Arthur pc-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  They gathered straightway in the rotunda, and I began picketing the horses. Medraut was instructed to wait below the hill and help me with the tents and beasts, but this he would not do. I did all the work while he roamed around the hillside and along the stream. He appeared to be searching for something but, as I was glad not to have to speak to him, I let him go his way.

  Dusk was gathering in the valleys and the hilltops flared as if a golden beacon fire kindled every one. Dark clouds gathered in the east, coming with the night; and I smelled rain on the wind as I finished watering the horses. The council had just emerged from the rotunda and were walking down the hill when I heard the drum of hoofbeats on the sand. I ran to the overlook and saw two horses approaching swiftly by way of the strand. I turned and ran up the hill to tell the others.

  'Gwalcmai!' I cried, 'Gwalcmai is coming!'

  Bors and Gwalchavad stood on the hillside and quickly turned to look where I pointed. That is Gwalcmai,' con-finned Gwalchavad. 'But who is with him?'

  'I cannot tell from this distance,' Bors said. 'But he sits a light saddle.'

  'It is a woman,' observed Gwenhwyvar.

  'Trust Gwalcmai to bring a woman with him,' scoffed Cai.

  'And what is wrong with that?' demanded the queen.

  'Who can it be?' wondered Bedwyr. He glanced over his shoulder at Myrddin, who had just stepped from the rotunda. The Emrys halted. His limbs became rigid as stumps.

  The riders came under the lea of the hill and passed briefly out of sight. A moment later they were pounding up the hillside and I could see them clearly. The rider with Gwalcmai was indeed a woman: dressed all in black and sable, her face covered by a veil.

  Gwalcmai held the reins of her horse tightly in his hand. Something about the way he led her told me the woman was his prisoner.

  A sensation of deep dread stole over me. The skin crawled on the back of my neck. I knew danger and death to be very close. Glancing at Medraut, I saw a thin smile curl his full lips and the sight chilled me to the marrow.

  The Emrys glanced at Arthur and flung out a hand to him, bidding him stay behind. His eyes on the pair before him, the Pendragon did not see the warning and moved closer. The others gathered before the horses as Gwalcmai reined up and dismounted.

  'Greetings, brother!' called Gwalchavad. His welcome died in the still air and was not repeated.

  Gwalcmai moved to his prisoner, pulled her roughly from the saddle, and stood her on her feet. Gripping her tight by the arm, he dragged his prisoner before the High King.

  'Who is this woman and what has she done that she is treated so?' demanded the Pendragon.

  'She is an enemy, Lord Arthur,' replied Gwalcmai. 'I have brought her to brave the justice she has so long eluded.' With that he raised his hand, lifted the veil and pulled the hood from her head. It was…

  The Lady of the Lake!

  But no… Even as I gazed in stunned surprise at the woman before me, I saw that it was not Charis, but someone very like her. Beautiful she was, undeniably beautiful, but hard as chiselled stone. Hate seethed within her and flowed out from her like venom from a serpent's bite.

  I glanced to the Emrys, seeking his reassurance. But I saw him grim and distant. Like a wild animal caught in a snare, he seemed frightened and uncertain whether to flee or fight. The appearance was so unnatural to him that I turned my face away at once and did not look back.

  'An enemy?' wondered Arthur.

  'Even an enemy is allowed some dignity,' Gwenhwyvar said sharply. 'Release her, Gwalcmai. We are not barbarians.'

  The warrior did as he was bade and loosed his hold. The woman drew herself up and stared boldly into the eyes of the king, who asked, 'Who are you, woman?'

  'O, Great King,' she replied, in a voice as cold and hard as heartless steel, 'this man,' she spat the word, 'demeans me with slander. He calls me traitor. Where is my treason? I demand to know why I have been brought here.'

  'You have been brought here to answer the accusations against you,' Gwalcmai told her, 'and to confront the High King's justice.'

  'Accusations?' the woman mocked. 'I have heard no accusations. You know nothing of me.'

  'But I know you, Morgian,' replied Myrddin, his voice taut and low.

  The Emrys stepped forward. Bedwyr laid hold of him, crying, 'No! Myrddin, for the love of Jesu, do not do it!'

  'It is before me,' the Emrys told him, laying aside Bedwyr's hand. The High Ring made bold to stay him. 'Peace, Arthur. It is my time. Trust God.'

