Grail

FORTY

'Cut me free!' cried Arthur, struggling to his feet.

I staggered towards him, amazed that I could move again.

'Hurry, Gwalchavad!' Behind him, I glimpsed Morgian's massed battlehost surging to the attack.

There was no shout of command, no battle cry. One moment they were standing at the ready, and the next they were in motion, swarming down upon us.

'Gwalchavad!' cried the Pendragon, holding out his chained hands. 'For the love of God, man, cut me free!'

I was beside him in an instant. Raising the sword, I took careful aim, and brought the blade down sharply. The blow made not the slightest mark on the chain. I tried again, and yet once more – with no greater success than before – and then the enemy was upon us.

Turning to meet the attack, I put myself between the king and the onrushing foe, and shouted for the others to join me. 'Bors! Gereint!'

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Bors as he raced to take his place at my right hand. Expecting Gereint on my left, I turned, and when I did not see him, I shouted for him. He did not answer.

'Gereint!' I cried again.

'Here I am!'

I heard his voice behind me as he dashed for his place on my left. He came up with me, but did not stop. Instead, he raced on ahead. I saw a flash of gold in his hands as he blew past.

'He has the Grail!' Bors shouted.

Gereint, holding the Blessed Cup between his hands, ran to meet the foe alone. Lofting the Sacred Bowl, he cried, 'In the name of Christ Jesu,' he shouted, 'be gone!"

Confusion descended upon the onrushing host. The foremost ranks halted ia mid-step and fell back. Those behind kept coming, trampling the leaders underfoot before they could halt themselves.

The young warrior, defiant and unafraid, stood in the midst of the chaos. 'In the name of the Father God, the Blessed Son, and the Holy Spirit,' Gereint shouted again, 'I command you to leave this place. Return to Hell!'

All at once there arose the sound of a thousand wings taking flight, and the enemy host flew. They appeared to shrivel and diminish, wrinkling and shrinking like the flesh of rotten fruit in the sun. Even as we stood looking on, they became no more than husks of grain, brittle and dry, and though there was no wind, they appeared to rise up into the air as if scattering and dispersing before a mighty gale. The power that had called them and sustained them was broken, and now they fled, away from the realm of light and life, and back to the nameless pit from which they had been summoned.

Spinning and tumbling into the void, the last of them disappeared and they were no more. A great peal of thunder broke over us and I looked up to see the leaden vault of the sky crack open and a single shaft of light stabbed down into the gloom of the forest. Like a spear thrown from on high, the beam struck the chapel, transforming the stone to silver, dazzling our light-starved eyes. In the same moment a scream pierced the air high above us- a wounded cry, dying away even as it was born. Myrddin lifted his head at the sound and said, 'Morgian is defeated.' His voice sounded tired and old, but the light in his eye was undimmed. 'We have driven her back to her darksome lair and, God willing, she will not trouble us again for a very long time.'

The thunder cracked once more and I felt something wet on my face. 'It is raining!' someone shouted, and as the word was uttered, the heavens opened and down poured the precious water. The blessed rain fell from the sky, striking down through the empty air to bathe the long-parched earth.

We raised our faces to the glorious water and drank it down.

'The chains -' called Gwenhwyvar, holding up her hands, 'I am free!' Myrddin and Arthur held out their hands, and Rhys and Peredur. As with Gwenhwyvar, wherever the rain touched the links, the chains parted and the pieces fell to the ground, the shattered links melting like ice.

Standing in the rain beneath that low, leaden sky, I looked around and understood that we alone had survived; of all the multitude, only we were left: Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, Bors, Gereint, Peredur, Rhys, Myrddin and me, and, alas, Llenlleawg. Dazed and bewildered, we all gazed at one another, trying to comprehend our miraculous survival.

Arthur moved to where Bors and Gereint and I stood. Falling to one knee, he put Caledvwlch point downward on the ground and held the bare blade in both hands. Then, as if swearing a solemn oath upon the Holy Cross, he said, 'Most noble friends, I owe you my kingdom and my life. No king was ever served by more loyal and honourable men, and no king was ever more aware of his failing. I beg your forgiveness, and offer my pledge, as I would offer it to Jesu himself, that I will never forget the debt of gratitude and honour that I, and all Britain, owe you.'

