Before I could wonder further, my meditations were arrested by a call from below. I turned and looked down the slope of the hill to see Cai trudging up to meet me. Upon exchanging greetings, he said, “I have been looking for you, brother. This is the last place I expected to find you.”
“Yet find me you did.”
He nodded, glanced quickly around the hilltop at the work in progress, then said, “Arthur has summoned the Dragon Flight to attend him in council.”
“This is sudden. Do you know why?” I asked, already starting down the hill to where the horses were waiting.
“As it happens,” said Cai, falling into step beside me, “I believe he is going to tell us about his plans for guarding the shrine.” At my questioning glance, Cai continued, in tones suggesting he felt it beneath him to explain the obvious. “Once the Holy Cup is established in the shrine, it must be guarded, you know. Who better than the Dragon Flight, the finest warriors in all Britain?”
“Who better indeed?” I replied. “But where is the cup now?”
“Avallach has it, I expect. But soon it will belong to everyone.”
“Maybe Myrddin is right,” I countered, “and we should leave it alone. It seems to me Avallach has kept it safe enough all these years.”
“Worrier!” Cai scoffed. “What can possibly happen to the cup with us guarding it?”
Chapter Sixteen
It is one of mortal humans’ more curious traits, that the appearance of a thing is more greatly esteemed than its true character. This is invariable, I find. Perhaps it is that a pleasing image evokes the beholder’s best sympathies and the desire to be united to the thing admired; then again, fools that they are, perhaps they simply believe that nothing which attracts them could ever bring them harm.
They are woefully wrong in this, of course, as in so much else. Be that as it may, it is precisely this oddity which has served me so well. That Morgaws is beautiful, there is no doubt. I made her, flesh and blood, for just this purpose. Fairest of creatures, she is nevertheless my creature. I taught her everything she would need to know to accomplish my will and desire. I taught her everything, and taught her well. She is that empty vessel which can be made to contain whatever its owner requires.
Born of the union between my dutiful son, Lot, and me, Morgaws is truly bone of my bone and blood of my blood. From the moment she came into the world, I have molded her to my will. Like all infants and children, she was born with a desire to please those in authority over her, those who controlled her food and shelter, warmth and security. With consummate skill, I manipulated her childish desires to serve my purpose, and she responded magnificently. Morgaws is my finest creation: revenge made flesh.
Together with the rest of the Cymbrogi, we hastened back to the Tor to prepare ourselves for the council to take place at midday. In the warriors’ quarters, men rushed to and from the baths while others shaved and dressed in their finest clothes. Still others were busily burnishing their swords, spearheads, and shield bosses.
Thus inspired, I washed and shaved, too, and put on my better clothes, and by the time I had finished scouring my sword, the Cymbrogi were already gathering in the great hall. I found Rhys and Cador, and walked with them to join the rest. The tables and benches had been removed from the hall, and everyone was pressed tight at one end of the huge room.
We three pushed our way to the front of the assembly, as was our due—only to find that the Pendragon was already in attendance. He was sitting in Avallach’s throne-like chair, facing the Dragon Flight, who formed a loose circle around him, beginning with Bedwyr at his right hand and continuing around to Llenlleawg at his left. Gwenhwyvar stood behind the throne, her hand resting on Arthur’s right shoulder, and Myrddin beside her, tall and as silent as the oaken staff in his hand.
Cador, Rhys, and I quickly took our places at the bottom of the circle opposite the king, who acknowledged our arrival with a slow nod of approval. Seeing that all were assembled, he raised a hand to Myrddin, who then stepped forward to stand before the king. Taking his staff, he raised it high and brought it down sharply with a loud crack, and then twice more.
Planting the staff firmly, he made a circuit around it, passing once, twice, three times, gazing steadily into the face of each man as he passed. This done, he lifted the staff and held it lengthwise across his chest and, in a voice both solemn and profound, began to speak:
“Fortunate among men are you! I say again, fortunate are you, and all men alive to hear what passes in this hall. I tell you the truth: many generations of men before you have lived and died longing for this day.”
