Grail pc-5

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  'Come to me, my love. Take me, lie with me – make love to me. I want you, Gwalchavad. Come to me.'

  I stepped nearer, my breath coming in raking gasps, desire making me weak. I could feel the last restraining cords of will dissolving.

  Morgaws smiled knowingly. Her lips parted as she put her head back to allow me to kiss her throat. At the same time, she opened her robe so that I could admire her body. I saw the white, white skin and her gently rounded thighs and rose-tipped breasts; I saw the welcome in her eyes and the temptation of those half-parted lips, and wanted so much to taste the sweetness there.

  'Gwalchavad,' she said, closing the distance between us with a swaying step. Take me.' Her voice was husky with longing, and she moaned with pleasure as she pressed her body against mine. I felt her hands on mine, pulling me nearer. 'The Grail, my love,' she whispered, her breath hot in my ear. 'Give me the Grail and I am yours…'

  Jesu save me, I turned and started towards the chapel, intent on fetching the Grail and yielding it up to her. But as I turned, the gleam of gold caught my eye – Caledvwlch, clutched tight in Bors' fist – and I heard again the Grail Maiden's admonition to cling to the Sword of Salvation. I heard her solemn warning: Lusting after honour, he was bewitched by one who honours only lust and lies. Thus are the mighty undone.

  'Bring me the cup,' Morgaws said, subtle insistence rising in her voice. She stepped nearer. 'Give it me, and I will be yours, my love, forever.'

  'No,' I said, and the sound of my voice was harsh in my ears. 'I am sworn to guard the cup.'

  'The Grail,' Morgaws moaned, rubbing her body against mine. 'I am yours, Gwalchavad. Take me now.'

  I felt her touch hot on my skin as she raised my hand to her mouth. 'I want you,' she whispered, bending her head towards my hand. I saw her lips draw away from her fine white teeth as she prepared to bite.

  I jerked my hand away, as if from a serpent. This angered her. 'Gwalchavad!' she said sternly. 'You will give me the cup.'

  Confusion assaulted me. Morgaws' voice boomed inside my head, urgent and insistent. The Grail! Give me the Grail!

  'No,' I said, shaken, confused.

  'Maggot!' Morgaws advanced, her presence overpowering. 'I killed all the rest, and I will kill you, too. For the last time, bring me the cup.'

  'No,' I said, forcing strength into my voice. 'I will not.'

  She turned on her heel and moved to where Llenlleawg stood, spear in hand, watching the proceedings with a hostile eye. 'They have the Grail, my darling,' she said, her voice softly cozening once more. 'Kill them, and it is ours. We can rule forever, you and I.'

  Llenlleawg's gaze shifted from me to Morgaws. I saw him glance down the length of her body, and an expression of loathing appeared on his face. 'You said you loved me,' he rasped in a voice so tight he could hardly force out the words.

  'The Grail,' she whispered, moving closer. 'They have the cup, my love. Kill them and it will be ours!'

  Llenlleawg's jaw tensed and he turned his face once more towards me. Morgaws lifted her hand to his cheek and put her face close to his. She whispered something to him, and pressed herself against him. I saw Llenlleawg's free hand come around behind her to gather her into his embrace as her lips parted in a kiss. Llenlleawg's hand moved up from her waist to her shoulders and was lost in the snaking tresses of her hair.

  Morgaws kissed Llenlleawg again and, still clinging to him, turned her face towards me, her expression haughty, exulting in triumph. 'Kill them, my lo -' she began, but never finished, for suddenly her head snapped back sharply.

  She made to cry out, but Llenlleawg tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her head back still further. The scream stuck in her throat. Her eyes bulged in terror as Llenlleawg put his lips to her pale cheek.

  'Farewell, my love,' he growled, then jerked her head sharply back and to the side. The bones of her slender neck snapped with a meaty crack and Morgaws fell dead to the ground.

  The next thing I heard was a queer, hushed clatter. In the same instant, the entrancing fog vanished from my head and I raised my gaze from Morgaws' corpse to see a thousand spears swinging level.

  Then Dread Morgian's dark minions attacked.

  FORTY

  'Cut me free!' cried Arthur, struggling to his feet.

  I staggered towards him, amazed that I could move again.