  I heard his voice, strange and taut. I turned and gasped at what I saw, for the Emrys had visibly changed. The fear I had seen in him had vanished utterly and he seemed to have grown larger. He now loomed over us with great and terrible strength, golden eyes blazing with a fearful light.

  He advanced to where Morgian stood and faced her. She lowered her head and parted her lips in a smile both beguiling and dire. My knees went weak to see it.

  'Oh, I know you well, Morgian. You were ever a seducer with lies. Long have you fought against the True God and his servants, but I tell you this day your fight is ended.'

  'Is this the crime you lay against me?' she scoffed. 'Where is the hurt? Where is the injury? Who have I wronged but your weak and fallible god? If he is so easily injured by the trivial actions of a mortal, let him come before me now and declare it!'

  Oh, she was quick and subtle. She appeared at once so unjustly wronged that I believed her. The others wavered in their conviction. Myrddin alone remained steadfast.

  'Stop, Morgian. Your wiles cannot avail you now.' He turned to the High King and said, 'The hurt this woman has done me, I readily forgive. It is for the harm that she has caused others that she is to be judged.'

  'You are not my judge,' hissed the woman.

  'The High King of Heaven is your judge,' the Emrys replied. 'And the Pendragon of Britain serves as the steward of his justice in this worlds-realm.'

  'Well spoken,' said Arthur. 'Let us hear the accusations against her.'

  The Emrys turned once more to Morgian and raised his arm, forefinger extended. 'I charge you with the countless treasons great and small, practised against humanity and against Britain. I charge you with sedition, perfidy, wickedness and blasphemy. I charge you with evil most loathsome and foul. I charge you with the murder of Pelleas, my friend and loyal servant of King Arthur. I charge you with the death of Taliesin, my father.'

  The Pendragon heard this gravely. 'What do you say to these charges?'

  The Queen of Air and Darkness tilted back her head and laughed. A more ghastly sound I hope never to hear. 'Do you think I care about these trifles?'

  'Murder is no trifle, woman,' Arthur said.

  'No? How many men have you killed, Great King? How many have you slain without cause? How many did you cut down that you might have spared? How many died because you in your battle-rage would not heed their pleas for mercy?'

  The High King opened his mouth to speak, but could make no answer.

  'Do not listen to her, Bear!' cried Bedwyr. 'It is a trick!'

  'Speak to me of trickery, Bedwyr the Brave!' Morgian whirled on him. 'You who have lain in ambush for unsuspecting prey, who have attacked and killed by stealth! How was it in Celyddon when you sneaked through the wood? Did not your heart beat fast with the thrill of your deception? Did it not leap for joy to see the fire spread at your enemies' backs? You are a master of trickery, it seems to me.'

  Bedwyr glared at her and turned his face away. Cai rushed to his defence. 'It was war! We did only what we had to do.'

  Like a cat with claws unsheathed, Morgian leapt on him. 'War! Does that absolve your guilt? You murdered men whose only crime was wanting to feed their children and see them grown. You made orphans of those same children and gave them up to the slow agony of starvation. You made widows of wives who knew nothing of realms or rulers. You stole the breath from their lungs and light from their eyes for ever. But how would you know – you, who have never shared bed with a wife?'

>   Cai, red-faced, was shamed into silence. But Morgian was far from finished. 'Nothing more to say, bold Cai? Come, speak to me again of the cruel necessity of war.'

  'Hold your tongue,' warned Gwalcmai ominously.

  'Are you displeased, my son?' Morgian turned on him. 'You and your brother should be the last men alive to seek my death. We are blood kin, are we not? What would your father say if he learned his sons had caused his mother's death?'

  'You are no blood kin of ours!' spat Gwalchavad.

  'Ask Lot of Orcady about that,' she answered sweetly in reply. 'Or have you never wondered how he came by twin sons when his own wife was barren?'

  It was an awesome display. She knew precisely the words to say to cow each and every one of them. I began to wonder if any man alive could stand against her. Surely, she was the Queen of Air and Darkness!

  Gwenhwyvar stepped fearlessly forward, chin thrust out. 'You are shrewd, woman,' she said. 'I give you that. But sons are not responsible for their father's actions.'

