“My father and Agravain also left the hall early, to talk, my father with his hand on my brother’s shoulder. Their gladness was as sharp and bright as a sword’s edge, and it cut me to joy when I looked at them. I have never been able to be what my father wanted, but Agravain…well, it was very good. So I watched them go, and smiled as I watched them, and it was the last time I saw my father living.”
I stared at Gwalchmai in shock. I had not imagined that anything so huge could have happened to him. He looked down the road without turning, tapping the fingers of one thin, strong hand against his knee. “My lord…” I said.
He shook his head. “It is better so. Dear God, Lot could not go on thus. He was a proud, strong man, and he knew where he had fallen to. Better to have died now, than years from now; best to have died before this.” I looked away from him. Whether or not one was close to him, whether or not it was a good time, a father dead is a piece of one’s universe missing. He couldn’t feel what I would, if it were my father, but he felt something nonetheless, and I did not think he wanted me saying anything about it.
He began the tale again. “Agravain was with him when it happened. He said Lot stopped in the midst of a sentence, clutched at his head, cried out, and fell over. Agravain tried to help him, then ran back to the feast hall to fetch me, but there was nothing either of us could do. And there was a sense of Darkness in that room to chill the heart’s blood, with my father lying stiff and gray by the hearth. I knew how he came to die so quickly.”
“Morgawse?” He still did not look towards me, but he nodded. His face was intensely expressionless. “But why?”
He gave a shrug. “I think she feared that Agravain would cause difficulties in her affair with Maelgwn. And also, Agravain was a rival to Medraut in winning the loyalty of the warband and the succession to the kingship of Orcade. But I am as certain that she blotted out my father’s life as I am certain that the sun sets to rise. If I had thought sooner, when Medraut left the hall! But he was dead. We laid him on a bier to mourn him, and raised the coronach—that is an Irish dirge—by torchlight, most of the night. Agravain was wild: he flung himself beside the corpse and swore…what is the matter?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just a dream. Go on.”
He gave me a steady, serious look. “I remember that your father also has dreams. I would be grateful if you could tell it me.”
“Only that the day after your father died I dreamed that I saw the Queen casting a spell, and then a funeral procession with a covered body on a bier and Agravain as a mourner. I thought the body was yours. But go on.”
He nodded, apparently calmer about it than I was. “Agravain swore that any person who had any part in killing Lot should die by his sword, and that Lot was the greatest king in all Erin, and all Britain, and all the Islands.”
“What about Arthur?”
“Arthur is not a king; he is High King,” my lord replied, a very faint smile touching his lips and vanishing again. “Well, we stayed up all the night. When the first sun made the world breathe again, Agravain took me aside. That was yesterday morning. I felt as though the day were made of fine, bright, brittle glass and might shatter at any instant. I could tell from Agravain’s eyes that it was the same to him if the sun rose or if it was swallowed by the earth for ever. ‘Mother did this,’ he said. I shook my head. ‘Do not seek to deny it or explain it away; you know as surely as I that she killed him, she and that white-haired bastard half-brother of ours.’”
I was a bit shocked. “Can’t he accept that Lot was Medraut’s father as well?” I asked.
Gwalchmai gave me a very startled look. “But he wasn’t. Everyone knows that.”
I felt stupid and confused. “I didn’t know that. Why do you say so?”
“Everyone always knew. Medraut was born in Britain. My father came down to do some fighting in the north, and he left my mother at the court of her father, the Pendragon Uther. My father was gone from May until December, and Medraut was born in the next June. And besides that…” He stopped himself sharply.
“You know who his father is?” I asked, even more astonished.
He said nothing, shaking his head. “But you do,” I insisted.
“Yes, I know. But let it rest there, Rhys mo chara. Ach, it is not that I do not trust you, but that secret is not mine to give away.”
“But who…does Medraut’s father know?”
