Arthur

'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.