Arthur pc-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

'The Cymbrogi have seen you lie about before,' Bedwyr told him. 'They are well used to the sight. Be quiet, now.' 'I will not! Help me stand.' He snatched at Bedwyr's cloak

  and made to pull himself up. The covering slipped from around his neck. I saw the wound and gasped.

  It was a ghastly green-grey, with violet thread-like fingers stretching across the Pendragon's shoulder. The flesh along the original cut was withered, black and rotting. Arthur's neck was red and inflamed from his throat to his armpit. The wound had apparently burst in the night – the pain must have been unbearable! – and the Emrys had been called to stop the bleeding.

  'I am finished,' said Myrddin at last. 'I can do nothing more here.' Bedwyr and the Emrys put their arms around Arthur's wide shoulders and raised him up.

  'We have made an end of Medraut at last,' Arthur said carelessly. 'It will be a cold day in hell before anyone dares attack the Emperor of Britain again. Where is Gwenhwyyar?'

  'She waits over there a little,' Myrddin Emrys told him.

  'I hope she is not hurt… '

  'No, she is well. Arthur,' said the Emrys, speaking in low, urgent tones, 'your wound is swollen and has broken open. I am at the end of my skill, Arthur – do you understand? I can do nothing more for you, but I know where help can be found.'

  Bedwyr glanced up and saw me. He motioned me closer and gripped my shoulder hard. 'Quickly!' he said in a voice tight with dread. 'Go find Barinthus and tell him to make ready a boat.' I stepped to the tent flap and Bedwyr added, 'Aneirin – take care. No one else must know.'

  Alarm and dread warring in me, I dashed away to rouse Arthur's pilot and charge him with this secret task. Barinthus was never difficult to find, for he always stayed near the ships. I hastened down the hill track, a stiff wind whipping my cloak against my legs. Rags of cloud streamed across the moon; the white-crested wavetops glinted darkly in the shifting and uncertain light.

  I made directly for the lone camp fire, flickering on the shore before the dark hump of a small skin-covered tent just above the high tide mark. 'Barinthus!' I hissed amid the sough and moan of wind and waves.

  He stirred and thrust his head out through the hide-covered opening, and I charged him with Bedwyr's command. He ducked back into his shelter for his lamp, and emerged wearing his bearskin. He marched into the tideflow to where his coracle was moored.

  I hurried back across the beach and saw the glimmer of a guttering torch on the hill-track above me. Bedwyr and Myrddin, with Arthur sagging between them, met me as I reached the foot of the hill. Gwenhwyvar, holding a torch in one hand, and the High King's sword in the other, went before them.

  'The boat is being readied,' I told Bedwyr.

  'Was anyone with Barinthus?'

  'He was alone. No one else knows.'

  'Good.' The Emrys gazed out onto the sea. Though the wind still blew and the sea ran strong, the waves were not driven overmuch. 'It will be a rough voyage, but swift. All the better. We have a little time yet.'

  'I am going to sit you down now, Arthur.' Bedwyr shifted the High King's weight.

  'No – I will stand. Please, Bedwyr. Only a little longer.'

  'Very well.'

  'Bedwyr, my brother… '

  'What is it, Bear?'

  'Look to Gwenhwyvar. See that she is cared for.'

  Bedwyr swallowed hard. 'Do that yourself, Bear.'

  'If anything happens to me.'

  'Very well…if you wish it,'Bedwyr told him, pulling the red cloak more closely around Arthur's shoulders.

  The Pendragon could scarcely lift his head. His speech had grown soft, almost a whisper. 'Myrddin,' he said softly, 'I am sorry I could not be the king you wanted me to be – the Summer King.'

  'You were the king God wanted. Nothing else matters.'

  'I did all you ever asked of me, did I not, my father?'

  'No man could have done more.'

  'It was enough, was it not?'

  'Arthur, my soul, it was enough,' Myrddin said softly. 'Rest you now.'

  The queen stepped close and handed me the torch. She embraced her husband and held him. 'Rest your head on my shoulder,' she said, and placed her cheek against his. They stood like this for a long moment and Gwenhwyvar spoke soothing words into his ear. I did not hear what she said.

  After a moment we heard a whistle. Bedwyr turned. 'It is Barinthus. The boat is ready.'

