Grail

TWENTY-FOUR

See, now: the Fisher King had two daughters – Charis, the elder, and Morgian, the younger, by his second wife. There was some trouble between the two daughters -1 never learned what it was – but it led Morgian to reject her kinfolk. She left Ynys Avallach long ago and took refuge in the wild north, as far away from Charis and Avallach as possible. In time, she came to the Orcades and, in that clutch of smooth-hilled islands, made for herself a fortress amidst the ancient standing stones and barrows.

God help me, this selfsame Morgian became my grandfather's wife. She was not my mother, nor even my father's mother. Heaven forbid it! Hear me, I am the son of Lot ap Loth, King of Orcady. My father rode with Arthur against the Saecsens and Vandali. Let all men remember that. It was my grandfather's misfortune to fall prey to Morgian's lust for power. He was a king, and she wanted a kingdom. The match was set before anyone knew the danger.

Poor Loth, in his dotage, imagined himself a lord of vast wealth and influence, and she was very beautiful. Some say that even then she was a canny sorceress, and laid an enchantment on my grandfather. Under the sway of Morgian's corrosive influence, he believed Lot, his loyal son, plotted to steal his throne. He harried my father and tried to kill him, but Lot escaped with most of the warband, and established himself on one of Orcady's many unassailable rocks. Gwalcmai and I were raised there, coming south to serve with Duke Arthur. No more than boys, my brother and I, and Arthur no older; we were among the first of the young war leader's Cymbrogi.

I have no doubt that it was Morgian who had turned Loth against Arthur in the end, but, true lord that he was, Arthur never counted our kinsman's rebellious ways against us. Still, the infamy is never far from me – every time I take the field, it is to restore some lustre to our tarnished name. The Good Lord willing, we may yet be remembered as something other than the twin grandsons of wayward Loth, the mad king who made wicked Morgian his queen.

In the years we were fighting for our lives, Morgian delved deep into the Dark Arts that now ruled her. Myrddin says she has been consumed by the power she sought to command. Evil, he says, cannot rest and is never satisfied; it is a guest that always devours its host, a weapon that wounds all who would wield it. And Myrddin should know: he faced her and defeated her; she fled the field, her precious power shattered, her sorcery overthrown.

That victory did not come without a price, however; it cost Myrddin his eyesight and his closest friend. When Myrddin rode out to confront Morgian, he went alone. Pelleas, Myrddin's faithful friend and servant, feared for his master and followed. Alas, Pelleas has never been seen again, nor his body ever found. In all the world, there is only one person who knows what happened to Pelleas, and that person left Pelleas' brooch behind.

'You ask what this means!' said Myrddin Emrys, clutching the silver brooch. 'Do you not know the darkness of the tomb when you see it? Do you wake in the night and think it bright day?'

He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, and stared around him with wild eyes.

'Calm yourself, Myrddin,' said Bors, attempting to soothe. 'We do not understand.'

'Death and darkness!' he said, his voice raw in its torment. 'Morgian has returned!'

'Morgian!' whispered Bedwyr.

At the sound of her name, the hairs on my neck prickled and my mouth grew dry.

Myrddin, his face ashen, his hands shaking, swept from the chamber, leaving us stunned and bewildered. As soon as he had gone, everyone began talking at once. Most knew something of the Queen of Air and Darkness – aside from Myrddin, I think Bedwyr and I knew her best – but Bors knew her not at all. He pulled me aside and said, 'This Morgian – she and Morgaws are the same, yes?'

'No,' I answered, but in my heart I wondered: was it possible? Had Morgian taken the shape of Morgaws? I shuddered at the thought.

'But you know her?' he persisted. 'Who is she that she wields such power?'

'She is a sorceress, and the sworn enemy of the Emrys and all his works,' I told him. 'Her powers are as vast as her ways are subtle, she is shrewd and she is cunning, and the Ancient Adversary himself is not more fearful than she.'

