assurances Gwenhwyvar protected the secret and gave nothing away, though her heart was breaking all the while.

Bors, Cador and Rhys had been the last to leave. They insisted that they would wait and ride to the palace with the king, but Gwenhwyvar urged them to hasten back and see to readying the Pendragon's palace for his return – much had been ruined by the Picti. In the end, they reluctantly agreed and rode away, so that by evening of the second day we three were alone on Round Table hill.

Then we had waited and watched, as the sun climbed to its full height and started its long slow slide to the west. But the sea remained empty; no boat appeared. Nor did we see any sign of it at dusk, when Bedwyr set a beacon fire on the beach below the hill.

Now we sat in silence before the Pendragon's tent. The red-gold dragon standard rippled in the evening breeze. As if in answer to Bedwyr's outburst, a Sight of gulls wheeling overhead began screaming. Their complaint echoed up from the valley below. Bedwyr gazed at the bowl he had thrown down and kicked it aside. 'We should not have let him go,' he muttered, his voice full of reproach and pain.

'Then we will go to him,' Gwenhwyvar said softly. She turned to me, and placed her hand on my arm. 'You have been to the island, Aneirin.'

'Several times, yes. As you have been, my lady.'

'You will pilot,' declared Bedwyr.

'But we have no boat!' I pointed out.

'Arthur the Shipbuilder is our lord,' sniffed Bedwyr, 'and this fellow says we have no boat. I will get one.'

'Then I will be your pilot – may God go with us,' I answered.

Bedwyr saddled one of the horses and left at once. Gwenhwyvar and I spent a fretful dusk before the fire, neither one of us speaking. She withdrew to her tent when the moon rose and I spread my red calfskin before the entrance and lay down with a spear next to me – no fire to warm or cheer me, no roof above me but the stars of heaven, bright with holy fire.

I lay down but I did not sleep. All night long I twisted and turned on my calfskin, watching the long, slow progression of the moon across the sky and praying to Jesu to protect us – which he did. At last, just before dawn, I slipped into a strange sleep: deep, yet alert. I knew myself asleep, yet I heard the sea moan on the shore below the hill and the wind sigh through the grass around me.

It was the time between times, neither day nor night, darkness nor light, when the gates of this world and the next stand open. The restless wash of the sea below the cliffs sounded like the troubled murmurings of distant crowds in my ears. The wind-sigh became the whisper of Otherworld beings bidding me rise and follow.

I lay in that Otherworldly place and dreamed a dream.

In my dream I awoke and opened my eyes and I saw green Avallon, Isle of Apples, fairest island that is in this world, next to the Island of the Mighty. I heard the strange, enchanting music of Rhiannon's birds, and I smelled the sweet fragrance of apple blossoms. On my lips I tasted the warmth of honey mead, and I arose.

I walked along the way-worn path from the sea cliff to the Fisher King's palace. Where the palace should have been I saw nothing but a cross of Jesu wrought of stone and lying on the ground – and, beside it, a leather pouch containing Myrddin's stone-carving tools. I bent down to trace the words inscribed upon it, but a cloud passed over the sun and the light grew dim, and I could not read what had been written there.

I looked to the east and saw stars glimmering hi the sky, though still the sun shone in the west. Storm clouds gathered above me. Lightning flashed, and thunder quaked. The whole earth began to tremble with the sound.

Across the green land the thunder became a roar, and the tremble the footfall of a terrible beast. I turned to the east, whence came the storm, and saw a great golden lion bounding towards me over the weald. The lion seized me, and snatched me up in its jaws. And then it began to run. The enormous beast carried me over the island to the sea, where it plunged into the white-foamed waves and began to swim.

The waves surged around me and the lion changed into a fish that bore me on its back to a rock in the middle of the sea, and there it left me. The storm which had pursued me now broke with fury upon the rock. The gale screamed and raised the sea; water crashed and waves beat upon me, but I gripped the rock with all my strength, lest I be torn away to drown in the whelming flood.

I clung to the rock, cold and wet, and sick with sorrow – for all my good companions had gone from me and my death drew near. I trembled and began to shake, so that I thought my very bones would break. My body began to burn as with the flames of fire.

A shining mist came down over my rock, and out of the mist I heard a voice that called me by name. 'Aneirin,' the voice commanded, 'leave off your trembling, neither be afraid. I have seen your miserable plight and will help you. Stand up! I will show you what is to be done.'

I stood on my rock and it became a mountain, strong and high. And though the storm-flood raged, the angry water could not overwhelm it. An ancient oak grew atop the mountain. I took one of its branches and struck the earth, and out from among the roots a spring appeared and began flowing down the mountainside.

The spring poured forth, cold and clean. And wherever the water flowed forests and meadows appeared to clothe the barren slopes, giving food and shelter to the beasts of the field and to the eagles that soared in the heights.

The old oak fell down, but the spring flowed on and became a stream, and the stream a mighty river. I picked up my branch and began to walk. Grass grew up in the places where my feet touched the earth, so that my tread was easy and the path clear. I came eventually to a green meadow – the same meadow that I had known before. And I saw that the mountain was in Avallon.