  'Oh, yes,' replied Morgian archly, 'speak to me of fathers and their sons. The Barren Queen – is that not what the people call you? Obviously, you know so much – you whose womb is sealed like a gravemound. And why is that? Could it be that you fear the ancient prophecy of your people, that your husband will be killed by his son?'

  Gwenhwyvar was astounded. 'How do you know that!'

  'I speak with the druids of Ierne, where it is a matter well known – and well known also what you do to prevent this prophecy from its fulfilment.'

  Arthur glanced at his wife in shock. 'She is lying!' cried Gwenhwyvar. 'Arthur, my soul, believe me! It is a lie!'

  'All our sins,' said the Emrys slowly, 'will be answerable before God. Yours are answerable to the High King now.'

  'How can you even think to condemn me when you all have practised crimes far in excess of mine? Where is this justice you are so proud of? Answer me!'

  Morgian raised her arm and flung the accusations back at us. I cringed before her wrath. 'You condemn yourselves! Your words are meaningless. Your accusations are the bleatings of dying sheep. Contemptible race, you fly headlong to your own destruction!'

  She advanced towards Arthur. Her gloating smile sickened me. 'Did you think to better me? Your justice stinks of piss and vomit! You sicken me,' Morgian screamed. 'Fool!' she shrieked, drew herself up and spat full in the High King's face.

  'No!' Gwalcmai leapt forward. He seized Morgian by the arms and spun her round. She spat at him, too, and, with a hiss like a devil cat, raked her fingernails across his eyes. He cried out and fell back, but she leapt on him, kicking and scratching. A long knife appeared in her hand and I watched in horror as she slashed it but a hair's breadth from his throat.

  But Gwalcmai was quicker than she knew. Even as he rolled to the ground his hand found his sword, drew it, and raised it as she fell on him. The blade pierced Morgian in the side below the ribs, thrusting up into her black heart.

  She shrieked once, stiffened, and stood upright, clutching the sword. The knife fell from her hand and clattered loud on the stones. Morgian stumbled backwards and collapsed upon the ground at Arthur's feet. Blood gushed from the wound and darkened the earth beneath her. Her eyes rolled up into her skull and her limbs convulsed.

  It had all taken place so quickly that we stood looking on, stunned and confused, as if caught in a spell of enchantment. The Emrys moved first, kneeling over the still-trembling body.

  Gwalcmai stood blinking in disbelief at what he had done. He got to his knees and raised his hands to Arthur. 'Mercy, lord! Forgive me, my king, I could not see her disgrace you!'

  Arthur stared at him, and at first I thought he might reproach Gwalcmai. But the Emrys stood and said, 'Morgian is dead. In her bloodlust she has fallen on the sword Gwalcmai raised for his own defence. I see no fault here.'

  Arthur turned to Gwalcmai who still knelt before him. 'Rise, Gwalcmai, you are forgiven. No doubt God has called her to answer her crimes as we will answer for our own.'

  I heard a strangled sound and turned. Medraut stared at the body on the ground, his face contorted in a strange and unnatural expression: dark eyes wide with fear, lips curled in a ghastly leer of hatred, pale skin dark with rage. His fingers were curled like claws and he was scratching at his face in long raking welts. Ruby blood-drops oozed from the wounds and rolled down his cheeks.

  Bedwyr was nearest and put out a hand to stay him. Medraut dodged aside. 'Stay back!' he cried in a shattered voice. 'Do not touch me!'

  We looked in wonder at one another.

  'Peace, Medraut. It is finished,' the Pendragon soothed.

  'Murderer!' Medraut screamed, backing away. 'Murderer!'

  Cai stepped close and made to grab him. Medraut's hand whipped up. The glint of a knife sparked in the fading light and Cai's arm spouted blood. He let out a cry, more in surprise than pain, and jumped back.

  Medraut turned and fled to the horses. Llenlleawg unsheathed his sword and ran after him. Medraut slashed the reins free from the picket line with his knife and leapt into the saddle in one motion. He wheeled the horse and galloped away before the Irishman could reach him.

  'Do you wish me to fetch him back?' called Llenlleawg.

  'No,' said the High King, 'let him go. It is soon dark. He will not go far.'

  Oh, Arthur, would that you had said anything but that!

  I stared after the quickly retreating horse and rider, astonished at what I had just witnessed. When I turned back, the Emrys had already drawn the veil and hood over Morgian's face once more.

