The queen referred to Arthur's continued clashes with the lords and petty kings of the south, who worried at him constantly. If it was not one thing with them, it was another. Nothing ever made them happy – except baiting the Bear of Britain, which they considered good sport. Woe to them!
The northern kings knew better. The wars, only a minor vexation in the south, and now long forgotten, still lived in the memories of the people whose lands had been seized and families slaughtered by the barbarians. The tribes of the north revered their Pendragon, where the southern men merely tolerated him. More and more, Arthur looked upon the north as his home and he sojourned there whenever he could – but always at Eastertide and the Christ Mass.
Gradually, as the High King's sentiments had shifted, the heart of his realm had moved away from the south as well. Wherefore the lords of the south made greater cause against him. Petty dogs, all of them! The knew not when they were well off.
The queen did not stay at the rotunda. Having made her inspection, she was eager to return to the palace to begin ordering the celebration. Before the retinue left, the Emrys came to me. 'I am going to see my mother and Avallach settled in their new home. I want you to come with me.'
I had assumed that I would stay at the shrine. Indeed, I looked upon it as my duty. But I did as I was bade, and I went with him. We reached Caer Lial at twilight, slept in the palace, and departed again early the next morning. A ship waited in the harbour to take us to the Isle of the Fisher King, the island men of the north now call Avallon, or sometimes Ynys Sheaynt, Island of Blessed Peace.
I did not know where this island might be, nor how long our voyage would last. I did not care. For, with the sunrise on the sparkling water, my dread left me and all I could think was that I was on my way to meet the mysterious Fisher King and his renowned daughter. I had never seen Fair Folk – save the Emrys, if he was one – and anticipation flourished in me. The ship could not sail fast enough.
The island lies off the western coast midway between Ierne and Britain, a good day's sailing. It is the peculiar quality of this sea-girt land that it disappears from time to time. The Cymry say this is because Manannan ap Llyr, Lord of the Sea, grows jealous of this most fortunate isle and covers it with the Lengel, the Veil of Concealment, so that men will not covet it for themselves.
Avallon lies surrounded by deep blue waters, overarched by Ha??ling blue skies, caressed by gentle winds and weather. Fish of all types abound in its warm seas, and its broad plains bring forth grain in unmatched quantity, sheep and cattle grow fat on its hillsides. Indeed, it is a Fortunate Isle; fair in every way. Arthur had claimed this island and provided for a church and monastery to crown its unsung glory; these were to be overseen by Avallach.
Our pilot guided the ship into the cliff-bound bay, whereupon we made landfall at a stone-built dock and led our horses up the hill to the track. We then proceeded directly across the island to the western coast, passing by bright woods and dark-crested forests, and wide, green, flower-speckled meadows sown through with freshets and brooks, reaching the Fair Folk settlement as the last red-flamed rays of the sun dwindled into the sea.
I saw for the first time the two tall white towers, now glowing red-gold in the setting sun, which rose from a wall-enclosed mound overlooking the sea. Inside the wall, the high-pitched roof of a goodly hall glinted like silver scales, or glass, as the slate caught the light. Sheep grazed on the stronghold mound outside the walls, their white fleeces turned a rosy gold in the light, the grass shining like emerald. A clear stream sang its glistening way around the whole as it plunged to the sea-cliffs beyond. Horses roamed at will, noses sunk in the sweet-scented grass.
The Wise Emrys shouted with joy when he beheld the shining stronghold. He opened his mouth and sang out a hymn of holy praise, and lashed his horse to a gallop so that he might enter the gates all the sooner. I followed as fast as I could, marvelling at the blessed sight before me.
In all, the place seemed to me an Otherworldly paradise, a realm of gods on earth. I was confirmed in this observation when we rode through the narrow, high-arched gates and glimpsed the Fair Folk themselves moving about their tasks – much remained to be done before the fortress would be fully settled.
Tall and many-favoured, they are a handsome race. Fair to look upon, graceful, straight-limbed, firm of flesh, the elder race is greatly to be admired. The Creator's glory is much manifest in them. Yet for all their comeliness and favour they are a melancholy people; their time is not long in this worlds-realm and they regret it bitterly.
We were met by Fair Folk who recognized the Emrys and called him by name as they ran to hold our horses. 'Merlin! Summon the king! Merlin is here!'
Avallach greeted us as we dismounted. A dark mane of curly hair, quick dark eyes, and a dark beard coiled in the manner of eastern kings gave him an ominous, threatening aspect, which his deep, thundering voice did not altogether dispel. The Bear of Britain is a big man, and Myrddin is not small, but the Fisher King stood head and shoulders above both. For all this, he was not awkward or slow in his movements as men of such size often are; the innate grace of his kind was in him. Nevertheless, as he strode towards us I marvelled that the earth did not shake beneath his feet.
The king's dark eyes glinted and white teeth flashed a smile in his dark beard. 'Merlin! I give you good greeting! Welcome home.'
The Emrys embraced the king and then stood off to view the stronghold. 'It is not the palace on the Tor,' he said. I thought I heard a note of sadness in his voice.
'No,' agreed Avallach, 'it is not. Ah, but I was growing weary with the Glass Isle. The good brothers were happy to have the palace and will make excellent use of it – a scriptorium, I believe, and a larger hospice. The sick make pilgrimage to Shrine Hill in ever-increasing numbers. They will find it a peaceful place.' He paused and lifted a hand to the gleaming palace. 'But come, Merlin. My hall has not yet been baptized with song – and now that you are here, that oversight can be corrected. Come, we will lift the guest cup.'
'I would enjoy nothing more,' the Emrys said, 'but I must greet my mother first.'
'Of course!' cried Avallach. 'She is in the grove, directing the planting. Go to her and bring her back. I will await you in the hall. Go!' The Fisher King waved us away.
We hurried from the yard, passed through the gates and made our way along the wall to the west side facing the sea. There, on the sunny slopes above the sheer cliffs, the Lady of the Lake had established her apple grove. The trees were sprigs and saplings brought from the Tor, and she knelt at one of them, pressing the earth around its roots with her hands
At our approach she raised her head, saw her son and smiled. My heart soared. She seemed an earthly goddess such as the Learned Brotherhood revere in their ancient songs. But the derwydd speak in ignorance, for the flesh-and-bone reality far surpasses their bloodless ideal.
She rose to her feet and, brushing dirt from her mantle and her hands, walked quickly towards us. I could not move, or look away. All my life I had heard of the Lady of the Lake and, seeing her, knew the utter worthlessness of words justly to describe what lies beyond their scan. Hair like sunlight on flax, eyes green as forest glades, skin as soft and white as… it was hopeless.
'My mother, Charis,' the Emrys was saying. I came to myself with a start, realizing I had been transfixed by the Lady of the Lake's astonishing beauty.