Arthur

THREE

Queen Gwenhwyvar appeared at once more fierce than I could ever have imagined, and more lovely. She was a dark-smouldering flame clothed in the finely-formed body of a woman; an ardent, passionate soul, alive to everything around her. Because of the stories I had heard, I expected a towering, majestic figure like those famed Roman matriarchs of old.

Elegant she was, and graceful as the swan in flight, but she was not at all the forbidding matriarch. Her black hair gleamed; her eyes burned bright with delight as she beheld the wonder the Exalted Emrys had worked in the Fortress of Larks.

She stood before the steps and gazed at the marvellous shrine, beaming her pleasure. The others, including the Emrys and myself, waited a little away, watching her reaction. Gwenhwyvar remained a goodly time, merely looking up at the smooth curves of the monument. Then, lifting her soft-booted foot, she slowly mounted the steps and went in.

Gwenhwyvar had laboured long over her wedding gift to Arthur. And endured much in the way of contempt and derision. The ignorant said that Arthur had married a maid of the bhean sidhe and it was rumoured that she employed druid enchanters to summon Otherworld beings to move the sacred stone from Ierne, and had with spells and incantations raised the stone and rendered the site invisible lest anyone stumble upon it unawares.

Pure superstition, of course. Fiery Gwenhwyvar was not of the Hill Folk, nor was she a Pict. She was Irish, though proud as any Fair Folk maid; she could also command a warband with the skill of the best of Arthur's captains.

Some of the stone came from Ierne, it is true – but from Gwenhwyvar's father, King Fergus mac Guillomar. The beautiful blue stone was cut from the mountains and floated across the sea in ships, then dragged by ox-drawn sledge to the site which, although hidden, was not invisible. She employed the best quarrymen, masons and carpenters to work the stone and raise it – not druid enchanters.

In all, the queen was simply following the practice of her race; women of her rank provided for the survival of their fhain, or family clan, in life and death and beyond. Gwenhwyvar, foremost of all queens of the Island of the Mighty, meant to give Arthur a monument that would endure for ever.

Thirteen years is a long tune to wait for a wedding gift. It is also a long time to wait for an heir. More than a few of Arthur's lords had begun grumbling against Gwenhwyvar because the queen had given Arthur no sons. This, they thought, was more important than any monument.

Upon completing her inspection of the shrine, she emerged triumphant. 'Myrddin Emrys,' the queen said, taking his hands into her own, 'I am for ever beholden to you. No other in all the wide world could have accomplished this great work.' She turned and indicated the whole of the shrine with an arcing sweep of her hand. 'It is all I hoped it would be.'

'Thank you,' replied Myrddin simply. 'I am honoured.'

With the queen had come Tegyr and Bedwyr, and a few others of her retinue, and now they began to talk excitedly, praising the Emrys for his magnificent achievement. 'Arthur will be pleased,' Gwenhwyvar said. 'He will love this place as I do. It will be his sanctuary. There is peace here; nothing will disturb him here ever.'

The queen referred to Arthur's continued clashes with the lords and petty kings of the south, who worried at him constantly. If it was not one thing with them, it was another. Nothing ever made them happy – except baiting the Bear of Britain, which they considered good sport. Woe to them!

The northern kings knew better. The wars, only a minor vexation in the south, and now long forgotten, still lived in the memories of the people whose lands had been seized and families slaughtered by the barbarians. The tribes of the north revered their Pendragon, where the southern men merely tolerated him. More and more, Arthur looked upon the north as his home and he sojourned there whenever he could – but always at Eastertide and the Christ Mass.

Gradually, as the High King's sentiments had shifted, the heart of his realm had moved away from the south as well. Wherefore the lords of the south made greater cause against him. Petty dogs, all of them! The knew not when they were well off.

The queen did not stay at the rotunda. Having made her inspection, she was eager to return to the palace to begin ordering the celebration. Before the retinue left, the Emrys came to me. 'I am going to see my mother and Avallach settled in their new home. I want you to come with me.'

I had assumed that I would stay at the shrine. Indeed, I looked upon it as my duty. But I did as I was bade, and I went with him. We reached Caer Lial at twilight, slept in the palace, and departed again early the next morning. A ship waited in the harbour to take us to the Isle of the Fisher King, the island men of the north now call Avallon, or sometimes Ynys Sheaynt, Island of Blessed Peace.

