Grail

THIRTY-ONE

We stood gazing into the darkness, the fire at our backs throwing our shadows before us like an all-encircling army of shape-shifting phantoms.

Breathless, we waited.

Across the meadow, the trees began thrashing back and forth as if in the grip of a violent storm, but the air remained still. I heard a low, grinding sound and the trees parted, lying down on either side as if divided by a giant hand.

In the same instant, the burning oak behind us gave another tremendous crack, sending sparks and chunks of flaming wood showering all around. The fire at our backs leapt high, and higher still into the night; our shadows flickered and danced out across the darkened meadow. In the newly opened gap where the forest met the river, a figure appeared – a lone warrior on a horse.

'There!' someone shouted, and from the corner of my eye I saw a movement as the speaker thrust a hand to point out the horseman advancing towards us.

'Do not break the circle!' Myrddin Emrys cried, his voice terrible in the silence. 'As God is life and evil death, hold tight and do not let go!'

The rider came on, slowly. He carried a dark shield with a burnished iron rim; both the shield's rim and the honed tip of an upright spear glimmered in the firelight, and the blade on his thigh gleamed dull red. The warrior was dressed all in black from head to foot, and wore a hooded cloak, so I could not see his face; from the withers and flanks of the horse, long black strips of fine cloth rippled and fluttered as the animal moved, making it seem as if the beast were floating towards us.

The dark rider advanced to within a spear's cast of us, whereupon the Emrys challenged him. 'Halt!' he shouted in his voice of command. The Swift Sure Hand is over us. You can do no evil here. Go back.'

The rider made no reply, but sat regarding us while his mount chafed the ground impatiently.

'Go back to the hell from whence you came,' Myrddin shouted again. 'You cannot harm us.'

By way of reply, the warrior shifted the shield to cover his chest and, with the slightest lifting of the reins, turned the horse and began riding around the ring. He made one circuit, then another and another, slowly gathering pace with each pass. By the sixth or seventh circuit, the horse had reached an easy canter.

Around and around he rode, in a long, slow circle, the hooves of his mount beating the ground in a rhythmic thump like the rising beat of a drum. Around and around – the canter became a trot… the trot became a gallop… the gallop became faster, the beat of the hooves coming quicker.

The strange black strips of cloth hanging from the horse's sides rustled like wings. I could hear the beast's breath coming in snorts and gasps now as the pace began to tell. The warrior's cloak billowed out behind him and the hood slipped from his head, revealing a face I knew well.

'Llenlleawg!'

It was Arthur, crying out in surprise and dismay. He shouted again, hoping, I think, to gain his former champion's attention. Others quickly joined in, and soon everyone was calling Llenlleawg's name. I shouted, too, thinking that we might yet sway him from his course.

But looking neither right nor left, the Irish champion urged his mount to charging speed and lowered the spear.

'Stand your ground, men!' shouted Arthur. 'Do not break the circle!'

Even before he finished speaking, I saw the quick flick of the reins and the horse swerved towards the ring of Cymbrogi, driving in towards the ring at a shallow angle to my right. The spear swung over the horse's neck and came level. The Cymbrogi, arms linked, shouted to distract the horse, and braced themselves for the killing blow.

But the attack was merely a feint, and he slanted away well before committing himself to the charge.

'The Swift Sure Hand upholds us!' shouted Myrddin.

The next charge came while the Emrys' words yet hung in the air – another slanting drive, the angle sharper this time. Again the Cymbrogi shouted to distract the horse, and again Llenlleawg broke off the attack – but carrying it closer before turning away.

'Llenlleawg!' the king cried. 'Here I am! Come to me!'

The champion galloped on, his face set, expressionless, his eyes staring and empty as the dead.

The third attack carried him almost headlong into the line. In the leaping firelight, I saw the head of the spear swing towards me as Llenlleawg began his charge. This time he came on a straight course and I knew he meant to break us. 'God help us,' I breathed, tightening my grip on Rhys next to me.

The black's hooves tore the turf as it gathered speed, legs churning, closing swiftly. I could already feel the spearhead slicing into my flesh and my bones breaking as I fell beneath those crushing hooves. I braced myself for the impact.

Llenlleawg charged to within a hairbreadth of the line. I could hear the spear blade sing in the air. But at the moment when the spear should have pierced my chest and carried me off my feet, the blade shifted and the horse blew past me – so close I could feel the heat of the animal as it surged by.

The line held, and the Cymbrogi cheered in their relief.

But when Llenlleawg did not so much as break stride, I knew that the testing was over. The next charge would be in earnest; the man chosen to meet it would die, and the circle would be breached.

Around and around rode Llenlleawg, straight-backed in the saddle, shoulders square, oblivious to the jeers and taunts of his former friends. On the final pass he began his charge. The horse strained forward, hooves pounding the earth. The spear came level as the horse turned onto its course, and I saw who had been chosen. The spear was aimed at Arthur.

'Hold, men!' he cried as the deadly blade swept swiftly nearer. 'Hold the line!'

The Cymbrogi, desperate to help their king, writhed in an agony of helplessness. Obedient unto death – each man willing, longing, to take the Pendragon's place in the line, yet unable to so much as lift a hand or move a step for the sake of that selfsame obedience – the brave Dragon Flight screamed their defiance at the onrushing traitor.

