Arthur said nothing; there was no need. His face shone with all the hope and glory of the rising sun. He walked calmly to the reeds and stepped into the boat – which I recognized as Avallach's fishing-boat. Taking up the pole, Arthur pushed away from the bank. The reeds rasped and rustled as he passed, and then he was gliding out onto the dark water.
Merlin sensed the questions whirling inside me. 'Charis will meet him and give him the sword,' he told me. 'She is waiting for him in the grove.'
'Why?' I asked, for I found this elaborate diversion most confusing. Why not simply ride to the Tor and give Arthur the sword outright. 'It is just a sword, is it not?'
'Not to Arthur,' Merlin replied, watching the Duke raise and lower the dripping pole. 'It will be his life from this day forth, until the Island is rid of the Saecsen.'
He turned to me. 'Besides, it is a good sword. There is not another like it in all the world.'
'Whose sword is it?'
'Arthur's.'
'But -'
'It is the one Charis had made for Avallach. I wore it for a time, you will remember. But it was never mine. It was, I think, made for Arthur. He alone will truly possess it.'
I looked across the lake and saw that Arthur had reached the island. He jumped from the boat, and walked up the slope to the grove. The trees all stood bare, their leafless branches dark under a thin coating of snow.
In a moment, I saw Charis step lightly from among the trees. He saw her and stopped. She raised her right hand in greeting, and I saw that she clasped the naked blade in the left. Then she lifted the sword and placed it across her palms and offered it to him.
Arthur approached, his face solemn, his tread purposeful and slow. Charis offered the sword, but the Duke did not take it. He knelt before her and raised his hands. She spoke to him and then placed the sword across his upraised palms.
Then did Arthur rise, lofting the sword. New sunlight dazzled along its tapered length in a keen flash of gold. He waved the blade in the air, and an expression of awe slowly transformed his features.
'Come,' said Merlin, turning again to the horses. 'We will join them now.'
We rode back to the causeway, crossed it, and turned towards the grove, leading Arthur's horse behind us. Charis greeted her son with a kiss, and me as well.
'Have you seen it, Myrddin?' cried Arthur, holding the sword reverently, his face alight with the singular beauty of the weapon. For indeed it was a thing of dire beauty: long and slender, cold, deadly. Two crested serpents, their red-gold bodies entwined, jewelled eyes winking, formed the hilt. Forged long ago of an art far surpassing any now known, it was, as Merlin said, the weapon of a dream, made for the hand of a god.
'Oh, yes,' replied Merlin, touching the blade with his finger-tips, 'I have seen it once or twice. What will you call it?' He did not say that he himself had once worn it.
'Call it?'
'A weapon like this must have a name.'
'Has it a name, my lady?' Arthur asked Charis.
'No name that I know,' she replied.
'The Lady of the Lake has told me that the blade is made of steel far stronger than any in Britain,' said Arthur.
'Call it Caliburnus,' suggested Merlin.
Arthur's brow wrinkled. 'Latin – meaning?'
'Caledvwlch, the Cymry would say.'
'Cut Steel!' declared Arthur, lofting the weapon once more. 'Very well, as I am a Roman Celt, I will call it Caledvwlch.'
Arthur was well pleased with his new weapon. He lightly held the sword in his hands and fingered the strange markings on the blade near the hilt. 'These figures,' he said, turning once more to Charis, 'I cannot read them. What do they mean?'
'It is Atlantean script,' she explained. 'It says here, Take Me Up," she turned the blade over, 'and here: Cast Me Aside:
Arthur frowned over this. 'I will never cast it aside,' he vowed and, raising his eyes to hers, said, 'I am in your debt, my lady. Whatever you ask of me, if it is in my power, I will do.'
Charis smiled. 'The sword is a gift – obtained for one king and given to another. I ask nothing in return.'
'Yet,' Arthur replied, letting his glance slide once more along the flawless length of the sword, 'I would deem it an honour to repay you in any way I can.'
'Come,' said Merlin, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder. 'Let us go into the hall and break fast. Have you forgotten what day it is? It is the day of the Christ Mass. Let us begin the celebration at once.'