I did not know where this island might be, nor how long our voyage would last. I did not care. For, with the sunrise on the sparkling water, my dread left me and all I could think was that I was on my way to meet the mysterious Fisher King and his renowned daughter. I had never seen Fair Folk – save the Emrys, if he was one – and anticipation flourished in me. The ship could not sail fast enough.

The island lies off the western coast midway between Ierne and Britain, a good day's sailing. It is the peculiar quality of this sea-girt land that it disappears from time to time. The Cymry say this is because Manannan ap Llyr, Lord of the Sea, grows jealous of this most fortunate isle and covers it with the Lengel, the Veil of Concealment, so that men will not covet it for themselves.

Avallon lies surrounded by deep blue waters, overarched by Ha??ling blue skies, caressed by gentle winds and weather. Fish of all types abound in its warm seas, and its broad plains bring forth grain in unmatched quantity, sheep and cattle grow fat on its hillsides. Indeed, it is a Fortunate Isle; fair in every way. Arthur had claimed this island and provided for a church and monastery to crown its unsung glory; these were to be overseen by Avallach.

Our pilot guided the ship into the cliff-bound bay, whereupon we made landfall at a stone-built dock and led our horses up the hill to the track. We then proceeded directly across the island to the western coast, passing by bright woods and dark-crested forests, and wide, green, flower-speckled meadows sown through with freshets and brooks, reaching the Fair Folk settlement as the last red-flamed rays of the sun dwindled into the sea.

I saw for the first time the two tall white towers, now glowing red-gold in the setting sun, which rose from a wall-enclosed mound overlooking the sea. Inside the wall, the high-pitched roof of a goodly hall glinted like silver scales, or glass, as the slate caught the light. Sheep grazed on the stronghold mound outside the walls, their white fleeces turned a rosy gold in the light, the grass shining like emerald. A clear stream sang its glistening way around the whole as it plunged to the sea-cliffs beyond. Horses roamed at will, noses sunk in the sweet-scented grass.

The Wise Emrys shouted with joy when he beheld the shining stronghold. He opened his mouth and sang out a hymn of holy praise, and lashed his horse to a gallop so that he might enter the gates all the sooner. I followed as fast as I could, marvelling at the blessed sight before me.

In all, the place seemed to me an Otherworldly paradise, a realm of gods on earth. I was confirmed in this observation when we rode through the narrow, high-arched gates and glimpsed the Fair Folk themselves moving about their tasks – much remained to be done before the fortress would be fully settled.

Tall and many-favoured, they are a handsome race. Fair to look upon, graceful, straight-limbed, firm of flesh, the elder race is greatly to be admired. The Creator's glory is much manifest in them. Yet for all their comeliness and favour they are a melancholy people; their time is not long in this worlds-realm and they regret it bitterly.

We were met by Fair Folk who recognized the Emrys and called him by name as they ran to hold our horses. 'Merlin! Summon the king! Merlin is here!'

Avallach greeted us as we dismounted. A dark mane of curly hair, quick dark eyes, and a dark beard coiled in the manner of eastern kings gave him an ominous, threatening aspect, which his deep, thundering voice did not altogether dispel. The Bear of Britain is a big man, and Myrddin is not small, but the Fisher King stood head and shoulders above both. For all this, he was not awkward or slow in his movements as men of such size often are; the innate grace of his kind was in him. Nevertheless, as he strode towards us I marvelled that the earth did not shake beneath his feet.

The king's dark eyes glinted and white teeth flashed a smile in his dark beard. 'Merlin! I give you good greeting! Welcome home.'

The Emrys embraced the king and then stood off to view the stronghold. 'It is not the palace on the Tor,' he said. I thought I heard a note of sadness in his voice.

'No,' agreed Avallach, 'it is not. Ah, but I was growing weary with the Glass Isle. The good brothers were happy to have the palace and will make excellent use of it – a scriptorium, I believe, and a larger hospice. The sick make pilgrimage to Shrine Hill in ever-increasing numbers. They will find it a peaceful place.' He paused and lifted a hand to the gleaming palace. 'But come, Merlin. My hall has not yet been baptized with song – and now that you are here, that oversight can be corrected. Come, we will lift the guest cup.'

