Grail

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “No,” he answered after a moment’s silence. “Nor do I. Whatever was here is gone now.” He turned pleading eyes to me. “There was something.”

  “I believe you, brother.”

  He turned away, stricken afresh. “I remember now—it was…it was—” His jaw worked as he struggled for words. “I was suffocating—as if a hand clenched my throat. I could not breathe. My lungs felt as if they would burst. I remember thinking I must breathe or I will die. And then…nothing—until I saw the moon’s reflection there.” He pointed to the center of the rock bowl and looked up through the branches of the trees as if he thought he might see the moon once more.

  I also raised my eyes and scanned the leafy bower above us. The branches of the close-grown trees wove a dense roof over the pool; not a scrap of blue sky showed through anywhere.

  Rhys shifted uneasily beside me. “On my life, Gwalchavad,” he said softly, “I thought it was the moon.” He paused. “I saw something glowing in the water, I swear it!”

  “Did you say that you had tasted the water?” I asked and, kneeling, cupped my hand and dipped out some water. I raised it to my nose and sniffed, but could smell nothing unusual. I put my hand to my lips and wet my tongue. The water was warm and tasted slightly muddy, but not at all bad for that.

  “What say you?” Rhys watched me closely.

  “I have tasted worse,” I replied.

  Rhys squatted beside me and reached out to cup some water. As he did so, I observed a strange mark on the fleshy part of his upper arm. “What is this?” I wondered. “A wound?”

  The skin was broken and discolored—pierced by what appeared to be small pricks at regular intervals.

  “It looks like a bite,” I remarked. “An animal of some kind. A dog, perhaps?”

  Rhys looked stricken. “I remember no bite.”

  “Well,” I said, “it is not so bad. No doubt you have forgotten.”

  “Gwalchavad,” Rhys said, his voice thick, “I would know if I were bitten by a dog.” He craned his neck and held his arm to look at the wound. “I would remember.”

  Once, when I was but a lad, my brother, Gwalcmai, and I had found a cave and entered to find a sleeping bear. I still remember the awful sick dread that overwhelmed me as I heard the slow, snuffling breath, saw the black, shapeless mass of fur, and realized that we had stumbled into a death trap unawares.

  I felt the same feeling now: as if we had intruded on something better left undisturbed.

  Glancing around quickly, I stood. “Let us fill the water casks and leave this place.”

  As soon as the wagons were loaded, we left the grove and hurried back to find that the Cymbrogi had struck camp and were ready to leave on another day’s march. Seeing no good reason to tarry, Bedwyr called the order, and Rhys raised the hunting horn and blew a lengthy, rising blast to signal our departure. The long, disorderly ranks of Vandali began moving once more. I watched for a moment; then, steeling myself for another endless, scorching day in the saddle, I lifted the reins and rode on.

  Chapter Three

  The only person I ever loved did not love me. I was young then and foolish, I know. I wielded not a fraction of the power I now possess, or things might have gone differently. The arrow was meant for my sister.

  Does that surprise you, my sweet? How so? Charis never spared a thought for me. She was already grown when I was born, and though we shared the same father, Avallach the Invalid never spoke two words to me in all the time I lived under his roof.

  The beloved Briseis was dead and cold in her grave long, long before my mother shared the great king’s bed. He needed Lile; and it is true he would have died but for her healing skill. Avallach used her, depended on her, but he never loved her. Even in death Queen Briseis commanded Avallach’s affections, and Lile the nursemaid was merely tolerated. Poor Lile, she wanted so to be his wife, and though he married her in the end, she was never more than his mistress.

  Even I, a barefoot grubby child with dirty hands and snotty nose, could see that my mother was insignificant, and in my infant heart I vowed never to allow myself to descend to insignificance.

  Oh, but I would look at Charis, so beautiful and strong. The sun in its glory was not more radiant and bright. I wanted nothing more in all the world than to be like her, to be her. When I saw the way my father looked at her, the way his eyes filled with love and admiration for his golden-haired daughter, I wanted it all the more. I would have given the world and everything in it just to have Avallach smile at me the way he smiled at her.

