Arthur pc-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  I was kept busy running from dawn's break to past time for bed, serving as groom and porter, cup bearer and steward. Now in the stables, now in the kitchens, now in the chamber – wherever another pair of hands was needed. I worked hard and went to sleep exhausted. But never was I happier.

  For Arthur's palace, always a happy place, became filled with a spirit of ecstatic joy, of rapture sweet as honeyed mead, of kindly harmony and accord. Oh, it was a heady balm; I was dizzy and delirious with it! I still hear the laughter ringing in the furthest corners and echoing in the yards. Cups raised in friendship, voices raised in song.

  The sainted Samson of Dol drew the honour of performing the mass itself, attended by Columcill, his pupil. He stood tall and gaunt, reading out the holy writ, his deep voice falling upon our ears like the tolling of a bell. He read the sacred text and lifted that extraordinary voice in prayer, and any of the Devil's ilk lurking near were surely put to flight, even as our own souls were lifted to rapturous heights of holiness.

  After the mass there was feasting, and more singing, and the giving of gifts. I myself received a gold-handled knife from the High King and a fine blue gemstone from Bedwyr.

  Cai poured me a cup of mulled wine, and bade me drink it all with his blessing.

  At the height of this glad time appeared those who had come to pledge fealty to Arthur. Some were lords, and some were the sons of lords who wished to join the Cymbrogi. There were several young Pictish nobles among them who had come also, seeking Arthur's peace and allegiance. One of these was a youth named Medraut.

  The petitioners came into the High King's council hall, where he sat to hear these requests. One by one they were given leave to plead their cause and, it being a day of holy celebration, each was granted the thing desired.

  And then came Medraut.

  He boldly approached the High King's seat and knelt down at once. With humble, downcast eyes he made his petition. 'Wonderful Pendragon, I seek fosterage in your noble house.' He spoke well, without the slightest hint of the thickness of the Pied tongue.

  Some in the hall drew breath sharply on hearing this, for it was an affront to the High King's generosity. They thought the youth ill-advised in taking advantage of the holy celebration to ask such a thing. But Medraut was canny; he knew that he would in no wise be refused on this day above all others. And, once having given his word before all his nobles, Arthur would never take it back.

  In this Medraut was right, but it won him no friends. No one liked to see the High King's generosity and fairness abused in this way. Many grumbled against him from that very moment.

  'Fosterage is no small thing,' said Arthur cautiously, 'and not lightly to be entered. What is your name?'

  'I am Medraut ap Urien, Lord of Monoth.' Where this might be I had no idea, and I had lived all my life in the north.

  'Come to me when our celebration has ended, Medraut. Better still, bring your father and we will discuss this between us.'

  The youth was not to be put off. 'For the sake of your celebration, Exalted Lord, I plead you not to refuse me.'

  The Emrys looked on and observed what was taking place. 'Oh, that was well done. Do not play gwyddbwyll with this one,' he warned goodnaturedly, and added, 'and do not lend him your knife.' He flicked my new knife with his finger and moved off.

  I studied the youth more carefully. His skin was pallid and wan, as if he never moved about in the sunlight; his hair was black and flowing, hanging down in his dark eyes, and curling over his shoulders like a woman's hair. He was slender and graceful of movement and manner; when he walked, he trod only on the balls of his feet, not the heel. He was fine-featured, delicate as a maid, but in the main not unpleasant to look upon. Some of the younger women of Arthur's court found him handsome enough, I believe.

  Arthur the High King also observed the youth before him and, thinking no ill, acquiesced to his wish. 'I do not refuse you, man. In exchange for your fealty, I grant you fosterage until such time as I deem you ready to take your place in the world.'

  On hearing this, Medraut fell upon his face before the High King. 'Lord and Pendragon,' he said, 'I offer you fealty and honour and loyalty. As long as my body holds breath, I am your man.'

  Arthur accepted Medraut and bade him to join the celebration. 'A bed will be found for you and you will be made comfortable. Now then put aside this talk, come and feast with us and enjoy this glad and holy day.' Then he rose and declared the council at an end, whereupon all made way to the hall to continue the feast. It fell to me to rind a place for Medraut to sleep – no simple task, for every chamber and bed was already well filled.

