Pendragon

EIGHT

I have thought many times what I could have done – perhaps should have done? – differently in those fearful days. Yet events swiftly outstripped my small ability to guide them. As is ever the way of things, those circumstances we would most gladly shape ever remain beyond our grasp, while we are made to bear unexpected burdens to unsuspected destinations. All stand helpless before a power too potent to contain, too immense to comprehend. So be it!

Thus I, who would have formed the days to my design, was made to stand with all the rest of the British war host ranged in ranks upon the plain, looking on in apprehension.

I see it now as then, always before me, the same stark image: Arthur standing alone under a blistering sun with neither shield nor helm, only Caledvwlch at his side. The sky is leached white with the searing heat; the grass is brittle underfoot and brown.

Arthur stands waiting, his shadow shrivelled small beneath him, as if it dare not stretch its full length in such heat. Across the plain the Vandal host appears – warriors, women, children. All advance slowly to the place of meeting: the broad plain of Lyit Coed, where the rivers Tamu and Ancer come together. A fortress once stood nearby, but the Vandali have burned it and the settlements round about have been destroyed, the people killed or forced to run.

I watch the enemy host advance, a crabbed and clotted line of black, the dust from their feet rising up in thick white columns behind them. They move slowly and we wait. We might still attack them, or they might attack us. There is nothing to prevent it, save Britain's High King standing alone on the cracked and burning plain, waiting in all good faith for the Black Boar of the Vandali to honour his word and meet him face-to-face.

There is but one question in the mind of every man looking on: Will the hosts fight, or will Amilcar treat with Arthur as he has promised?

The advance halts abruptly and dull silence descends over the heat-oppressed plain. Then the thunder begins. The plain echoes to the rumbling roar of the Vandali war drums, and for one terrible moment I think they will attack.

'Steady!' Bedwyr calls out, and his words are repeated down the line. 'Stand your ground, men.'

The drums are meant to frighten, to unnerve us. But Arthur stands, and so we stand – grim-faced, sweating, our stomachs knotted in anticipation and dread as the drums boom in our ears. The sound, once heard, is not easily forgotten. I hear it now.

When the invader had drawn up in striking distance of us, the beat of the drums abruptly ceased and the long triple line halted. The Vandali stood staring at us in a silence as terrible as the bone-rattling thunder of their drums. They remained motionless, not a muscle twitching, weapons gleaming dully, rank on rank, their grotesque boar's head standards rising above them, confronting us with the dread spectacle of their military might.

Arthur stood easy, patient, regarding the fearsome battle host with an unflinching gaze. After a time, one of the standard-bearers moved from his place in the forerank, advanced a few places and stopped. He was joined by a group of Vandali chieftains, Mercia and the slave Hergest foremost among them. Then, all together, they moved out to meet Britain's High King in the centre of the plain. After a few brief words – spoken in voices too low to hear – the standard-bearer returned to his place in the line.

'I cannot endure this,' muttered Gwenhwyvar crossly. 'I will stand with him.'

Bedwyr made bold to stay her, but she shook off his hand, slipped from the saddle, and stepped quickly out from the rank to reach Arthur's side before anyone could prevent her. The king welcomed her with a curt nod and the two stood side by side as the black boar's head on its skull-and-scalp-bedecked pole proceeded once more. This time it heralded the arrival of Amilcar himself.

The two lords eyed one another across a gap of but three paces. I saw Arthur's hand rise in the sign of peace. Amilcar made no gesture. Arthur said something, to which the Black Boar replied through Hergest. When the priest stopped speaking, Arthur turned to Gwenhwyvar, who made a reply while staring straight ahead at Amilcar.

As her words were repeated by Hergest, I saw the Black Boar's lip curl in a savage sneer. He growled a reply of low disdain, threw his head back haughtily and spat. Perhaps this is what she intended, for in the blink of an eye her slender sword was in her hand and she lunged at the Vandal king. She was quick – quicker than Arthur's restraining hand – and Amilcar was saved a grave, if not fatal, stroke only by the swift reaction of one of his chieftains, who knocked the sword aside with the shaft of his spear as die blade sliced the air a whisker's breadth from Amilcar's throat.

Amilcar recoiled, raising his spear in the same motion. Arthur shouted, seized Gwenhwyvar's arm and pulled her bodily away from her attack. The Black Boar, still wielding his spear, made a short, angry speech, to which Arthur made a solemn reply.