'Myrddin fought her once and nearly lost his life,' Bedwyr informed Bors. 'She blinded him and left him for dead. I think if it were not for Pelleas, he would have died.'

'I remember Pelleas…' Bors said, his voice trailing off.

'Maybe it is nothing to do with Morgian,' Cai suggested weakly. God love him, if the sea and sky ever changed places, he would be first to question it, and last to believe it.

I wished I had some of Cai's dogged obstinance. As hardheaded as he was bighearted, he refused to believe the worst about anyone or anything. But I believed – more the dread – for I had some small experience of Morgian's powers, and it chilled me to the marrow to think she was somehow involved in the theft of the Grail.

We fell silent. No one believed Cai was right, but no one had the heart to dispute him, either. After a time, Arthur turned quietly to Cador. 'What of Rhys?' he inquired softly.

The change in the Pendragon astonished me. The fire of his anger had been quenched utterly. Cowed by Myrddin's revelations, he appeared shaken and defeated.

'I did not like to keep you waiting any longer,' Cador replied. 'I thought best to bring word, but also to begin spreading the search. Rhys and the Cymbrogi are riding to the nearby settlements and holdings to ask their aid.'

'Soon the whole world will know of my failure,' mused Arthur ruefully. The king dismissed Cador then, charging him to rest and return to the court when he was once more refreshed.

When Cador had gone, the Pendragon turned to the remaining Grail Guardians and Bors, who had in all respects taken Llenlleawg's place. This is what your negligence has wrought,' he said, 'the ruin of a kingdom.' He glared around the ring effaces. 'If you have anything to say, I beg you say it now, friends. For I tell you the truth, unless the Holy Cup is restored, Britain is lost.'

We all stared in silence, loath to make matters worse for saying the wrong thing. Alas, it was true; the Guardians had failed in their sworn duty and now the kingdom was imperiled. Who could answer that?

Unfortunately, the king read our reticence the wrong way. Taking a step backward, he collapsed into the thronelike chair. It was as if a blow from the flat of a sword had struck him down. 'Even my friends desert me,' he groaned. I could but gaze in wretched misery at his anguish now made painfully visible.

Then, as if to fight the despair that even now ensnared him, the Pendragon heaved himself up once more and stood defiant – a man confronting his accusers. He spoke, and there was fire in his voice. 'Every day more and more pilgrims arrive at the shrine, only to find it empty. The word of miracles has gone out: 'Come!' they say. 'Come to the Summer Realm, and there you will see miracles!' And so the people come expecting a marvel, but instead see only Arthur's folly.' His grotesque smile was terrible to see. 'Ah, perhaps that is the greatest marvel of all: one man's arrogance and pride transformed into a hollow shell of lifeless stone.'

He regarded us dully, then flicked a hand at us. 'Leave me!'

No one said a word, and no one moved. 'What?' the king demanded. 'Are you become stumps? Leave me, I said. Get you from me! I cannot bear the sight of you!'

Bors, standing with his head down, arms wrapped around himself, made no move. Lost in thought, he seemed no longer to heed anything taking place in this world. But Bedwyr, dour in his silence, turned on his heel and led the retreat, abandoning his king to his misery.

Oh, it was a hard, hard thing, but what else could we do?

With Arthur in this vile humour, there was nothing for it but to quit the chamber. To stay would have served no good purpose. Bedwyr and the others went to the hall, but I could not bring myself to join them.

I went my way alone, wandering wherever my feet would take me, and soon found myself out on the high parapet above the gate – the inner yard on one side, the sloping hill with its twisting path on the other and the lake beyond. I watched as the dull twilight deepened, and with it a dreary fog rose from the marshes and lake to clothe the Tor in a thick, damp, silent cloak – the silence of the grave, Myrddin would say.

My thoughts flittered here and there, restless birds that could find no friendly roost; when I looked around, night had settled uneasily over Ynys Avallach, ending another foul day at last. I noticed, without pleasure, that though the year had turned, the change brought no rain; the drought persisted.

