Arthur

FIVE

I know little of what passed at the Council of the Round Table. Those in attendance – Bedwyr and Cai, of course, Bors, Gwalchavad, Cador, Llenlleawg, Idris and the Emrys – were Arthur's truest companions. These were the first. Others would be added in time as good men were drawn to Arthur's court.

Each day for three days the lords held council with the High King. Each night for three nights they supped together and the Emrys sang. One of the songs he sang was The Vision of Taliesin, also called The Song of the Summer Realm.

I count myself for ever blessed to have heard it.

On the third day of the council, Gwalcmai arrived. Whether he had been summoned, or whether he came of his own volition, I still do not know. But he appeared at midday, greeted me, and made his way to the shrine. He knelt at its entrance, prayed, and then was allowed to enter. I picketed his horse with the others and waited to see what would happen.

In a little, he emerged, alone, and walked down the hill. He moved quickly, like a man with an important duty he must discharge. I learned later that Gwalcmai had been invited to become a member of the Round Table and have his name carven with those of the others. But since he had not fought in the wars against the barbarians, he must perform some other deed of great service to God, the Pendragon, and Britain.

This deed was to be of his own choosing. When it was finished, he could return and come before the Pendragon with proof of its completion. Then, if judged by the others as worthy, he would be admitted to their number.

That is why, when he rode away that day, I saw the steely glint of determination in his eye. I think he already knew what he would do to win his place in the Shrine of the Round Table.

On the morning of the council's fourth day, the High King and his companions departed. The Emrys and I stayed at the shrine, however, for the Emrys wanted some time alone to himself.

That night we sat together at the fire and ate our meal. I said, 'I wonder how the Hill Folk know when we are here?' For the food had begun appearing once more, as soon as Arthur and the others had gone.

'There is not much that happens in the land that they do not know.'

'Why do they bring it?'

'It is their way of honouring me. Ken-ti-gern, they call me. Do you know the word?'

I shook my head. 'No – should I?'

The Emrys regarded me sadly for a moment. 'There is so much passing away,' he said heavily. 'The Summer Realm blooms and the old world must make way.'

He was silent for a time. I watched his face in the light of the dancing fire. He was old, though he did not look it. Long had he gathered wisdom in this worlds-realm, and its weight was becoming a burden to him.

By way of lightening the mood, I said, 'I saw one of the Hill Folk last time.'

'Last time?' The Emrys glanced up, his golden eyes glinting in the firelight.

'When I was here – after you left with Tegyr and Bedwyr. I was alone and I saw one of them when he brought the food. He came up to the shrine and stood in the doorway for a moment, then left. He probably thought we had all departed and he wanted to see the shrine. He did not come inside though, and it was dark. He did not see me.'

Myrddin Emrys stared at me long and hard. 'You did not tell me this before – why?' he demanded at last.

Aghast, I said, 'It was of no importance. Nothing happened. He left the food and disappeared. I did not see him again. Why? Have I done wrong?'

'It is not your fault – you could not know.'

'Know what?' I said, my voice rising indignantly. 'What have I done?'

'Has it never occurred to you that the Hill Folk would not bring food if they thought you had gone?'

His question pricked me. I felt the hot blood rise to my face and was grateful for the ruddy glow of the firelight to hide my shame.

'Well?'

'I suppose not,' I answered sullenly; he spoke the truth and I knew it well.

'No, they would not. If they brought the food, they knew you were still here. Knowing that, they would not have allowed you to see them.' The Emrys paused, then softened. 'Well, it was probably nothing, as you say.'

My heart beat against my ribs, telling me that it was not nothing. There was a deeper matter here than I had yet been told. 'If it was not one of the Hill Folk,' I said, 'who was it?'

'I cannot say.' The Emrys turned his face away abruptly.

'Morgian?' I said, little knowing what I asked.

The Emrys whipped towards me. 'Why do you speak that name?'

I stared back at him, horrified. 'Forgive me! I do not know what made me say it.' That was God's own truth – the name just leapt from my tongue.

The Emrys' golden eyes narrowed. 'Perhaps,' he said slowly. 'Or it may be there is another reason.' His tone was deeply forbidding.

'What do you mean, Wise Emrys?' I asked, frightened of the answer.

He stared into the fire, gazing at the embers glowing cherry-red in its flaming heart. What he saw did not cheer him. 'I mean,' he said at last, 'that I fear you have guessed aright – if guess it was.'