  In the end, and at considerable trouble to myself, I arranged for him to sleep in the stable with some of the grooms. When I explained the arrangement he grew indignant. 'You think me beneath you, slave!' he demanded body.

  'I did not say what I thought of you,' I replied, bristling. I confess I knew little of him, but that little I did not care for. I thought him arrogant and petty for binding Arthur with his word and manipulating the High King's generosity. 'I am a fosterling like as you are.'

  He glared. 'I am a noble!'

  'I take you at your word.' Indeed, we had only his word for any of it.

  'Watch your tongue, serving boy! I am Arthur's man now, I could have you dismissed.'

  He boasted to no avail, I did not fear him. 'You are the Pendragon's fosterling,' I corrected him coolly.

  'Knowing this, you think to humble me – is that it?'

  'I think only to obey my lord in completing the task he has given me.'

  'You are instructed to taunt me and humiliate me.' He sneered suspiciously.

  'I am instructed to find you a place to sleep,' I replied. 'If this humiliates you, then perhaps you have chosen the wrong house to honour with your presence.'

  He was so conceited he did not even heed my scorn. 'I wantyour bed,' he said slyly.

  'My bed, but – '

  'There!' His laugh was short and sharp as a weasel's bark. 'I will have your bed and you will sleep in the stable.' His eyes glittered as if he had made a triumph.

  'If that is what you wish – ' I began.

  'It is.'

  'Then so be it.' I walked away, leaving the young tyrant gloating and chortling to himself over his shrewdness.

  Tyrant, yes. Breath-stealing, his audacity. I could not believe his impudence – nor how quickly he had insinuated himself into Arthur's intimacy. Of vanity he had no lack.

  I did not see him again until after that night's feasting, when he came to me demanding to be shown to his chamber – he assumed I commanded such accommodation. The two Picti noblemen were with him. 'But this, my lord Medraut, is my chamber,' I told him, spreading my hands to the hall, now filled with smoke and the loud voices of those still making merry within. 'And there is my bed.' I pointed to one ash-dusted corner of the great hearth.

  Two warriors were already wrapped in their cloaks and happily snoring in slumber. 'Look you,' I said, 'your companions are already abed. Best not to wake them when you tumble in.'

  Medraut's face went rigid with fury. 'Liar!'

  'It is the truth,' I replied flatly. 'My own bed was given over to another days ago. I have been sleeping in the hall since then.'

  It was a fact. My sleeping-place had been occupied by a lord since the nobles began arriving for the Christ Mass. I had been sleeping in the hall on one of the benches, or wrapped in my cloak in a corner.

  I do not know how much of this the two Pied with him understood, but one of them smiled and laughed and clapped Medraut on the back. 'Come, let us sleep in our cups!' he cried, and the Picti lost interest and wandered off.

  'If you require nothing further, I am going to the stable.' I said when they had gone.

  'You deceived me, slave!' He was livid.

  'You invited the deception,' I snapped. 'If you thought me a slave, why assume I had better quarters than the stable?' He scowled but he could not answer.

  I left him standing t
here and went out into the cold winter's night and made my way across the yard to the stable. The sky was clear, the moon well up and bright. Upon reaching the door I turned suddenly and thought I saw someone sliding along the palace wall across the yard. But it was late and my eyes were tired from the smoke and lack of sleep.

  SIX

  When spring came, the Emrys and I made another journey to Avallon in the western sea. This time we were accompanied by the queen and several of her women. The church and monastery being built there were close to Gwenhwyvar's heart, and she wanted to see the work for herself.

  We sailed from the king's harbour one bright morning, with a fresh northwesterly wind filling the sails and sending us smartly over the white-crested waves. The queen and the Emrys spent the entire voyage head-to-head in earnest discussion. I do not know what they talked about, but at the end of it Gwenhwyvar embraced the Emrys and rested her head on his shoulder for a long moment, then kissed him on the cheek.