“He knows. But there is nothing he can do. Morgawse always had plans for Medraut. I do not think that Medraut knows, though, and he is happier so. Let it rest.”
We rode on silently for a little while. I tried to adjust the fact that everyone had always known Medraut to be a bastard into my picture of him; and then, for some strange reason, I thought of the Emperor Arthur, his straight fair hair and wide-set gray eyes. But no, Arthur was Morgawse’s half-brother, and it was impossible.
“So, Agravain spoke very wildly,” Gwalchmai continued. “He made me afraid for him. Our mother never liked him, and he is defenseless in too many ways to defy her openly. The rest of our father’s warband knew it. It is strange: I could have sworn that Medraut held that warband to command it as he pleased, but it was plain to me that most of the men would follow Agravain, if Morgawse were not there. They never liked Morgawse, but they feared her greatly. Enough men have defied her only to disappear from the green earth for any of them to disobey her. But they hated to be ruled by a foreign woman and a witch, and Medraut was too near her and too close to her for their tastes. Many of the men had fought beside Agravain many years ago, and they wanted to be loyal; but they would not dare to support him against Morgawse.
“Maelgwn Gwynedd came to see Lot’s corpse, and ordered the rest of Degannwy into mourning, from sympathy, but it was clear that he was pleased that our father was dead, and expected to have the warband and my father’s possessions freely his. Agravain wanted to kill him at once. It is a good thing that Maelgwn speaks no Irish, or there would have been a fight between the warbands on the spot. As it was, I had to calm Agravain, and stay with him for hours. Finally I promised him that I would go and talk to our mother, and I made him promise not to act until I was done with that.
“I had been intending to see her since I first realized that Medraut and Rhuawn would give me no information about what had happened to you, but I’d looked for a public place to catch her in. Now, I knew, I had to speak with her privately. Medraut had vanished—I suppose he was off fetching you. I did not know what to do.
“Then, in the middle of the afternoon, Rhuawn came and sought me out. I left Agravain for a little and talked with him instead. He gave me a very strange look and said, ‘So you have care for some of your family.’ I replied, ‘I have care for all of them, as far as I may for each, but some are my enemies. Medraut has hated me since I left the islands, and hated our lord Arthur even longer. Why have you listened to him?’ He grew cold again. ‘Medraut is not your enemy nor mine,’ he said. ‘He left Degannwy out of trouble over your father’s death. But he sent me a message to say that he has found Rhys.’ ‘Where?’ I asked. ‘At a shepherd’s hut, up in the mountains. He is hurt. Medraut says he wants you to come. I can show you the way there, this evening.’
“I almost agreed. I was tired, and my father’s death made me want to see Medraut again. It is true, that much of what he told you, that we were close once. That is probably why he hates me so deeply now, because he truly feels that I have betrayed him. And Rhuawn was asking me to come with him, and I had already resolved to face my mother, so why should I fear Medraut alone? But as I was about to say that I would go then, I suddenly felt that Rhuawn was too quiet, and I recalled your message. I looked at his face, and it was as though I glimpsed another’s face reflected there, like the bottom of a pond glimpsed through the bright mirror of its waters. So, instead of agreeing, I said, ‘Perhaps. Speak to me again this evening.’ Rhuawn gave me a cold l
ook and left without another word, and I went back to Agravain. You have told me that Rhuawn was not as guilty as I first thought, and now I do not know how much he understood when he made that suggestion, and how much he believed Medraut. I had said some most bitter things to him the day before, and I do not know how far my anger may have driven him. He is not a wicked man.”
“He knew better than to betray you,” I said. “He knew you for years, and by your life and actions, and he knew Medraut only by his words, and that for a few weeks only. A man may be deluded by another’s eloquence, but, by all the saints in Heaven, anyone with any sense ought to know better than to accuse a sane friend of madness.”