'I would enjoy nothing more,' the Emrys said, 'but I must greet my mother first.'

'Of course!' cried Avallach. 'She is in the grove, directing the planting. Go to her and bring her back. I will await you in the hall. Go!' The Fisher King waved us away.

We hurried from the yard, passed through the gates and made our way along the wall to the west side facing the sea. There, on the sunny slopes above the sheer cliffs, the Lady of the Lake had established her apple grove. The trees were sprigs and saplings brought from the Tor, and she knelt at one of them, pressing the earth around its roots with her hands

At our approach she raised her head, saw her son and smiled. My heart soared. She seemed an earthly goddess such as the Learned Brotherhood revere in their ancient songs. But the derwydd speak in ignorance, for the flesh-and-bone reality far surpasses their bloodless ideal.

She rose to her feet and, brushing dirt from her mantle and her hands, walked quickly towards us. I could not move, or look away. All my life I had heard of the Lady of the Lake and, seeing her, knew the utter worthlessness of words justly to describe what lies beyond their scan. Hair like sunlight on flax, eyes green as forest glades, skin as soft and white as… it was hopeless.

'My mother, Charis,' the Emrys was saying. I came to myself with a start, realizing I had been transfixed by the Lady of the Lake's astonishing beauty.

'I – I am your servant,' I stammered, and blanched at my ineptitude.

Charis honoured me with a smile. She linked arms with her son and they began walking back to the yard together. I was happily, and gratefully, forgotten in their reunion. I was more than content to follow on behind. Fragments of their conversation drifted back to me, and I listened.

'… sorry to leave the Tor,' Charis said, 'but it is for the best… '

'… difficult, I know… much closer… be together more often now… '

'… a blessed place. We will be happy here… the Tor… too many… Avallach could not abide it… so much has changed… '

We reached the gates; Charis halted and embraced her son, holding him for a long moment. 'I am glad you have come; I could not be happier. Arthur has been so good to us. We will do all to repay his trust and generosity.'

'There is no need. I have told you, the High King views Avallach as an ally, and needs a strong hand to hold this island. It is an ancient and holy place – there should be a church here. With you and grandfather here, there will be a church and more: a monastery, a llyfrwy for your books, a hospice for the sick. Your work will flourish here.'

The Lady of the Lake kissed her son, and they walked through the gates. We crossed the yard and entered the king's hall to be greeted with rich cups of silver and horn filled with sweet golden mead. I was offered to drink as well, and did so, but it might have been muddy water in my cup for all I noticed. The hall of the Fisher King stole away my thirst.

High-vaulted the roof and many pillared, the structure could have held three hundred warriors at table with room for the bards, priests, stewards, serving boys, dogs, and all the retinue that went with them. At one end of the long room lay an enormous hearth, at the other a screen of gold-painted ox-hide, with the king's chambers beyond. The floor was of white cut stone, covered with fresh rushes; the pillars were timber, stripped, bound together and carved in upward spiralling grooves.

The king had ordered chairs to be set up, but we did not sit. Instead, we stood sipping the mead and talking – rather, they talked, I simply stared about me at the hall. Hearth and pillars, tessellated floor, and high-pitched roof – it was unlike any I had ever seen. What I saw, of course, was Fair Folk craft, blended with the lively artistry of the Celt.

Later, after our evening meal, the Great Emrys sang in the hall of the Fisher King for his mother and all gathered there. He sang The Dream ofRhonabwy, a tale I did not know and had never heard before. Both beautiful and disturbing, I believe it was a true tale but its truth had not yet taken place in the world of men; much of the song's meaning had to do with future things, I think. Though the High King was not directly mentioned, Arthur was several times implied.

This is what Myrddin sang…

In the first days of Ynys Prydein, when the dew of creation was still fresh on the earth, Manawyddan ap Llyr ruled in the Island of the Mighty, and this is the way of it.

