Grail

SIX

I remember lost Atlantis. Though I was but a babe in arms when the calamity came upon us, I can still see the Isle of Apples as it was then, before the destruction. The Great Palace was much reduced from its former glory; owing to Avallach's long, wasting illness, everything was falling into neglect. Even so, to my childish recollection all was leaf-green and golden sunlight, endless gardens and mysterious rooms no one entered anymore.

My mother turned the gardens to her use. Lile was wise in the ways of root and stem; she knew the lore of herbs, and her medicines were most potent. We would spend entire days in those gardens, my mother and I- she working among her herbs, and I playing at her feet. She believed me too young to understand, yet she told me everything she knew about the plants. 'This is Three Hearts,' she would say. 'It is useful for stanching the flow of blood, and for purging the bowel.'

In this way Lile awakened in me the thirst to master the plants of healing and death. But there was much, much more than she knew. The Magi of Atlantis had amassed the lore of every age and realm, and though it took what would have been a lifetime for a mortal, this lore I also acquired. In Broceliande's deep wood I found what I sought. A remnant of our race had taken root there – Kian's people, Avallach's son and Charis' brother. There among the tall trees and deep shadows, they had built a city. I found it, and found, too, the knowledge I craved.

There was a book -from Briseis' library it came. The queen loved her books. I do not think she ever read it, but it was saved. I think Annubi, the royal family's faithful sage and counsellor, may have had something to do with that. If Lile kindled the flame of love for secret lore, Annubi fanned that flame into an all-consuming fire. At first it gave him pleasure to tell me things; he was lonely, after all. Later, however, he had no choice. I made certain of that. He served me, and lived at my command.

Annubi was the first man I bent to my will, and I learned much about the power of the female sex. When I had wrung him dry, I let him go. Indeed, I hastened him on his way. He was the first, but not the last. Far from it! There have been so many. Each has had his purpose – wealth, power, position, blood – I choose them well, and take what they have to give. Whatever is required, I become: queen, wife, lover, whore. It is all the same to me.

Myrddin was right, of course; there had been little time for anything other than fighting. Sometimes it seemed to me that we spent all our days ordering our weapons; if we were not sharpening them, we were repairing them, and if not repairing them, we were sharpening them again. Whenever we had a spare moment, we looked to our horses and tended our wounds, always anticipating the next battle, the next war.

Though the Vandali had been defeated, we remained wary -unwilling, perhaps, to think that peace had finally come to the Island of the Mighty. We had been cruelly disappointed before.

But, as the Wise Emrys had suggested, over the next few days Arthur began to tell how he had come by his miraculous healing – an intriguing tale, made more so by the simple fact that, apart from Avallach, Arthur was its only observer and as he had been lying at death's gate at the time, he was not best placed to say what had happened. And though he spoke with great enthusiasm, and greater reverence, the details remained hazy.

I gleaned there was something about a cup, and a heavenly visitation, and a prayer in a strange language by Lord Avallach. Of the holy men at the abbey, there was never a mention; thus, I supposed they had little to do with the matter. Indeed, the chief agent of the miracle seemed to be the cup, or bowl, which Arthur had seen, or thought he had seen, in Avallach's possession.

'You drank something from the cup?' wondered Bedwyr. We were sitting at table, Arthur and the queen together with Myrddin and a dozen of the Dragon Flight – the elite of the Pendragon's warhost – in the tent which served as a hall for us when we were on the battle trail. It was late, but we were exulting in our king's return and reluctant to leave the tent. 'A potion, or elixir? One of Paulus' concoctions?'

Arthur pursed his lips. 'That may be so,' he allowed. 'I cannot remember. Avallach held it like this.' He cupped his hands as if cradling a bowl. 'No, wait,' he said, shaking his head, 'it was the other one – Avallach never touched it.'

'The other one?' Cai demanded with growing frustration. 'You mean to say there were two bowls now?'

'No, not two bowls,' Arthur retorted, 'two people: Avallach and some other.'

The angel,' suggested Gwenhwyvar helpfully, and everyone around the board turned his head to stare at her. 'We all saw her,' she insisted. Appealing to Myrddin, she said, 'Tell them, Myrddin; you must have seen it.'

But Myrddin, scowling now, refused to speak.

'There was an angel,' she maintained defiantly. 'We saw her.'

Cai instantly resumed his inquiry. 'Did the angel speak to you, Bear? What did she look like?'

