Pendragon pc-4
Page 41
Elfodd scanned the small gathering around us, his finger wagging in the air as if counting motes. 'I think-yes,' he said when he finished, 'everyone is here.'
'Good,' I said, and we talked a moment, but our eyes kept stealing to the Fisher King's palace above; soon our talk ceased and we stood silent and expectant, waiting, wondering what, if anything, we might see. A group of the brothers from the abbey came down to see what was happening. They stood with us, gazing up at the dark edifice on the tor.
A young woman – one of Charis' serving girls, I think – began to sing a hymn in a voice as soft and sweet as a nightingale's. The words were unfamiliar, but the melody I knew. One by one, others joined in and soon the song filled the night – hope made audible in the heart of darkness.
When the first song was finished, another began at once, and another when that was done. In this way we passed the night: singing, every eye on the Fisher King's palace, waiting for a miracle. I felt Gwenhwyvar's hand slip into mine. She clasped it tightly and I pressed hers, whereupon she raised my hand to her lips and kissed it.
There were no words for what we felt, so we simply stood, clutching one another's hands and listening to the voices in the night. The songs continued and the stars drifted, wheeling across the skybowl. It seemed to me that the songs became a prayer, rising up to heaven. Let it be so, I thought. May Heaven's High King honour his High King on earth as we honour him with our sacrifice of song.
This thought had no sooner gone than a voice called out. 'Listen!' A young monk who had been sitting on the hillside a few paces away, jumped to his feet. Waving his arm and pointing into the eastern sky, he said, 'Look! They come!'
I looked where he was pointing, but saw nothing save the bright stars shining. Silence claimed the hill and lakeside. We all stared into the shimmering sky.
'They come!' another cried, and I heard a sound like that of the harp when it sings of itself in the wind – a music at once moving and mysterious. It might have been the wind, but it was deeper and more resonant: the sky itself was breaking forth in song.
The air stirred softly, as with the light flutter of feathered wings. I felt a silken touch like a cool breath on my face, and tasted honey on my tongue. I inhaled a fragrance surpassing in sweetness any I have ever known: blossoms of apple and honeysuckle and other blooms combined.
An unseen presence had passed through our midst, trailing perfumed music in its wake. My spirit quickened in response. My skin tingled all over and my heart beat fast.
I saw, as out of the corner of my eye, a faint, phantom image, pale, half-veiled shapes falling out of the sky and swirling around the Fisher King's palace. Strange lights began to play in the darkened windows above.
Turning to Gwenhwyvar, I saw her face bathed in golden light. Her hands were clasped beneath her chin, her face upturned in the starlight, her lips trembling. 'Blessed Jesu,' I heard her say. 'Blessed Jesu.'
The golden light gleamed forth from every window of the Fisher King's palace. The holy music swelled, resounding through heaven's vast halls. The swirling, fluttering, shifting, seen-yet-unseen shapes seemed to have multiplied until the sky could not contain them. They were everywhere!
'Angels…' breathed Abbot Elfodd in an awed whisper. 'Heaven's champions have come for Arthur.'
I gazed into the golden light now boldly blazing from the palace atop the tor, casting all below in sharp relief, the shadows of men and animals thrown hard upon the ground. The light was a living thing; dazzling, brilliant, it pulsed with ardent power, brighter and more potent than lightning.
And then, as swiftly as it had begun, it ended.
The light dwindled and the music hushed to a swiftly fading resonance – disappearing so fast, I wondered if I had heard or seen anything at all. Perhaps I had only imagined it. Perhaps it was a dream.
But the unseen presence returned, moving back through the waiting throng the same way it had come. I felt my soul rise up within me, and my heart moved in response; my skin tingled. And then this too was gone, leaving only a lingering fragrance and a sweet taste in the air.
We were alone in the night once more, and the night was dark indeed.
There was no more music; there were no more lights. All was still and quiet, as if nothing – from one eon to the next – ever happened. But we still looked above, at the palace and the sky full of stars beyond, searching for the wonders we had known.
That is how we saw him: Arthur, bold in the gateway of the Fisher King's palace, alive and hale, dressed in his finest clothes, kingly tore gleaming gold at his throat. The Summer Lord raised a hand to us – a signal that he was healed and he was well. Then he started down the trail.
I saw Gwenhwyvar running, swiftly mounting the path. I saw Arthur descend to seize her, catch her up and lift her off the ground. I saw their fervent embrace… But then I saw no more through the tears that filled my eyes.
Epilogue
How now, Gerontius! Rich the life of an exile! Do you not savour it? And you, Brastias, ever and always turning your eyes towards the home you left behind. Does your well-earned shame keep you warm at night?
Ulfias, weak-willed and easily led; if you must follow a king, why not the one you were sworn to honour? Is your great regret a comfort to you? And Urien, young schemer, is your foreign bed made more luxurious with the knowledge of your treachery?
False lords! The dogs begging scraps under your table know more of fealty than you. Did you really think the Cymbrogi would follow you? Did you believe you could take Arthur's place? Or was this hope, like the vows you so quickly abandoned, merely empty air as well?
Faithless Ones, hear me now: the Kingdom of Summer was more than a dream! More than a tale to beguile children. Brave men died to secure it – pledging life to faith. Any realm founded on the rock of such faith cannot fail.
Do you wonder that the lords of Vandalia, Rogat, and Hussa received mercy from Arthur's hand? I tell you that they did. For in victory, Arthur's full grandeur became apparent. He took pity on his enemies, fed them, and offered them peace. The Pendragon of Britain, having shown heroism in adversity, in triumph practised Christian mercy. Arthur befriended his enemies, and thus made cruel foes – the very same who had come to respect his valour – realize his nobility. The Vandal lord, Mercia, was baptized at Arthur's invitation, and the High King welcomed him as brother.
And if these former enemies gained a boon by virtue of Arthur's generosity, how much more did the Irish lords benefit? Those who forfeited home and lands to aid Arthur-obtained all and more in return. Thus is faith rewarded.
Say what you will, Britain was exalted then. No, we did not escape the further torments of plague and drought. The Yellow Ravager gnawed deep, and dry winds carried our harvest away on the dust. But to those who knew where to look, the Summer Realm was even then sending forth its first faint rays.
For the High King of Heaven had blessed us with the holiest object in this worlds-realm: the cup of Christ – that Grail which would become the bright Sun of the Kingdom of Summer. Arthur declared that this most sacred object should become the symbol of his reign, to be established in the church that he would build. In truth, all Britain trembled when it learned of that most Holy Grail…
Ah, but that is another tale.
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