Manawyddan, firstborn of Mighty Llyr, lived long and attained great renown through deeds of courage and valour. He had a kinsman, a man of lesser worth and rank, and this cousin, Medyr, became chafed and annoyed seeing the glory his kinsman enjoyed while he himself had nothing. So up he jumps one shining morning and calls to his tribesmen. 'Lieu knows I am sick of this,' he said. 'All day long I am distressed, but does Manawyddan take notice of my affliction? No, he does not. What shall we do about such a state of affairs?'

The tribesmen looked at one another, but could make no answer. Medyr shook his fist at them. 'Well? I am listening, but hear nothing save the four winds blowing through your heads as through empty shells.'

One of the elder tribesmen spoke up and said, 'Lord Medyr, if it is advice you are wanting, we would be less than good men if we did not tell you to seek out the Black Hag of Annwfn, who knows all that passes everywhere and holds such powers of counsel as to make any man a king who heeds her.'

'At last!' cried Medyr. 'Lieu knows it took you long enough. But this advice seems good to me. I will do as you say.' At once he climbed upon his horse and rode off to seek the Black Hag.

This creature lived in a mound in a birchwood copse near a river. When Medyr found her he summoned her from her dank lair. Foul was her appearance; fouler still the smell which besmote poor Medyr's nostrils. But he had determined to see the thing through and he heeded her advice – which consisted of nothing more than that Medyr should go to Manawyddan and demand to be taken into his care.

This he did. Manawyddan, thinking no ill, received Medyr with good grace and honoured him far above his rank by offering to make him a battlechief and head of a fair warband. Medyr agreed and was satisfied for a little time. But in the end he tired of the work and considered that he might better himself more quickly by raiding. So he rode off and began a life of plunder and pillage, burning holdings, stealing cattle, killing any who made bold to oppose him.

Manawyddan was not the king to stand aside and see his people hurt in this way, so he called forth his best men and asked them to choose from among them the noblest and bravest who should go after Medyr and end his vile slaughter. These were the men who were chosen: Rhonabwy, Kynrig Red Freckles, and Cadwgan the Stout. Everyone agreed that if these men failed it would not be through fault of valour, or courage, wiles, or skill at sword, or through any other fault – for among them they possessed none – but through dark treachery alone.

'Very well,' said Manwyddan when they came before him, 'you know what to do. I bless you and send you on your way. Go in peace and return victorious.'

The three rode out at once and the trail was not difficult to raise, for they simply followed the scorched earth where Medyr had passed. For days and days they rode, and came at last to the holding of Heilyn Long Shanks. As twilight was coming on they decided to stay the night and approached the house.

When they came into the yard they saw an old black cave of a hall with smoke pouring out of it. Inside they saw a floor at once so pitted and bumpy, and so slimy with cow dung and urine, that a man could hardly stand upright without either slipping and falling down or sinking into the stinking mire. And over all was strewn holly branches and nettles which the cattle had been chewing.

Nothing daunted, they continued on and came to a chamber at the end of the hall where they found a sickly hag before a sputtering fire. When the fire guttered the hag threw a handful of chaff into the flames and the resulting belch of smoke brought tears to the eyes. The only other thing that was in this rude chamber was a hair-bare yellow ox-hide. Fortunate indeed was the man who slept on that!

The travellers sat down and asked the hag where the people of the holding were to be found, but she sneered at them, showing her foul teeth. Presently, a thin man, completely bald and withered, entered the hall. He was followed by a grey, stooped woman carrying a bundle of sticks. The woman threw down her bundle before the hag, who made up the fire. The grey woman then began to cook a meal, of which she gave a portion to the three strangers: hard bread and oat gruel and watery milk.

While the three ate this poor fare a fierce rainstorm arose; the wind blew so that trees bent nearly to the ground and the rain fell sideways. Since it was useless to travel on, and since they were tired from their long journey, they decided to stay hi the hall, saying, 'After all, it is only for one night. Fortunate are we indeed if this is the worst thing that befalls us.'

Then they prepared to sleep. And their bed was nothing but a pile of flea-ridden straw with a tattered old greasy cloak thrown over it. Clamping their hands over their noses, they lay down. Rhonabwy's companions fell asleep to the torments of the fleas. But, after thrashing around on the filthy straw, Rhonabwy decided that neither rest nor sleep would come to him if he did not find a more comfortable place. He spied the yellow ox-hide and thought that if he did nothing else he might at least escape the fleas, so he got up and went to lie down on the ox-hide.