  I walked ahead, holding the torch high to light the way across the stone-strewn beach to the water's edge, where Barinthus had brought the boat. He had chosen a small, stout vessel with a single mast and a heavy rudder. There was a tented covering in the centre of the craft where Arthur could rest.

  I waded into the water and stood beside the boat, with the torch lifted high. The wave-chop slapped the boat and rocked it from side to side; I gripped the rail with my free hand to help steady it. Bedwyr and Myrddin made to carry Arthur to the boat, but he refused. The Pendragon of Britain strode into the water in his own strength and boarded the pitching craft.

  While Barinthus busied himself with the sail, the queen fussed over Arthur, to make him comfortable beneath the canopy. At last the Emrys said, 'We must go. It will be dawn soon, and we must be well away before we are seen.'

  'Let me go with you,' Gwenhwyvar pleaded.

  'You are needed here, Gwenhwyvar. You and Bedwyr must buy Arthur time to heal,' Myrddin explained. 'I tell you the truth, I fear for the world if knowledge of Arthur's weakness reaches Britain's enemies. No one must know,' the Emrys said earnestly. 'See you keep the secret well.

  'Tomorrow, send the lords back to their realms and the Cymbrogi back to Caer Lial. I will return here in three days and bring Arthur with me, or take you to be with him.'

  Gwenhwyvar clutched at Arthur's hand. 'Have no fear," Arthur whispered. 'I go to Avallon for my healing. I will return when I am strong once more. Wait for me but a little.'

  Gwenhwyvar nodded and said no more. She knelt and kissed Arthur with a lingering kiss. 'Farewell, my soul,' she whispered, and pressed the sword Caliburnus into her husband's hand.

  'Bedwyr – he should have it,' Arthur protested weakly.

  'Keep it,' Bedwyr replied, 'you will need it when you return.'

  Gwenhwyvar kissed Arthur and laid her head against his chest. She whispered something, and he smiled – I do not know what she said. She climbed from the boat and watched as Bedwyr and I pushed it into deeper water. Once it was free of the sand, the pilot turned the bow towards the open sea and raised the sail.

  The Emrys stood and called to us, 'Have no fear! Arthur will return. Keep faith, my friends. The final danger has not come. Watch for us!'

  We three stood on the strand and watched the boat draw away. We watched until the small, bright point of light that was Barinthus' lamp disappeared into the cloud-wracked darkness of the sea and night. Grief, sharp as a spear-thrust, pierced my heart. For, in the mournful sigh of wind and wave, I heard the lament for the lost.

  A sea-bird disturbed from his night's rest took wing above us and raised a solitary keen. Seeking some word of consolation, I said, 'If there is healing for him anywhere in this worlds-realm, he will find it in Avallon.'

  Gwenhwyvar, dark eyes gleaming with unshed tears, pulled her cloak high around her shoulders, then turned away, straightened her back, and began ascending the hill track. Bedwyr stood long, gazing into the void, the restless wave-wash around his feet. I stood with him, my heart near to breaking. At last he reached out to me, took the torch from my hand, and with a mighty heave, threw it into the sea. I watched its flaming arc plunge like a star falling earthward and heard it hiss as it struck the sea and died.

  ELEVEN

  'Myrddin should have returned before now. Something is wrong!' Bedwyr threw down his bowl and stood up.

  'He said to wait. What else can we do?' Gwenhwyyar asked, her voice raw with torment.

  'He said he would come back in three days. Well, the third day has passed and he has not returned!'

  Indeed, since dawn, when I
arose and took up my place of vigil, we had watched and waited, gazing out over the western sea whence the Emrys' boat would come. I stood my watch all day, relieved by Bedwyr from time to time, or Gwenhwyvar, or sometimes both at once. We talked of this and that, small things, matters of no consequence. The one thing we did not mention was the boat, though our thoughts were full of nothing else.

  The day had faded into a dull and sullen sunset. Still none of us saw so much as a thread of sail or a sliver of mast. But one day before, the bay had been alive with ships. The queen had let it be known that the Pendragon and his Wise Counsellor were communing together and did not wish to be disturbed. She bade the lords and kings of Britain return each one to his own realm and await the High King's pleasure. The Cymbrogi she ordered back to Caer Lial.

  Fergus and Ban grew anxious and approached the queen in private. Yet, through all her assurances Gwenhwyvar protected the secret and gave nothing away, though her heart was breaking all the while.