  'Hurry, Gwalchavad!' Behind him, I glimpsed Morgian's massed battlehost surging to the attack.

  There was no shout of command, no battle cry. One moment they were standing at the ready, and the next they were in motion, swarming down upon us.

  'Gwalchavad!' cried the Pendragon, holding out his chained hands. 'For the love of God, man, cut me free!'

  I was beside him in an instant. Raising the sword, I took careful aim, and brought the blade down sharply. The blow made not the slightest mark on the chain. I tried again, and yet once more – with no greater success than before – and then the enemy was upon us.

  Turning to meet the attack, I put myself between the king and the onrushing foe, and shouted for the others to join me. 'Bors! Gereint!'

  Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Bors as he raced to take his place at my right hand. Expecting Gereint on my left, I turned, and when I did not see him, I shouted for him. He did not answer.

  'Gereint!' I cried again.

  'Here I am!'

  I heard his voice behind me as he dashed for his place on my left. He came up with me, but did not stop. Instead, he raced on ahead. I saw a flash of gold in his hands as he blew past.

  'He has the Grail!' Bors shouted.

  Gereint, holding the Blessed Cup between his hands, ran to meet the foe alone. Lofting the Sacred Bowl, he cried, 'In the name of Christ Jesu,' he shouted, 'be gone!"

  Confusion descended upon the onrushing host. The foremost ranks halted ia mid-step and fell back. Those behind kept coming, trampling the leaders underfoot before they could halt themselves.

  The young warrior, defiant and unafraid, stood in the midst of the chaos. 'In the name of the Father God, the Blessed Son, and the Holy Spirit,' Gereint shouted again, 'I command you to leave this place. Return to Hell!'

  All at once there arose the sound of a thousand wings taking flight, and the enemy host flew. They appeared to shrivel and diminish, wrinkling and shrinking like the flesh of rotten fruit in the sun. Even as we stood looking on, they became no more than husks of grain, brittle and dry, and though there was no wind, they appeared to rise up into the air as if scattering and dispersing before a mighty gale. The power that had called them and sustained them was broken, and now they fled, away from the realm of light and life, and back to the nameless pit from which they had been summoned.

  Spinning and tumbling into the void, the last of them disappeared and they were no more. A great peal of thunder broke over us and I looked up to see the leaden vault of the sky crack open and a single shaft of light stabbed down into the gloom of the forest. Like a spear thrown from on high, the beam struck the chapel, transforming the stone to silver, dazzling our light-starved eyes. In the same moment a scream pierced the air high above us- a wounded cry, dying away even as it was born. Myrddin lifted his head at the sound and said, 'Morgian is defeated.' His voice sounded tired and old, but the light in his eye was undimmed. 'We have driven her back to her darksome lair and, God willing, she will not trouble us again for a very long time.'

  The thunder cracked once more and I felt something wet on my face. 'It is raining!' someone shouted, and as the word was uttered, the heavens opened and down poured the precious water. The blessed rain fell from the sky, striking down through the empty air to bathe the long-parched earth.

  We raised our faces to the glorious water and drank it down.

  'The chains -' called Gwenhwyvar, holding up her hands, 'I am free!' Myrddin and Arthur held out their hands, and Rhys and Peredur. As with Gwenhwyvar, wherever the rain touched the links, the chains parted and the pieces fell to the ground, the shattered links melting like ice.
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  Standing in the rain beneath that low, leaden sky, I looked around and understood that we alone had survived; of all the multitude, only we were left: Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, Bors, Gereint, Peredur, Rhys, Myrddin and me, and, alas, Llenlleawg. Dazed and bewildered, we all gazed at one another, trying to comprehend our miraculous survival.

  Arthur moved to where Bors and Gereint and I stood. Falling to one knee, he put Caledvwlch point downward on the ground and held the bare blade in both hands. Then, as if swearing a solemn oath upon the Holy Cross, he said, 'Most noble friends, I owe you my kingdom and my life. No king was ever served by more loyal and honourable men, and no king was ever more aware of his failing. I beg your forgiveness, and offer my pledge, as I would offer it to Jesu himself, that I will never forget the debt of gratitude and honour that I, and all Britain, owe you.'

