Patrick did not know what to believe. He could almost believe anything now, for was he not on the fabled Isle of Avalon? Could the erectors of the stones have come from this Misty Isle, or perhaps it was where they went and faded into antiquity. Or maybe they were still here.
With this thought, Patrick looked around and took in the scenery. He thought again, this is Avalon.
The sky was cerulean blue, with a hint of green or aquamarine. The climate was warm and springlike, with none of the summer mugginess that wrapped up Cornwall and Mont St. Michel like a blanket. It was a comfortable place. Indeed, everything seemed dreamlike. The colors of the countryside, which would have been mundane anyplace else, seemed more vibrant here. The horizon shimmered.
Or perhaps it was all what he wanted to see and feel.
“I must admit that I am still terribly confused about the nature of the Avangarde and this whole business about what they are protecting and why at the keep,”
Wolfgang put up a halting hand.
“I will do my best to answer your inquiries, but please, one at a time, if you will. What would you like to know first?”
Patrick was silent for a moment, considering all he wanted to know and what order to say it in.
“To begin,” Patrick began, “I understand that this place, the Keep at Greensprings, is a sort of school. Correct?”
Wolfgang von Fiescher seemed to muddle over the description much as Marcus Ionus had, and then replied, “After a fashion. It is more like a…” he searched for a proper word. “A sanctuary.” He seemed most pleased by the word. “Yes, that is it, a sanctuary. Many people, mostly younger people of noble houses, come from near and far to be our charges, or our Guests as we prefer to call them. The fact that most of them are younger and that they spend a great amount of time here has obligated us to continue their education during their sojourn. So, yes, we have many scholars and educators among our staff and do not deprive our Guests of the enlightenment they would have in their home courts. In addition, we like to take the opportunity to give them a special education due to the diversity of the Guests.”
“How is that?”
Von Fiescher was now a little bent over in the direction of the Irishman and was gesturing emphatically as he spoke. “As I pointed out,” Wolfgang continued, “our Guests come from near and far. They come from families whose houses are at war with each other, have been in the past, or will be in the future. Just look at the state of the kingdoms alone. Just recently the throne of England has fallen into the hands of Henry, whose older brother, Richard, returning from the Crusades like you, gathers his forces in Normandy to invade the British Isle and claim what he feels is rightfully his. Meanwhile, King Phillipe of France watches, looking for an opportunity to accost Normandy while Richard is distracted. It is a never-ending story.
“If we can invite enough Guests here from many and varied houses of the world, we can make them live and work together like brothers and sisters. That is what we do at the Keep at Greensprings. We put them in situations where they collaborate together. It may only be organizing a feast, or acting in a Greek drama, or singing together in a choir, or dancing. But the point is, when they leave this place, they leave as friends, and further down the road, it will be difficult to make war on your friend. We hope to accomplish more than any arranged marriage ever did.”
“That is a very noble concept, but as you pointed out, Henry and Richard are brothers, yet they make war on each other. Pope Urban has declared a sort of Holy Truce among the princes of the Christian kingdoms during the Crusade, yet the fighting continues,” Patrick pointed out, not wishing to be the devil's advocate but feeling that it needed to be said.
Von Fiescher sighed. “This is true. However, we will endeavor to make a better world anyway. Look at Christianity itself. Its doctrines run counter to human nature and strive to make people better, despite the obvious obstacles. It certainly does not stop from a lack of trying. Do you have any misgivings with the office now that you have a better understanding of it?”
Patrick shook his head. He was just happy to be accepted, and therefore did not wish to push his luck by pointing out to von Fiescher what role he saw Christianity play in the Crusade, and what impact it had on him. “No, not at all. I would be pleased to be part of such an undertaking.”
The road meandered through the countryside. Sword grass changed to oak forests, ponds laced with cattails and reeds, gurgling brooks, and the occasional standing stone.
“Why here in Avalon? And how on earth did it come about?” Patrick asked next.
“That is a bit of a story in itself,” Wolfgang said. “Let us rest here for a while, eat, and I will tell it to you. You must be hungry.”
Patrick was indeed hungry. He had not eaten much before leaving Cornwall, and now hunger had caught up with him. He was once again thankful for the man's foresight as he watched the older knight dismount and hand him a wedge of cheese, some bread, and uncork a flask of wine. They sat on the grass and ate.
While attempting to fend off Siegfried's nuzzling, Patrick listened to the tale von Fiescher spun.
#
“Long ago, as many stories go, there were those who sought the Holy Grail, not unlike the Knights of the Round Table. This took place after the time of Arthur. Latter-day knights quested for it still, as it was the symbol of the ultimate achievement in chivalry. Indeed, to but lay eyes on it was an honor and was considered a successful quest. Many considered that such a quest would bring wisdom and enlightenment. It was for this reason that a band of knights set sail into the Western Sea in search of Avalon. They believed that, since it was Arthur who last possessed the holy object, he would naturally have brought it to Avalon, where it was carried after his last battle.