  Bors, Cador and Rhys had been the last to leave. They insisted that they would wait and ride to the palace with the king, but Gwenhwyvar urged them to hasten back and see to readying the Pendragon's palace for his return – much had been ruined by the Picti. In the end, they reluctantly agreed and rode away, so that by evening of the second day we three were alone on Round Table hill.

  Then we had waited and watched, as the sun climbed to its full height and started its long slow slide to the west. But the sea remained empty; no boat appeared. Nor did we see any sign of it at dusk, when Bedwyr set a beacon fire on the beach below the hill.

  Now we sat in silence before the Pendragon's tent. The red-gold dragon standard rippled in the evening breeze. As if in answer to Bedwyr's outburst, a Sight of gulls wheeling overhead began screaming. Their complaint echoed up from the valley below. Bedwyr gazed at the bowl he had thrown down and kicked it aside. 'We should not have let him go,' he muttered, his voice full of reproach and pain.

  'Then we will go to him,' Gwenhwyvar said softly. She turned to me, and placed her hand on my arm. 'You have been to the island, Aneirin.'

  'Several times, yes. As you have been, my lady.'

  'You will pilot,' declared Bedwyr.

  'But we have no boat!' I pointed out.

  'Arthur the Shipbuilder is our lord,' sniffed Bedwyr, 'and this fellow says we have no boat. I will get one.'

  'Then I will be your pilot – may God go with us,' I answered.

  Bedwyr saddled one of the horses and left at once. Gwenhwyvar and I spent a fretful dusk before the fire, neither one of us speaking. She withdrew to her tent when the moon rose and I spread my red calfskin before the entrance and lay down with a spear next to me – no fire to warm or cheer me, no roof above me but the stars of heaven, bright with holy fire.

  I lay down but I did not sleep. All night long I twisted and turned on my calfskin, watching the long, slow progression of the moon across the sky and praying to Jesu to protect us – which he did. At last, just before dawn, I slipped into a strange sleep: deep, yet alert. I knew myself asleep, yet I heard the sea moan on the shore below the hill and the wind sigh through the grass around me.

  It was the time between times, neither day nor night, darkness nor light, when the gates of this world and the next stand open. The restless wash of the sea below the cliffs sounded like the troubled murmurings of distant crowds in my ears. The wind-sigh became the whisper of Otherworld beings bidding me rise and follow.

  I lay in that Otherworldly place and dreamed a dream.

  In my dream I awoke and opened my eyes and I saw green Avallon, Isle of Apples, fairest island that is in this world, next to the Island of the Mighty. I heard the strange, enchanting music of Rhiannon's birds, and I smelled the sweet fragrance of apple blossoms. On my lips I tasted the warmth of honey mead, and I arose.

  I walked along the way-worn path from the sea cliff to the Fisher King's palace. Where the palace should have been I saw nothing but a cross of Jesu wrought of stone and lying on the ground – and, beside it, a leather pouch containing Myrddin's stone-carving tools. I bent down to trace the words inscribed upon it, but a cloud passed over the sun and the light grew dim, and I could not read what had been written there.

  I looked to the east and saw stars glimmering hi the sky, though still the sun shone in the west. Storm clouds gathered above me. Lightning flashed, and thunder quaked. The whole earth began to tremble with the sound.

  Across the green land the thunder became a roar, and the tremble the footfall of a terrible beast. I turned to the east, whence came the storm, and saw a great golden lion bounding towards me over the weald. The lion seized me, and snatched me up in its jaws. And then it began to run. The enormous beast carried me over the island to the sea, where it plunged into the white-foamed waves and began to swim.

  The waves surged around me and the lion changed into a fish that bore me on its back to a rock in the middle of the sea, and there it left me. The storm which had pursued me now broke with fury upon the rock. The gale screamed and raised the sea; water crashed and waves beat upon me, but I gripped the rock with all my strength, lest I be torn away to drown in the whelming flood.

  I clung to the rock, cold and wet, and sick with sorrow – for all my good companions had gone from me and my death drew near. I trembled and began to shake, so that I thought my very bones would break. My body began to burn as with the flames of fire.

  A shining mist came down over my rock, and out of the mist I heard a voice that called me by name. 'Aneirin,' the voice commanded, 'leave off your trembling, neither be afraid. I have seen your miserable plight and will help you. Stand up! I will show you what is to be done.'