Gwalchmai only shook his head. “Rhuawn is a good man…At any rate, when he had left, I thought for a time, and decided that I wished to see for myself what was happening. As you know, I have done a good amount of riding, and I knew of several shepherds’ huts which Rhuawn might have meant. But they had earlier said that you left the fortress. That meant that it was probable the place they thought of was to the north, towards the main road. I gave it some more thought, then told Agravain what I intended, and prepared myself for as long a journey as might be necessary. And the second shepherd’s hut I found had my mother’s horse tied up before it. The rest you know. But, cousin…” He reined in Ceincaled suddenly and caught my forearm with his sword hand, so that I had to stop too. He met my eyes very seriously, and spoke deliberately, very quietly, “I owe you a very great debt. My mother’s shadow has lain across my whole life, but now I am free of it. Yet, if you had not stopped me from killing her, she would have bound me in it for ever. That alone would give me gratitude enough for a lifetime, but you have taken this whole struggle when it was not by nature yours, and you have fought and suffered to hold the faith when…”
“My lord Gwalchmai, for God’s sake no more of that! When it comes to people being saved, you saved me a good deal more than I saved you. And if the conflict between Light and Darkness is not my struggle, whose is it? I have never heard that only warriors are allowed to serve God. I’ve done no more than I should have.” And I looked down at the spot on the saddle leather to avoid his eyes. Ronan, or Ronan’s servant, really should have cleaned that.
Gwalchmai gave my arm a slight pressure, then released it. “Indeed?” I looked back up, matter-of-fact as I was able to be, and he smiled, then suddenly touched Ceincaled, and the horse leapt to a canter. I kicked my rather bad-tempered warhorse into following. Gwalchmai called back, “How much farther is it to this St. Elena’s? That beast of Ronan’s is supposedly a warhorse: we ought to be making better time.”
We made good time, actually, and reached St. Elena’s shortly after noon. I nearly missed the turning, but managed to remember a tall ash tree, and we picked our way down the path used by Father Gilla and his mare.
We had to rap repeatedly on the high wooden gate before the little window in the top of it opened and a thin, brown-eyed face peered out. “We’ve no room for travelers,” said the woman.
“We’re not seeking hospitality,” I said. “But my friend Eivlin is sick and staying with you, as I did myself until yesterday afternoon…”
“Sanctam Mariam Matrem! You’re the one they dragged off yesterday, those terrible warriors. How is it that you’re here?”
“My lord here rescued me. He’s come now to help heal my friend: you can ask Sister Teleri if you doubt me.”
The face vanished and the window closed. We waited a while, me standing by the gate, Gwalchmai on Ceincaled, leaning forward with one arm across his knees. Eventually the window was flung open again and the sharp dark face of Teleri peered out.
“Rhys. It is you then.”
“It is me, returned and in one piece. And I have brought my lord here.” Teleri looked behind me for the first time, and her stare fixed. Gwalchmai leapt from his horse, paused an instant to catch his balance, then gave a slight bow.
The gate opened. “Come in, then.” Teleri surveyed Gwalchmai with intent interest, but spoke to me. “Your Eivlin is no better, which is what you were gaping your mouth to ask, I suppose. Ach, man. I am glad to see you whole, and to know that you gave the slip to those wild Irish devils. Can your lord help the girl?”
I shrugged. Gwalchmai, just entered through the gate and looking about himself, answered for me. “It is possible, though not certain. I will try.” He paused, then earnestly asked his own question, “My servant Rhys has told me that my lady Elidan, daughter of Caw, is of your sisterhood.”
“She is,” said Teleri flatly. “Will you see this Eivlin lass now?”
He nodded. “Yes. Where may I leave my horse?”
With Ceincaled and my warhorse left standing in the yard, we followed Teleri into the low-roofed building. A number of nuns had already gathered about to see, and they all stared very hard at Gwalchmai. His crimson cloak and war gear marked him out very plainly. But he only gave a courteous nod to those he passed and ignored the stares. He was probably used to it.