In all, the exchange was brief. A few more words passed between them, and then Arthur and Gwenhwyvar turned abruptly and walked back to the British line.

'We meet tomorrow at dawn,' said Arthur, with never a word of what had passed on the plain.

So began the long wait, and the British host bore the waiting hard. The warriors rested through the heat of the day while the sun made slow, slow sailing into the west, but as the white-hot disk disappeared behind the hills they began to stir and to talk, and to worry.

It was, I thought, time to remind them of the prize awaiting us, and the lord who held our trust. After a brief word with Arthur, the battlechiefs were summoned and instructed to assemble the men on the hillside above the council tent.

With the gathered host of Britain ranged before me as pale twilight crept over the vale, I advanced to my place. The stifling heat had begun to loose its grip on the land, and a light breeze stirred the wispy grass. A great beacon of a fire had been lit, a Beltane blaze to rekindle the past in their memories. A rising moon cast hard shadows on the ground and the sky above gleamed with stars from one horizon to the other.

The crowd surged; restless, anxious, wary, the warrior throngs waited, the very air tense with their uncertainty and apprehension. All knew of Arthur's ordeal and it troubled them. What if Arthur was killed? they thought. Who would lead them against the Vandali then? Thousands owed their lives to Arthur's skill as a War Leader; how would they fare without him? They watched me suspiciously; I could almost hear their muttered whispers: A song? Far better to sharpen blades this night.

I shouldered the harp, plucking notes at random and flinging them out as pebbles pitched into a seething sea. At first no one heard me – but I kept playing-and then they did not want to hear me. They kept murmuring, but their eyes strayed time and again to where I stood strumming the harp as if oblivious to their muttering.

Then, as the harpsong struck the fear-fretted air my vision ignited within me once more and glowed with the intensity of the sun itself. I saw again the half-burning, half-living tree and my spirit soared with the meaning of the riddle. For the first time in a very long while I felt like a bard again.

Giving the harp its voice, I played through their apprehension and unease until all eyes were on me, and I occupied every thought. Gradually, the music took hold as little by little the murmuring ceased. When all was quiet on the hillside, I called out in a loud voice, 'Hear me! I am a bard and the son of a bard; my true home is the Region of the Summer Stars.

'From the earliest days of our race, the Guardians of the Spirit taught that wisdom resides in the heart of oak.' I raised my harp above my head and held it high for all to see. 'I hold in my hands this heart of oak. By virtue of his craft, the bard releases the soul of wisdom to work its will in the world of men.

'Hear, then, and heed all I shall tell you – that you may remember all that you are and may become!'

So saying, I cradled the harp and began to play again. Like a weaver spinning threads of silver and gold, my fingers worked the intricately patterned melody, establishing a gleaming ground for the words I would recite. I played, gazing out upon the faces of all those people – men from every part of Britain, from Prydein, Celyddon and Lloegres, and from Ierne also. They seemed to me hollow people, gaunt-eyed and empty; like their lords, they were starving for the True Word. I realized this and my heart went out to them.

Great Light, I stand humble before your loving power. Move in me, my Lord, that I may move the hearts of men!

In the same instant, I felt the up welling of the awen – like a long-captive bird released to the sky. The melody came first, trailing words in its glittering wake, taking shape as it touched my tongue. I gave myself up to the song; there was no longer Myrddin: only the song existed and I was but a vessel, hollow, empty of myself, but filled with the exquisite wine of the Or an Mor.

I sang and the Great Music poured forth unstinting in its blessing. A new song took life that night, and men were amazed to hear it. This is what I sang:

'In the Elder Age, when the dew of creation was still fresh on the ground, there arose a mighty king and Manawyddan was his name. All the world was his realm, and every tribe and clan owed him tribute. Everything he put his hand to prospered; and wherever he looked, something good and worthy favoured his gaze.

'One day, evil tidings reached Lord Manawyddan and caused him sore distress. The Otherworld, it was said, had fallen beneath the shadow of a usurper who treated the people most cruelly. The Great King decided then and there to give the sovereignty of his realm to the best man he could find so that he might go and free the Otherworld Folk from the sly oppressor. And this is the way of it:

'The Great King summoned his noblemen to attend him and laid the matter before them. 'I am going away for a time,' Manawyddan told them. 'Whether short or long, I do not know, but I shall not return until I have vanquished the Usurper, who even now plunders the Otherworld and lays waste to that fairest of realms.'