With that, we began threading our way up the narrow track to the Fisher King's palace. Arthur gazed out, as the landscape fell away below, watching the radiant fingers of sunlight sweep the hills and hollows round about. By the time he stepped through the great arched gates and into the palace yard, he was firmly captured by the natural enchantment of the place.
We did not wait to be greeted, but hurried in to the hall to warm ourselves. Avallach was there, and upon seeing us he came forth to greet us with glad welcome on his lips. His hand, however, was pressed to his side, as it always was when his wound distressed him.
'God be good to you!' he called, his voice a low thunder in the hall. 'Merlin! Pelleas! How often I have thought of you these last days and longed for your company. Come, sit by the hearth. Have you travelled far?'
'Merlin came to us last night, but you were in your chambers and we did not like to disturb you,' Charis explained, Unking her arm through her son's.
'Grandfather,' said Merlin, holding his hand out to Arthur, 'I present to you Arthur ap Aurelius, Duke of Britain.'
King Avallach looked long on the young duke, holding him in his gaze that became at once sharp and formidable. Arthur endured this scrutiny with good grace; he did not flinch, nor did he counter it by growing haughty, as I have seen men do. Arthur stood square-shouldered, head erect, eyes level, motionless, letting the other make of him what he would.
In all the years I had known him, I had never seen Avallach react this way with anyone – certainly not with a guest in his house. Charis opened her mouth to intercede, but Merlin urgently pressed her hand and she subsided.
His appraisal finished, the Fisher King raised his palm shoulder high, saying, 'Hail, Arthur, Duke of the Britons, I greet you. Long have we awaited your coming.' Avallach then stepped forward and enwrapped Arthur in a great embrace. A simple enough gesture, but more than that somehow.
Merlin looked on, with narrowed eyes. The significance of this act stirred him, and his senses quickened. He was, I knew, seeing far more in Avallach's welcoming embrace than Charis or I.
'It is the union of forces, Pelleas,' Merlin explained later. 'Do you not see it? Do you know what this means?' Before I could protest that I did not understand, he rushed on. 'It is true! All that we have hoped for Arthur, all that we have worked for – the years, Pelleas, the years we have worked! – it is coming to fruition! Arthur is the Summer Lord! His reign will establish the Kingdom of Summer.'
'Because Avallach greeted him?'
'Because Avallach recognized him.'
'But we have always known it would begin with Arthur.'
Merlin raised a forefinger. 'We have always hoped Arthur would be the Summer Lord. There is a difference.'
I still did not see how Avallach's greeting changed anything, or why Merlin thought that it did. But I believe that Avallach had grown increasingly sympathetic to the subtle promptings and presences of the spirit. Over the years he had grown in wisdom and holiness – through his discipline of prayer and meditations on the holy writings Bishop Elfodd brought him – so perhaps he saw something in Arthur that moved him.
But it did not matter what I thought. Merlin, for whatever reason, had seen something in the welcome AvaJlach gave Arthur that kindled the certainty of the Summer Realm within him. And that was enough.
After breaking fast, we rode down to the abbey to attend the Mass of Christ. Merlin again presented Arthur to Abbot Elfodd, who prayed for him and commended him for ending the rebellion at last. The Christ Mass was read, and hym
ns were sung by the monks, who afterwards passed among us with the peace of Christ on their lips.
As we were leaving, Avallach bade Elfodd to join us at eventide to share our meal. In all, it was a fine and happy time, though I could not help remembering the festive and joyous celebrations I had seen in old Pendaran's and Maelwys' court; nor could I help recalling the masses led by saintly Dafyd.
Oh, but those were times long past now, and I did not think I would ever see their like again.
That night, as we.gathered before the hearth after our evening meal, Merlin produced his harp and began playing. We listened for a while, whereupon he stopped.
'When I was a child,' he said, 'on nights like this my mother would tell me of the vision my father, Taliesin, had entrusted to her. As you know, it has ever been my work to advance this vision and establish it in this worlds-realm.