No sooner had his head touched the hair-bare old hide than did he fall asleep. At once a vision came to him. And this is what he saw:

He and his friends were riding along beside an oak grove when they heard a tumult the like of which they had never heard before. They halted and, looking fearfully behind them, saw a young man with curly hair and a new-trimmed beard riding a golden horse. This man was green from the hips down to his toes, and he wore a fine yellow mantle that shimmered in the sun. At his side was a golden-hilted sword in a sheath of fine leather, held by a belt with an enormous golden buckle. And the size of the man was all but twice that of any of the three companions!

The three companions knew themselves to be in the presence of a man of power and authority so they waited for him to draw near. 'Peace, friend,' called Rhonabwy as the man approached, and because the man was so big he added, 'and mercy, too.'

The young man in gold and green halted before them. •'You beg peace and mercy from me and you shall have that gladly. Do not be afraid.'

'Our thanks to you, and the thanks of our lord also. Since you grant us mercy, chieftain, tell us your name.'

At this the young man smiled and said, 'I am called Gwyn Ysgawd, and my father is the ruler of this realm.'

'Who might that be?' Rhonabwy asked.

'His name is not uttered except in praise,' Gwyn answered. 'He is Chief Dragon of the Island of the Mighty and its Seven Adjacent Isles, and much else besides, for he is Emperor of the West.'

The three friends peered at one another anxiously. 'We have never heard of this man, great though he undoubtedly is.'

'That surely is a wonder,' said Gwyn. 'But I will allow you to judge for yourselves, for I will take you to him and you can pay him the homage you think he deserves.'

'Fair enough,' said Rhonabwy, and the huge man continued on his way. The three fell in behind him and kept up as best they could. Yet no matter how fast they rode, the yellow horse ahead of them galloped faster. When they breathed in, they seemed to gain a little, but when they breathed out the yellow horse was further away than before.

In this way, they passed over a great plain – wider and more vast than Argyngrog. And they crossed many rivers, each of them wider and more vast than Mor Hafren. And they rode through many forests, each of them wider, darker, and more vast than Celyddon. But at last they came to an immense shore at the very edge of the Island of the Mighty. And spread out along the shore as far as the eye could see in each direction were bright-coloured tents of all sizes – enough to hold the greatest host the world had yet seen.

They proceeded to the sea verge and came to a flat islet lying close to the shore. An enormous man sat on the small island on a throne of stone, and beside him Bishop Bedwini at his right hand, and Hafgan Chief Bard on his left. Before them stood a warrior dressed all in black. From the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, all black. His hands were covered with black gloves, and his cloak, tunic and mantle were black. All that could be seen of this warrior was only the span of wrist between sleeve and glove – and this skin was whiter than the white of a maid's eyes, whiter than lilies; and that wrist was thicker than the small of Cadwgan's leg. The strange warrior held in his hand a sheathed sword.

Gwyn led Rhonabwy and his companions across the water to stand before the mighty man on the throne. 'God be good to you, Father!' he called in greeting.

The man on the throne raised his hand in welcome. 'God be good to you, my son!' he said in a voice that surely shook the hills. He regarded the three travellers curiously, and said, 'Wherever did you find these little men?'

'Lord, I found them riding at the border of your realm,' Gwyn White Shield answered.

At this the great king shook his head and uttered a sharp, mocking laugh.

'Chief Dragon,' said Gwyn, 'what are you laughing at?'

'I am laughing out of the sadness I feel at this worlds-realm being held by such puny men as these, after the kind that held it before!'

Then Gwyn turned to Rhonabwy and asked, 'Do you see the ring on the emperor's hand?'

Rhonabwy looked and saw a golden ring with a purple gem. 'I see it,' he answered.

'It is the property of that ring that having seen it you will remember everything that passes while you sojourn with us. If you had not seen it, you would remember nothing at all.'

They were still talking like this when a great commotion arose on shore. Rhonabwy looked and saw a tremendous warband riding towards them. 'What warband is that?' asked Rhonabwy.

'The Flight of Dragons! And it is their pride and duty to ride before and after the emperor in every danger. For this they are granted the privilege of wooing the most noble daughters of Britain.'