I could not bear to see the cruel spearhead pierce my lord and friend, neither could I look away. So, like all the others, I watched helplessly as the death-stroke hurtled swift to the mark. And, like all the others, I screamed in a futile attempt to draw the spear away from that mark.

Hooves flying, the black and its silent rider swept in.

The line tensed as if to meet the blow for the king. 'Stand firm!' shouted Arthur for the last time.

As Arthur cried out, the hard-charging horse stumbled, its forelegs buckling beneath it. The animal's speed and weight carried it forward, pitching the rider over its neck and onto the ground as the beast's hindquarters sailed up, back legs still kicking.

Llenlleawg fell headfirst to land sprawling on the ground. The spear struck the earth not two paces from Arthur's feet and buried itself deep, the shaft quivering with the force.

The line held, and we cheered our king's deliverance. Doubtless we would have swooped upon Llenlleawg if Myrddin had not prevented us. 'Peace!' he cried in his voice of command. 'Break not the circle, for the Great King upholds us still!'

Llenlleawg was on his feet again almost instantly. Up he leapt, hand on sword. As he drew the blade, I recognized it at once. How not? I have seen it every day for the past seven years. It was Caledvwlch, the Pendragon's own blade: the last evidence, if any were needed, of Llenlleawg's vile treachery.

The traitor grasped the sword in both hands and raised it over his head as he came.

Perhaps the fall had hurt Llenlleawg, for even as he raised his arms, his steps faltered and his legs gave way. He crashed onto his knees and then sank onto his side as if he had been struck on the head.

Before anyone could think or move, thunder sounded over the meadow. I saw three more riders racing towards us out of the night. Like Llenlleawg, they were all in black from head to heel, cloaked, and hooded. The strangers rode to where Llenlleawg lay. The foremost sat with spear at the ready, while his two companions dismounted, pulled the stricken Llenlleawg upright, and, in one swift motion, lifted him onto the nearest horse. One of them took the saddle behind the stricken warrior, and the other gathered the dangling reins of Llenlleawg's mount and vaulted into the empty saddle. Without a word, they turned as one and rode away, fleeing back into the darkness to the taunts and cries of derision of the watching warriors.

The Dragon Flight wanted nothing more than to pursue our attackers, and we would have, too, but Myrddin, exhorting us with a bard's power of persuasion, held us in line. Stand firm in the circle of God's protection, he told us. Breaking the sacred ring now could only bring about the destruction we had so far eluded.

Oh, but it chafed me sore to see our enemies getting away, and not so much as a spear cast at their retreat.

The black riders reached the river, melting again into the deep shadows beyond the light of the burning oak. They gained the water – I heard the splash of hooves – and all at once the wood before them burst into flame.

Perhaps sparks from the burning oak, drifting across the clearing, had ignited the dry winter wood. Perhaps it had been smouldering for a time and we, preoccupied with Llenlleawg's attack, had failed to notice it. Then again, perhaps some other had set the wood to blaze. I cannot say. All I know is that even as the fleeing riders gained the water marge and splashed into the stream, a great shimmering curtain of flame arose before them. With a roar like a mighty wind, the flames struck skyward.

In a moment the fire was spreading outward on either side. The enemy warriors rode through the curtain of fire without hesitation, and disappeared on the other side.

Only then did Myrddin give us leave to break the ring. The Pendragon called us to his side and, even while praising our valour, began ordering the pursuit. While the horses were being brought from the picket, he turned to the Emrys and said, 'Myrddin, he had it – Caledvwlch! The treacherous dog raised it against me – my own sword! God in Heaven mark me, that selfsame blade will yet claim that traitor's head.'

The drought-dry wood leapt eagerly to the flame. The trail by which the enemy riders had escaped was now impassable. By the time we were mounted, the flames all but encircled the meadow, leaving only a narrow gap by which we might escape.

The Pendragon raised a final salute to the dead he left behind. Lofting his spear, he cried, 'In the name of the Lord who made me king, I will not rest until the blood debt is paid in full. Death shall be answered with death. Arthur Pendragon makes this vow.'

Myrddin, grim beside him, frowned at this, but said nothing. Many of the Cymbrogi supported the king's vow with their own. Then, turning his horse, Arthur led us away. We rode for the river and the swiftly narrowing gap of unburned wood – not in orderly columns; there was no time. Even so, before we were halfway to the water, the encircling flames closed the gap.

A quick glance behind confirmed what I already knew to be true: the forest was ablaze on every side and we were completely enclosed in a ring of fire. Smoke rolled across the meadow in billows like earthbound clouds. Gusts of heat swept over us in waves like warm currents in a freezing ocean. A sound like continuous thunder filled the night, and we urged our horses to all speed.

Arthur never hesitated, but rode straightaway into the river, where he dismounted, knelt in the water, and drenched himself all over, shouting for us to follow his example. The horses, smoke stinging their nostrils, jittered and shied, agitated at coming so near the flames.

Removing his wet cloak, the king flung it over the head of his horse to shut out sight of the flames. 'Follow me!' he called, pulling the terrified animal after him.

There was nothing for it but to stay close and follow. Flinging my sopping cloak over the head of my mount and mouthing words of encouragement to the frightened animal, I waded through the river, splashing more water over myself as I went. Arthur, having already reached the other side, paused to exhort the men to keep together, then turned and led us into the fire.