'His lords and noblemen answered him. 'Full sorrowful we are to hear your purpose,' they confessed. 'It may be well for the folk of the Otherworld, but it is nothing less than a calamity for us.'

'To this the king replied: 'Nevertheless, this is what I have decided. I will place the kingship in the hands of the man I shall choose, and he shall serve in my place until I return.' And he began to assay among them who was worthy to take up the sovereignty. No easy decision that, for each man among them was as worthy as the next, and no less worthy than his brother. 'In the end, however, he devised a means to put the issue to the test. He caused his Chief Bard to make an ornament of gold shaped like a ball. And then Manawyddan brought forth this ball and held it before his lords. 'This has been made for me,' he told them. 'What think you of it?'

'And they answered, 'It is very beautiful, lord.’

‘The king agreed. 'It is beautiful indeed. And more beautiful than you know, for it is the symbol of my reign.' He lifted the golden sphere before them. 'Here!' he called.

'Take it!'

'With that, the Great King threw the golden ball to his lords. The first one reached out and caught it, easily clasping it to his chest. The king said, 'Thank you, noble friend. You may go.'

'The lord turned to go, but the king prevented him until the golden ornament was retrieved. No sooner had the ball been returned to him, however, than he threw it again to another, who caught it in his fist. 'Thank you, noble friend. You may go,' the Great King told him.

'The chieftain turned to go, but the king prevented him until his precious sphere should be returned. And this is how it was with each man in turn. Each time the king threw the golden ball, it was caught and returned to him – until he threw it to Lludd.

'Up the ball flew and down it came. But the nobleman could not bring himself to grasp it. Seeing the priceless ornament fall from his open hand, Lludd sank to his knees. 'Forgive me, my king,' he cried. 'I am not worthy to touch such a valuable object.'

'But the king raised him up. 'Not so, Lludd,' he told him. 'You alone are worthy to hold my kingship until I return.' So saying, the Great King took up the ball and placed it firmly in Lludd's hand and charged him thus:' Such authority as I enjoy, I give also to you. Hold it until I come again to my kingdom.'

'No one saw King Manawyddan after that, though they often heard tidings of his marvellous deeds in the Otherworldly realms. Lludd, meanwhile, ruled well and wisely. And the realms under his care flourished and grew great. So that none would lack the benefit of his wisdom, Lludd established lords in each realm to serve him and bring before him the needs of the people there.

'One of these lords was a brother named Mab Righ, who watched over his island realm with dedication and devotion. Day or night, whatever trouble the people brought to him, that was all his care.

'Now, it happened that the realm of Mab Righ was attacked by a strange and formidable enemy in the form of three plagues – each more peculiar than the one before.

'The first plague was the arrival of an enemy host called Coranyid, whose knowledge was derived from the fact that they could hear any word spoken anywhere. No matter how hushed the speech, the wind carried the words to them. Thus, no one could say anything against them, and it was impossible to move against them for they always learned the plan and evaded it. The Coranyid laid waste to everything; nothing remained where they passed.

'The second plague was a terrible cry that arose at Beltain on every hilltop, over every hearth, and under every roof in the realm. This cry was of such tormented misery that it pierced the hearts of all who heard it, and there was no living thing anywhere that did not hear it. Men lost their strength, and women their vigour; children swooned, and animals lost their senses. If any female creature was pregnant, a miscarriage resulted. Trees and fields became barren; the water sickened and soured.

'The third plague was the inexplicable theft of food from the houses of chieftains and nobles. No matter how much food was prepared, none remained the next morning: if meat, not so much as a greasy bone was left; if bread, not so much as a grainy crumb; if stew, not so much as a drop of broth. Though they prepared enough food to last a year, by dawn the board was bare.

'These plagues so distressed the people that they raised a piteous lament. Mab Righ was moved to gather all the tribes together to determine what should be done. Everyone was baffled by the plagues; no one knew what had brought them about, nor could anyone say how the island could be rid of them. Three days and nights they bethought themselves what they might do, and in the end Mab Righ summoned his chieftains and, placing the care of the people in their hands, left his island realm to seek the counsel of his wise brother lord.