Bors, touched by the king's words, rushed forward and embraced him, saying, 'Rise, Arthur, rise. You owe me nothing, and there is nothing to forgive. I did only what I have ever done in your service.'

Gereint, shamed at the sight of his king kneeling to him, bent his head nervously and looked away. I stepped forward and prostrated myself before Arthur. 'Lord Pendragon,' I said, 'it is I who must beg your forgiveness. It is through my weakness that this evil has befallen us.'

Arthur stood, reached down, and raised me to my feet. 'Where is the fault? You have remained steadfast through all things. What lord could ask more?'

So we stood together, my king and I, the rain falling over us. Gwenhwyvar, Rhys, and Peredur joined us and, in delight and eagerness, everyone began talking at once.

'God love you, Bear, but it is Earth and Sky to be with you again,' Bors said, his grin wide and handsome. 'I thought I would never see any of you again.'

It was exactly what Bedwyr would have said, and grief awakened at the words. 'Lord,' I said, turning to Arthur, 'I fear the answer, but I must know. What happened to the rest of the Cymbrogi?'

'I never saw any of them after the fire,' replied Arthur sadly. 'We all became separated in the forest. I fear they are dead. Rhys, Myrddin, and I somehow stayed together. I thought we were the only ones left until we saw you.' He then told us how they were ambushed in the darkness while they slept; Llenlleawg, leading a host of the foe, delivered them to Morgaws, with whom they found Gwenhwyvar and Peredur bound and waiting. 'There was nothing we could do,' Arthur said. 'You saw how many warriors she commanded. We fought, but were overwhelmed from the start.'

We then told Arthur how it was with us: how we had come upon the chapel and had cleaned away the defiling filth. We told how the Grail Maiden had appeared and returned the Holy Cup, how we had found Caledvwlch in the well and fended off each attack made on the chapel.

'You have done well,' Myrddin declared. 'Heaven has blessed your efforts. Your reward is assured.' Lifting a hand to the chapel, he said, 'Come, let us thank God for the victory he has given us.'

'You are right to remind us of the source of our salvation,' replied Arthur. 'But say not that we have won a victory this day; rather, say that God in his mercy has cut short the tribulation and spared our lives.'

The Wise Emrys motioned to Gereint, who, bearing the Most Holy Grail, entered the chapel. We followed, silently, each wrapped in his separate thoughts, to join the young warrior at the altar. He had replaced the cup and it sat on the stone, glimmering softly in the light of its own gentle radiance. The king gazed long upon the cup, then bowed his head and wept for his lost Cymbrogi. In this he was not alone; I, too, gave myself over to my grief for the dead, as did we all.

After a time, Myrddin stirred and, in his clear, strong voice, began singing a lament for the dead. He sang The Last Returning, a fine and fitting song for a warrior who has fallen in the fight and will not be going home with his king. Then the Wise Emrys led us in prayers of thanksgiving for our deliverance.

Our voices filled the chapel and our hearts lifted under the benison of Myrddin's comforting words. Holding fear at bay for so long is a wearisome labour, and I felt my spirit ease as the prayers did their work. I cannot say how long we stayed in the chapel, but when I rose at last, a massive weight had fallen from my shoulders.

Myrddin was attracted to the carvings on the walls; while the others talked in low voices at the altar, I joined him to ask what he made of the strange markings. 'Do they speak to you?' I asked.

They do.' The Bard of Britain ran his strong hands across the etched designs as a mother might trace her fingers over the sleeping face of her much-loved child. Entranced, he walked the walls and embraced the messages in silent wonder.

'Make no mistake, Gwalchavad,' he said, turning to me at last. 'Llyonesse was not always the wasteland it is now, and it will be redeemed. One day Llyonesse will prove a boon of great blessing to all Britain.'

The others joined us then, and the king, awed by the chapel, remarked on the mystery of the place. 'To think,' he mused, 'this chapel has been here – here in this blighted realm – from the beginning.'

'The beginning?' said Myrddin. 'Know you, the beginning was long, long ago.'

'And yet the chapel remains,' Bors pointed out. 'It was not destroyed.'

'Yes, the chapel remains,' agreed the Wise Emrys. 'Let all who love the truth think on that and engrave it on their hearts.'