  Bors, touched by the king's words, rushed forward and embraced him, saying, 'Rise, Arthur, rise. You owe me nothing, and there is nothing to forgive. I did only what I have ever done in your service.'

  Gereint, shamed at the sight of his king kneeling to him, bent his head nervously and looked away. I stepped forward and prostrated myself before Arthur. 'Lord Pendragon,' I said, 'it is I who must beg your forgiveness. It is through my weakness that this evil has befallen us.'

  Arthur stood, reached down, and raised me to my feet. 'Where is the fault? You have remained steadfast through all things. What lord could ask more?'

  So we stood together, my king and I, the rain falling over us. Gwenhwyvar, Rhys, and Peredur joined us and, in delight and eagerness, everyone began talking at once.

  'God love you, Bear, but it is Earth and Sky to be with you again,' Bors said, his grin wide and handsome. 'I thought I would never see any of you again.'

  It was exactly what Bedwyr would have said, and grief awakened at the words. 'Lord,' I said, turning to Arthur, 'I fear the answer, but I must know. What happened to the rest of the Cymbrogi?'

  'I never saw any of them after the fire,' replied Arthur sadly. 'We all became separated in the forest. I fear they are dead. Rhys, Myrddin, and I somehow stayed together. I thought we were the only ones left until we saw you.' He then told us how they were ambushed in the darkness while they slept; Llenlleawg, leading a host of the foe, delivered them to Morgaws, with whom they found Gwenhwyvar and Peredur bound and waiting. 'There was nothing we could do,' Arthur said. 'You saw how many warriors she commanded. We fought, but were overwhelmed from the start.'

  We then told Arthur how it was with us: how we had come upon the chapel and had cleaned away the defiling filth. We told how the Grail Maiden had appeared and returned the Holy Cup, how we had found Caledvwlch in the well and fended off each attack made on the chapel.

  'You have done well,' Myrddin declared. 'Heaven has blessed your efforts. Your reward is assured.' Lifting a hand to the chapel, he said, 'Come, let us thank God for the victory he has given us.'

  'You are right to remind us of the source of our salvation,' replied Arthur. 'But say not that we have won a victory this day; rather, say that God in his mercy has cut short the tribulation and spared our lives.'

  The Wise Emrys motioned to Gereint, who, bearing the Most Holy Grail, entered the chapel. We followed, silently, each wrapped in his separate thoughts, to join the young warrior at the altar. He had replaced the cup and it sat on the stone, glimmering softly in the light of its own gentle radiance. The king gazed long upon the cup, then bowed his head and wept for his lost Cymbrogi. In this he was not alone; I, too, gave myself over to my grief for the dead, as did we all.

  After a time, Myrddin stirred and, in his clear, strong voice, began singing a lament for the dead. He sang The Last Returning, a fine and fitting song for a warrior who has fallen in the fight and will not be going home with his king. Then the Wise Emrys led us in prayers of thanksgiving for our deliverance.

  Our voices filled the chapel and our hearts lifted under the benison of Myrddin's comforting words. Holding fear at bay for so long is a wearisome labour, and I felt my spirit ease as the prayers did their work. I cannot say how long we stayed in the chapel, but when I rose at last, a massive weight had fallen from my shoulders.

  Myrddin was attracted to the carvings on the walls; while the others talked in low voices at the altar, I joined him to ask what he made of the strange markings. 'Do they speak to you?' I asked.

  They do.' The Bard of Britain ran his strong hands across the etched designs as a mother might trace her fingers over the sleeping face of her much-loved child. Entranced, he walked the walls and embraced the messages in silent wonder.

  'Make no mistake, Gwalchavad,' he said, turning to me at last. 'Llyonesse was not always the wasteland it is now, and it will be redeemed. One day Llyonesse will prove a boon of great blessing to all Britain.'

  The others joined us then, and the king, awed by the chapel, remarked on the mystery of the place. 'To think,' he mused, 'this chapel has been here – here in this blighted realm – from the beginning.'

  'The beginning?' said Myrddin. 'Know you, the beginning was long, long ago.'

  'And yet the chapel remains,' Bors pointed out. 'It was not destroyed.'

  'Yes, the chapel remains,' agreed the Wise Emrys. 'Let all who love the truth think on that and engrave it on their hearts.'