“Some versions of the tale say that the fortunate knights came upon an enchanted boat in the shape of a swan on one of the tributaries near the Tor at Canterbury. As all stories had the heroes boarding such a magical craft, they did not hesitate to do likewise. They were then subsequently borne to the Misty Isle, where the boat turned into an actual swan and led them inland to a bubbling spring among whispering green willows.
“There they drank from the waters and had a vision of the Grail. They fell to their knees and praised the Lord. After that, they commenced to pile stone upon stone and built a fortress about the spring. They called the fortress the Keep at Greensprings and resided there, keeping vigil for another vision of the Grail.”
Von Fiescher was silent for a moment. “That is the tale. A shortened and unromantic version in any case. I am sorry for that, for I am no great storyteller, and we do not have all day.”
“I have not heard this tale,” Patrick said.
The older knight shrugged. “That is not surprising. I had not heard it myself until I joined the Order. “Anyway, the story does not end there. Not long ago, fishermen of Cornwall, the Scilly Isles, and southern Eire reported a mist that came and went on the Western Sea. Occasionally their boats would drift into this mist and become lost, sometimes for days. During this time, the crew men would see an island fading in and out of the mist from time to time. All attempts to reach this land were futile. It was like chasing a mirage. They guessed, and correctly so, that this was the fabled realm of Avalon, unattainable by mortal man by ordinary means. After a while, all fishing vessels stayed clear of the mist.
“One day, however, after there had been hunger among the common folk of England and their nets had caught next to nothing in the seas, a poor fisherman came across a large white swan on the ocean. He thought it extremely strange that such a creature was so far from land and out of its element, but he did not ponder the matter much, for he was hungry and so was his family back home. He was set on capturing the bird.
“'If I cannot catch fish,' the fisherman said, 'then my family shall dine on roast swan. 'The fisherman cast his net over the fowl and dragged it into his boat. But lo and behold, the bird spoke and begged the man not to kill it. Although the fisherman was fri
ghtened, he was also very hungry, and that soon won out over fear.
“'I am sorry,' the fisherman said, 'but my family goes hungry and they must eat.'
“The swan pleaded more. 'Please sir,' the swan said, 'I can see in your heart that you are a good man and would not bring harm to a defenseless creature such as myself, for as you can see, I am no ordinary swan.' The fisherman began to weep, for it was true that he was good in his heart and felt that it would be a sin to kill the swan. He released the bird and told it to go.
“'I shall not forget this,' the swan said, and left behind two of its feathers. 'Take these as a remembrance of this occasion so that you will never forget that you have a place in Heaven.' With that the bird flew from the boat into the mist that was collecting on the water.
“In his despair the fisherman almost threw the feathers into the water, but decided to do as the swan suggested, and he kept them. When the fisherman returned home to his family empty-handed once again, he was filled anew with despair and began to weep. But, as a tear alighted on one of the feathers, it turned into an egg of solid gold, and the fisherman and his family were never hungry again.
“Many years later, the second feather was given to a priest as a gift. The priest, not fully appreciating or believing the tale of the swan, used the feather as a quill for writing. This priest wished to commune with God, so he set off on a pilgrimage in search of the Holy Grail. He, too, knew of the legends of King Arthur and of the Keep at Greensprings and decided to seek the Grail at Avalon. He knew also the reports that the fisherman made of the Isle in the mist that could not be reached. But he suspected that if his pilgrimage was pure enough, he would be granted access to the Isle. To assist in his endeavors, he wrote out on parchment a long list of prayers that he would chant through the mist on his journey. He did this with the swan quill.
“He commissioned a fishing boat and set sail into the Western Sea. And soon, he came across the mist and headed straight into it, chanting the entire way. As he had hoped, he penetrated the mist and came to land on the shores of Avalon. He discovered the land to be wild and the Keep at Greensprings abandoned, the knights having ascended into Heaven much like the prophet Elijah. But he also found the spring from whence the knights drank, and whose water gave them visions of the Grail. The priest did likewise, and he, too, had a vision of the Grail. But with the vision was a message. It told him that it was not the prayers alone that had brought him through the mist but the feather of the Avalon Swan. And only the feather, or an invitation written with the quill, would provide conduct through the mist.
“The vision also showed him a new order in the Keep at Greensprings, and the peoples of the world united there. We are that legacy, Sir Gawain, and so are you now.”
Patrick sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped about them as he listened. Now that the story was finished, he pondered silently. Siegfried had stopped nuzzling him and was now noisily munching on grass nearby.
“How did this priest know what to do? I mean, today you have the Guests working together to know one another. Was it always this way?” Patrick asked.
“At first he did not know what to do. All he knew was that he had an isolated island, a vacant fortress, and a mission,” von Fiescher responded. “He returned to his parish and asked advice of all manner of people: first other clergymen, then nobility, and then the scholars. Many needed to be convinced since they did not believe the priest's story. The priest invited several representatives to the Isle before it was widely accepted. The priest still had trouble convincing others of his vision, of the possibility to unite people. In the end, he could only persuade the richer lords to send their representatives, their children, their heirs to Avalon under the guise of a sanctuary. A place where they would be safe from troubles in their homelands.”