  He stood slowly and put his hand on Gwalcmai's shoulder. 'This is not to your dishonour,' he said. 'Know you that Morgian earned the death she was given. You merely granted what she had purchased a thousand times over.'

  'The things she said,' Gwalcmai murmured. 'They were all true… '

  'Never believe it,' replied the Wise Emrys sternly, and turned to the rest of us standing together around the corpse. 'Hear me now, all of you! What Morgian has spoken before you were lies. Lies mingled with just enough truth to poison. She was lost and knew herself doomed; she hoped to inflame us with her corruption. My friends, do not let her succeed.'

  I knew he spoke the truth, but it was difficult – still more difficult for the others who had been wounded by Morgian's words.

  We buried Morgian in an unmarked grave in the sand on the shore above the high tide mark. The moon had risen when we finished and we were hungry. The talk around the fire as we ate was halting and listless. One by one the others crept off to their tents: Arthur and Gwenhwyvar first, and the others after, until only the Emrys and I remained.

  'Do not fret about what happened today, boy,' he told me after a while. I glanced up to see him watching me over the fitful flames. 'It cannot be undone. We leave it to God.'

  'I would be happy to do that,' I assured him, 'if I could. But I can still hear her voice screaming out those – those lies.'

  'You believed her,' he observed, and I was ashamed to admit that I did. 'Well, that is all her craft. There is no fault in falling into a trap when it is set by a most cunning adversary. But you must not languish in it when you discover that it is a trap.

  'Morgian was a champion of lies,' he said. 'Do not upbraid yourself for believing her. Only you must stop believing her. Do you understand what I am saying?'

  I nodded, though I did not fully understand. The Wise Emrys knew this, so he said, 'You know Avallach, the Fisher King, and know that he suffers yet from a wound which he received many years ago. Do you know how he came by this wound?'

  'No,' I answered. 'But what does Avallach's wound have to do with any of this?'

  'I will tell you. Avallach was king of Sarras, a country far from the Island of the Mighty. There was a war and he fought bravely against his enemies. But one night, as he rushed to the aid of his son, he was ambushed and cut down.

  'It was dark and he was not wearing his kingly armour, so he went unnoticed on the field. His enemies devised
a torture for those they captured – they tied each living man to a dead one. Avallach, as it chanced, was bound wrist-to-wrist, ankle-to-ankle, and mouth-to-mouth to thecorpa of his son.

  'The enemy abandoned them to this insane tenure, and Avallach was left to die in the poisonous embrace of his once-beloved son.'

  I had never heard such a hideous thing, and told Myrddin so.

  'Yes,' he agreed, 'it is ghastly and terrible – Avallach bears the infirmity of it to this day.' He gazed steadily at me, so that I would understand him. 'And this is what Morgian hoped to do: bind us with half-truths to her corrupting lies. And like Avallach and his ambushed soldiers we are meant to flounder in their deadly embrace until we perish.'

  'Is there no escape?'

  Trust God, Aneirin. Trust the Good God. We have sinned; yes, that is true. But we have the Christ's sure forgiveness. Only ask and it is granted. By this we will be loosed from Morgian's curse.'

  I heard him and at last began to understand what he meant. 'What of Medraut?'

  The Emrys shook his head slowly and dropped his eyes to the embers as if to glimpse the future there. 'Medraut is dark to me; his path lies in shadow and uncertainty. One thing is certain, however; we have not seen the last of Medraut.'

  SEVEN

  Seven bright summers passed, and seven mild winters. The Summer Realm enjoyed its fairest season. All things flourished which the High King blessed, and peace reigned in the Island of the Mighty and its Seven Favoured Isles. No more barbarians invaded, and the Saecsens kept faith with Arthur. Men began speaking of the battle of Mount Baedun as the greatest victory ever won in Britain, and holding Arthur Pendragon as the greatest king ever to rule in the world.

  From across all seas – from Ierne, Daneland, Saecsland, Jutland, Norweigi, Gotland, Holland, Gaul, Ffeincland, A/morica and Ruten – kings and rulers came to pay homage to Arthur and learn his justice. In all it was a time unknown since Bran the Blessed banished war in Ynys Prydein. Jesu's holy church sank its roots deep into Britain's soil and spread its sheltering branches over the land.