'If you say it was an angel, so be it,' replied Arthur equably. 'I thought her one of Avallach's servants.'

This drew a snort from Myrddin, who folded his arms and turned his face away.

'But what did they do?' demanded Bedwyr. 'Did they touch you? Did you touch the bowl?'

No, said Arthur, he did not think he was touched, or touched the bowl – other than to drink, if indeed he had drunk from the cup. There was speaking – a prayer, he thought, from the way Avallach prostrated himself – but in a language unknown to Arthur. There was light, yes, a blaze of candlelight that whelmed the room in shimmering radiance most wonderful to see. And there seemed to be music. Arthur definitely thought he heard music, but neither singing, nor harps, nor pipes, nor anything else he had ever heard before; but since neither Avallach nor the heavenly servant had produced this music, he could not be certain precisely how it might have come about. He was more certain about the delicious fragrance that accompanied the appearance of the bowl. It was, he said, as if all the flowers of summer were tumbled together, each lending sweetness to the other and blending into an odour at once divine and indescribable.

These assertions brought more questions from Cai, Bedwyr, Cador, and the others who, despite Arthur's hazy recollections, seemed determined to solve the mystery. Those who were there, however, appeared reluctant to speak. Gwenhwyvar made but simple comments of correction, while Llenlleawg and Myrddin spoke not at all. They were, I suspect, unwilling to scrutinize the miracle too closely, and were content to allow the mystery to remain.

In the end, however, the continued assault on the mystery grew too much for Myrddin. Drawing himself up, he strode to the table and struck the board with the flat of his hand. 'Enough!' he shouted, his voice a command even the deaf would obey.

Glaring down along the board at those huddled on the benches, he said, 'Listen to your mindless nattering! You stand in the presence of a holy miracle, and you yammer away like foolish children without a thought in your heads.'

'We only want to understand,' complained Bedwyr sourly.

'Silence!' roared Myrddin. The terrible scowl on his face challenged anyone to speak, and no one deigned to brave the challenge. 'Since you desire to know,' he continued stiffly, 'I will tell what can be told. The bowl, as you have it, is called the Grail – know you that it is none other than the welcome cup used by our Lord Christ himself at his last meal when he sat and supped with his friends. On that same night he was betrayed, and the next day was scourged and crucified.

'One of the Christ's many followers was a wealthy merchant known to us as Joseph of Arimathea, the same who provided the meal that night, and the tomb as well. Joseph kept the cup, which the Lord had blessed, and when the first believers were driven from Jerusalem, he brought the holy vessel to Britain. Joseph and his friends established the first church in the west, and it was here on Ynys Prydain that they raised the first altar to the Risen Christ.

'Alas, that first church passed from this worlds-realm, for the people were not yet ready to hear and receive the True Word.

Joseph and those with him died in their time and were buried beside the lake beneath the Tor, where Avallach and Charis now reside, and where the monks have raised their abbey, but the Grail abides. Through means unknown to any save Avallach, who alone guards it, the Cup of Christ is preserved.

'In truth, it is the holiest object that abides on earth. Its marvels are beyond telling, and I know whereof I speak, for once, when I was stricken and dying, this selfsame Grail preserved and healed me, and behold! now it has healed Arthur.' Raising an admonitory hand, he said, 'But I warn you, do not think to discover the how or why of it: no man can tell you how it effects its healing, nor why some are healed even while others perish. Truly, it is enough to know that it endures as a special sign of God's good pleasure; accept it, revere it, and let it be. Instead of worrying heaven and the angels with your ignorant chatter, you should rather throw yourselves to the ground and repent of your folly.'

So saying, Myrddin turned abruptly and departed. The company sat for some moments in silence, pondering Myrddin's curious warning. Then, slowly, talk resumed, somewhat more respectful this time, but no less excited. After a time, Arthur, visibly moved by what the Emrys had said, spoke his mind. 'Myrddin is right; this is a thing too holy for idle speculation. We would do well to guard our tongues.'

'Better still,' suggested Cai, 'we should pay homage to the cup – for healing our king.'

To Cai's manifest amazement, everyone agreed wholeheartedly. Arthur commended the plan and lauded Cai's suggestion, embellishing it with the small addition of a special contingent of monks to offer prayers and psalms on behalf of the holy object and the realm. Thus would the Pendragon establish his reign, and the Kingdom of Summer commence.