Eivlin had been brought to one of the nun’s cells, and she lay on the bed, wrapped in blankets, looking very pale and lifeless. Only her hair lay over the mattress, and one sunbeam touched it, bringing out its ripe wheat color. It cut me to the bone to see her so, and I stopped in the doorway, so that Gwalchmai nearly bumped into me. I stared at Eivlin.
Teleri, already by the bed, looked about impatiently. “Well, stop staring like an ox and come in,” she snapped, “if indeed you wish to see if your lord can help her.” I started and came in, standing aside. Gwalchmai entered and walked over to the bed. He dropped to one knee, caught her wrist and laid the back of his other hand against her forehead. He frowned.
“There is no fever,” he told Teleri.
“Truly? That I found out at once.” Teleri put her hands on her hips. “No, there is nothing wrong to be found with her, except that, for all we do, she will not wake or stir. Now, Rhys says that he baptized her, and I’ve heard tell that baptism is death to sin; but if so, she’s been rather thorough about it.”
“Did you try giving her hot mead with mint?” asked Gwalchmai.
She looked startled and dropped her hands. “We did. A fine shock that, to wake sleepers. But she can’t swallow, and didn’t stir.”
“Her heart beats very faintly.”
“And grows fainter. You have some knowledge of medicine, I think.”
“A little. Mostly the care of wounds.” Gwalchmai took his hand from Eivlin’s wrist and knelt, looking at her. “I have worked with Gruffydd ap Cynan after my lord Arthur’s battles—except when I was wounded myself, of course.”
“Indeed?” asked Teleri, a different note in her voice, one perilously like respect. “Now there is a physician I have heard much about.”
“He is very skilled.” Gwalchmai brushed a strand of hair from Eivlin’s face and shifted his hand to his sword. He frowned again.
Teleri took a step closer, then knelt beside him, straightening her gown. “Your servant Rhys ap Sion believes this sleep to be the result of a curse. I have no knowledge of curses and less liking for them as causes of sickness, but if it is not, I do not know why she does not wake.”
“It is a curse. But now—the force of the curse is gone, and only the sleep is left. The Darkness struck her very hard and deep before it vanished, and life has gone very far away from her. And yet…” He chewed his lower lip, then deliberately drew his sword.
Teleri looked at him sharply, one hand ready to seize his sword hand. He smiled a little, apologetically. “I wish to try something. I do not know whether it will help or not. This sword is no common weapon, so it may.” Teleri lowered her hand, still watching him suspiciously.
Gwalchmai laid the flat of the sword across Eivlin’s forehead. She did not move or stir. He shifted his grip on the hilt, settling it, nervously rubbing his mouth with his other hand. I took another step nearer to s
ee, looking at Eivlin’s pale face under the cold steel. Gwalchmai bowed his head, his shoulders hunched.
Slowly, the sword began to glow. I heard Teleri’s gasp loud in the small room, but I only looked at Eivlin. The wavering, submarine light flickered down the edge of the steel, traced a sinuous line along the center of the blade, and focused in the hilt to a deep rose shade.
Gwalchmai dropped his free hand to his thigh, bracing himself. “Dulce Lux,” he said clearly, but almost to himself, “Care Domine, miserere…” and, changing his languages, “O Ard Righ Mor…” He straightened his shoulders, and the light shot down the sword, flaming into white brilliance. “Lighten our darkness, we pray you, Lord…”
“Amen,” said Teleri, wondering. I barely heard her, for at that moment Eivlin drew a deep breath. I dropped down behind the other two and reached between them to catch her hand. Her fingers were cold, but I had a shock from them like the shock one gets in cold, dry weather. Gwalchmai caught the sword’s hilt in both hands, sweat streaming into his beard, and threw his head back, eyes focused on nothing. He said something in Irish, poetry I think, his voice almost singing it. Eivlin’s breast heaved, and I thought the color was returning to her cheeks.
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