Aching with fatigue and thoroughly dispirited, I left the battlement, but not before casting a last glance towards the woodland to the east where the Grail, and all our brightest hopes, had disappeared. A bank of low cloud, darker even than the night sky, rose over the wood – as if the darkness Myrddin feared was drawing down upon us. I shivered with a wayward chill and hurried inside.

The next day, Arthur did not receive us. Bedwyr went to him for instructions, but returned saying that the king had shut himself in his chamber and would not see anyone.

'This is not right,' Cai asserted.

'Do you blame him?' Bedwyr snapped. His anger flared instantly. 'None of this would have happened if not for us. The fault is ours.' He struck himself on the chest with the flat of his hand. 'The fault is ours!'

'I am going to him,' said Cai, stalking from the hall.

He returned a short while later without having seen the king, and we spent a dismal day in an agony of bitter despair. Cymbrogi came and went throughout the day, anxious for a good word, but there was nothing to tell them. Dispirited, dejected, discouraged, we slipped further into the besetting gloom. At last, unable to stomach the bile of guilt any longer, I left my woeful companions and went in search of Myrddin.

Quitting the hall, I moved along the corridor towards the warriors' quarters, passing by Avallach's private chamber. The door was open slightly, and as I passed, I heard the moan of a man in pain. Pausing, I listened, and when the sound did not come again, I went to the door, pushed it gently open, and stepped inside.

Arthur yet sat in his chair, his head bowed upon his chest, the feeble glimmer of a single candle casting its bravely futile light into the close-gathered gloom. Oh, and it tore at my heart to see him, who was Earth and Sky to me, sitting alone in that darkened chamber. I regretted at once that I had intruded, and turned to go away again. But the king heard the sound of my soft footfall and said, 'Leave me.'

His voice was not his own, and the strangeness of it filled me with dread. I cannot leave him like this, I thought, so turned and advanced. 'It is Gwalchavad,' I whispered, approaching the chair.

At this he raised his head slightly; black shadows clung to him as if to drag him down into the depths. The room had grown chill, and the king sat with neither cloak nor brazier to warm him – a dragon torpid in his winter den. Even so, the eyes that gazed at me from beneath the grief-creased brow were fever-bright.

'Go away,' he muttered. 'You can do nothing for me.'

'I thought I might sit with you,' I said, wondering how it was possible for a man to decline so swiftly and completely. A short while ago he had been aflame with righteous anger, and now it had burned to ashes, and those ashes were cold.

There was no other chair in the room, so I stood awkwardly, certain that I had made a mistake in coming and, for Arthur's sake, regretting the intrusion. I was just thinking how best to make my retreat when the king said, 'He has raised me up only to dash my head against the rocks.' The hopelessness in his tone made me shudder, for I knew whom he meant.

After a moment, he continued, saying, 'I thought the time had come, Gwalchavad. I thought the world would change, and that we would bring peace and healing to the land. I saw the Kingdom of Summer so clearly, and I wanted it so – ' Arthur's voice became a strangled cry. 'God help me… I wanted it so.'

He was silent for another long moment, as if considering what he had just uttered. I stood quietly, and he seemed not to heed my presence any longer. 'Perhaps that is my failing -wanting it too much,' he said at last. 'I thought he wanted it, too. I was so certain. I was never so certain of anything.'

The king sank further into his chair, only to start again out of it as rage suddenly overswept him. 'Three days!' he shouted, his ragged cry ringing in the empty chamber. 'Taliesin's vision! Myrddin's work of a lifetime! The promised realm of peace and light – and it lasts all of three paltry days!' The cry became a moan. 'God, why? Why have you done this to me? There was such good to be gained… why have you turned against me? Why do you scorn me?'

As if remembering my presence once more, Arthur shifted in his chair and looked at me. 'I was betrayed,' he spat, his voice harsh and thick. 'Betrayed by one of my own. I loved him like a brother and trusted him. I trusted him with my life! And he repaid my trust with treachery. He has taken the Grail, and he has taken my wife.'