  It appeared to me that something had been settled between them. Or perhaps they had become reconciled to one another in some way. Nothing was ever told me about this, so I cannot say. But I noticed that affairs between the Pendragon's queen and his Wise Counsellor were more warmhearted from that time on.

  The rest of the journey passed with neither event nor incident, and we arrived at Avallon as the western sky faded from lapis blue to greenish gold. A party of monks came down to the water to greet us. They brought horses with them and sped us on our way. Still, it was well-nigh dark by the time we reached the Fisher King's abode.

  We were expected and ardently hailed. The first boats to outer islands in spring carry with them the reminder that the world has not forgotten the island dwellers, and are greeted all the more zealously for that.

  Once again I was awed by King Avallach's towering presence, and even more so by the beauty of his daughter Charis.

  To behold Queen Gwenhwyvar and the Lady of the Lake together was to peer too long into the sun's brilliant dazzle, to feel the heart lurch in the breast for yearning, to have the words stolen from the tongue before the lips could speak them.

  Chads and Gwenhwyvar embraced one another upon meeting and continued to cling together for some time after, as they spoke of other meetings and partings. Clearly, they were friends of the heart.

  That night, harp-song echoed in the Fisher King's hall as the Exalted Emrys played and sang the songs of an elder time. These were songs I had never heard, whose melodies were older than anyone now alive, describing events that had taken place so long ago that men did not now remember them, save in song only. I listened and longed for some small portion of the gift that Myrddin Emrys possessed in such full measure.

  Jesu love me, it seemed that time stood still in the Fisher King's hall when the Emrys sang. As in Bran the Blessed's court when Rhiannon's birds made song and eighty years became as a day, the ceaseless flow of time ebbed away to nothing and we all stood together in a single everlasting moment.

  And hi that eternal instant, all grief, all care, all pain and falsehood was extinguished, doused like shadows in the sun. Then were we each shown to be fairer and more noble than ever we were, more keen and quick, more alive than life itself.

  These moments are rare enough, but they do exist. Happy is the man who knows at least one such time in his life, for he has tasted of Heaven.

  I slept with the haunting harp-sound still lingering in my ears, and woke to find myself alone in the palace and the morning far spent. I rose and walked across the yard to the embankment, mounted the steps and walked along the walltop to see what I could see.

  A little distance away to the south the white stone walls of the monastery shone in the sun. It came to me that there could be no finer thing than to live within that holy precinct and devote the whole of my life to the pursuit of the Most Holy God and his Saviour Son. I decided to go there and see for myself what kind of life was to be found.

  In this I was disappointed, for although the walls stood, little else of the monastery had been completed. Heaps of stone lay scattered in the broad yard alongside stacks of cut timber. The foundations of several buildings had been laid and construction had resumed with the season. Everywhere men were at work, cutting and shaping and digging. The brothers laboured zealously, so it seemed, but there was still much to be done.

  I watched for a while, little noticed by anyone there, before turning back to make my way across the soft green grass to the palace, the sea wind flinging my cloak away from my shoulders. Midway between the unfinished monastery and the Fisher King's palace I halted, unable to go on.

  Strange to say – stranger still to feel – it suddenly seemed to me that this island became my life, the palace and the monastery the twin poles of my soul. And I was caught between them. I must, I thought, choose one or the other, and the choice must be soon.

  I do not know why I thought this, or why it seemed so urgent to me at that moment. God knows.

  I stood for a time, my heart heavy with the swing of emotion, first towards one choice and then towards the other. And then, as quickly as it had come, the feeling left me and I was able to continue on as before. But it was not as it was before. I did not know it then, but my life would never again be what it was before. Events were already moving swiftly to overtake us all.

  A few days later we journeyed back to Caer Lial and reported to Arthur that the work on the church and monastery were proceeding apace. Gwenhwyvar especially seemed pleased that so much had been accomplished in so short a time. 'This time next year,' she declared, 'the church will be complete and the hospice will be ready.'