  He never did.

  At first, we harbored some small hope that the drought would slacken its hold the farther north we rode. That was not to be, however, for the hills beyond the Hafren Vale were just as dusty as those we had left behind, and the streambeds were just as dry. Nor did a single cloud ever darken the sky. From dawn to dusk the heavens remained empty, the sun rising and setting in a firmament of fiery white, like a ball of flame simmering in a lake of molten iron.

  I have heard of desert lands where rain falls but once a year, though I had never known Britain to suffer so for lack of rain. Searching for water to keep ourselves and the Vandal horde supplied became our sole occupation. Fortunately, there are springs in the central hills where we could refill our casks. If not for these founts deep in the earth, we might have died of thirst.

  Thus, with God’s help, we were able to keep moving until reaching Afon Treont. Though the bracken on the hills was brown and tinder-dry, and the Treont was showing a wide band of cracked mud and lumpy stone along either bank, there was at least good water to be had in the long lake just to the north.

  There, we paused to rest for a few days. The animals could drink their fill from the shallows, but the better drinking water was farther out, beyond the green, stagnant pools; we had to use boats to get it—a labor which exhausted most of the day—and the warriors were far from pleased about the tedious occupation.

  “Ferrying water casks in coracles is like herding geese on the back of a pig,” declared Cai. He and Bedwyr stood on the bare rock shore watching the small round boats struggling with their loads.

  “I see it keeps your tongue wet,” observed Bedwyr sourly.

  “Only just,” replied Cai. He watched the tipsy boats for a moment, then said, “I suppose we must be moving on again soon.”

  “Nay,” Bedwyr replied. “I am thinking we will stay here.”

  “But Arthur said—”

  “I know what Arthur said,” declared Bedwyr edgily. “But he could not know how hard it is to keep these people fed and watered.”

  “Rheged is still some way to the north,” Cai pointed out, rubbing his whiskered chin.

  “And I am thinking this is far enough!” Bedwyr growled. “God love you, Cai, but you do know how to fret a man.”

  The flame-haired Cai shouldered the affront with placid acceptance. “I merely suggest—”

  “With this damnable drought, there will be no harvest in Rheged or anywhere else,” Bedwyr explained sharply. “Why go all the way to Rheged when they can just as easily starve here?” Indicating the dark-wooded hills beyond the lake, he said, “At least here they can get water and whatever can be had from the forest.”

  “I see your point,” replied Cai.

  “You do?” asked Bedwyr suspiciously.

  “It is a good plan—as good as any other.”

  “Also, the settlements hereabouts are not so many that the folk will be hard pressed by the Vandali,” said Bedwyr, continuing his argument.

  “Enough! I said it was a good plan. The sooner we settle these…these people, the sooner we can head south. I am anxious for word of Arthur.”

  “And I am not?” demanded Bedwyr. “You are the only one eager for word of Arthur, I suppose?”

  “If it is a fight you are wanting,” Cai answered gruffly, “go argue with Rhys—no doubt he will oblige. Two of a kind, the both of you.”

  Bedwyr flared, but held his tongue. He gave Cai a dark, smol
dering look and stormed away, grumbling to himself. Cai watched him stumping along the lakeshore. “And take your temper with you!” he called at Bedwyr’s retreating back.

  I saw what had happened. “Do not be angry with him,” I said, moving to Cai’s side.

  “Am I angry?” he shouted. “Am I the one biting the head off anyone who happens by? Anyway, he started it—him and his foul mood.”

  “The heat,” I suggested, “is making everyone surly.”

  “Och,” agreed Cai, clucking his tongue. “By the Holy Three, I wish it would rain.” He turned a clear blue eye towards a sky just as clear and blue. “Just look at that, would you? Not a cloud anywhere—not a single cloud all summer. It is uncanny, I tell you.” He drew a damp sleeve across his face. “It is too hot to stand out here any longer. I am going back.”

  He stalked off, leaving me to watch the laborers on the lake. The round stones all along the shore were black where the moss had been blasted by the sun—like skulls whose flesh had been burned to a dry crust. The drought was, I reflected, exposing and killing much that was green and tender. Only the tough and deep-rooted would survive. As with plants, so with people.