Nothing more was said all night. We slept, and awoke the next morning to a thin rain. The rain lingered most of the day, clearing at last towards evening. The Emrys and I went about our work and emerged only at dusk, when the clouds parted and the sun began to gild the hills and sea with fine white gold.

'Aneirin!' Myrddin Emrys called to me from the hilltop. I stood below him at the stream, filling the water jars for the night. 'Do you want to see the bhean sidhe? Come here.'

I hurried with the jars and hastened up the hill. 'Go into the shrine and stay there until I summon you.'

I did as I was bade and the Emrys cupped his hands to his lips and made a whistling call that sounded like waves rolling stones on the shingle. He made it again and waited, standing perfectly still. In a moment I heard an answering call, identical to the one he gave. Myrddin Emrys replied to it in kind, and out from the thickets at the edge of the stream stepped two young boys, slender and brown as willow wands, carrying between them the bundle of food.

The two ran quick as shadows up the hill and approached the shrine. The foremost of the two crept close and placed the food bundle on the ground; he took the Emrys' right hand in both of his and kissed it. The other did likewise, and they began to talk. I understood nothing of their speech – it sounded to me less like human utterance than anything I had ever heard. It was all rushing wind and rustling leaves; the hissing of snakes and the buzzing of bees, and the gurgle of falling water.

After they had spoken for a time, the Emrys turned to the shrine and held his hand to it. The two Hill Folk glanced at one another and nodded. 'You can come out, Aneirin,' he called. 'They will allow you to see them.'

I stepped slowly from the doorway of the rotunda and proceeded down the steps. It was only when I came to stand beside the Emrys that I realized our visitors were not children, but mature men. Men full-grown, yet they were smaller than me!

They stood regarding me with bright curiosity, and I them. They wore short, sleeveless tunics made of leather and birds' wings. Their trousers were soft sheepskin; their boots were the same. They carried small wooden bows, and each had a quiver of short arrows at his belt. They wore necklaces of tiny yellow shells, and each had a thick ring of gold around his arm. Tiny blue slashes, three over each cheek – their fhain marks – distinguished them as Salmon Fhain. Their hair and eyes were deep and black as polished jet; their skins were brown and creased as their tunics.

The Emrys spoke a word to them and I heard my name, whereupon the two smiled. The foremost one thumped himself on the chest and said, 'Rei.' He repeated this until I said it, whereupon the second one presented himself, saying, 'Vranat.'

I said my name for them and they repeated it, only they said, 'Nee-rin,' and laughed as if this was a most splendid jest. Then they grew suddenly serious and began speaking to the Emrys once more, earnestly, one after the other with some urgency. This entreaty lasted only a moment. Myrddin made some answer to them and they departed, each kissing the Emrys' hand before turning and racing away. They were gone in an instant.

'There,' said Myrddin Emrys, 'now you have seen the Hill Folk. Is there any doubt?'

I knew what he was saying. 'None,' I replied. 'Even in the dark I would know the difference – the one I saw was not like these at all.'

The Emrys turned and began walking down the hill to the sea. I followed and we walked together a goodly while. It was cooler near the water, and the smell of seaweed and salt filled my nostrils. The sound of the waves washing back and forth over the sand soothed my troubled spirit. 'What are we going to do?' I asked.

'We will do what is required of us.'

'Will we know what that is?'

'All is given in its season. All that is needful is granted. We have but to ask, and if our hearts are hi the asking it will be granted.'

'Always?'

'You are full of questions, boy,' the Wise Emrys chuckled. 'No, not always. We serve at the Gifting God's pleasure. In him we move and have our being; in him we live both here and in the world to come. If anything is withheld from us it is for the reason of a greater good to come.'

'Always?'

This time the Emrys became adamant. 'Oh aye! Always. Goodness is ever good, and the All-Wise God is a good god. From him goodness itself derives its meaning.'

'So, even if evil overtakes us, it is still for the greater good,' I said, trying to understand this philosophy.

The Emrys accepted my foolish answer, but corrected it gently. 'That is one way to say it, but perhaps not the best way. To see evil and call it good, mocks God. Worse, it makes goodness meaningless. A word without meaning is an abomination, for when the word passes beyond understanding the very thing the word stands for passes out of the world and cannot be recalled.

'This is a great and subtle truth, Aneirin. Think on it.'