Rhonabwy watched as the warband passed by, and he saw that there was not a warrior among them that was dressed in anything but the deepest red, like the reddest blood in the world. Together they appeared a column of fire springing from the earth and ascending to the sky. These exalted warriors hailed the emperor as they passed by, and rode to their tents on the shore.

With sweet golden mead and savoury roast pork the Pendragon feasted his Dragon Flight. Rhonabwy and his friends feasted with them and continually remarked to one another, and to Gwyn, that never had they tasted such a feast as the one set before them.

In the morning the warriors arose, donned their battle dress and saddled their fine horses. 'What is happening here?' asked Rhonabwy, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

'The war host is gathered,' explained Gwyn. 'It is time to join battle at Caer Baddon.'

So saying, they all climbed on their horses and began riding to the battle place. Now the emperor's war host rode so fast that they could not be seen – only the windrush of their passing could be felt. But Gwyn led the three along the track and eventually they reached a great vale where they saw the host gathered below Caer Baddon.

A warrior sped past them where they waited and proceeded at once into the vale without pausing. At the approach of this rider, all the war host scattered. 'What is this?' wondered Rhonabwy to Kynrig Red Freckles. 'Is the emperor's war host fleeing?'

Gwyn overheard them and replied, 'The emperor's host has never fled, but has ever been victorious. Lucky you are, for if that remark had been heard down there you would already be dead.'

'Who is that rider, then,' asked Rhonabwy, 'that he causes such tumult among the troops?'

'The rider you see speeding his way to the front of the battle line is none other than the foremost champion of the Pendragon's warband. The commotion you see at his arrival is that of men jostling one another to be near him in the fray.'

The tumult threatened to become a riot, so the emperor signalled his sword-bearer, the youth in black, who raised the Pendragon's weapon – a great sword with a golden hilt in the shape of twin serpents. He drew the sword and the brightness of the blade was like the brightness of the sun, so that it was not easy to look upon. The commotion quieted at once.

Gwyn, Rhonabwy, Kynrig and Cadwgan lifted their reins and rode down into the vale, where they found the emperor's tent. A huge, yellow-haired man approached with an enormous bundle on his back. He lowered the bundle and drew out a wonderful mantle of pure white wool with a golden apple at each corner. The giant man spread the fair mantle upon the ground before the tent. Next, he drew out a camp chair so large that three kings could sit in it at once; this he set up in the centre of the mantle. And then he withdrew a silver gwyddbwyll board and game-pieces of pure gold, which he set up in the centre of the chair.

Rhonabwy and the others dismounted and stood aside to see what would happen next, and what happened was that the emperor emerged from his tent and took his place in the chair beside the gwyddbwyll board. He raised his head, looked around him, and cried, 'Who will try their skill against me in a game of Chase and Capture?'

Immediately, a crowd gathered around the mantle. And such a crowd! For each man among them was nobly born, and not one was lower in rank than king, and some were kings with other kings in their retinue.

Up spoke a king with brown hair and a drooping brown moustache, who said, 'I will try my skill, Lord and Pendragon.'

'I recognize you, Vortiporix,' replied the Pendragon. 'Very well, I allow you the first move. Make it good.' And they began to play.

They were deep into the game when there arose a great din of such cawing and shouting and clashing of arms that it could only be a battle of unusual size and violence. This continued, growing ever louder, until from a nearby tent came a warrior. The tent was all of white, with a standard flying before it bearing the image of a jet-black serpent with poisonous eyes and a fiery tongue. The warrior was dressed all in yellow-green from neck to knee, and half of his face was painted yellow as well.

'Emperor and Pendragon,' said the warrior, 'is it with your permission that the Ravens of Annwfn tear at your brave warriors?'

'It is not,' replied the emperor. 'This I will not allow."

Then tell me what is to be done and I will do it,' said the warrior.

'Take my standard and raise it where the battle is fiercest,' said the emperor. Then stand back and let God's will be accomplished.'

The warrior rode directly to the place where the battle was going badly for the Dragon Flight, and there he raised the emperor's standard – a great red-gold dragon with teeth and claws bared. And when the Flight of Dragons saw the standard being raised in their midst they took courage and rose up with renewed vigour and began beating back the Ravens, smiting them and stabbing them so that they were wounded and killed.

