Our sojourn proceeded uneventfully. I spent several days wandering along the cliff-tops above the sea, watching the grey seals dive for fish and sun themselves on the rocks. I talked to the Fair Folk, when I could engage one of them, and struck an awkward friendship with one of the grooms in Avallach's stable. In this way, I learned some surprising things about the Fair Folk, but nothing about the matter I sought.
At night I stayed near the Emrys so that I might hear all that passed. My vigil availed me nothing, however, until the last night. We were to leave the next morning, to be in Caer Lial when the Pendragon arrived – which would be soon.
The Emrys sat between the Fisher King and his mother, and I served them so as to be near. They talked of crops and cattle, of fishing, and the winter weather on the island…
All at once, the Emrys grew serious. He dropped his knife onto the table, letting it fall from his hand as if he lacked the strength to grasp it. He turned to his mother and said, 'Where is Morgian?'
Chads' hand fluttered to her mouth. 'What do you mean?'
'Must I ask again?'
'Oh, Hawk, you cannot think she would – ' she did not say the words. 'Why do you ask?'
'Since coming here I have sensed her presence. If she has not been here, she is surely coming.'
Avallach, I noticed, stopped eating and swallowed hard, as if choking down the food in his mouth. He laid down his knife and gripped the edge of the board with his hands.
He knows something! I thought, and wondered whether the Emrys would see this. But he did not turn towards the Fisher King and continued to speak only to his mother. 'Do you think she would do this?' Charis asked. 'Why?'
The Emrys shook his head slowly. 'I cannot say. Her ways are beyond reckoning.' Then he reached out his hand and took one of his mother's and pressed it hard. 'Beware,' he cautioned. 'There is a matter here I do not know, and an end I cannot see. Please, beware.'
No more was said and, once it had passed, talk returned to more pleasant things. Still, I wondered. The Wise Emrys' words found a place within me and echoed like a hand-struck harp: if she has not been here, she is surely coming.
I did not find opportunity to speak to the Emrys about what I had seen at the Fisher King's table until we were aboard ship and well away from the island. The Emrys moved apart from the sailors to stand gazing at the waves scattering before the ship's sharp prow. I hurried to him and said, 'Lord Emrys, a word, please.'
He answered absently, without turning. 'Yes? What is it, Aneirin?'
Strangely, I did not say the thing I meant to say, but spoke something perhaps closer to my heart. 'Why did you wish me to come with you to Ynys Avallach?'
He considered this for a goodly time and then answered, 'I do not know, boy.' His eyes did not turn from the sea. 'Why do you ask?'
Now it was my turn to admit ignorance.
‘Well,' observed the Emrys sagely, 'you see how it is.' He smiled and turned to look at me. I must have presented a sobering countenance, for he asked, 'Ah, there is a deeper thing that you have not said. Is this so?'
'Yes, Emrys.'
'Then speak it out, lad.'
I told him what I had witnessed of the Fisher King's behaviour. As I spoke, the Emrys' eyes narrowed. 'I did not think to ask him,' he murmured.
'Who is this Morgian?' I inquired, little knowing what I asked. Great the grief. I wish I had never heard the name, nor let it pass my lips.
Weary pain pinched the Emrys' features. 'She is… ' he began, and halted. Then shaking his head, he said, 'Have you never heard of the Queen of Air and Darkness?'
'No,' I told him with a shrug. 'The name means nothing to me.'
'Can it be?' the Emrys wondered. 'Men's memories are short, but evil endures long.' He turned back to his contemplation of the sea, but I knew that he did not see it. For his sight had turned inward and he no longer travelled the bright sea-path before us.
FOUR
Four days before Lugnasadh the Pendragon returned to Caer Lial. Three hundred of the Cymbrogi followed in his retinue. He rode at their head on a milk-white stallion, wearing a high helm of burnished steel set about with gold, the famed sword Caliburnus at his side. On his shoulder he wore Prydwen, the shield with the cross of the Christ painted in crimson upon its white washed surface. Caval, his enormous hound, trotted beside him, head up proud and high. Before him went the Red Dragon, the High King's standard wrought of fine red-gold and carried by Rhys, whose honour it was to go before all.
I stood on the rampart of the wall as the High King drew near. People from the city ran out from the gates below me and onto the road, waving bits of coloured cloth and calling out to him in greeting. All my life I had heard about Arthur, Wonderful Pendragon, High King of the Island of the Mighty, fairest monarch that is in the world – but nothing of all that I had heard prepared me for the glory of the man I saw riding towards me on the road.
The Bear of Britain was a mighty man, tall and strong, quick of eye and wit, steady of hand and purpose, keen as the sword at his side, and bright as the sun that shone upon him. Lord of Summer he was called and, God be praised, it was not a boast.
Gwalchavad and Bors rode at the king's left hand, and the exalted Llenlleawg at his right. I would have known those champions anywhere, though I had never clapped eyes on them before that moment. They rode high-stepping steeds, and carried spears with gleaming silver heads. Bold men, and brave; they wore their valour with authority, like the bright-coloured cloaks folded upon their shoulders.
The High King and the Cymbrogi – who, because of the Red Dragon standard, had become known as the Flight of Dragons – passed through the high timber gates and into the city. Caer Lial had been prepared for the Pendragon's return; the queen saw to it. The streets had been washed with water, and everywhere hung garlands of flowers gathered from the hills and woven into long strands. The people clamoured for their king, and shouted loud praises and welcome to him. To all, the Pendragon bestowed the estimable honour of his glad greeting. Clearly, Caer Lial had become the chief residence of his heart. Here was he loved and revered; here was he honoured above all.
Leaving the rampart, I ran to the palace, racing through the throng, its lusty acclaim loud in my ears. In the palace yard the crowd gathered, so tight-pressed that I could not move. The High King dismounted and climbed the steps, where he paused to deliver a message of greeting to the people. But I was so far removed, and the throng so noisy, I could not hear a word.
Only when the Pendragon had gone inside, and the crowds dispersed, could I make my way to the rear of the palace where I could enter. Everyone had gathered in the hall and Queen Gwenhwyvar had mead vats prepared and cups filled and ready. They were drinking the success of the High King's southern journey, for he had mediated and ended a long-running dispute between the Saecsens and Britons over farmland along the border between these two peoples.
In consequence, Bretwalda Aelle and his house carles had come to Caer Lial with Arthur to show his fealty to the High King, and to attend the ceremony of the Round Table. Other lords of southern Britain had also come, notably Idris and Cador, along with men of their warbands.
The sweet yellow mead circled around the hall in cups. Queen Gwenhwyvar stood proudly beside the king, who held her with his hand around her waist, and gazed out upon the glad company. The Emrys stood near, with Cai and Bedwyr beside him. So that I could remain with them, I took up a jar and filled it from a mead vat and began serving it out. Cai summoned me to him and offered his cup.