I d'd, but could make no headway. 'But,' I said, returning to the former discussion, 'if the Holy God is good and yet evil overtakes me, what am I to say?'

'Only say, "Evil has overtaken me." God did not wish it, but being God he can use even that which is evil and meant for evil and turn it to good end. It is his labour in the world, and ours, to raise up the fallen and to turn the evil into good.' He raised a hand to his face. 'Even my blindness was turned to good in the end.'

This surprised me. 'Because your sight was restored?'

'No,' he replied. 'Because it was not.'

Now I was confused. The Emrys saw me struggling with this and said, 'It is because you do not believe that you do not understand.'

'But I want to understand.'

Then hear me: God is good; his gifts are granted each in its own season, and according to his purpose. I endured blindness that I might discern the subtle ways of darkness, and treasure light the more. When I learned this truth, it pleased God to restore my sight – which he did in time.'

I knew that all this had something to do with Morgian, but I could not think how. The Emrys talked like a priest instructing his flock. I knew the words he spoke to be true, but the truths they revealed were too deep for me then. That, or else I was a vessel too shallow. I cannot say which.

That night, when we ate our meal before the fire, Myrddin Emrys told me of his time with the Hill Folk – how he had become separated from his people, lost, and found by the bhean sidhe of Hawk Fhain; how he had almost been sacrificed; how he had learned their ways, and the lore of their Gern-y-fhain, the clan's Wise Woman.

As he told me of his life, I began to understand the meaning of his words: so much is passing away. It was clear to me that the world I knew was much changed from the one he described – and was still changing rapidly in almost every way.

Behold! The Summer Realm blooms and the old world must make way. Peace! So be it!

We left the shrine a few days later and returned to Caer Lial. The Pendragon's court was busy with the affairs of Britain now that the High King was in residence. A steady stream of lords and landholders passed through the Pendragon's hall and chambers.

Priests and holy men came before him with petitions of need. The High King established churches, founded holy orders, and granted land to monasteries. Queen Gwenhwyvar aided this work with zeal. With her own resources and out of her own wealth she planted seeds of righteousness and nurtured good works of every kind. She was formidable in virtue, and fierce in piety. She was dauntless in love. No less a warrior than Arthur, she battled wickedness and ignorance, never granting quarter.

I watched all, heard all, and remembered all – hiding it away in my memory like treasure, as it seemed right to do. I talked long with Bedwyr, who became my friend. Bedwyr had the soul of a bard and the memory of a druid. Often we began to talk of an evening and rose to find dawn's ruby rays stealing into the hall.

Cai and I also became friends, and he aided me as he could. But Cai's unquestioning loyalty made it difficult to discover what actually happened in the battles. 'Well,' he would say, 'Arthur is Arthur, yes? He is the Bear. No one like him in battle – who can stand against him?' This would suffice for an enure campaign!

Two more councils were held at the Round Table shrine that year: one at the autumnal equinox, and the other at the winter solstice, just before the Christ Mass. I did not attend the former of these, but at the latter I served my customary function in caring for the horses.

I spent three cold, wet days at a crackling fire below the rotunda hill with the wild wind blowing snow off the sea. When the others emerged from the council at last, I was near frozen. They came out singing into the winter squall, their voices loud and joyous. I knew something important had taken place. I spared no time finding out.

'What is the cause of this singing, Wise Emrys?' I asked, running to him.

King Arthur heard my inquiry and answered. 'It is a day for celebration!' he cried. 'A great work is to be accomplished. Greater than any seen in the Island of the Mighty since Bran the Blessed raised his golden throne.' By this he meant the legendary Judgement Seat – Bran's chair of gold on which he sat to dispense justice to his people. Bran's judgements, ingenious in fairness, became law for a thousand years. In elder times, Bran's law was the only law in the land and it was just.

'What is to happen, Pendragon?' I asked.. 'The holiest object that is in the world is to become enshrined in the Round Table.' He smiled and clapped a hand to my shoulder, nearly knocking me off my feet. He and the Emrys moved on to the fire, leaving me no wiser than before.

Bedwyr came to my aid. 'What do they mean?' I asked. 'What is this holiest object?'

'Have you never heard of the Lord's Cup?' he said, moving on. I fell into step beside him. 'The Grail of Jesu at the last supper of his earthly life; the one he took and blessed with the sacrament of wine – where he said, 'This is my blood, shed for you, my faithful brothers. Drink of it often and remember me.'