The stone cross was there, and the leather pouch of tools. But now I saw what I did not see before. Inscribed on the cross was a name: ARTORIVS REX QVONDAM REXQVE FVRTVRVS.

Arthur, king once and king to be… Though well begun, the carving was unfinished.

The voice which had spoken to me from the cloud hailed me again. 'Arise, Gildas. Finish that which has been set before you.'

'My name is Aneirin,' I replied. 'And I know nothing of stonecraft.'

The voice answered me, saying, 'Aneirin you were, Gildas you shall be, True Bard to the High King of Heaven.'

The dream ended and I awoke at once. It was dawn, the time between times had given way to daylight and I was back in the world of men. I rose and hurried to look out upon the sea. And behold! As the sun rose above the eastern hills I saw a ship coming towards us. I ran and told the queen and we went down to the shore to await its arrival.

'He must have ridden through the night,' I remarked, as the ship put out a coracle to meet us. The queen nodded, but said nothing. Her eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep or weeping, I know not which.

Closer, I saw that it was Bedwyr come to fetch us. 'I am sorry,' said Bedwyr as he helped the queen into the small boat, 'I would have returned sooner, but the horse foundered and I had to walk some of the way.'

Gwenhwyvar opened her mouth to make a reply, but her gaze slid past Bedwyr to the others standing behind him: Rhys, Bors and Cador, looking repentant and stubborn at the same time, with their arms folded defiantly over their chests.

'I could not get the ship without them knowing,' Bedwyr explained, 'so I brought them with me.'

'All respect to the Emrys' wishes,' put in Cador, 'but we would in nowise be left behind.'

'I see,' replied Gwenhwyvar. 'Since that is the way of it, I grant you leave to accompany me – in pledge for your silence.'

'That you shall have,' said Bors, 'and gladly.'

'Swear it on your fealty to Arthur,' the queen said.

'Lady,' protested Cador, 'have we lived so long in Arthur's service that we must be treated this way?'

'Swear it!' the queen demanded. 'Or I will put you over the side myself.'

The three swore as the queen directed, and she gave the order to sail. Bors, who had spent fully as much time aboard the heaving deck of a ship as astride a galloping horse, acted as pilot. But since he had never been to Ynys Avallon, I stood with him to guide him as best I could from my memory of previous voyages.

The day was clear, the sea-wind strong. We fairly flew over the water like the gulls that soared above our mast. And it seemed that the dun-coloured cliffs of Rheged had just fallen away behind us when I saw the faint blue smudge of the island on the horizon away to the south-west. 'There it is!' I cried. 'That is Ynys Avallon.'

Bors adjusted his course and steered for it. I settled in the bow and fell asleep listening to the slap of the waves against the hull. I awoke some time later, thinking to see the isle directly ahead. Instead, I saw nothing but a grey sky and grey sea all around.

My shipmates were all asleep, save for Bors, so I crept back to sit with him at the tiller. 'Where is it?' I asked, sliding onto the bench beside him.

He pointed ahead. 'Rain is blowing in from the east and it has come over misty. But the island is just before us, never fear.'

It was true. The island was before us, though I could not see it. That is the peculiar nature of the isle – which is why the men of Ierne consider it an Otherworldly island: it appears and disappears, seemingly at will.

But Bors proved a good pilot and we reached Avallon after midday. 'Where is the best place to put to shore?' he asked, scanning what we could see of the coastline through the mist.

'We must go round the southern point to the western side,' I told him. The harbour is not so good there, but Avallach's palace is on that side. That is where Myrddin has taken Arthur to be healed.'

So we made our way round the southern end of the island and round to the western side. It was difficult in the mist, but the queen helped, for she had visited the island and remembered where to look for rocks below the surface, and where to find harbourage.

Nevertheless, it was late when we finally came into the harbour and drew in beside the boat Barinthus had used. We made landfall and tied our boat beside Barinthus' vessel, and gathered on the red rock shingle below Avallach's towered stronghold. We looked up at the cliffs rising before us, their soaring tops lost in the mist above. 'They will not have seen us coming,' Bedwyr said. 'You had better lead us, Aneirin.'

I turned to the queen, but Gwenhwyvar said, 'Go ahead, Aneirin. You know the way better than anyone here.'

I did as I was bade, and found the winding, rock-cut steps that led to the palace. They were wet with mist and slippery, which made the going slow.

By the time I reached the top, I could scarce make out the contour of the ground before me as it rose slightly before fading into the grey obscurity of shifting cloud. I walked a few paces forward over the curled, wet grass to the path leading to Avallach's fortress, feeling all the while as if I had crossed one of those invisible boundaries and entered the Otherworld. For, even as my foot touched the path, the mist grew luminous and bright, all gold and glittering, shining with the westering sunlight through it.

The sudden brilliance dazzled my eyes for a moment, I admit. But only that. Even so, mist or no mist, I know we would have seen the Fisher King's palace if it had been there.

But it was gone. Neither tower, nor wall, nor gate, nor hall remained. There was nothing left at all.