'A ship was fitted out in secret, and sail was raised in the dark of night so that none should learn of Mab Righ's errand. The ship soared like a gull across the waves, and Lludd, looking out across the sea one day, saw his brother's sails coming towards him. He commanded a boat to be readied, and he set off at once to meet him. Lludd received Mab Righ gladly, embraced him warmly, and gave him gifts of welcome.

'Yet, despite his good greeting, Mab Righ's smile soon faded, and his brow assumed its furrow of worry. 'What has happened to produce this face of woe?' asked Lludd when they had returned to his handsome hall.

'Mab Righ replied, 'Woe heaped on woe, and misery on misery.' He shook his head sorrowfully. 'You know I am not a melancholy man by nature.'

'Lludd agreed wholeheartedly, 'It is true. But tell me please, if you can bear it. I would hear what has brought you to this lowly state.'

'"Most mournful of men am I, brother,' Mab Righ answered. 'My island is beset by three plagues, each one worse than the other. In short, we are harried, aggrieved, and tormented at every turn. I have come to you for help and advice, for I am stretched full length wondering what to do.'

' "You have done well coming to me,' Lludd told him. 'Together we will discover the cure for the ills which have befallen you. Speak, brother, and let the healing begin.'

'Mab Righ took heart at these kindly words and roused his courage. 'I will speak,' he said, 'but first we must devise a means of guarding our words.' And he explained about the plague of Coranyid, and how any word spoken would reach them on the wind.

'Lludd smiled and answered him, 'Not difficult, that.' And he ordered his smith to make a silver horn of his devising, and they spoke to one another through it. The wind could not carry the words to the evil Coranyid, but the silver horn produced an adverse result: whatever good word was spoken into one end came out the other as hateful and contrary.

'This perplexed Lludd greatly, until he discerned that a demon had established itself inside the horn, and this wicked demon was twisting all their words in order to sow discord between them. 'You see how it is,' Lludd declared. 'This is the very tribulation you face. But fret not. I know full well how to help you.'

'Priests had come from a far country and the king sent to them for wine, and when it was brought to him, he poured the wine into the silver horn. The power of the wine drove the demon out straightaway. Thereafter, Lludd and Mab Righ were able to speak without hindrance. And Mab Righ told his brother all about the three devastating plagues, and Lludd listened, his countenance grave and solemn.

'When Mab Righ finished, Lludd took himself away for three days and nights to think within himself what should be done. He called his priests and wise bards to him and held council with such learned men as were close to hand. After three days, he returned to his hall and summoned his brother to attend him.

'Lludd hailed his brother, saying, "Rejoice, brother! Your troubles are soon ended."

'Mab Righ asked, "Have you succeeded where others have failed?"

' "That I have," Lludd answered. "Here is the remedy for your woes." So saying, he brought forth a bag of grain.

'Mab Righ looked at the bag and happiness died in his breast. "Forgive me for doubting, brother," he said glumly, "but I seem to see a grain bag in your hand. If grain alone could avail, I need never have troubled you."

'Lludd smiled the wider. "Oh, that merely shows how far from the true path you have strayed. For this is no ordinary grain. Indeed, not! It is a wondrously potent grain whose properties avail against every ill. Now listen carefully. Here is what you must do." And he began to instruct him in how best to rid his island of the three devastating plagues.

'Holding up his finger, Lludd said, "The plague of Coranyid, distressing and dangerous though it be, is most easily remedied. Take a third portion of the grain and immerse it in clean vats filled with water drawn from a clear-running spring; cover the vats and let them stand for three days and three nights. Meanwhile, send word throughout your realm that you have discovered a drink more wholesome than fine ale, and more life-giving than water. Invite your people to attend you to sample this wonderful drink. Naturally, the Coranyid will swarm and swell your ranks. You have only to take the grain-infused water and sprinkle it over their heads and the cure is assured. Your own people will live, but the evil Coranyid will die."

'Lludd's words restored Mab Righ's confidence. His heart swelled with joy to hear how his people could be delivered. However, Lludd's next words cast him into despair once more. "Curing the second plague," the king told him, "will be as difficult as the cure of the first was easy. I perceive that the terrible cry which desolates the land is caused by a wicked serpent who crawls from his den on the eve of each Beltain searching for food. So great is his hunger that he screams aloud, and this is the cry you hear."