  Turning abruptly, he stepped before the altar and, while we all stood watching, took the edge of his cloak between his hands and tore off a portion. Then, bowing in reverence to the cup, he carefully covered the Grail with the cloth. This done, he took up the cup and addressed us. 'The Holy Cup of Christ has been reclaimed. It is time to make our way back to Ynys Avallach.' Cradling the cup, Myrddin stepped from the altar.

  We emerged from the chapel into a cold, grey dawn. The vile yellow had washed from the clouds and the rain pattered steadily around us. We stood for a moment, looking into the sky as the healing rain streamed down our faces. Water dripped from the branches of the trees all around, filling the air with the woodland scent of wet bark and leaf mould. Even in the pale dawnlight, I could see further into the wood than before. Darkness had loosed its hold on the land and shadows no longer reigned in this place.

  Morgaws' body lay where she had fallen, eyes wide in the shock of her undoing. Llenlleawg sat a little apart, his back to her, his head low, rain beating down on him. Arthur, calm and resolute, strode to where Llenlleawg sat, and stood for a moment looking down at his fallen champion. 'Get up,' he commanded after a moment.

  Llenlleawg did not so much as raise his head.

  Summoning Peredur and Gereint, the king indicated that they should raise the Irishman between them. The two pulled Llenlleawg to his feet and remained beside him – more to support him than to prevent him from escaping.

  Llenlleawg stood before the king as if he no longer possessed the use of his limbs, or perhaps lacked the will to stand and did so only by happenchance. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, abject in every line and ligament, he swayed slightly on his feet. Remorse dripped from him like the rain which spattered upon his head and trickled from his sodden hair in rivulets, dribbling off his downcast face. Guilt pressed full on him and he bent under the terrible weight.

  Arthur gazed upon his former champion and friend. I could see the conflict warring in the king's features: his mouth frowned with repugnance and distaste even while his eyes, soft with sorrow, searched for some redeeming sign. 'Do you know what your betrayal has wrought?' asked the king at last, his voice tight, almost breaking.

  Llenlleawg gave not the slightest indication that he had heard, so Arthur repeated the question. Still Llenlleawg made no answer.

  'I take your silence to mean that you own the consequence of your deeds,' said the king. 'Do you have anything to say in your defense?'

  Unable to bring himself to look upon the lord he had betrayed, Llenlleawg did not raise his eyes, but muttered something in a voice so low, I could not hear it.

  Gwenhwyvar, stepping close, said something to him, and the Irishman, glancing quickly from un
der his brow, breathed a quiet reply before lowering his head once more. Gwenhwyvar, grave and sorrowful, relayed his words to the king; her eyes never left her kinsman as she said, 'He offers no defense, but begs his lord for the judgment due his crimes. He wishes to be killed now and his body left to the birds and beasts.'

  'So be it,' Arthur concluded. 'By reason of your treachery, I condemn you to the death you ordained for your swordbrothers.' With that he took Caledvwlch in both hands and raised the blade.

  'Arthur, no!' called Gwenhwyvar. She stepped boldly between her kinsman and the king's upraised sword. 'Do not kill him.'

  'Step aside, woman,' the king said. 'Justice will be served.'

  Gwenhwyvar flared at this. Drawing herself up full height, green eyes ablaze with righteous anger, she glared at her husband. Turning to Myrddin, she demanded, 'Am I not a queen? Am I not both daughter to and wife of a king?'

  'You are,' Myrddin replied.

  Facing Arthur once more, she said, 'As Queen of Britain, I claim my right to intercede for this man's life.'

  'He has betrayed his lord, slain men who were under his command, and aided an enemy who schemed to destroy us all,' Arthur replied firmly. 'Do you deny that he has done these things?'

  'I do not,' replied Gwenhwyvar smoothly. 'Neither do I deny that any one of these crimes is worthy of death.'

  'Then step aside,' said Arthur.

  'I will not, my lord. I speak on behalf of my champion – your champion. He saved our lives. When awakened to the knowledge of his error and Morgaws' wickedness, he roused himself to our defense and killed the true traitor.'

  'If not for him,' the Pendragon countered, returning his queen's defiant stare, 'such defense would not have been necessary. He knows his crime and accepts his punishment.'