Turning abruptly, he stepped before the altar and, while we all stood watching, took the edge of his cloak between his hands and tore off a portion. Then, bowing in reverence to the cup, he carefully covered the Grail with the cloth. This done, he took up the cup and addressed us. 'The Holy Cup of Christ has been reclaimed. It is time to make our way back to Ynys Avallach.' Cradling the cup, Myrddin stepped from the altar.

We emerged from the chapel into a cold, grey dawn. The vile yellow had washed from the clouds and the rain pattered steadily around us. We stood for a moment, looking into the sky as the healing rain streamed down our faces. Water dripped from the branches of the trees all around, filling the air with the woodland scent of wet bark and leaf mould. Even in the pale dawnlight, I could see further into the wood than before. Darkness had loosed its hold on the land and shadows no longer reigned in this place.

Morgaws' body lay where she had fallen, eyes wide in the shock of her undoing. Llenlleawg sat a little apart, his back to her, his head low, rain beating down on him. Arthur, calm and resolute, strode to where Llenlleawg sat, and stood for a moment looking down at his fallen champion. 'Get up,' he commanded after a moment.

Llenlleawg did not so much as raise his head.

Summoning Peredur and Gereint, the king indicated that they should raise the Irishman between them. The two pulled Llenlleawg to his feet and remained beside him – more to support him than to prevent him from escaping.

Llenlleawg stood before the king as if he no longer possessed the use of his limbs, or perhaps lacked the will to stand and did so only by happenchance. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, abject in every line and ligament, he swayed slightly on his feet. Remorse dripped from him like the rain which spattered upon his head and trickled from his sodden hair in rivulets, dribbling off his downcast face. Guilt pressed full on him and he bent under the terrible weight.

Arthur gazed upon his former champion and friend. I could see the conflict warring in the king's features: his mouth frowned with repugnance and distaste even while his eyes, soft with sorrow, searched for some redeeming sign. 'Do you know what your betrayal has wrought?' asked the king at last, his voice tight, almost breaking.

Llenlleawg gave not the slightest indication that he had heard, so Arthur repeated the question. Still Llenlleawg made no answer.

'I take your silence to mean that you own the consequence of your deeds,' said the king. 'Do you have anything to say in your defense?'

Unable to bring himself to look upon the lord he had betrayed, Llenlleawg did not raise his eyes, but muttered something in a voice so low, I could not hear it.

Gwenhwyvar, stepping close, said something to him, and the Irishman, glancing quickly from under his brow, breathed a quiet reply before lowering his head once more. Gwenhwyvar, grave and sorrowful, relayed his words to the king; her eyes never left her kinsman as she said, 'He offers no defense, but begs his lord for the judgment due his crimes. He wishes to be killed now and his body left to the birds and beasts.'

'So be it,' Arthur concluded. 'By reason of your treachery, I condemn you to the death you ordained for your swordbrothers.' With that he took Caledvwlch in both hands and raised the blade.

'Arthur, no!' called Gwenhwyvar. She stepped boldly between her kinsman and the king's upraised sword. 'Do not kill him.'

'Step aside, woman,' the king said. 'Justice will be served.'

Gwenhwyvar flared at this. Drawing herself up full height, green eyes ablaze with righteous anger, she glared at her husband. Turning to Myrddin, she demanded, 'Am I not a queen? Am I not both daughter to and wife of a king?'

'You are,' Myrddin replied.

Facing Arthur once more, she said, 'As Queen of Britain, I claim my right to intercede for this man's life.'

'He has betrayed his lord, slain men who were under his command, and aided an enemy who schemed to destroy us all,' Arthur replied firmly. 'Do you deny that he has done these things?'

'I do not,' replied Gwenhwyvar smoothly. 'Neither do I deny that any one of these crimes is worthy of death.'

'Then step aside,' said Arthur.

'I will not, my lord. I speak on behalf of my champion – your champion. He saved our lives. When awakened to the knowledge of his error and Morgaws' wickedness, he roused himself to our defense and killed the true traitor.'

'If not for him,' the Pendragon countered, returning his queen's defiant stare, 'such defense would not have been necessary. He knows his crime and accepts his punishment.'

