Lady Morgan, I tell you that the Air itself in the fortress seemed alive with an evil Spirit, yet at the same Time, it was as if there was no Air at all to breathe. I find it hard to describe these things. I am sure that you would know how to name it. Like a dungeon, it was.
You may not think of me as a man of God’s inner Mysteries – or the Goddess’ if calling God “HER” comforts you more. However, I believe that we all have an inner voice that speaks to us. That inner voice, or knowing, spoke “danger” to me in that fortress. My dear little sister, Rowena, is far more graced with these knowings than I, and no one in this world could ever convince me that there lies any evil in that sweet child. Perhaps they are jealous or envious of her, for more deeply has she been touched by God’s Love than they. This envy and fear has martyred many of my own Christian brethren. I truly believe there is but one Divine Love and He – or She – leads none to violence or hatred.
I will do all that I can to protect Rowena and Mahr, but I fear a bad outcome.
Enclosed is Mahr’s letter to you, as she dictated it to me.
Oh my dear Aunt Morgan, Lady of the Lake, why did you not tell me? Bereft of memory, family, and past as I have been, I would have been so honoured to know that I am your niece. You have only been kind to me and my daughter. Gildas has told all to me.
I have Loved – no adored – my husband Rhodri, only to find him a monster. Life holds no meaning to me. I am tired in soul and heart. I mean nothing in this world. I never have, except to have given life to my precious daughters, Rowena and Bridget. Please, I beg of you, protect them if you can. Gildas can be trusted, but I fear that my life will be coming to an end through violence. I believe that Rhodri will murder me soon, with the help or approval of his other wicked sons.
Do not pity me. I am so tired... I welcome an end, save that it leave my daughters unprotected. Do not cry for me, Aunt. Perhaps we will see each other again in a better world.
Know this – I have a bit of the Sight. I have kept silent about it. I have harmed none.
Herein is a song that I have written for my daughters. Please give it to Rowena when she is old enough to understand. Gildas also keeps a copy for Bridget, to give to her when the Time is right. Know this also, the high Bishop has heard of my being who I am. He has inflamed all against me. This saddens my stepson, Gildas, who writes my words as I say them.
Gildas will find his own way, Aunt Morgan. He is a good man. Oh, I know that to write this embarrasses him, but he is a Cleric, and like you, will write the truth as he sees it.
I think I will not see you again in this world. May all that is Divine bless you.
Here is my song:
I live in the tangle-wood with the Deer of the Forest
The Hunter watches over me...
I Weave in my Raven locks
Twine, twig and flora
Wood-heather, Thyme and Rosemary...
I break no man’s peace and have Loved the Earth dearly
Covet not wealth... Covet not wealth... cause no calamity...
So why has this trial befallen me?
They call me The Creature...
I come it by Nature...
My Mother, Morganna Le Faye...
Creature...
The old King lies wounded – Gwenyfar’s at Glastonbury
The Mist encroaches Affalon...
The Dux are all scattered
The land is torn and battered
The Merlin’s Magic is dead and gone...
Great Dragon ships are landing
On our shores they are standing
So I would think, yes I would think
They would have better things to do
Than to burn me a Witch and stake me heart through...
They call me The Creature...
I come it by Nature...
My Mother – Morganna Le Faye...
Creature...
The Gods of the Old Ones, with their Spells and Incantations
They give me little peace of mind
And the Spirits of the Lakes and Streams
And the Stones in the cross-roads
Their gentle faces are hard to find...
The new religion’s powers have me locked in these towers
But I care not, no, I care not
Their accusations are un-true...
And I laugh at their fear that I disappear in a smoke of blue...
They call me The Creature...
I come it by Nature...
My Mother – Morganna Le Faye...
Creature...
A daughter I am true and born not sprung from Witches’ clatter
Like a child of Beltane, blessed free
No Father’s hand can claim me
No husband’s rule will tame me
If thus I die, then blessed be!
By trial and by Fire, fan the Flames ever higher
I will not beg, will not cry out
They will get nothing out of me...
But never rest you easy, behind thy shoulder I might be...
They call me The Creature...
I come it by Nature...
My Mother – Morganna Le Faye...
Creature...
I laid down the vellum scroll, cold as the North Wind – not overtaken by fear, but by certainty am I.
“Is she murdered yet?” I wondered.
Suddenly I began to feel dizzy and ill. Everything was swirling, hot and suffocating. I closed my eyes. Somewhere from a distance I heard a thump and then I was no longer in my body. I was rushing through darkness – no – it was utter blackness, again.
I must keep hold of the Silver Cord that binds me to my mortal flesh.
Then, as if seeing from above, I was looking at a woman with beautiful, long, black hair – just as mine had once been. She was sitting alone. No... she was holding a baby. Powerful and resolute was she, singing her song, over and over again – “They call me the Creature...”
I watched as three men approached on Horseback. They were carrying pitch-dipped staves... A Fire was lit. They torched the timbered walls and roof of the house. The Flames quickly spread. Knowing her Fate, the woman tenderly kissed her baby and then she covered her baby’s face with a blanket and smothered her to Death. She was glaring at the men through the barred window slits with her head held high, all the while mocking Rhodri and his sons as they watched and heard her.