'Mab Righ shook his head in dismay. "How can we rid ourselves of such a creature?"

'Lludd answered, "What is impossible for ordinary men to destroy, is possible with this wondrous grain. Here is what you must do: measure the length and breadth of the island and quarter it to find the exact centre. Where the centre is found, dig a deep pit and cover it with a strong cloth made of virgin wool. Then, take a third portion of the grain and place it in a vat and fill the vat with the blood of nine lambs. Place this vat in the centre of the cloth. When the snake comes searching for something to devour, he will smell the blood of the lambs and slither onto the cloth to get at the vat. The weight of the snake will cause the cloth to sink into the pit. Then you must quickly seize the corners of the cloth and tie them tightly together. Pull up the cloth and cast it into the sea, snake and all."

'Mab Righ was overjoyed. He clapped his hands and acclaimed Lludd's wisdom loudly. But his lord's next words cast him into a despair so black that it seemed as if he had never known happiness for so much as a day in his life. "The third plague is the most difficult of all,' he said. 'And if it were not for the power of this grain, there would be no hope for you."

' "Woe! And woe again," cried Mab Righ. "I feared this all along!"

'Lludd took his brother by the shoulders and spoke to him sternly. "Have you not heard a word I have said? The grain I give you is cure for any ill that should befall you. But listen carefully. The third plague is caused by a mighty giant who has come to your realm and taken shelter there. This giant is cunning as a sorcerer, and when you prepare a feast his spells and enchantments cause everyone to fall asleep. While the realm sleeps, the giant comes and steals away the feast. Therefore, you must stand watch for your people if you hope to catch this giant. Keep a vat of cold water nearby; when you feel sleepy, step into the water and revive yourself. Yet that is only the beginning; there is more." And he told his brother what else he must do to rid the island of the wicked giant.

'When he had finished, Mab Righ bade his brother farewell, took up the bag of grain and sailed back to his realm as fast as sails and sea would allow. When he reached home, he sprang ashore and went straight to his hall and prepared the libation exactly as he had been instructed, measuring out the grain and water into clean vessels. He then called his people together to try the wondrous drink, and of course the evil Coranyid heard about it and swarmed the gathering, intending harm.

'Seeing all assembled, Mab Righ plunged a bowl into the water and dashed it over the unsuspecting crowd. The people stared at one another, dripping, and the Coranyid howled with anger. Ignoring the outcry, Mab Righ quickly filled his bowl again and flung the contents over the gathering. The people laughed, and the demons screamed, assuming their normal grotesque shapes. They pleaded with Mab Righ to abandon his plan, but the lord turned a deaf ear to their cries and, filling his bowl once more, sprinkled the contents over the crowd.

'The vile Coranyid shrivelled and died, releasing the people at once. And everyone acclaimed the king and his wisdom, and celebrated the virtue of the healing water. Wasting not a moment, Mab Righ set about measuring the length and breadth of the island. When he had done this, he quartered the land and thus divined the centre. He ordered a deep pit to be dug at the centre; and he ordered a great cloth to be made from the first shearing of all the lambs in the island.

'The cloth of undyed lambs' wool was brought to the place and spread over the huge pit. A third portion of the grain was put into a vat with the blood of nine lambs, and that vat set in the centre of the cloth. It happened that the next night was the eve of Beltain, and the serpent emerged from its underground den and quickly scented the blood of the lambs. The wicked beast, drawn to the vat, slithered onto the cloth and coiled itself around the vat, preparing to feast. But before it could so much as dip its tongue into the vat, the cloth sank into the pit.

'Mab Righ, who had been hiding nearby, ran out and grabbed the loose ends of the cloth before they fell, tied them together and bound the knot with strong ropes. He and his men pulled the bundle from the pit and dragged it to a high promontory, the snake screaming all the while. They hauled the bundle to the cliffs and cast it into the sea. The snake thrashed and screamed and thrashed as it went down. This ended the terrible scream and it was never heard in the realm again.

'And the people, who had gathered along the clifftop, sang a song of liberation as the snake sank out of sight. They lifted Mab Righ onto their shoulders and carried him back to his hall to celebrate his victory. They prepared a great and wonderful feast, using the last portion of the grain which they made into dough and baked. The dough produced enough bread to feed the whole of the realm for thirty-three days.