'If Morgian is at the root of this,' I ventured quietly, 'then Llenlleawg was likely bewitched. He could not have done it otherwise.'

The king seemed not to hear me, however. Clenching his hand into a fist, he struck it hard against his chest, as if to quell the inner pain. He did it again, and I stepped nearer so as to prevent him from injuring himself, should he persist. But the fit passed and he slumped back in his chair, weak with misery.

'Arthur's folly…' he muttered, closing his eyes once more. 'They come – they come to see a miracle, and find nothing but a heap of stone raised by a fool of a king.'

I could no longer bear to see him berate himself so harshly. At risk of rousing his wrath against me, I spoke. 'You could not know any of this would happen,' I said, trying to soothe him.

'King of Fools!' Arthur mocked. 'Hear me, Gwalchavad, never trust an Irishman. The Irish will stab you in the back every time.'

'If it is as the Emrys believes, it was Morgian, not Llenlleawg, who did this,' I said. 'You could never have foreseen that.'

'You hold me blameless?' he sneered. 'Then why has destruction befallen me? Why am I forsaken? Why has God turned against me?'

Fearing I was making matters worse, I hesitated. Arthur seized on my reluctance as confirmation of his failing.

'There!' he shouted. 'You see it, too! Everyone saw it but me. Oh, but I see it now…' He slammed his head sharply against the back of the chair with a cracking thump. 'I see it now,' he said again, his voice breaking with anguish, 'and now it is too late.'

'Arthur, it is not too late,' I countered. 'We will find Llenlleawg and recover the Grail. Everything will be made right again. The Kingdom of Summer has not failed – it must wait a little longer, that is all.'

'I saw it, Gwalchavad,' he said, closing his eyes again. 'I saw it all.'

He was exhausted, and I thought at last he might allow sleep to overtake him if I kept his mind from wandering along the more distressing paths. 'What did you see, lord?'

'I saw the Summer Realm,' he replied, his voice growing soft and dreamy. 'I was dying – I know that. Myrddin does not say it, but I know I must have been very near death when he prevailed upon Avallach to summon the Grail. Avallach was against using the Blessed Cup in that way.'

He paused, and I made bold to suggest that he should rest now. 'Sleep, lord, you are tired.'

'Sleep!' Arthur growled. 'How can I sleep when my wife is in danger?' He pressed his fingertips to his eyes as if to pluck them out of his head. In a moment, his hands dropped away and he continued. 'Gwenhwyvar came to me. She was so brave – she did not want to let me see her crying. She kissed me for the last time, as she thought, and left me – Myrddin left, too – everyone left the Tor and then Avallach came into where I lay…'

I realized that I was about to hear how Arthur had been healed and restored to life by the Grail, so said no more about resting just now.

'I did not see either of them at first,' Arthur said, his voice falling to a whisper at the memory, 'but I knew Avallach had entered the room, and that the Holy Grail was with him, for the bedchamber was suddenly filled with the most exquisite scent – like a forest of flowers, or a rain-washed meadow in full blossom – like all the best fragrances I had ever known. The scent roused me, and I opened my eyes to see Avallach kneeling beside me, his hands cupped around an object that appeared to be a bowl…' Arthur licked his lips as he must have licked them at the time. 'And I opened my mouth to receive the drink, and tasted the sweetest flavour – the finest mead is as muddy water compared to it – and this was merely the sweetness of the air I tasted, but he had not brought me a drink as I supposed. It was the Grail itself infusing the very air with its exquisite savour.'

Arthur drew the air deep into his lungs now as he had then. His tormented features smoothed as, in memory, he relived the marvel which had saved him.

