Grail

TWENTY-FIVE

How many realms had Morgian ruined? How many men had she killed? In her relentless pursuit of power, how many lives had she destroyed?

Myrddin said she had returned, and I did not doubt it. Indeed, it was not difficult to believe the relentless, ever-vindictive Morgian had somehow preserved a portion of her power when she fled to her stronghold. Safe in the distant fastness of her dark dominion, she has been tirelessly assembling the remnants of her broken art from the wreckage. Even if Morgian was not as strong as before, she was still far more powerful than any other adversary mortal man could face. Dread Morgian was yet a force to be reckoned with, an implacable enemy as sly and deadly as any serpent and more wicked, more hateful, more vicious and rapacious than a whole host of demons.

These things I thought, and my thoughts were true. But no matter how hard I tried, I could find no good explanation for Morgaws. Who was she? What was her part in the cruel treacheries breaking upon us?

Myrddin, I thought, might hold the answers, so to Myrddin I went. After a search that took most of the day, I found him, not with the king, but in the old wooden shrine beside the abbey. One of the monks had seen him enter the shrine at break of day. 'I never saw him leave, lord,' the monk said. 'Perhaps he is still there even now.'

Entering the shrine quietly, I found him flat on his face before the tiny altar, arms outstretched in the priestly attitude of prayer practised by the brown clerics.

'Lord Emrys?' I said, loath to speak at all – but he was so still I feared him dead.

At the sound of his name, he shifted. 'Gwalchavad,' he said, raising his head. He made to rise, and I helped him to his feet. 'How did you know to find me here?'

'I knew you had to be here,' I replied. He lifted an eyebrow inquiringly, and I added, 'I have searched everywhere else – this was the only place left.'

He smiled at this, and I saw the light in his eyes, sharp and clear, the fire restored and burning bright once more. 'I have been praying,' he said.

'All day?'

He shrugged. 'I did not mark the time.'

'I wish Arthur had been with you – instead of gnawing out his heart in his chamber.' I told him of my conversation with the king the night before.

'Is he there now?' asked Myrddin as we stepped outside.

'I think so. He has shut the door against us and will see no one.'

Myrddin turned his farseeing eyes to the sky. The sun was going down and a chill twilight was swiftly drawing a veil of mist over a dismal day. 'Will you go to him now?' I asked. 'He needs you, Myrddin.'

'I will go to him,' promised the Wise Emrys, starting down the path towards the lake. 'But not yet.'

'He needs you now,' I insisted, darting after him.

'Let him imbibe his despair,' Myrddin said. 'Truly, until he has drained that cup to the dregs, he will not hear a word I say.'

'How long must we wait?'

'God alone knows.' I frowned at this answer and he saw it. 'Concern for the king is not what sent you looking for me, Lr think.'

'No,' I confessed, 'though that is reason enough. It is Morgaws.'

'Yes?' He stopped abruptly and turned to me. 'Have you remembered something?'

The question caught me unawares. 'Remembered? What do you mean?' The Emrys made a sound of mild disgust in his throat and started walking again, and I chased after him. 'I was thinking who she might be,' I said quickly. 'I know she is not Morgian.'

'Why do you say that?'

'No matter what guise Morgian took, I would always know her,' I answered confidently.

'So would I,' Myrddin declared.

'Besides,' I continued, 'she appeared to me.'

Myrddin stopped walking again and I almost collided with him. 'Morgian appeared to you?' His eyes were daggers keen and bright, and levelled at me. 'When?'

'Not long ago,' I said, more hesitant now.

Myrddin seized my arm and squeezed it hard. 'Why have you waited until now?' he demanded angrily, releasing my arm and pushing it away.

'She came to me in a dream,' I explained quickly. 'At least I thought it was only a dream.'

‘Fool!' cried Myrddin. 'Only a dream, he says! You should have told me.'

'I am sorry, Emrys. Believe me, I never meant to keep anything from you.'

Myrddin stared at me hard, then looked away and began walking again; we had almost reached the lake. We continued on in silence for a time before he spoke again; when he did, he said, 'Morgaws is Morgian's creature – whether daughter or foundling, I cannot say, but she serves her mistress well.'

Though I did not doubt him, I asked, 'Then why did we never suspect her before?'

'It is the simplest of all enchantments,' he replied, and I waited for him to explain, but he merely said, 'We see what we think to see.'