'But Arthur, I have never spoken the vision to you as it was spoken to me. And, though you know of it, you have not heard it as I heard it. Tonight you shall, but not from my lips. I would have you hear it from the one who has ever guarded it in her heart.' And, looking to his mother, he said, 'Speak to us of the Kingdom of Summer.'
Charis observed her son for a moment, then rose to stand before us, erect. Her hands clasped before her, she closed her eyes and began to recite.
And this is what she said:
'I have seen a land shining with goodness, where each man protects his brother's dignity as readily as his own, where war and want have ceased and all races live under the same law of love and honour.
'I have seen a land bright with truth, where a man's word is his pledge and falsehood is banished, where children sleep safe hi their mother's arms and never know fear or pain.
'I have seen a land where kings extend their hands in justice rather than reach for the sword; where mercy, kindness, and compassion flow like deep water over the land, and men revere virtue, revere truth, revere beauty, above comfort, pleasure, or selfish gain. A land where peace reigns in the hearts of men; where faith blazes like a beacon from every hill, and love like a fire from every hearth; where the True God is worshipped and his ways acclaimed by all.'
Charis opened her eyes, glistening from a mist of tears. 'These are the words of Taliesin. Hear and remember,' she said, and, looking down at her feet saw Arthur kneeling there, holding the sword she had given him across his palms. No one had seen him leave his place.
Merlin was on his feet, his face glowing in the light of the fire. Excitement drew his features taut. 'Arthur?'
Charis raised a hand to Merlin and stopped him. She touched Arthur lightly on the cheek, and he raised his head. His eyes were shining, too – not from tears or the fireglow, but from the glory of the vision awakened by Charis' words.
'What is it, Arthur?' she asked.
'You have given me the sword,' he said, in a voice stiff with emotion. 'And now you have given me the vision with which to use it. Now I know the reason for my birth: I will be the Summer Lord. With the help of God and his angels, I will do it. I will establish the Kingdom of Summer.'
'What is it you wish of me?'
'Consecrate me, my lady, to the task for which I was born.'
'But I -' began Charis, glancing at Abbot Elfodd for help. The abbot came to stand beside her and, putting his hand into his sleeve, withdrew a small vial of oil. This he pressed into Charis' hands, encouraging her to do as Arthur bade.
She accepted this and, laying her hands on Arthur's head, began to speak in a voice tender and low, saying 'As a servant of the Saviour God, I commend you to this noble task, Arthur ap Aurelius. In the name of Jesu, who is the Christ, I anoint you with this oil as a symbol of his authority and abiding presence.' She touched her finger-tips to the vial and made the sign of the cross on his brow.
'Be upheld in his power; be filled with his wisdom; be strong in his love; be just and merciful in his grace. Rise, Arthur, follow the vision that Our Lord Jesu has given and called you to obey.'
Arthur took Charis' hand and pressed it to his lips. Then he rose up, and I beheld him with new eyes. For he was not the same Arthur any more; he had changed.
His hands gripped Caledvwlch with solemn purpose; his clear blue eyes radiated peace and joy. Yes, and the light streaming from his countenance blazed with a high and holy fire.
Merlin came to stand before him with upraised hands, in the manner of a declaiming druid. With a solemn and mighty voice he began to speak. And this is what he said:
'Behold a king of stature in ring-forged mail, helmed with majesty and light! Behold a bright warrior, who strives against the pagan with the cross of Christ upon his shoulder! Behold a lord in whom other lords find their substance and worth!
'See his court! Justice erected it, stone by stone. See his hall! Honour raised its high-peaked roof. See his lands! Mercy nurtures root and branch. See his people! Truth reigns in their unselfish hearts.
'Behold a kingdom of peace! Behold a kingdom of right! Behold a king ruling with wisdom and compassion as his stalwart counsellors!
'Behold Arthur, of whom it is said: His days were like the Beltane fire leaping from hilltop to hilltop; the soft wind from the south laden with fragrant airs; the sweet rain of spring on the red-heathered hills; autumn's full harvest bringing wealth and plenty to every hearth and holding; the rich blessing of heaven from the Gifting God to his contrite people!
'Behold the Kingdom of Summer!'
