Arthur

'Aneirin, bring your jar!' he called, and I was not slow to obey. I poured his cup full, and Bedwyr's as well, whereupon the Seneschal said, 'Arthur's cup is empty, lad. Fill it!'

I turned to see the Pendragon's clear blue eyes upon me. He smiled and held out his gold-rimmed horn. Trembling, I lifted the jar, not daring to raise my head before him. I felt a touch on my hand. The High King placed his hand beneath mine to steady the jar, saying, 'Be easy, young friend.' He regarded me carefully. 'What is your name?'

'I am Aneirin ap Caw,' I replied. 'I am yours to command, Pendragon.'

'Bold lad!' laughed Cai.

'I remember you,' replied Bedwyr, 'though I confess I did not recognize you – covered in stone dust the last I saw you!'

'Indeed, Bedwyr!' chided the queen nicely. 'I remember seeing you with Myrddin,' Gwenhwyvar said. 'Forgive me, Aneirin, I did not know you were Caw's son.'

'He has been serving me at the shrine and at Ynys Avallach,' the Emrys said, stepping close. 'Already he has proven himself a worthy friend and ally.'

It pleased me overmuch to hear myself praised in this way, and I blushed crimson to hear it.

'Stay near, Aneirin ap Caw,' said the High King amiably. 'This looks to be a thirsty gathering. We may have need of your jar before long.'

'Oh, aye!' cried Cai. 'Do not wander far, lad, and keep your beaker filled.'

With such high-flown encouragement ringing in my ears, I slaved the night away, stopping only once, when the Emrys sang with his harp. The whole vast hall fell silent as a forest glade – indeed, the world itself seemed to hold breath to hear him! – and, with the True Bard's music filling my heart, I vowed that I would ever seek the noble path, and prayed I would be allowed to remain in Arthur's service for ever!

The next day the king and queen left Caer Lial and made their way to the Round Table. Only those whose names had been inscribed inside the monument were allowed to ride with them. I went, because the Emrys deemed my service valuable. Someone had to take care of the horses. And, since I already knew the whereabouts of the shrine, better to take me than another.

Upon coming within view of the rotunda, King Arthur dismounted and walked the remaining distance, saying that, out of respect for the sacrifice of those who had given mean ing to the monument, he would not draw near save humbly afoot. He mounted the hill and knelt before the shrine with great reverence.

Gwenhwyvar watched her husband intently, dark eyes filled with deep feeling for him and for this day, continually clasping and unclasping her hands in expectation.

The High King rose and, laying aside his sword, entered the Round Table. Whereupon, his captains followed him in solemn procession: Cai, Bedwyr, Bors, Gwalchavad, Llenlleawg – each putting off his weapons before entering. The Emrys, Gwenhwyvar and I remained outside for a little. Then the queen went in, and the Emrys last.

I settled myself at the picket with the horses near the stream, fully intending to stay there. The others had been inside the shrine only a short while when I heard the galloping hoofbeats of a rider approaching along the sea-strand below. I ran to the hillside and looked down to see a lone warrior pounding along the wave-washed sand.

I shrank back behind a bush, lest I attract his attention and he should be drawn to the shrine. But I might have saved myself the trouble. For, though he looked neither right nor left, as he drew even with the monument, he turned his horse and drove the animal straight up the hill track to the rotunda.

At first I thought to run and fetch the Emrys, or otherwise warn those within, but something stayed me, some familiarity of the rider. For though he was strange indeed to my eyes – dressed in bright red tunic and trousers, with a fine blue cloak edged in fur, and with a silver tore at his throat – I felt I knew him somehow.

He halted, swung from the saddle and jumped down. I had seen another do that just this morning. Gwalchavad had dismounted just that way.

But it was Gwalchavad! Impossible! I had seen him go into the rotunda only moments before. Another then, yet like enough…

Out of the corner of his eye he must have seen me lurking near the thicket, for he turned suddenly, his spear swinging level. 'Please, my lord,' I said. 'Put up your spear, this is holy ground.'

He grinned pleasantly. 'Startle a warrior and take your chances, boy,' he replied. 'I mean no one harm. Have they gone in already?'

I nodded. He dropped the reins to the ground and turned to gaze at the shrine. Then, without a word, he climbed the steps to go in. I rushed after him, thinking to prevent him, but he reached the doorway first and entered. Dreading the intrusion, I hurried after him and entered just in time to see the High King leap to his feet with a look of astonishment on his face.

The others appeared equally astounded, but no one seemed to mind the interruption. Gwalchavad recovered speech first. 'Gwalcmai!' he cried. 'Brother, where have you been?'

Gwalcmai ignored him and went straight to the High King and fell down on his face before him, stretching out his hands to either side. Arthur bent low and gripped him by the shoulder and raised him, saying, 'Rise, Gwalcmai, you are welcome in my company. Get up, brother, and let us look at you!'

Gwalcmai climbed to his feet and embraced his king, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks. Gwalchavad pounded him happily on the back and the two brothers fell into one another's arms. In all, it was a glad reunion. Bedwyr and Cai gathered near and clapped hands to him as well.

I saw the Emrys standing by and crept near. 'I tried to stop him,' I explained in a whisper.

'No need,' he said. 'He is one of our own returned from a long journey.'

'Very long?'

'Seventeen years.'

A far journey to take so long, I thought. 'Where did he go?'

'Oh,' replied the Wise Emrys, 'he went in search of himself and found God instead.'

This made no sense to me at all, but I did not pursue it further at the moment. I left the others to their ceremony, and returned to my place at the horse picket. The sudden appearance of the rider put me in mind of another intruder – the one who had come to the rotunda that night. The feeling made me uneasy, though I could not think why.

'I have been several years with Bishop Sepulcius, receiving holy instruction from that good man,' Gwalcmai said. 'And before that I wandered long in Llyonesse, Gorre, and Armorica.'

We were at meat in Caer Lial, having returned from the Round Table at dusk. Everywhere was Gwalcmai welcomed and greeted by one and all. He had been away so long, no one ever expected to see him again, thinking him dead and gone.

On the way back to the city, the Emrys explained to me how it was. 'He went in search of Pelleas,' he said.

'You said he went in search of himself,' I reminded him.

'So he did. He thought he was searching for Pelleas, but it was his own soul that stood in need of saving.'

'Who was this Pelleas?'

The Great Emrys sighed. 'Pelleas was my steward, and my dearest friend.'

'What happened to him?'

The Emrys fixed me with a stern glance from his golden eyes. 'You ask too many questions, boy.' He turned away and we journeyed on in silence.

As we sat in Arthur's hall, I listened closely, to hear any word that might explain the mystery of Pelleas. Gwalcmai spoke freely of his years away from his companions. I learned that he and Gwalchavad were sons of the rebel Lot, who I knew had once been one of the Pendragon's chief supporters.

That was news! Everyone knew that Lot of Orcady and Arthur had been uneasy allies at best. The rumour, never denied, was that Lot had failed to answer the hosting against the barbarians in the days of Cerdic's rebellion. For this was Lot ever outcast from Arthur's court.