Dazzled by glory, we all retired to our sleep that night in a mood of high expectation. Surely now, after the Saecsen wars and the battles fought to subdue the invading Vandali, we could lay aside our weapons and embrace the practice of peace so long abandoned in our homeland. We dreamed that night of returning to peaceful pursuits, growing contented and prosperous, and enjoying the fruits won by our swords' harsh labours. Having dreamed the glorious dream, we rose the next morning to greet the sun rising on a new and splendid epoch, the beginning of the Summer Kingdom, Taliesin's oft-told vision when peace, love, and honour would govern Britain's island brood.

Arthur regretted that he could not ride south at once. 'Be at ease, Bear,' steady Bedwyr reassured him; 'the council is soon finished – a day or two more, and we are done here.'

As we might have expected, Myrddin thought little of the notion. 'Has it not occurred to any of you,' he inquired tartly, 'that there is good reason why the Grail has remained hidden all these years? I have every confidence Avallach knows best what to do. Hear me, Arthur: do not think to meddle. Leave it alone.'

But Arthur would not listen. Thanking the Emrys for his advice, he proceeded to do the opposite, and the plan quickly grew to include not merely a simple service of homage, but a perpetual choir, too, and a church in which to house them all. 'A seemly structure,' Arthur said, 'where any who are weary and oppressed can come and see the cup blessed of the Saviour King himself.' He was convinced that just beholding the sacred vessel would work wonders for those who made pilgrimage to view it.

This, he said, would be the first of many marvellous undertakings with which he would commence his reign. More and greater ventures would follow as bright dawn follows storm-torn night.

Nevertheless, Bedwyr had summoned the lords and petty kings of the region in the king's name, and much as Arthur desired to hasten south to Ynys Avallach, he must abide until the council finished and the Vandal problem was laid to rest for once and all. The necessity rubbed him raw, but he endured, filling the time with schemes and dreams which he elaborated at great length to any who happened near. Oh, it was a wonderful sight to see, and one which I thought had passed forever: Arthur, in the blazing vigour of untempered youth, inflamed by his vision of a Holy Britain even now entering the harmony and prosperity of the Summer Kingdom.

Myrddin held himself apart, viewing this turn of circumstance with a sour expression. Although he appeared ill-disposed towards Arthur's schemes, he yet seemed loath to quench the fire that kindled them. Like everyone else, I suppose, he was only too happy to have Arthur hale and whole once more, and could not bring himself to steal even the smallest mote of the king's joy, or dampen the Pendragon's ardour – not that anything could.

When I asked him what he thought of Arthur's plans, the Wise Emrys merely shrugged. 'It matters not a whit what I think,' he intoned somberly. 'The High King will have his way in this, come what may.'

I thought this strange, or at least unusual. Myrddin's behaviour was often inexplicable, but rarely proud, and never mean-spirited. No one else seemed to notice Myrddin's gloomy indifference, and this concerned me, too. I began to meditate on what Myrddin had said about the Grail, and weighed his words against Arthur's zeal, but arrived at no firm conclusion.

Still, as I looked around me, I saw that at least one other held some portion of Myrddin's reserve. Gwenhwyvar, who had at first matched Arthur's fervour with her own, now appeared to be waning in her enthusiasm. As the others were all too caught up in the golden glow of important doings, I decided to discover Gwenhwyvar's heart in the matter.

'It is not lack of faith that has brought me to this pass, but lack of strength,' she confided. 'That man wears me out. He has ten new plans before sunrise, and those ten have each spawned ten more before dusk. He hardly sleeps, and all the scheming makes him amorous. I get no rest, Gwalchavad. Truly, it is like sleeping with a whirlwind.' When Gwenhwyvar realized what she had said, the colour rose to her slender throat. 'Do not tell him I said that.'

'Never, my lady,' I assured her. 'But do you think he is right?'

'I want to believe him,' she insisted, adding, 'And certainly he speaks like no other man. If the Summer Realm can be brought into existence by dint of zeal alone, Arthur will succeed handsomely. And if we are able to accomplish even so much as a tenth part of all he has planned, I have no doubt our deeds will live forever.'

Her words were noble, to be sure, but I could not help noticing an edge to her voice, whether of doubt or of uncertainty, I could not say. Perhaps it was merely the fatigue she had mentioned. Still, I marked it and remembered, thinking to myself that the two people closest to Arthur -Myrddin and Gwenhwyvar – were not wholly with him.

The next day, the first of the region's lords began arriving for the council. As I think of it now, that was when the trouble started.