  Upon returning to camp, I discovered several more riders preparing to leave. Bedwyr was sending word to the surrounding settlements. “Never fear, I have saved Urien’s settlement for last, brother,” he informed me. “That one will require a man of wisdom and judgment. That is why I am sending you, Gwalchavad.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “As we are staying here,” Bedwyr said, “we will let the chieftains and headmen come to us. Why not? It saves us chasing all over Britain bringing the bad news.”

  “It saves some of us, perhaps.”

  “Well,” said Bedwyr with a wry smile, “a borrowed horse never tires.”

  “What am I to tell them?”

  “Ah, that is where your wisdom and judgment will be invaluable.”

  First light the next morning, I called two of the younger warriors to accompany me on my errand; they were raw, fresh-featured youths, one named Tallaght, the other named Peredur. They were glad for a chance to quit the coracles for a day or two, and we left as soon as the horses were saddled, striking north and west, searching for the trail Bedwyr maintained we would find, and which would lead us to Urien’s fortress in the south Rheged hills. As Bedwyr knew the land, I did not doubt him in the least, but it seemed to me that we rode a long way before finding anything that resembled the track he had described.

  “Is this the trail, do you think?” wondered Tallaght doubtfully.

  “We have seen no others,” I replied, looking at the narrow, overgrown track—little more than a beaten path through thick bracken. “It will serve until we find another. Who knows? It may become more serviceable farther on.”

  With that we rode on, eventually coming to a stand of birch trees—the outriders, as it were, of the thickly forested hills farther on. As there was a bit of grass showing green in the shade of these trees, I decided to stop and let the horses graze a little before continuing on our way.

  The wood was cool and it felt good to get out of the sun for a while. We dismounted, refreshed ourselves from the waterskins, and then lay back in the long grass to doze—an indulgence denied those enduring the swelter and confusion of the lakeside.

  It seemed as if I had just closed my eyes when Peredur nudged me. I came awake with a start. “Shh!” he warned, his face close to mine. “Listen.”

  There came a light, buoyant sound—such as the breeze might make of a summer’s evening, or a rill as it slips and splashes through the glen—but the sound was made by a human voice, and I found it enchanting. Tallaght and Peredur were sitting all hunch-shouldered, their faces tight and swords half drawn.

  “Have you never heard singing?” I said, climbing to my feet.

  “Never like that,” Peredur murmured, regarding me strangely. Tallaght, too, appeared unnerved by the sound.

  “Put up your blades,” I said, “and let us find the creature making this delightful sound.”

  The two obeyed reluctantly, and I wondered at their odd behavior. Likely they had fallen asleep and the singing had wakened them out of a dream. However it was, I put the matter behind me and proceeded into the wood. The singing seemed to drift to us in fits and starts, which made locating the source more difficult than it might have been; just when we thought we had found the singer, the sound would stop, only to begin again slightly farther away.

  “She is leading us into the forest,” I whispered to Tallaght after we had chased a while. “You and Peredur go around”—I made a circling motion with my finger—“I will drive her towards you, and we will catch her between us.”

  “She?” wondered Peredur.

  “A maid, most certainly,” I asserted. “I have never heard a man who could sing like that. Now, then, let us see if we can catch this elusive songbird. Ready?”

  The two nodded, and I started ahead once more; they waited until I had taken a few paces and then darted off the trail on the run. I proceeded at a slow but steady pace, taking care to make more noise than necessary in order to maintain the illusion that there were still three hunters in the chase. Walking along, listening to the lilting song drifting back to me, and watching the flickering patterns of sunlight on the path, I fell into a reverie. It seemed as if I walked not in dappled forest light in the heat of another dry day, but in the cool dawn of a fine misty morning. I fancied that I could even smell the sweet fragrance of spring flowers as I passed, though these were long since gone.