Myrddin paused, his golden eyes scanning the company before him. “Heed the Head of Wisdom: this day, the sun has risen upon the Kingdom of Summer. Henceforth, and until the stars fall from the sky and the sea swallows our island, the kingdom now begun shall prevail. You, who stand before your king, bear witness: the Lord of Summer has taken his place upon the throne, and his reign is commenced.”
At these words, the assembled warriors gave out a tremendous cry—a joyous roar to alert all Ynys Prydain that a new kingdom had come into existence at the High King’s command. It was some time before the Emrys could make himself heard. Finally, when the acclaim had abated somewhat, he continued.
“The praise of true men is a boon of great blessing, and the inauguration of the Summer Realm is right worthy of praise,” he said. “Yet the Kingdom of Summer will not be honored in word only, but in deed. For this reason, and for this purpose, the Fellowship of the Grail is begun.”
If the first proclamation brought forth cheers, this last brought a hush of anticipation as deafening in its way as the shouts of praise. I held my breath with all the others as the Pendragon rose from his chair and came to stand beside his Wise Emrys. Arthur, wearing his golden torc and serpent armband, Caledvwlch gleaming naked at his side, raised his hands in lordly laud of his decree.
“The Fellowship of the Grail,” Arthur said, his voice echoing the strangely stirring words, “is the first expression of the Summer Realm. But what is it? Is it a brotherhood dedicated to the service of the Most Holy Grail? Yes, it is that, and it is more: it is an alliance of true and kindred spirits, kinsmen united not by blood, but by devotion to a common duty. That duty is to guard and protect the Grail and all those who will come as wayfarers and pilgrims to the shrine of the Blessed Cup.
“Hear me, Cymbrogi! It is a high and holy duty to which I have called you. For many years the Grail has been guarded in secret, hidden for its protection and watched over by its keeper, Lord Avallach. Soon, however, the Holy Cup will be unveiled for the blessing of Britain and her people. A secret no longer, it will be delivered into our keeping, and we will become its guardians and protectors. The skills we have learned in war, and honed in constant battle, those selfsame skills will be turned to the nurture of peace. Our swords will become the weapons of our Lord Christ on earth. No longer will our adversaries be mere flesh and blood, but the powers and rulers of darkness.
“The Fellowship of the Grail is begun in you, my loyal friends. You will be the first, and those who come after will follow the path you mark out with your steps. Therefore, I charge you, my Cymbrogi: walk worthy of your calling.”
So saying, he lowered his hands, turned, and seated himself once more. The Dragon Flight, inspired by high-sounding words and the prospect of glorious deeds, greeted the Pendragon’s declaration with loud acclaim. They cheered and cried pledges of loyalty to the new Fellowship. When, after a time, the cheering began to die away, Cai shouted to be heard.
“Lord and Pendragon,” he said, his brash bawl of a voice loud above the clamor, “I know full well that I am one with my swordbrothers in welcoming the inauguration of the Summer Realm, and like them I pledge sword and self to the cause you have just proclaimed. Your words are fine and high, as befitting the occasion, and I suppose you are loath to demean the noble Fellowship with tiresome explanation. Yet, though I chance the scorn of those blessed with keener wit
s than mine”—Cai turned this way and that, as if to acknowledge those he held above him—“even so, I deem it worth the risk to ask: how are we to accomplish the duty which you have laid upon us, and which we right readily accept?”
This brought good-natured laughter from all those looking on. Cai, ever practical, could not hear a cause proclaimed without knowing how it would be accomplished. Of course, once Cai had cracked the wall, the rest came pushing through the breach, all of them demanding of the king, in one way or another, what they were meant to do, and how they were meant to do it.
I could not help noticing that Myrddin made no move to aid the king, but stood leaning on his staff and observing the clamor with cool indifference, as if to say, Who would stir the hive must brave the buzzing.
Arthur merely smiled and stood, taking his place in the center of the circle once more. “Lord Cai, fearless friend, I bend the knee to your humble entreaty.” Turning to the assembly, Arthur declared, “Your approval of the Fellowship is as gratifying as your zeal is heartening. If I have not revealed my thoughts fully, it is for this reason: the Fellowship of the Grail is to be a true union of hearts and minds, and this, I am persuaded, can only be brought about by the willing dedication of those so called, and not by kingly decree.