Vortiporix went down in defeat to the emperor and his game ended. 'Who will play next?' asked the Pendragon in a loud, challenging voice.

'I will try my skill," said a man, stepping out from the crowd which had gathered around the game board.

Then sit you down,' said the emperor. 'I recognize you, Urien Reget, and grant you the first move. Do your best.'

They began to play the game, bending low over the board to study their moves. When they had played a short while they heard a great uproar of men and animals fighting and tearing one another to pieces. They raised their heads at this commotion, to see a rider on a pale horse galloping towards them. The rider wore a white cloak on his shoulder and a white tunic, but his legs and feet were covered in grey linen the colour of smoke or morning mist. In his hand he held a long, three-grooved sword; and on his head he wore a helm with a powerful sapphire gemstone on its brow, and on its crest the image of a white lion with poisonous blood-red eyes.

This warrior rode straight to where the game was being played on the mantle and, without dismounting, said, 'Lord and Pendragon, Emperor of the Island of the Mighty and all other lands of consequence, I beseech you.'

'Why do you beseech me?'

'I would have you know that the best warriors in the world, the nobles and kings of Britain and their vaunted retinues are being killed by wild beasts – so many, in fact, that it will not be easy to defend this worlds-realm henceforth.'

'This will never do,' replied the emperor when he had heard the sorry report.

'Tell me what is to be done and I will see that it is accomplished,' said the warrior.

'Take my sword in your hand and carry it before you by the blade, in the sign of the cross of Christ.'

The warrior rode directly to the place where the battle was going badly for the Dragon Flight, and there he raised the emperor's sword, holding it before him by the naked blade. When the wild beasts saw the flashing sword making the sign of the cross of Christ they fell to quaking with fear and lay down and became meek as newborn lambs.

Urien of Reget went down in sharp defeat at the emperor's hands. But the emperor still wanted a fair match at the game, so he called out, 'Who else is there to pit skill against me?'

'I will try my skill and cunning against you, O Mighty Pendragon,' said a king, stepping from the throng.

'I recognize you, Maglocunus,' replied the Pendragon. 'Very well, take your move and see that you make it your best.'

They bent low over the game-board, moving the golden pieces here and there as the game demanded. They had not played'Very long when there arose the greatest uproar yet heard anywhere in the world. Though the din was terrible, far worse was the silence that followed. Everyone trembled and looked around fearfully.

Out of the east came a warrior on a horse of dappled-grey with four red legs, as if the animal had swum through blood, yet its hooves were green. Both rider and horse were clothed in strange, heavy armour that gleamed like silver, with rivets and fastenings of russet. The warrior carried a long, heavy spear of grooved ashwood coloured half with white lime and half with blue woad, the leaf-shaped blade covered with fresh blood. On his head he wore a helm set about with shining crystals and crested with the image of a griffin holding a powerful gem in his mouth.

This warrior approached the emperor and cried out, 'Lord and Pendragon! Your warriors are slaughtered, your people killed, all who followed you are scattered and oppressed!'

Hearing this the Exalted Pendragon seized up a handful of pieces from the gwyddbwyll board and squeezed them in his hand until they were ground to fine gold dust. Then, looking around angrily, he demanded of the royal throng, 'What is to become of us? Why do you stand there empty-handed? Why do you stand idly by, watching a stupid game, while the enemy has laid waste to our lands and slaughtered our people? Are you even men at all?'

The emperor rose up and threw the game-board from him. He called for his sword and his horse. He took up his spear and his shield, and put on his dragon-crested helm. 'Whoever would follow me, take up your sword!' he cried.

At these words the crowd vanished – they simply faded from sight and blew away like mist. The tents faded from sight, and the horses and warriors and all that had gathered in the vale below Caer Baddon. Lastly the emperor and his son vanished, taken from sight by a shining cloud that covered them and bore them away.

Of the great host, not so much as a footprint remained. Everything disappeared, leaving only Rhonabwy and his two friends standing just where they were. 'Most wretched of men are we,' cried Rhonabwy miserably, 'for we have seen a wonder, but no one is here to tell us what it means! On top of that, we are lost and now must find our way home as best we can.'