Von Fiescher was silent a moment, as if pondering something himself. “Like you, others came to see the Keep at Greensprings as an école privée. Under that pretense, Greensprings received sanctions and funding from several great houses in Europe. Representatives of those who had interests at stake in the idea gathered in Rome, and there they set up a council. It is through them that nobility and merchant class alike petition to have their children attend Greensprings. It is they who handle the funds. It is they who issue the invitations written with the swan quill. It is they who are answerable to the families and the Pope. It is they who demanded that Greensprings be protected by an order of knights. And thus, we were created: the Avangarde.”
“Marcus Ionus is on the council,” Patrick said.
“Correct,” Wolfgang answered. “He is the Greensprings and Avangarde Advocate. He reports to the council. We like to say that he is our man on the outside, since he was once an Avangarde himself. Last year many of our Guests finished their studies, and many were called home. And because of the wars right now, we are in an interlude of sorts. A number of our Avangarde have gone to follow other banners. Marcus Ionus was charged with finding new members. He has completed his mission none too soon, for as we speak, shiploads of new Guests embark for Avalon with swan-sealed scrolls like the one you brought me. I have recently received word that the last of the Reservists will be arriving soon from London. Much work must be done before the new Guests arrive. The fortress must be prepared and the new Avangarde trained. It is a never-ending process.” Wolfgang sighed heavily, but he was smiling as if experiencing fond memories.
“Just how long has this been going on?” Patrick asked.
Von Fiescher took some time to remove himself from his reverie to reply. “The original founder, the priest in the story Father Dominique Chanceroy, passed away some twenty years ago. So it has been going on for that long and another, I would guess, four years. We have had around seven or eight interludes like the one we are experiencing now. As for myself, I have been part of it only for the past ten years, and Marcus Ionus for five.”
Patrick was astounded. “It is a wonder that I have never heard of any of this.”
Wolfgang shrugged. “The Council likes it that way. I imagine they would like it kept that way. Marcus is usually a good judge of character and evidently saw in you the potential to make a good Avangarde someday, as well as one who would believe enough in Greensprings to maintain its secrecy.”
Patrick nodded. “Of course. But what if I decided this was not for me, and wanted to leave?”
The old man smiled in a way that reminded Patrick of Marcus Ionus. Both men could have a twinkle in their eye as if they had made a remarkably witty statement and were waiting for the listener to catch on. “Then you would be free to go your own way. And if you should tell the world of Avalon and Greensprings, would anyone believe it? Did you when you were first told? In any case, it would just feed the legend.”
There was good reasoning in this.
They sat for a while after finishing their meal, Patrick digesting the story, along with the cheese and bread. Siegfried was still nosing through the green grass.
“And what is your story?” He asked. “How did you become part of the Avangarde?”
Another Ionian smile. “You will find, Sir Gawain, that many of us, Guests and Avangarde alike, have our own 'stories' and wish to keep them private.” He leaned closer to the Irishman, becoming more serious, but still maintaining a smile. “You may understand that. Many come here for a while as a retreat from reality. To reorganize themselves. And during that time, they like to be known only for their valor. Do not misunderstand me; this is not an island full of criminals and shady characters.” The seriousness left von Fiescher, and his own, bigger smile took control of his face as he looked away. “And there are those who will talk your ears off.”
Patrick concluded that privacy was to be respected here. Because he was in no hurry to tell others of the robed specter that hounded him, nor anything else, he was content to mind his own business.
“Shall we be going?” Wolfgang asked. Patrick nodded and helped gather up their mess. They then mounted and continued on
their way.
The final leg of the trip was short. The entire journey from the harbor totaled perhaps two hours, not including their lunch. The path entered a forest and mounted a hill, and then broke out over a small, gently sloping wooded valley.
Here, von Fiescher pointed across the valley while saying, “The Keep at Greensprings. Welcome, bienvenue, and willkommen. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
A gray fortress on the opposite side from the hill was built into the far valley wall. One got the impression of cylinders and cubes held together by a wall, but it was not an unpleasant sight. It evoked a feeling of safety.
From von Fiescher’s story, Patrick imagined a rudimentary place, a kind of pile of broken stones on a hilltop. Patrick was impressed.
“Let us get you home, Sir Gawain,” Wolfgang said.
#
A crevasse stopped them short of the main gate. They drew their horses up, and a hail from Wolfgang brought the drawbridge down and the portcullis up.
The heavy sound of the horses’ hooves on the wood bridge became the resounding noise of metal on cobblestone once they reached the courtyard. Inside was the rounded face of the large central keep. A stairway fanned out from two massive iron-studded doors. On either side of the doorway was a set of craftily shaped columns in the shape of trees. Great pains went into making the columns appear as if they had been live trees taken from the forest, so detailed were they. To the right of the keep entrance was a large fountain. A spring flowed from the living rock, which made up this portion of the wall and bubbled into a pool at the foot of the stone. The stone where the water originated was carved into the image of a bearded man with water gurgling forth from its open mouth.
Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) Page 4