I noticed that she wore a great white pearl hanging from her neck by a ribbon. Had she kept it all this while? Had she known who she was all along?
She never stopped singing her song, louder and louder, cradling her dead baby in her arms. Never did she scream. She sang herself into silent Death.
Oh, Mahr! Oh, Morganna...
I awoke to find Gwenda’s daughter Simu and two postulants cooling my brow and neck with wetted cloths.
“My Lady, you fell! Are you hurt?”
I immediately sent a small group of the Marsh men to my family’s fortress in Dumnonia, with a message for Bedwyr. These were sturdy men, willing to fight if necessary, for me or for my kin. Bedwyr, although not my, nor Morganna’s blood brother, must be informed of the details of my Vision – of my niece’s and her baby’s murder – also of the danger that Rowena faced. Always has Bedwyr thought of Igraine as his Mother, and Mahr was, after all, her granddaughter. I knew that he, even at his age, would round up a force of Warriors to bring retribution upon Rhodri and to protect Rowena – if we were not already too late.
I assured him that Gildas would be his ally in any way that he could, however I knew the danger Gildas could face on all fronts if he openly went against his Father and the Bishop. I asked Bedwyr to be mindful of Gildas’ position.
Besides, something told me that even if Gildas would ever be willing to, or desirous of, taking arms against his Father and brother, he would not, because of his vows of peacefulness. These vows, ironically, were not required by the Church of Rome, who in fact had many Warrior Bishops and the like. Gildas had had lon
g talks with me of his leanings toward the more Mystical followers of the Savior. “The first Church” as he had once called it – “as it was before the Roman Emperor Constantine quantified all Christian thought into Roman Christian dogma.”
“Blessed it was,” he said, “that later, many on these Fair Isles had been followers of Pelagian teachings.”
I knew of Pelagius and his Druidical leanings. Of this fact, I do not think Gildas was aware. I remember smiling on the inside when he had said these things. But, more to the point, Gildas walked his own road and it was an astonishingly peaceful one. If he had any fault that I could see, it was that he was a bit critical of much regarding of his fellows. He was still idealistic... I wondered how these seeds would grow within him.
As it was to happen, Bedwyr’s force arrived too late to save Mahr.
In the meanwhile, at the simple family burial of Mahr and her baby – Bridget, which was not attended by the Bishop or any other than Rhodri and his household, Gildas spoke of Mahr as a Christian woman, a good wife, and a loving Mother. He insisted that Bridget be laid upon her Mother in their shared grave. Rhodri, glaring impatiently at Gildas all the while, had adamantly refused to place a cross at their grave.
When it was his next opportunity, Gildas spoke privately with Rowena and gave Mahr’s song to her.
“She read it stoically,” – he wrote to me – “and without a word or tear, she burned it.”
Rowena had already confided in Gildas that she knew who Mahr really was. At that Time, Gildas warned her that she was in danger.
“I know that, too,” Rowena had said.
“I have thought of a way to keep you safe from all harm – a way our Father will gladly agree to.”
His plan was to have Rhodri sponsor Rowena’s keep and admittance as a postulant in the Christian women’s Monastery at Bryn-y-gefeilian. He wrote to me:
It lies near to the old Roman road and bridge. The Monastic center is surrounded by a village. There are plans to build a great Abbey there one Day, although I doubt they will find the funding for such, in an out of the way place like that. The population is too small, but the great Roman road which runs not far from it is still much used to travel from one town to another.
Our Father will hold delight in the thought of her taking vows of poverty, after she has been taught and becomes of an age to do so. I told Rowena that it was the only immediate way out of danger that I could see for her. I said, “You are not yet ten year-turns. Your final vows will not be expected until you are fourteen or older. I will bring you safely to these women if you agree. The Bishop also has a vested interest in supporting the decision, and he will send his seal of recommendation. For, with you in vows of poverty, his Abbey will inherit large sums from Princess Rowena’s wealth. Are you willing? I fear for your life, if not.”
Rowena had been Christened not long after her birth, but now she was branded as Demon Spawn by all around her but Gildas. He had told her that the Saints had all heard Voices or seen Visions of things to come and that this was not evil.
Rowena had reluctantly agreed – and grieving sorrowfully she rode away from the only home she had ever known, the once great and beautiful fortress that The Merlin of legend had designed and which was to have been hers alone when she became a woman at her fourteenth year-turn.
Later she told me that she wondered if she ever would see it again. This she would accomplish, years later, only to find it in scorched ruins.
Chapter 50
The Brilliance Razed
Morgan
It took Bedwyr half a Moon’s Dance to finally arrive at Princess Rowena’s fortress with a force of men he thought equal to the task of besieging it. It was, of course, impregnable, but his plan was to surround it, and starve Rhodri out.
Rhodri had expected Bedwyr to do exactly that, so he had stockpiled enough dried meat and Grains to last a year or longer. There were three Wells within the inner courtyard, so he had no concern about thirst. That was his mistake... The drought continued on and on until the Water levels were so low in the whole of the land surrounding the Hill that one at a Time, the Wells had run dry.