No sooner had these words passed his lips than did a wind begin to blow and howl, and rain and hail begin to fall. Thunder thundered and lightning flashed, and in the chaos of the storm Rhonabwy awoke to find himself once more on the yellow ox-hide in the noisome black hall. His friends stood over him, their brows wrinkled with worry, for Rhonabwy had slept three days and three nights.

So ends the Dream of Rhonabwy.

The Emrys sang out of his bard's awen, and would not speak of his song or its meaning. The next day, however, I sensed this same unease in his conversation with Avallach. Clearly, something had begun preying on the Emrys' mind. I determined to discover what it was. Over the next days and nights I stayed alert to any word that might illumine me.

Our sojourn proceeded uneventfully. I spent several days wandering along the cliff-tops above the sea, watching the grey seals dive for fish and sun themselves on the rocks. I talked to the Fair Folk, when I could engage one of them, and struck an awkward friendship with one of the grooms in Avallach's stable. In this way, I learned some surprising things about the Fair Folk, but nothing about the matter I sought.

At night I stayed near the Emrys so that I might hear all that passed. My vigil availed me nothing, however, until the last night. We were to leave the next morning, to be in Caer Lial when the Pendragon arrived – which would be soon.

The Emrys sat between the Fisher King and his mother, and I served them so as to be near. They talked of crops and cattle, of fishing, and the winter weather on the island…

All at once, the Emrys grew serious. He dropped his knife onto the table, letting it fall from his hand as if he lacked the strength to grasp it. He turned to his mother and said, 'Where is Morgian?'

Chads' hand fluttered to her mouth. 'What do you mean?'

'Must I ask again?'

'Oh, Hawk, you cannot think she would – ' she did not say the words. 'Why do you ask?'

'Since coming here I have sensed her presence. If she has not been here, she is surely coming.'

Avallach, I noticed, stopped eating and swallowed hard, as if choking down the food in his mouth. He laid down his knife and gripped the edge of the board with his hands.

He knows something! I thought, and wondered whether the Emrys would see this. But he did not turn towards the Fisher King and continued to speak only to his mother. 'Do you think she would do this?' Charis asked. 'Why?'

The Emrys shook his head slowly. 'I cannot say. Her ways are beyond reckoning.' Then he reached out his hand and took one of his mother's and pressed it hard. 'Beware,' he cautioned. 'There is a matter here I do not know, and an end I cannot see. Please, beware.'

No more was said and, once it had passed, talk returned to more pleasant things. Still, I wondered. The Wise Emrys' words found a place within me and echoed like a hand-struck harp: if she has not been here, she is surely coming.

I did not find opportunity to speak to the Emrys about what I had seen at the Fisher King's table until we were aboard ship and well away from the island. The Emrys moved apart from the sailors to stand gazing at the waves scattering before the ship's sharp prow. I hurried to him and said, 'Lord Emrys, a word, please.'

He answered absently, without turning. 'Yes? What is it, Aneirin?'

Strangely, I did not say the thing I meant to say, but spoke something perhaps closer to my heart. 'Why did you wish me to come with you to Ynys Avallach?'

He considered this for a goodly time and then answered, 'I do not know, boy.' His eyes did not turn from the sea. 'Why do you ask?'

Now it was my turn to admit ignorance.

‘Well,' observed the Emrys sagely, 'you see how it is.' He smiled and turned to look at me. I must have presented a sobering countenance, for he asked, 'Ah, there is a deeper thing that you have not said. Is this so?'

'Yes, Emrys.'

'Then speak it out, lad.'

I told him what I had witnessed of the Fisher King's behaviour. As I spoke, the Emrys' eyes narrowed. 'I did not think to ask him,' he murmured.

'Who is this Morgian?' I inquired, little knowing what I asked. Great the grief. I wish I had never heard the name, nor let it pass my lips.

Weary pain pinched the Emrys' features. 'She is… ' he began, and halted. Then shaking his head, he said, 'Have you never heard of the Queen of Air and Darkness?'

'No,' I told him with a shrug. 'The name means nothing to me.'

'Can it be?' the Emrys wondered. 'Men's memories are short, but evil endures long.' He turned back to his contemplation of the sea, but I knew that he did not see it. For his sight had turned inward and he no longer travelled the bright sea-path before us.