BOOK TWO
BEDWYR
ONE
I Bedwyr, a prince of Rheged, write this. My father was Bleddyn ap Cynfal, Lord of Caer Tryfan in the north, kinsman to Tewdrig ap Teithfallt and the lords of Dyfed in the south.
Though the Devil take me, I will always remember meeting Arthur for the first time. It was at Caer Myrddin in Dyfed. Myrddin had brought Arthur there to hide him from his enemies, and my father had come to deliver me to Tewdrig's court, where I would receive my first fosterage. Arthur was but a squally babe.
Not that I was so very much older myself – all of five summers, perhaps, but old enough to think myself already a warrior of vast renown. I stalked the rampart of Tewdrig's stronghold, gripping the shaft of a short wooden spear my father had made for me.
While the kings held council concerning affairs of the realm, I marched around the caer pretending that I was its lord and chief. My only thought was that one day I would become a warrior like my father, a respected batdechief, and I would kill Saecsens and make my people proud of me.
To be a warrior! It was sun and stars to me. I could not sleep unless I held my wooden spear in my hand. The life of a warrior held great allure for me then; it was all I knew. Oh, but I was very young.
Caer Myrddin – Maridunum of old – fairly blazed under a hot summer sun. Everywhere men were busy and working; hard metal glimmered and gleamed from every corner, and the sound of a hammer on steel rang in the shimmering air like sounding iron, or church bell. The caer was a good deal larger than our own at Penllyn. It bespoke the power and wealth of the king, as was fitting.
And Tewdrig had a smith – which we did not have. The hall was larger, too; timber and thatch, with a great planked door bound in iron. The walls were timber, topping steep earthen ramparts.
I stood on the bank above the ditch, imagining I alone defended the gates and that victory depended upon me. Absorbed in my dreams of future glory, I felt a touch on the haft of my spear and glanced round. The infant Arthur was clutching the end of my spear in his chubby hands and grinning toothlessly at me.
I jerked the spear angrily. But he held on. I jerked again, and still he did not let go. Such a grip! Well, of course I was forced to show him that I was his better, so I stepped close and shoved the spear against his chest. His unsteady stumps buckled and he toppled backwards into the dust. I laughed at him and gloated in my superior strength.
He did not cry put as I expected him to, nor did the smile disappear from his round face. He simply gazed merrily at me with not so much as a mild reproach in h
is wide blue eyes.
Anger and shame battled within me. Shame won. Glancing around guiltily – lest anyone should see what I had done – I quickly stooped and took his fat little arm in my hand and pulled Arthur to his feet.
We were friends from that moment, I believe. Little Arthur became my shadow, and I the sun that rose in the sky for him. Few were the days that we did not spend in one another's company. We broke the same bread, drank from the same cup, breathed the same air. And later, when he joined me in the boys' house, we became closer than brothers.
When men think of Arthur now, they think of the emperor and his lands and palace. Or they think of the glorious battlechief, whose victories stretch behind him like a gem-crusted strand. They think of the invincible Pendragon who holds all Britain in sure, strong hands.
God's truth, I believe they consider him an Otherworld being, sprung up in their midst from the dust under their feet, or called down by Myrddin Emrys from the mists of high Yr Widdfa. Certainly, no one thinks of him as a man – with a birth and boyhood like any other man. Nor do bards tell of it.
Stories abound in the land in these days; they grow thick, like moss on a fallen branch. Some few have a mote of truth in them, but far too many do not. It is natural, perhaps, the desire to make more of things – a tale does often grow greater in the telling.
But it is not needful. Purest gold needs no gilding, after all.
It is Arthur the War Leader that I speak of, mind. Artorius Rex, he was not. All through that long season of strife he remained unacknowledged by the small kings. Small dogs, more like. Though they begrudged him even the tide of Dux – and that was a travesty! – he wore it proudly, and fought the wars for them.
The wars… each glorious and hideous, each different from all the others, yet each one exactly alike in the end.
There were twelve in all. The first took place the very next summer after Arthur bested Cerdic in single combat and ended the rebellion against him. Arthur had spent the winter at Ynys Avallach and returned in the spring, bearing his new sword, and burning with his new vision of the Kingdom of Summer.
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