'And Llenlleawg?'

'Again, it is not difficult to bewitch the weak and willing,' he replied.

Something in me bristled at the suggestion that the Irish champion joined in the betrayal voluntarily. 'What of Gwenhwyvar? It seems to me the queen was certainly neither weak nor willing.'

'Who knows what they told her?' Myrddin answered simply. 'Morgian is duplicity itself. Her powers of deception are astonishing.'

'Then you are certain Morgian is involved.'

'If there was any doubt, finding Pelleas' brooch removed it.'

'You are convinced the brooch belonged to Pelleas?'

'How not?' he said. 'I gave it to him.'

Upon our return to the Tor, Myrddin went his way alone. I took myself off to the parapet, where I held vigil deep into the night, thinking about Llenlleawg's betrayal, and why everyone seemed so eager to hold him at fault for all that had happened, when clearly, if Morgian was involved, he was no doubt bewitched, and bent to Morgian's evil purpose. I was still struggling with this when, towards dawn, Myrddin summoned the Dragon Flight to the king's chamber.

I hurried to join my swordbrothers – many of whom, myself included, appeared to have spent another sleepless night wrestling with the guilt and shame of their failure. No one spoke as we made our way along the corridor and to the door of Arthur's chamber. There, waiting in the dimly lit passageway, was Myrddin, carrying his staff, his golden tore gleaming in the torchlight.

'Good,' he said and, pushing open the heavy door, strode boldly in to confront the Pendragon. He advanced to the foot of the throne, raised the oaken staff, and struck it smartly on the stone floor. Crack! 'Rise up, Arthur!' he cried in a loud voice, and struck the floor again.

'The time has come to rouse yourself from your sleep of despair. Wake, and rise!' He raised the staff and struck the floor again. The crack resounded like a peal of thunder as the Wise Emrys said, 'The foe is at the gate, and your queen is taken away. She cries, "Where is my deliverer? I cry out in my cruel captivity. Where is my salvation? When will my king arise?"'

Arthur started. The shock of the bard's words struck him to the core and jolted him from his self-pitying misery. 'Gwenhwyvar!'

Lofting his staff, Myrddin advanced to stand before the throne. The Bard of Britain lifted his voice and kindled the hearts of all who stood mute and dejected in that room.

'Why do you languish here when the Treasure of Britain is despoiled by the enemy? Why do you cover yourself in gloom while your noble wife is ravaged by her captors? Why do you yet delay while wickedness lays waste your realm?'

Arthur's shoulders slumped and his head fell. But Myrddin did not allow despair to reclaim him; he stood before the king, lifting the stricken monarch from the pit with the strength of his words.

'Stiffen your spine, O King! Take up your spear and shield,' he cried. 'Gird yourself for battle, and take your place at the head of the Dragon Flight. The name of the enemy is known: Morgian has returned! The Queen of Air and Darkness is moving against you, and her aim is destruction.'

A murmur, like a tingle of fear, flitted through the gathered ranks of Cymbrogi. 'Morgian…'

Crack! Myrddin struck the floor with his staff. 'Rise up, O Mighty Pendragon! Save your kingdom and your queen. For I tell you the truth: if you sit by and do nothing, you will lose all you hold most dear. And when that is gone, Dread Morgian will take your life as well. Your enemy will not be content until she has destroyed you body and soul.'

I looked to the king and saw the colour flooding back into his ashen features. The Heart of Britain was stirring again.

'Arise, Arthur! Bind steel to your hip and courage to your soul. The time has come to choose: fight or die; there is no middle ground!'

I felt within me the familiar rising to the call as Arthur gripped the arms of his chair and heaved himself to his feet. He yet appeared haggard and ill-disposed, but there was a glimmer of purpose in his eyes.

'Behold!' cried Myrddin Emrys with a flourish of his oaken staff. 'The Chief Dragon arises in his strength. Tremble, all who would oppose virtue and right! Flee to your dens in Hell, you citizens of corruption! Let all who practise evil beware: your days are no more. The High King of Britain has set his face against you and the day of your doom is at hand.'

Arthur drew himself up and gazed upon his Cymbrogi. With a small movement of his hand, he gestured the Emrys to his place beside him. 'Cai,' he said quietly, 'call the Dragon Flight to arms.'