  The Pendragon was glad to see us returned, for it was nearing the Eastertide when the next council of the Round Table would be held. He asked the Emrys to go ahead to the rotunda and make all ready for the council. I went with him, of course, and we readied the shrine – sweeping it out, washing the floors and steps, gathering firewood aplenty, and storing the food Arthur wanted served.

  On the eve of the vernal equinox, the Emrys and I found ourselves once again together before the fire, as we ate our meal under the evening stars. 'Tomorrow the council will begin,' he said, breaking bread with his hands and offering me half the broken loaf. I knew this, of course, but something in his voice made me stop and consider what his meaning could be.

  'Is this to be a special council, Emrys?' I asked.

  He gazed at the heart of the fire, his eyes hooded and secretive. His answer was not what I hoped it would be. 'Mighty forces are at work in this worlds-realm, boy. Forces from which profound events are sprung. Where great good prevails, there great evil gathers.'

  Then, as if to comfort me with a kindlier word, he said, 'Still I do not see the end; I see the beginning only.'

  I know he did not mean to frighten me, but the truth is sometimes fearful. My heart sank within me and I felt weak and small. I felt the shadowed army of the Great Enemy drawing near, and I felt the light to be a feeble and pitiable, insignificant thing. That night I dreamed I saw a vast dark chasm yawning before me and a single broken trail leading down into it, as into a ravening beast's foul maw. In my dream I saw my feet treading that hopeless path and myself sinking into the darkness.

  Yet the next day dawned fresh and fair. The imagined horrors of the night were once more slain by the power of the light. The Great God's faithfulness was once more manifest to the world. I took comfort in this.

  At midday Bedwyr, Bors and Cai arrived leading pack horses bearing provisions and tents. To my dismay, Medraut was with them. Since that first night when I bested him in the matter of the beds, I had succeeded in avoiding him. It had not been difficult, for he had been given quarters outside the palace with the other warriors in the Pendragon's warband.

  That he should appear now upset and angered me. He was the last person I wanted to see in this place. In my eyes, his presence profaned the sacred ground. How he had managed to worm his way into the company of men the like of Bedwyr, Bors and Cai, champions of Britain, I
will never know. Unless, and this was close to the truth, Medraut hid his true nature from them.

  'Hail, Myrddin Emrys!' called Cai. 'What remedy for a throat parched by the road?'

  'Caius, God love you, I stand ready with the jar.' The Emrys stooped and retrieved the vessel at his feet and advanced to the three with cup in hand. He gave the cup to Cai and poured from the jar.

  'Water!' shrieked Cai.

  'Cold and clean from the spring below the hill,' replied the Emrys. 'Good for body and soul alike.'

  Bedwyr savoured Cai's distress. 'Drain the cup, brother. We are thirsty, too.'

  'Go on,' jeered Bors, 'it will not rust your belly.'

  Medraut swaggered up, laughing. He slapped Cai on the back as if he were a true sword brother. 'Could it be the mighty Cai is affrighted of a little holy water?' he crowed.

  Cai stiffened slightly and cast a baleful eye upon Medraut. The young tyrant laughed the merrier and leaned on Cai's arm. 'A jest, brother! A jest! Like Bedwyr here, I meant nothing by it.'

  Cai muttered and stared at the cup. Then he lifted it and drained it in one motion, thrust the cup into Medraut's hands and stalked off. 'You went too far with that,' Bors told him flatly.

  'Ha! It is but a small thing,' observed Medraut cheerily, 'he will soon forget it.'

  'Perhaps,' said the Emrys sternly, 'but your jest is not welcome in this place. The hill is consecrated to a different god. Remember that.' He gave the jar to me and strode after Cai.

  The smile never left Medraut's face, but as the cup was refilled and drained in turn his eyes watched as warily as any stalking wolfs. His fingers brushed my hand as I poured out his water and his touch made my flesh creep.

  Later in the day, the High King and his retinue arrived, led by Gwalchavad and Llenlleawg. To my surprise Gwenhwyyar was with them, as she also would attend the council. 'I see that Gwalcmai has not come,' Arthur said. 'Well, we will begin the council and perhaps he will yet appear.'