Rhodri, besieged and defeated, knew that Bedwyr would never allow him to leave. I was later told that he had wondered why there had been no force of support sent by the Bishop, nor in fact was any help sent by any of the surrounding Chieftains. Then he remembered, Princess Rowena’s bequest. I could only imagine his thoughts.
“That bitch! The Church and those heathen Priestesses would inherit all! The Church! That is why no help came. At least Mahr’s wicked daughter would get nothing now.”
So Rhodri vowed to a plan for himself, and he sent a messenger into the Night to Bedwyr, with word that “No one will ever hold this fortress if it is not mine!”
The messenger proved to be Rhodri’s middle son, disguised as a stable boy – who could, after delivering the massage, flee to escape harm. Bedwyr, not fooled and knowing that this man had played a part in the evils done to Mahr and her babe – had him beheaded, just outside the walls of the fortress, right before Rhodri’s eyes and just out of Rhodri’s Archers’ reach. Rhodri watched, blank faced.
Just after twilight upon the next evening, there appeared a strange glow in the deep purple, coming from the fortress, first here, then there. Then great billows of white and grey smoke crossed the Moonlit Sky and obliterated the Stars on this clearest of Nights. Next, rumblings and screams were heard. Finally pillars of dancing red and gold Flames engulfed the entire fortress. As the intensity grew, the screams silenced.
Bedwyr and his company watched, horrified, not only for the loss of humanity, but also for the loss of one of Briton’s most splendid, magnificent, architectural achievements.
Bedwyr cried, feeling once more the loss of the only man who had ever been a Father to him – Gwyddion, The Merlin.
It was later reported that when Bedwyr saw the fortress in Flames, he said, “Oh, will there be nothing left for men to remember him by? No fortress of splendor – no act of triumph? No pillar of Stone? Only the songs of Bards – lest they forget too?”
He tore his garments and threw dirt upon his head and face as he watched – through that Night and into the next Day – the utter destruction of The Merlin’s fortress. The Fire was so hot that his Company had to remove themselves to farther away. Even did many of the Stones themselves burst from the heat. At the end, there was naught but a charred ruin of roofless walls.
Rhodri had been insane, driven there by his own wickedness. He had determined to burn the grand fortress to the ground: Vortigern’s fortress, Rowena’s fortress, the fortress that The Merlin had built – killing himself along with his entire household. Not a man, woman or child was spared.
“Why?” Bedwyr had thrown his head back and asked the Stars. “Why?”
The Voices came...
“Fear not, Bedwyr. The Merlin will live in the memory of many peoples through the ages. Write all this for Morgan’s histories – without which the true story of Gwyddion and Arthur would be lost forever, or changed into unrecognisable fable forever.
“Brave Bedwyr, it will not be long until you are reunited with them in the Summerlands.”
The Voices faded.
Bedwyr came to see me at the Isle of Apples, to report all these things to me and brought with him another letter from Gildas, which told me where Rowena was.
“Bedwyr, my brother,” said I – “go home to your wife and family. Live in peace now for the rest of your life. We are both old, you and I – perhaps this will be the last Time we will meet on this side of the Veil. Thank you for writing the account of all of this for me. You are a good and loyal man. Arthur would have never been who and what he was without you. No, really, Bedwyr, I mean what I say.”
Bedwyr only smiled, in his old Foxy way.
“Farewell, my sister.”
“Farewell to you my brother, blessings be upon you and your family.”
He left our lives in this world one half of a ye
ar later – an idealist, a visionary, a supporter, a protector, and a Dragon Caller.
I began to wonder if his kind were a dying breed. My silent prayer was, “May you be blessed in the netherworld, Bedwyr, then awaken to a joyous new life.”
And the world spins round...
And they all fall down...
And they crumble to the ground...
Chapter 51
The Would-Be Abbess
Morgan
One year later...
As I saw through my inner eye and as Gildas reported, Rowena had become a postulate to the Christian Abbess – or so she would be called if they could afford an Abbey. As it was, theirs was a meager and humble settlement of perhaps two huts – miserable hovels, really – with four women living in each, a small wooden Church, two stables, a garden and a kitchen, some chickens, two Goats, a Cow, and an old Mule.
The so-called Abbess had her own private quarters. In her cottage were three precious books, which her Father, a wealthy Roman-Briton Merchant, had given to the ‘Abbey.’ One had come all the way from Constantinople. He also sent a few pieces of gold every year for her upkeep, but the thing Mother Mair – yes that was her Christian name as well – treasured most was a sliver of wood from the true cross, which her Father had also bought in Jerusalem at great price. Mother Mair kept it in her own personal shrine in her cottage, next to her crucifix. When asked why it was not kept at the Altar in the Church, she said that she feared that thieves might come in the Night.
Mother Mair took her service to her God very seriously. She was organized, efficient, and very strict. She disliked Rowena from the first moment she laid eyes upon her. At their initial interview, even with Gildas there – bringing Rowena’s large dowry, Mother Mair did little to hide her disapproval of Rowena.
Voices of the Stars Page 65