'That cup,' I replied. 'Of course I know it. But what is it to do with us?'

'That cup, as you call it, is here in Britain. The Emrys has seen it, and so, I am told, has Avallach and others as well.'

'Where is it?'

Bedwyr laughed. 'That is for us to discover.'

'How?'

'How indeed!' He laughed at me for my curiosity – it is and always was my bane – and then explained. 'Not by force of arms, you may be certain. Nor by cunning or stealth or treachery. But,' he said thoughtfully, 'perhaps by constancy of faith and strength of rightdoing, by the true heart's firm devotion – these might win it, I think.'

'A man would have to be an angel,' I observed.

Bedwyr looked at me with his keen, dark eyes and nodded, the light hint of his smile touching his lips. 'Now are men called to be angels in this world, Aneirin, and to do the angels' work.'

What he meant by that, I only now have discovered and too late. It was so close I did not see it. May I be forgiven, I was young and there was so much I did not understand about the world.

The Christ Mass at Caer Lial… it is the closest thing to heaven that I know. That mass, above all others, was observed in my father's house, but it never called forth the celebration I witnessed in Arthur's court. Bishops and archbishops, priests and monks, kings and lords and their retinues, descended upon Arthur's city in numbers enough to do battle. Which, in a way, perhaps they were.

I was kept busy running from dawn's break to past time for bed, serving as groom and porter, cup bearer and steward. Now in the stables, now in the kitchens, now in the chamber – wherever another pair of hands was needed. I worked hard and went to sleep exhausted. But never was I happier.

For Arthur's palace, always a happy place, became filled with a spirit of ecstatic joy, of rapture sweet as honeyed mead, of kindly harmony and accord. Oh, it was a heady balm; I was dizzy and delirious with it! I still hear the laughter ringing in the furthest corners and echoing in the yards. Cups raised in friendship, voices raised in song.

The sainted Samson of Dol drew the honour of performing the mass itself, attended by Columcill, his pupil. He stood tall and gaunt, reading out the holy writ, his deep voice falling upon our ears like the tolling of a bell. He read the sacred text and lifted that extraordinary voice in prayer, and any of the Devil's ilk lurking near were surely put to flight, even as our own souls were lifted to rapturous heights of holiness.

After the mass there was feasting, and more singing, and the giving of gifts. I myself received a gold-handled knife from the High King and a fine blue gemstone from Bedwyr.

Cai poured me a cup of mulled wine, and bade me drink it all with his blessing.

At the height of this glad time appeared those who had come to pledge fealty to Arthur. Some were lords, and some were the sons of lords who wished to join the Cymbrogi. There were several young Pictish nobles among them who had come also, seeking Arthur's peace and allegiance. One of these was a youth named Medraut.

The petitioners came into the High King's council hall, where he sat to hear these requests. One by one they were given leave to plead their cause and, it being a day of holy celebration, each was granted the thing desired.

And then came Medraut.

He boldly approached the High King's seat and knelt down at once. With humble, downcast eyes he made his petition. 'Wonderful Pendragon, I seek fosterage in your noble house.' He spoke well, without the slightest hint of the thickness of the Pied tongue.

Some in the hall drew breath sharply on hearing this, for it was an affront to the High King's generosity. They thought the youth ill-advised in taking advantage of the holy celebration to ask such a thing. But Medraut was canny; he knew that he would in no wise be refused on this day above all others. And, once having given his word before all his nobles, Arthur would never take it back.

In this Medraut was right, but it won him no friends. No one liked to see the High King's generosity and fairness abused in this way. Many grumbled against him from that very moment.

'Fosterage is no small thing,' said Arthur cautiously, 'and not lightly to be entered. What is your name?'

'I am Medraut ap Urien, Lord of Monoth.' Where this might be I had no idea, and I had lived all my life in the north.

'Come to me when our celebration has ended, Medraut. Better still, bring your father and we will discuss this between us.'

The youth was not to be put off. 'For the sake of your celebration, Exalted Lord, I plead you not to refuse me.'

The Emrys looked on and observed what was taking place. 'Oh, that was well done. Do not play gwyddbwyll with this one,' he warned goodnaturedly, and added, 'and do not lend him your knife.' He flicked my new knife with his finger and moved off.