Stalwart Cai turned on his heel and shouted aloud to one and all. 'Brothers! You have heard your king! Take up your swords and prepare for battle!'

With one voice the Cymbrogi gave out a mighty shout, and the chamber rang with the sound of their battle cry. Everyone fled the chamber in a chaos of haste to be the first one ready and waiting for the command to ride out.

'Bedwyr,' the king said, 'find me a sword.'

Bedwyr's hand fell instantly to the hilt of his own sword. He drew the blade and laid it across his palms, stepped to the throne and offered it to Arthur. 'Take mine, Bear. It will serve until we recover Caledvwlch.'

The king hesitated, but Bedwyr extended his hands insistently, so Arthur took up the sword, stepped from the throne, and walked out of the chamber. We fell into step behind him, resuming our long-accustomed places, battlechiefs to the Pendragon once more.

Horses were saddled, and wagons loaded with provisions. We raced through our preparations as if to banish the days of misery and gloom. When all was ready, we assembled in the palace yard to await Arthur's command; it was not long in coming. The king appeared before us, bathed and shaved, his hair scraped back and bound at his neck. Calm, resolute, he wore his red cloak and good mail shirt, and carried Bedwyr's sword at his side. Two daggers were tucked in his belt, and his shield was on his shoulder. It was a sight I had seen a hundred times if once, and it ever lifted my spirits.

'Brave Cymbrogi,' he said when the cries of acclamation were quieted, 'the battle we join will not be won by strength of arms alone. Therefore, heed the Head of Wisdom and take his words to heart.'

With this Myrddin Emrys came to stand beside his king. 'Hear me, Sons of Prydain,' he said, raising his hands in the ancient way of the bard. 'Morgian is as deadly as she is evil. Wherever we are weakest, she will find that place, and that is where she will bring her powers to bear. Therefore, let each man beware. Look to your souls, my brothers, for it is a spiritual battle that we undertake. Though we search for the Grail Cup and seek the release of the queen, know you this: it is nothing less than a quest for the restoration of holiness and the blessing of God's good favour.

'I tell you the truth,' he continued solemnly. 'Morgian's powers are great and many of us may die. But though we lose life to her, our souls remain in Christ and forever beyond reach of the Evil One. We will do well to remember that when the day of travail is upon us. Therefore, if any man is unshriven, let him confess now and receive holy absolution for his sins.'

Indicating a row of brown-robed clerics across the yard, he said, 'The bishop and his priests even now stand ready to hear our confessions and offer forgiveness.'

At this, the good bishop stepped forward. 'My friends, brave ones, I would have you ride into battle secure in your salvation. Remember, the incorruptible cannot abide corruption, and in the quest before you, none but the pure of heart can succeed. Come, then, and purify your hearts of all unrighteousness.'

Any awkwardness in coming forward for shrift was quickly dispelled when Arthur, wholly without thought for his sovereign dignity, stepped before the bishop, knelt at the churchman's feet, crossed his arms over his chest, and bowed his head reverently. If the High King of Britain could humble himself in this way, no man of lesser rank need feel belittled in the sight of his friends. Indeed, more than one warrior who held himself begrudged made peace with his swordbrother so as to enter God's presence reconciled.

It is no disgrace to tell you that I myself, concerned for my soul and the tribulations ahead, knelt on the cold stones of the dusty yard and made my confession, knowing full well it might be my last.

After the confessions, we received assurances of our forgiveness, and the bishop invited us to share the bread and wine of Christ's table in a last meal of holy communion. We did eat the bread of the Blessed Jesu's body and drink the wine of his blood, and then fifty warriors rose as one man to face a relentless, subtle, vicious, and implacable foe.

Thus we rode out from the Tor, a fighting force equipped for battle against a foe unlike any other we had faced. Upon reaching the trail beyond the abbey, we turned, not east, but south. Myrddin Emrys held it a gesture of futility to attempt raising the days-old trail. 'I believe the only traces we would see are those Morgian desired us to see,' he declared. 'We have been her playthings from the beginning. Mark me, Arthur, Llyonesse is where battle will take place.'

Llyonesse… I shuddered inwardly at the word. Dread stole over me, and it took a very great effort of will to hold fear at bay. Courage, Heaven's Bright Warriors stand ready to aid us; God's own servants go before us to prepare a way in the Wasteland.