'Then punish him, by all means,' Gwenhwyvar replied scornfully, 'but know you this – hear me, all of you.' She turned and included the rest of us in her appeal. 'Llenlleawg was bewitched and he was beguiled. His will was weak and he chose to follow that temptress, yes. But we were all of us deceived by Morgaws, and we all took part in her schemes.'

Arthur lowered his arms and rested the sword. 'All men are responsible for their actions,' he maintained stolidly. 'Some gave in to evil and allowed it to overtake them; others did not. I do not make him answerable for the evil, but only for his failure to resist it. For this failure, I do condemn him.'

Queen Gwenhwyvar folded her arms upon her breast and gazed imperiously at the men around her. 'It seems to me you condemn him not for his failure, but for his weakness. What is more, it is a weakness all men share.

'Tell me now,' she demanded, exquisite in her wrath, 'who among you has never experienced a moment's weakness at the sight of a beautiful woman?' When no one answered, she searched the circle of faces and called us by name: 'Gwalchavad? Bors? Peredur? If Morgaws had fastened on you, could you have resisted? Rhys? Myrddin? How long before you would have given in? Look into your hearts, all of you, and tell me that you would not have weakened if you were in Llenlleawg's place. If you had been the prey the huntress stalked, would you have escaped unscathed?'

I cannot speak for the others, but I was only too painfully aware how very close I had come to giving in to Morgaws' seduction. I knew full well how weak I was, and I had not experienced even the smallest part of what she had directed at Llenlleawg.

'He succumbed, and others did not,' Arthur maintained. 'Do you think I take pleasure in this judgment? Lady, I do not. But justice must be done.'

'Is there no place for mercy in your justice, Great King?' Gwenhwyvar stepped close and put her hands over the king's hands as they rested on the sword. 'Please, Arthur,' she said softly, pleading for her kinsman's life, 'we have all been bewitched in one way or another. Let us not presume to judge Llenlleawg more harshly than we judge ourselves.'

The Pendragon looked to his Wise Counsellor for advice, and we all turned to see what Myrddin would say. The Emrys joined Gwenhwyvar, taking his place between Arthur and Llenlleawg. 'God knows death is justified nine times over for his crimes,' he said. 'Punishment is your right, and justice demands it. But there is much we do not yet know of Morgian's insidious designs. Therefore, I beg you to withhold judgment until we have penetrated the dark heart of this lamentable affair.'

The Pendragon regarded his wife and his counsellor for a long time, contemplating what he should do. We all waited on his decision. At last, he said, 'Very well, let it be as you say. I will make no judgment until our understanding is complete.' He made a motion with his hand. 'Now step aside.'

Gwenhwyvar and Myrddin moved aside and took their places with the rest of us looking on. The king gazed upon his friend sadly and said, 'Hear me, Llenlleawg: from this day you are no longer my champion, and your name will never again be spoken in my presence. Further, you will go with us to Caer Melyn, where you will be put on a ship and exiled to lerna, where your crime will be known to your people. There you will stay until I make my final judgment.' Having delivered his decree, Arthur considered the abject warrior. 'Do you understand?'

A warrior myself, I understood only too well. It occurred to me that Llenlleawg might rather have parted with his head than with his lord and swordbrothers. In Ireland he would be an outcast among his own people – a disgrace to them and to himself. Llenlleawg's honour, whatever might be left of it, could not long endure… and then what would become of him?

The Irish champion nodded slowly. 'How long must I wait your decision?' he asked, and oh, the defeat in his voice cut me to the heart.

But Arthur was not moved. 'God alone knows,' he replied, then added, 'Seek Him – perhaps He will show you the way to your salvation.'

So saying, the king turned on his heel, leaving his former champion standing lonely and forlorn – bereft of dignity and friendship, yes, but not, I think, without hope of redemption, however remote.

We followed the king from the chapel yard. Gwenhwyvar waited until Arthur had reached the perimeter of the clearing, then offered a hasty word of farewell to her kinsman. She pressed his hand and, after a last sorrowful look, hurried after the king. Peredur, at Arthur's nod, resumed the duty of guarding the prisoner and led him away.

With few weapons and no provisions to carry, we could travel lightly, if hungrily, until we reached the nearest habitation where we could get food; and, as we did not know when we might get good water again, we all took a long drink from the holy well before setting off. I was the last to drink, and after a final lingering look at the Grail Chapel, I turned away and hurried to join my friends.