Hroudland peered inside.
‘It’s too dark to see much.’
The lintel was so low that he had to duck his head as he stepped over the threshold. I followed him cautiously.
There was a faint aroma of burned herbs. The interior was more like a cave than a room. If I stretched my arms out sideways I would nearly have touched the opposite walls, and I could barely stand upright. The only window was a fist-sized hole left open in the far wall and close to the ceiling. The light from it scarcely penetrated the deep gloom. Both of us had to stop for a moment to allow our eyes to adjust to the darkness.
I heard Hroudland give a low grunt, part astonishment, part satisfaction.
‘There, straight ahead.’
I moved aside to allow more light to enter through the smashed doorway behind me. A thick stone slab set in the far wall made a broad shelf running almost the width of the building. On each end of the shelf stood a small wooden block. They were holders for rush lights, though both were empty. On the shelf between them lay two commonplace items that might have been found in the kitchen of a modest home. One was a small goblet. Five or six inches high, it looked dull and very plain. Beside it was a plate that was even more ordinary, the sort of serving dish for a small joint of meat or a fish. Otherwise the little room was bare.
Hroudland stepped forward.
‘Could this be the Graal?’ he asked tentatively. He sounded more than a little disappointed. He picked up the goblet from the shelf and carried it back to the doorway to look at it in better light.
The sun had now sunk far below the horizon and the chapel, if it was that, was deep in shadow. Nevertheless as he held up the goblet up, I saw a very faint glow, tawny brown within the bowl.
‘It’s made of some sort of stone,’ the count said. On the middle finger of his left hand he wore a gold ring set with a large piece of amber. He tapped the goblet with it and it rang with a hard, flat sound.
He handed me the goblet.
‘What do you make of it, Patch?’ he asked.
If I had seen the goblet displayed on an altar I might perhaps have described it as a small chalice. The upper part, the bowl, appeared to have been hollowed from a single piece of a dark coloured stone, which had a brownish tint in its depths. This bowl had been fixed on to a base made from a dense dark wood that contained black streaks. The effect was rather clumsy and heavy, and the goblet with its thick rim looked neither valuable nor very elegant. I turned it over in my hand, half-expecting to find some pattern or decoration like that I had seen on the bronze cup from the fountain of Broceliande. There was nothing.
‘Maybe this is not the Graal, if such a thing even exists,’ I said carefully.
‘Then why hide it away up here in the mountains?’ demanded Hroudland, taking it back from me and returning inside the chamber.
He replaced the cup on the shelf and picked up the dish that had been lying next to it, and brought that into the light. Again I saw the tawny brown glow. The plate was made from the same material as the goblet. I could only compare it to a fine marble. The dish had swirls of other colours — grey and pale white — within the stone. I had never seen anything like it before.
Hroudland examined both sides of the dish. Again there were no marks. The plate had been carved from the unknown stone and then polished.
‘Those tales you heard from the Breton bards, do they say what the Graal looked like?’ I asked.
He shook his head.
‘The stories were more about the journeys of those who went searching for the Graal, the strange places and the mysterious people they met. .’ His voice tailed off as he saw the expression on my face.
I had been looking past him, over his shoulder at the mountainside. The fading light had lengthened the shadows, changing the appearance of the rocky slope behind him. There were patterns and shapes among the boulders that had not been there previously. I knew exactly where I was. I was in the landscape of my dream, the nightmare of the monstrous beasts and winged creatures that attacked Hroudland and me.
‘What’s the matter?’ the count asked sharply. ‘You looked as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
I forced my gaze back to the plate he had in his hand.
‘We have to get out of here, immediately,’ I said shakily.
Hroudland did not hesitate.
‘We’ll take both the cup and the platter. Later we can decide which is the true Graal.’
He turned and disappeared inside, the plate in his hand, to fetch the cup. At that instant a series of high-pitched whistles sounded from the side of the mountain above me. There were several different notes, one after another. My skin crawled. I swung round on my heel, scanning the slope. But it was impossible to locate where the sound came from. The mountain was shrouded in the gathering darkness. There was a short silence; then came a series of whistles from a different spot. Another succession of notes, rising and falling almost as if they were words. I jerked around, again seeking the source of the sound. But it was futile. I was still peering into the gloom when the original caller responded. Now there was no doubt. The whistlers were communicating with one another in some sort of secret language.
I was about to duck into the building to summon Hroudland outside when there was a fierce scrabbling sound. A dark shape came hurtling out of the shadows straight at me with shocking speed. There was a terrifying snarl, and I was knocked off my feet by the impact of a heavy body. I heard a deep-throated murderous growl and had a glimpse of white fangs beneath drawn-back lips. My nostrils filled with a powerful scent of dog.
I flung up my arm to ward off the gaping jaws. The beast was appallingly strong and determined. It was thrusting and snarling, trying to snatch my throat. I rolled from side to side, attempting to throw it off. I was faintly aware of two more animals. They streaked past me and bounded into the dark entrance to the chapel. From within came the sounds of a vicious tussle.
My archer’s arm guard saved me. The dog had locked its jaws on my forearm, and the leather prevented the teeth from penetrating. I managed to struggle up on my knees, and then regain my feet. The brute was thrashing its head violently from side to side, trying to drag me down again. I reached forward with my free hand, intending to pull it off by the scruff of the neck. There was an agonizing stab of pain as my hands closed on the sharp metal spikes of a thick collar designed to deter wolves.
I backed away slowly, step by step, holding off the dog with my left arm while it continued to growl savagely, shaking and tugging frenziedly. I retreated, just managing to stay on my feet, until I could feel the wall of the chapel behind me. That is where I had left my bow leaning against the stonework. I searched behind me with my right hand and fumbled in the arrow bag until my fingers closed on an arrow. Gripping the shaft firmly I pulled it out. With a great heave I swung the brute to one side and, when its flank was exposed, I rammed the razor-sharp metal head into the dog’s belly with all my strength. There was a yelp of pain and it released the grip of its jaws.
But the brute did not abandon the attack. It stood a yard away, stiff-legged, teeth bared and growling murderously, watching for an opening when it could fling itself on me once again.
I shouted for Hroudland, and he backed slowly out from the chapel in a half-crouch, facing towards the frenzy of brutish snarls that sounded within the gloomy interior. He had set down the dish because he had his sword, Durendal, in one hand and in the other a short dagger. Both blades were pointed towards the doorway. He had scarcely got clear when the other two dogs emerged. They were even larger than the one that had knocked me down. One had a gash in its shoulder, the blood dripping down on the dust. Both animals had their eyes fixed on the count, and they were stalking slowly towards him, ready to spring.