“Therefore, I would that you, my noble friends, select from among your own number those who will determine the ordering of the Fellowship on your behalf. Holding that in mind, I urge you to pray, seeking wisdom, and choose your leaders well—for the rule they proclaim will be the law from this day forth and forevermore.”
In this I thought I saw the hand of Bishop Elfodd, or at least the example of a monastic order as a guide for establishing the Grail Fellowship. Be that as it may, Arthur gave no instruction about how we were to go about our determinations, and seemed unwilling to say more. Indeed, having delivered himself of his address, he took his leave of us, bidding us to proceed with our deliberations and bring him word when we had chosen our leaders.
Soon we stood in our circle, regarding one another with glances of shrewd and thoughtful appraisal. Here was an activity to which we men of war were least suited. The best that could be said was that, while it might have been an unequal battle, at least we did not down weapons and surrender the field. Shouldering our responsibility as best we could, we embarked on what amounted to a long and fruitless wrangle.
In the end, the Dragon Flight, unused to cultivating decisions of this kind, turned expectantly to their battlechiefs. First to speak was Bedwyr. Perhaps, as the one who enjoyed the High King’s closest confidence, he had gleaned greater knowledge of Arthur’s intentions than we had heard, for he said, “Brothers, if you will permit me to break into your meditations, I would offer a suggestion.”
“Speak!” cried Cai, impatient to get on with the proceedings. “By all means, we will be forever beholden to you. Unless someone takes the tiller, we will be circling these waters forever.”
Everyone laughed at this, and our burden was eased considerably. The stiff awkwardness of our high calling—as Arthur had deemed it—disappeared, and we became merely comrades with a duty to discharge.
“My suggestion,” Bedwyr continued, “is simply this: that each man among us should declare three choices, and those whose names come most often to the lips of their comrades will scout out the path by which we are to proceed.”
A fine plan, I thought, but one of the younger Cymbrogi made bold to amend Bedwyr’s proposal. “If you please, noble lord,” he said, seizing his chance in the outcry of approval that followed Bedwyr’s address, “it is in my mind that the issue before us is both sacred and profound—and no less portentous than battle, where life and limb are placed at hazard beneath the rule of those who lead us.”
Leaning near to Cai, I whispered, “He speaks well, this one. Who is he?”
“He is one of Cador’s kinsmen,” Cai replied. “He goes by the name of Gereint, I think.”
“Ah, yes.” I vaguely remembered the fellow, although, in truth, so harried were we in our battles against the Vandali, I had yet to fully acquaint myself with the more recent additions to our number.
Gereint continued: “Thus, I would gladly submit in peace to those I willingly trust in the heat of the fight. Perhaps I may be so brazen as to propose that we bestow the honor of ordering this Fellowship upon those to whom we have already sworn our loyal submission, namely, the Pendragon’s battlechiefs.”
Well, the proposal was carried forth on a rolling wave of noisy enthusiasm. Bedwyr’s eminently sensible, if less valiant, suggestion was forgotten in the eager rush to advance the proposition. The Cymbrogi gave voice to the plan, and all departed in high spirits, assured at having discharged their duty properly and well—all, that is, save the five battlechiefs who were now saddled with the task: Bedwyr, Cai, Cador, Llenlleawg, and me.
What happened next shames me to confess, so I will simply say that we fell to long and fevered discussion about how the thing should be accomplished. Oh, it was thirsty work, too, for as the day drew on and the weighty task conspired to steal our strength, we sought refreshment in Avallach’s good ale—a dubious remedy, perhaps, but if it did little to ease the burden of decision, at least it helped us think better of our chore—for a short while anyway.
After a long, wandering discussion, we arrived once more precisely where we had started. Taking Arthur at his word, we framed this modest proposition: that the Most Holy Grail, rarest of treasures, must be guarded. “That means,” Cai maintained over the rim of his bowl, “a perpetual guard.”