  I stood on my rock and it became a mountain, strong and high. And though the storm-flood raged, the angry water could not overwhelm it. An ancient oak grew atop the mountain. I took one of its branches and struck the earth, and out from among the roots a spring appeared and began flowing down the mountainside.

  The spring poured forth, cold and clean. And wherever the water flowed forests and meadows appeared to clothe the barren slopes, giving food and shelter to the beasts of the field and to the eagles that soared in the heights.

  The old oak fell down, but the spring flowed on and became a stream, and the stream a mighty river. I picked up my branch and began to walk. Grass grew up in the places where my feet touched the earth, so that my tread was easy and the path clear. I came eventually to a green meadow – the same meadow that I had known before. And I saw that the mountain was in Avallon.

  The stone cross was there, and the leather pouch of tools. But now I saw what I did not see before. Inscribed on the cross was a name: ARTORIVS REX QVONDAM REXQVE FVRTVRVS.

  Arthur, king once and king to be… Though well begun, the carving was unfinished.

  The voice which had spoken to me from the cloud hailed me again. 'Arise, Gildas. Finish that which has been set before you.'

  'My name is Aneirin,' I replied. 'And I know nothing of stonecraft.'

  The voice answered me, saying, 'Aneirin you were, Gildas you shall be, True Bard to the High King of Heaven.'

  The dream ended and I awoke at once. It was dawn, the time between times had given way to daylight and I was back in the world of men. I rose and hurried to look out upon the sea. And behold! As the sun rose above the eastern hills I saw a ship coming towards us. I ran and told the queen and we went down to the shore to await its arrival.

  'He must have ridden through the night,' I remarked, as the ship put out a coracle to meet us. The queen nodded, but said nothing. Her eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep or weeping, I know not which.

  Closer, I saw that it was Bedwyr come to fetch us. 'I am sorry,' said Bedwyr as he helped the queen into the small boat, 'I would have returned sooner, but the horse foundered and I had to walk some of the way.'

  Gwenhwyvar opened her mouth to make a reply, but her gaze slid past Bedwyr to the others standing behind him: Rhys, Bors and Cador, looking repentant and stubborn at
the same time, with their arms folded defiantly over their chests.

  'I could not get the ship without them knowing,' Bedwyr explained, 'so I brought them with me.'

  'All respect to the Emrys' wishes,' put in Cador, 'but we would in nowise be left behind.'

  'I see,' replied Gwenhwyvar. 'Since that is the way of it, I grant you leave to accompany me – in pledge for your silence.'

  'That you shall have,' said Bors, 'and gladly.'

  'Swear it on your fealty to Arthur,' the queen said.

  'Lady,' protested Cador, 'have we lived so long in Arthur's service that we must be treated this way?'

  'Swear it!' the queen demanded. 'Or I will put you over the side myself.'

  The three swore as the queen directed, and she gave the order to sail. Bors, who had spent fully as much time aboard the heaving deck of a ship as astride a galloping horse, acted as pilot. But since he had never been to Ynys Avallon, I stood with him to guide him as best I could from my memory of previous voyages.

  The day was clear, the sea-wind strong. We fairly flew over the water like the gulls that soared above our mast. And it seemed that the dun-coloured cliffs of Rheged had just fallen away behind us when I saw the faint blue smudge of the island on the horizon away to the south-west. 'There it is!' I cried. 'That is Ynys Avallon.'

  Bors adjusted his course and steered for it. I settled in the bow and fell asleep listening to the slap of the waves against the hull. I awoke some time later, thinking to see the isle directly ahead. Instead, I saw nothing but a grey sky and grey sea all around.

  My shipmates were all asleep, save for Bors, so I crept back to sit with him at the tiller. 'Where is it?' I asked, sliding onto the bench beside him.

  He pointed ahead. 'Rain is blowing in from the east and it has come over misty. But the island is just before us, never fear.'

  It was true. The island was before us, though I could not see it. That is the peculiar nature of the isle – which is why the men of Ierne consider it an Otherworldly island: it appears and disappears, seemingly at will.

  But Bors proved a good pilot and we reached Avallon after midday. 'Where is the best place to put to shore?' he asked, scanning what we could see of the coastline through the mist.