  And then, all at once—so swiftly that it startled me—I stepped into a glade. There, on the grass before me, sat a beautiful young woman, flaxen-haired with tawny skin. She seemed to have fallen on the path, for she lay on one elbow and the mushrooms she had been gathering were scattered about her. Her mantle had risen, revealing a shapely leg. She was bare of foot and head; her golden hair was uncombed, but long and tightly curled, giving her the look of a wild thing.

  My sudden appearance seemed to have surprised her, for she glanced up, catching her breath as her eyes met mine. Jesu save me, those eyes!—deep green and ever so slightly slanted, giving her a most beguiling aspect. She was dressed poorly; her mantle was smirched, the hem ragged; there were holes where it had been torn. Clearly, she had been digging with her hands, for the fingers of both were filthy.

  She sat in surprise for a moment, her lips half parted, as if uncertain whether to scream. Seeing her agitation, I raised my hands to show I held no weapons and said, “Peace, sister. I mean you no harm.”

  She looked at me curiously, but made no move to stand or speak. I moved a step closer, and we looked at one another for a long moment. I had never seen eyes so clear and so green.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked, bending low on one knee. “Do you need help?”

  Still she made no answer.

  I was about to repeat the question when Peredur and Tallaght burst into the clearing. They were sweating and breathing hard from their run. They looked first to the young woman and then to me; Tallaght’s bewilderment melted at once to relief, but Peredur stared, his expression growing strange.

  “We have found our singer,” I said, and motioned the two of them closer. To the young woman, I said, “You need have no fear. These men appear more fierce than they are.”

  Glancing at the warriors, the girl hastily pulled her tattered clothing over her legs and began struggling to her feet.

  “Allow me to help you,” I said, leaning forward and offering my hand. She looked at my hand but did not take it. I said to the warriors, “I think your rough looks have stolen her voice.”

  Peredur’s odd expression altered; his eyes showed white all around. He appeared distressed and confused, as if in terror for his life.

  “Calm yourself, brother,” I said. “There is no harm. See, we have upset the lady. To disturb one so beautiful is surely a sin.” Addressing the young woman, I offered my hand once more. With a quick glance to the o
thers, she took it and allowed me to raise her to her feet.

  “I am Gwalchavad,” I told her, and asked, “What are you called?” She declined to reply, so I said, “We are making for Urien Rheged’s stronghold. Perhaps you would kindly show us the way?”

  She regarded me closely, watching my mouth, then pointed through the trees to the west.

  “And is it far?” I asked again. Without a word, she knelt and began gathering the mushrooms she had spilled onto the path. “Here, men, help her. Perhaps she will lead us to the fortress.”

  Tallaght stooped and commenced retrieving the mushrooms; Peredur, still staring, made no move. “Well? Will you stand there gaping all day? Lend a hand,” I commanded. “We must be getting on our way.”

  He bent to the task with, it seemed to me, extreme reluctance. I could make no sense of the lad’s strange behavior. Had he never met a beautiful girl before? What manner of man allowed himself to be so unnerved by a pretty face and a comely foot?

  We made short work of gathering the scattered mushrooms, which she received without a word and secured in a fold of her mantle. “Now, then,” I told her, “if you would not mind leading us to the fortress? We have business with your chieftain.”

  She turned and started walking in the direction she had pointed. I started after her, advancing only a few paces, however, when Peredur called out, “Wait! We should not leave the horses behind.”

  I suppose that in the distraction of the chase, I had forgotten about them entirely. “You and Tallaght fetch the horses and join us on the trail. I do not think the settlement can be far away.”

  With that I turned and continued on. The young woman walked ahead of me, quickly, but pausing every now and then to glance over her shoulder to see if I was still behind. She moved so swiftly, I found it a chore to keep pace with her.

  Gradually, the wood began to thin and the land to rise. And then we stepped from the trees into the full, bright sun. Cleared land lay before us planted in fields; the crops were withered, however, leaves and stalks dry and rattling listlessly in the sun. Beyond the fields, squatting atop the broad crest of the hill, stood the timber wall of the stronghold. A well-used track emerged from the wood not fifty paces from where I walked, and made its way to the fortress gate. I wondered how we had missed such a well-traveled road in our search.