“Well and good,” replied Bedwyr. “But the Grail Fellowship is to be more than guard duty. Arthur said it is to be a sacred calling—”
“We are to protect pilgrims and wayfarers, too,” Llenlleawg pointed out. “That means we must have warbands to ride the land.”
“He did not say anything about riding the land,” said Cador.
“He said very little at all,” retorted Bedwyr, growing impatient.
“What is so difficult?” demanded Cai. “We are given a free hand to order the Fellowship how we will, and all you can do is find fault with Arthur for allowing us the honor.”
“The onus, you mean,” muttered Cador.
“Onus!” Cai flapped an impatient hand at Cador, who took a deep draught of the cup. “Man, where do you get such words?”
“It is Latin,” Cador informed him loftily.
“Are we to be monks now,” Llenlleawg inquired sourly, “spouting Latin and psalms at one another?”
“A sad day has dawned when a man cannot say what he thinks,” sniffed Cador into his cup.
“And I say: give me a sword and I will guard this Grail,” Llenlleawg declared.
“See! See!” cried Cai, almost upsetting the ale jar in his eagerness to clap Llenlleawg on the back. “Llenlleawg agrees—the Holy Cup must be guarded. We are to be Guardians of the Grail.”
“Easy, brother,” Bedwyr said, saving the jar. He poured another draught and took a long pull from the bowl and put it down with a thump. “I say we have talked enough for one day.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples. “My head hurts.”
Drink and frustration had worn us down, and tempers were beginning to fray at the edges. I did not like to see my swordbrothers quarreling, so determined to end the discussion before we were at one another’s throats. “I agree with Bedwyr—we have talked enough for one day,” I suggested. “Let us part while we are still friends and come at this again tomorrow.”
“Aye, and what do you suggest we tell the king?” asked Cai. “Arthur is awaiting word from us.”
“Tell him,” I replied, “that our deliberations are well begun, but that a duty of such significance takes time—a day or two more at most, I should think.”
The others liked the sound of that, and agreed that another day or two should give us ample time to complete our task. It was decided that we should come together again the following morning with a mind to setting matters to rights. Cai hastened away to tell
Arthur, and Cador retreated to his bed for a nap; Llenlleawg quickly departed on errands of his own, leaving Bedwyr and myself to contemplate the ruin of the day.
“We must finish tomorrow,” Bedwyr confided. “I could not bear two more days like this. Is everyone always so contentious?”
“Always,” I assured him.
He shrugged. “I never noticed before.” Looking towards the empty doorway through which Llenlleawg had just disappeared, Bedwyr said, “Our Irish friend has something on his mind.”
“You mean there is somewhere else he would rather be?”
Bedwyr favored me with a knowing look. “The mysterious Lady Morgaws.”
“Oh, aye,” I agreed. “I have seldom seen anyone so afflicted.”
“Those who fly highest fall hardest,” Bedwyr observed, shaking his head slowly. “Not that I know anything about it.” He paused, growing pensive. “I can almost envy him.”
Chapter Seventeen
That evening at table, I watched for Llenlleawg and Morgaws, but neither of them appeared. I thought this highly suggestive, but if anyone else noticed their absence, I heard nothing about it. Then again, neither did Arthur or Gwenhwyvar join us for supper, and no one thought ill of that—why would they? The king and queen often took their supper in each other’s company, and that is only right.
Still, I determined that a word with Myrddin would probably not go amiss. Also, I wanted to ask him what he thought about Arthur’s shrine-building venture, and now there was the Grail Fellowship to discuss. Making quick work of my meal, I took myself off to find the Emrys—a chore far easier said than done, for it is a commonplace that Myrddin is seldom to be located where one first thinks to search. His errands are many, and as varied as they are obscure. One moment he is at the Pendragon’s side, the next he is away to Caer Edyn in the north, or sailing back from Ierna, visiting this lord or that one, consulting bishops and abbots, testing the wind for portents, delving into Druid lore…and who knows what else besides.
Grail: Book Five of the Pendragon Cycle Page 15