'When the feast was served, everyone sat down to eat. But before even the smallest morsel could be touched by the smallest finger, the assembly grew sleepy. Yawning widely, they all put their heads down upon the board and fell fast asleep. Mab Righ also found himself yawning and rubbing his eyes. He longed to sleep, but remembered his king's words. As his eyes closed and his head sank towards his chest, he stepped into the vat of cold water by his side. The cold water shocked him awake once more.

'As he shivered in the vat of cold water, there came the sound of a heavy footstep on the hearthstones. A heartbeat later, a shadow passed over the hall and a giant man appeared at the banqueting board. This huge fellow was dressed in leather clothes head to heel, and carried an enormous hammer made of stone. A long shield of oak bound with iron bands was slung on his back, and in his wide belt he carried an axe with an iron head. He also had a basket made of wicker, which he proceeded to fill with food: bread and meat and victuals of all kinds tumbled into this basket without end. Mab Righ watched with amazement, wondering how any vessel could hold so much without ever growing full.

'Finally, the giant had cleaned the board to the last crumb; only then did he stop – and then merely to see if he had neglected anything – and seeing the board swept clean, the immense man turned and started off into the darkness once more. Up charged Mab Righ, leaping from the water and splashing after the giant. "Stop! In the name of the one who is lord over us, I command you to stop!"

'This is what Lludd had told him to say, and the giant stopped, turned, and raised his stone hammer. "Unless you are better skilled with your weapons than you are at guarding your feast," the giant replied in a voice to tremble the hills round about, "I will soon add your pitiful carcass to my wicker tub."

'Mab Righ was ready with his reply. "Though you have wrought endless crimes and turned the joy of many into laments of sorrow," he said, "I say that you shall not take one step more."

'The giant mocked him, saying, "Will you not defend your feast, Little Man? For I tell you, I am not easily persuaded against my will." He swung the hammer high over his head and down with a savage sweep.

'Mab Righ leapt deftly aside, and the hammer fell without harm. The giant turned and began walking away. He took one step, and then another, and on the third step was staggered backwards by the weight of the wicker basket. He struggled ahead another step, but the basket had suddenly become so heavy that he could no longer hold it. "What manner of bread is this?" he wailed. "It grows heavier with every step!"

'With that, the basket slipped from his hands and smashed to pieces on the ground. The giant saw the loaves of bread and joints of meat roll upon the earth and fell on hands and knees to retrieve his feast. He seized a round loaf in his hands and lifted it; but the bread was too heavy for him and, despite his enormous strength, the uncanny weight bettered him and he fell beneath the bread as beneath the heaviest millstone that ever ground a grain.

'Casting off his amazement, Mab Righ strode to the nearest loaf and picked it up with one hand, raised it, and held it over the giant's head. "I have another loaf for you," the lord of the isle said. "As you are a greedy giant, I shall give it to you. Add this to the one you clasp upon your chest."

'The giant saw the bread poised over his head and cried, "Please, lord, I yield. Do not hurt me further, for though you may not know it, I am weakened even unto death by the very loaf I clutch."

'Suspecting a trick, Mab Righ said, "How can I believe you, who have stolen the life from the mouths of my people?"

'The giant wept and cried that the loaf was crushing him. "Lord, I cannot endure the weight any longer," he said. "Unless you free me, I am dead. If it is my life you desire, then you have it, lord, and my word with it. Free me and I will never again trouble any who have tasted the bread by which you have conquered me."

'Holding the loaf, Mab Righ said, "Your life is small enough payment for the wrongs you have done to my people, but for the good of all I will free you." With that he lifted the bread loaf which had conquered the giant. "Go you hence," the lord told the giant. "You will have neither morsel nor crumb from us for ever more."

'The giant rose and shook himself all around. Then, honouring the oath by which he had bound himself, he took his leave of Mab Righ and walked away to the east and was never seen in the island again. And thus the island was rid of the three plagues, and the people were released from their long ordeal. As sore had been their affliction, so great was their happiness. They delighted in their deliverance, and revelled in their release.

'For thirty days and three, the people of the island realm feasted on the bread of their liberation, and as much as they ate, there was three times that much left when they were finished. Indeed, they will feast on it for ever!

'Here ends the song of Mab Righ and the Grain of Rescue. Let him hear it who will.'