I studied the youth more carefully. His skin was pallid and wan, as if he never moved about in the sunlight; his hair was black and flowing, hanging down in his dark eyes, and curling over his shoulders like a woman's hair. He was slender and graceful of movement and manner; when he walked, he trod only on the balls of his feet, not the heel. He was fine-featured, delicate as a maid, but in the main not unpleasant to look upon. Some of the younger women of Arthur's court found him handsome enough, I believe.

Arthur the High King also observed the youth before him and, thinking no ill, acquiesced to his wish. 'I do not refuse you, man. In exchange for your fealty, I grant you fosterage until such time as I deem you ready to take your place in the world.'

On hearing this, Medraut fell upon his face before the High King. 'Lord and Pendragon,' he said, 'I offer you fealty and honour and loyalty. As long as my body holds breath, I am your man.'

Arthur accepted Medraut and bade him to join the celebration. 'A bed will be found for you and you will be made comfortable. Now then put aside this talk, come and feast with us and enjoy this glad and holy day.' Then he rose and declared the council at an end, whereupon all made way to the hall to continue the feast. It fell to me to rind a place for Medraut to sleep – no simple task, for every chamber and bed was already well filled.

In the end, and at considerable trouble to myself, I arranged for him to sleep in the stable with some of the grooms. When I explained the arrangement he grew indignant. 'You think me beneath you, slave!' he demanded body.

'I did not say what I thought of you,' I replied, bristling. I confess I knew little of him, but that little I did not care for. I thought him arrogant and petty for binding Arthur with his word and manipulating the High King's generosity. 'I am a fosterling like as you are.'

He glared. 'I am a noble!'

'I take you at your word.' Indeed, we had only his word for any of it.

'Watch your tongue, serving boy! I am Arthur's man now, I could have you dismissed.'

He boasted to no avail, I did not fear him. 'You are the Pendragon's fosterling,' I corrected him coolly.

'Knowing this, you think to humble me – is that it?'

'I think only to obey my lord in completing the task he has given me.'

'You are instructed to taunt me and humiliate me.' He sneered suspiciously.

'I am instructed to find you a place to sleep,' I replied. 'If this humiliates you, then perhaps you have chosen the wrong house to honour with your presence.'

He was so conceited he did not even heed my scorn. 'I wantyour bed,' he said slyly.

'My bed, but – '

'There!' His laugh was short and sharp as a weasel's bark. 'I will have your bed and you will sleep in the stable.' His eyes glittered as if he had made a triumph.

'If that is what you wish – ' I began.

'It is.'

'Then so be it.' I walked away, leaving the young tyrant gloating and chortling to himself over his shrewdness.

Tyrant, yes. Breath-stealing, his audacity. I could not believe his impudence – nor how quickly he had insinuated himself into Arthur's intimacy. Of vanity he had no lack.

I did not see him again until after that night's feasting, when he came to me demanding to be shown to his chamber – he assumed I commanded such accommodation. The two Picti noblemen were with him. 'But this, my lord Medraut, is my chamber,' I told him, spreading my hands to the hall, now filled with smoke and the loud voices of those still making merry within. 'And there is my bed.' I pointed to one ash-dusted corner of the great hearth.

Two warriors were already wrapped in their cloaks and happily snoring in slumber. 'Look you,' I said, 'your companions are already abed. Best not to wake them when you tumble in.'

Medraut's face went rigid with fury. 'Liar!'

'It is the truth,' I replied flatly. 'My own bed was given over to another days ago. I have been sleeping in the hall since then.'

It was a fact. My sleeping-place had been occupied by a lord since the nobles began arriving for the Christ Mass. I had been sleeping in the hall on one of the benches, or wrapped in my cloak in a corner.

I do not know how much of this the two Pied with him understood, but one of them smiled and laughed and clapped Medraut on the back. 'Come, let us sleep in our cups!' he cried, and the Picti lost interest and wandered off.

'If you require nothing further, I am going to the stable.' I said when they had gone.

'You deceived me, slave!' He was livid.

'You invited the deception,' I snapped. 'If you thought me a slave, why assume I had better quarters than the stable?' He scowled but he could not answer.

I left him standing there and went out into the cold winter's night and made my way across the yard to the stable. The sky was clear, the moon well up and bright. Upon reaching the door I turned suddenly and thought I saw someone sliding along the palace wall across the yard. But it was late and my eyes were tired from the smoke and lack of sleep.