'I breathed the redolent air, and the vapours of death which had clouded my mind parted and rolled away. I came to myself again, and knew myself in the presence of an eminent and powerful spirit – not Avallach only, for though he is of great stature in the world of the spirit, this Other was more immense, more profound, more potent by far. My own spirit, hovering between life and death, seemed a feeble, fragile thing – a bird caught in a bush weakly fluttering wings for release. I was nothing beside them… nothing. My life had been wasted – '

Here I interrupted. 'Arthur, it is not so. You have ever held true to that which has been given you.'

But the king would not hear it. He shook his head in denial. 'My life has been wasted in the pursuit of things mean and ordinary – insignificant matters, meaningless and swiftly forgotten.'

'Peace and justice are not insignificant,' I countered, alarmed to hear him talk so. 'Winning freedom for our people and our land is not meaningless, nor will it be quickly forgotten.'

This brought a wan, pitying smile to the king's face. 'Dust,' he said. 'Nothing but dust carried away by the first wind that blows, lost forever and forever unknown. Who but a fool regards the dust beneath his feet?'

I made to protest again, but he raised his hand, saying, 'Let it be, Gwalchavad. It matters not.' Returning to his recounting, he closed his eyes and lowered his head. 'Shame,' he said. 'I have never known such shame: it burned – how it burned! – as if to consume me from within. My guilt overwhelmed me. Guilt for the misuse of my life and the lives of so many, many others. I stood adjudged and knew myself condemned a thousand times over. Neither Avallach nor the Other with him so much as raised a finger in accusation. They had no need – my own spirit damned me. To die before making atonement filled me with such remorse, the tears flowed from my eyes in a flood as if to wash away the mountain of my guilt.

'But, oh, the Grail! The Grail was there, and even as the world dimmed before my eyes, Avallach held the sacred bowl before me, dipped in his finger, and touched his fingertip to my forehead. He sained me with the cross of Christ. It was, as I thought, the last rite for a dying man. Soon my soul would stand before the High King of Heaven, and I would face my judge.

'Yet even as Avallach touched me with his fingertip, I felt life surge within me. I was alive! What is more, I was forgiven. At Avallach's touch, I was at once healed and released from the guilt and shame of my squandered existence. My former ways dropped from me like a sodden cloak, and like an eagle borne up on the winds of a gale, my soul rose from the pit and soared.

'The joy, the rapture, the delight overwhelmed me and kindled within me a fire which blazed with the love of goodness and right. And it was as if I stood on a high mountain, looking down at the world far below. I looked and saw a green and peaceful land spread out on the breast of the blue-green sea.

'I looked to see whence came this light, and lo! it was the Grail. I saw a shrine of stone set on a hill and, established within this shrine, the Blessed Cup of Christ. Even as I beheld the cup, a voice from Heaven said, "Feed the people, heal the land." The voice spoke these words three times, and I saw Britain shining like gold in the radiance of a light brighter than the sun.

'What could this mean but that I should build the shrine and set the Grail within it to shine as a beacon of truth and right throughout the land. From Britain would flow every good and perfect thing for the succour of the world; all men would look to the Island of the Mighty and hope would be renewed. Ynys Prydain would become that vessel through which great blessing would flow to all mankind.

'I vowed that this would be my work hereafter: to build the Grail Shrine, that the Blessed Cup might begin transforming the world. Thus, I stood up from my bed of death, fully healed, and possessed of an ardour to bring the vision granted me into living reality. I went out and greeted my wife – Myrddin and Llenlleawg were there, too, and all the Fair Folk.

'The next day I took the work in hand, and began laying plans for the Grail Shrine. From that day I have held but one thought uppermost: to honour my vow for the glory of God and the good of Britain and her people. This I have done' – he paused, raising his eyes briefly, only to turn them away again -'and for this I am brought down.'

Arthur lowered his chin to his chest once more and lifted a hand to his forehead. 'Leave me,' he said, the glorious vision vanishing in the hollowness of his resignation. 'I am tired, Gwalchavad. Leave me.'

I stood for a moment, longing to speak a word of solace to ease his hurt. 'I am sorry, Arthur,' I said at last, then crept away, leaving the king to the cold misery of his woe.