King Arthur heard my inquiry and answered. 'It is a day for celebration!' he cried. 'A great work is to be accomplished. Greater than any seen in the Island of the Mighty since Bran the Blessed raised his golden throne.' By this he meant the legendary Judgement Seat – Bran's chair of gold on which he sat to dispense justice to his people. Bran's judgements, ingenious in fairness, became law for a thousand years. In elder times, Bran's law was the only law in the land and it was just.
'What is to happen, Pendragon?' I asked.. 'The holiest object that is in the world is to become enshrined in the Round Table.' He smiled and clapped a hand to my shoulder, nearly knocking me off my feet. He and the Emrys moved on to the fire, leaving me no wiser than before.
Bedwyr came to my aid. 'What do they mean?' I asked. 'What is this holiest object?'
'Have you never heard of the Lord's Cup?' he said, moving on. I fell into step beside him. 'The Grail of Jesu at the last supper of his earthly life; the one he took and blessed with the sacrament of wine – where he said, 'This is my blood, shed for you, my faithful brothers. Drink of it often and remember me.'
'That cup,' I replied. 'Of course I know it. But what is it to do with us?'
'That cup, as you call it, is here in Britain. The Emrys has seen it, and so, I am told, has Avallach and others as well.'
'Where is it?'
Bedwyr laughed. 'That is for us to discover.'
'How?'
'How indeed!' He laughed at me for my curiosity – it is and always was my bane – and then explained. 'Not by force of arms, you may be certain. Nor by cunning or stealth or treachery. But,' he said thoughtfully, 'perhaps by constancy of faith and strength of rightdoing, by the true heart's firm devotion – these might win it, I think.'
'A man would have to be an angel,' I observed.
Bedwyr looked at me with his keen, dark eyes and nodded, the light hint of his smile touching his lips. 'Now are men called to be angels in this world, Aneirin, and to do the angels' work.'
What he meant by that, I only now have discovered and too late. It was so close I did not see it. May I be forgiven, I was young and there was so much I did not understand about the world.
The Christ Mass at Caer Lial… it is the closest thing to heaven that I know. That mass, above all others, was observed in my father's house, but it never called forth the celebration I witnessed in Arthur's court. Bishops and archbishops, priests and monks, kings and lords and their retinues, descended upon Arthur's city in numbers enough to do battle. Which, in a way, perhaps they were.
I was kept busy running from dawn's break to past time for bed, serving as groom and porter, cup bearer and steward. Now in the stables, now in the kitchens, now in the chamber – wherever another pair of hands was needed. I worked hard and went to sleep exhausted. But never was I happier.
For Arthur's palace, always a happy place, became filled with a spirit of ecstatic joy, of rapture sweet as honeyed mead, of kindly harmony and accord. Oh, it was a heady balm; I was dizzy and delirious with it! I still hear the laughter ringing in the furthest corners and echoing in the yards. Cups raised in friendship, voices raised in song.
The sainted Samson of Dol drew the honour of performing the mass itself, attended by Columcill, his pupil. He stood tall and gaunt, reading out the holy writ, his deep voice falling upon our ears like the tolling of a bell. He read the sacred text and lifted that extraordinary voice in prayer, and any of the Devil's ilk lurking near were surely put to flight, even as our own souls were lifted to rapturous heights of holiness.
After the mass there was feasting, and more singing, and the giving of gifts. I myself received a gold-handled knife from the High King and a fine blue gemstone from Bedwyr.
Cai poured me a cup of mulled wine, and bade me drink it all with his blessing.
At the height of this glad time appeared those who had come to pledge fealty to Arthur. Some were lords, and some were the sons of lords who wished to join the Cymbrogi. There were several young Pictish nobles among them who had come also, seeking Arthur's peace and allegiance. One of these was a youth named Medraut.
The petitioners came into the High King's council hall, where he sat to hear these requests. One by one they were given leave to plead their cause and, it being a day of holy celebration, each was granted the thing desired.
And then came Medraut.
He boldly approached the High King's seat and knelt down at once. With humble, downcast eyes he made his petition. 'Wonderful Pendragon, I seek fosterage in your noble house.' He spoke well, without the slightest hint of the thickness of the Pied tongue.
Some in the hall drew breath sharply on hearing this, for it was an affront to the High King's generosity. They thought the youth ill-advised in taking advantage of the holy celebration to ask such a thing. But Medraut was canny; he knew that he would in no wise be refused on this day above all others. And, once having given his word before all his nobles, Arthur would never take it back.
In this Medraut was right, but it won him no friends. No one liked to see the High King's generosity and fairness abused in this way. Many grumbled against him from that very moment.
'Fosterage is no small thing,' said Arthur cautiously, 'and not lightly to be entered. What is your name?'
'I am Medraut ap Urien, Lord of Monoth.' Where this might be I had no idea, and I had lived all my life in the north.
'Come to me when our celebration has ended, Medraut. Better still, bring your father and we will discuss this between us.'
The youth was not to be put off. 'For the sake of your celebration, Exalted Lord, I plead you not to refuse me.'
The Emrys looked on and observed what was taking place. 'Oh, that was well done. Do not play gwyddbwyll with this one,' he warned goodnaturedly, and added, 'and do not lend him your knife.' He flicked my new knife with his finger and moved off.
I studied the youth more carefully. His skin was pallid and wan, as if he never moved about in the sunlight; his hair was black and flowing, hanging down in his dark eyes, and curling over his shoulders like a woman's hair. He was slender and graceful of movement and manner; when he walked, he trod only on the balls of his feet, not the heel. He was fine-featured, delicate as a maid, but in the main not unpleasant to look upon. Some of the younger women of Arthur's court found him handsome enough, I believe.
Arthur the High King also observed the youth before him and, thinking no ill, acquiesced to his wish. 'I do not refuse you, man. In exchange for your fealty, I grant you fosterage until such time as I deem you ready to take your place in the world.'
On hearing this, Medraut fell upon his face before the High King. 'Lord and Pendragon,' he said, 'I offer you fealty and honour and loyalty. As long as my body holds breath, I am your man.'
Arthur accepted Medraut and bade him to join the celebration. 'A bed will be found for you and you will be made comfortable. Now then put aside this talk, come and feast with us and enjoy this glad and holy day.' Then he rose and declared the council at an end, whereupon all made way to the hall to continue the feast. It fell to me to rind a place for Medraut to sleep – no simple task, for every chamber and bed was already well filled.
In the end, and at considerable trouble to myself, I arranged for him to sleep in the stable with some of the grooms. When I explained the arrangement he grew indignant. 'You think me beneath you, slave!' he demanded body.
'I did not say what I thought of you,' I replied, bristling. I confess I knew little of him, but that little I did not care for. I thought him arrogant and petty for binding Arthur with his word and manipulating the High King's generosity. 'I am a fosterling like as you are.'