Eleven

Arthur rode on up the hill at a walk, now surrounded by the inhabitants of Camlann. He was smiling, laughing at his subjects and waving off their shouted congratulations on his victories. He was then thirty, old enough to make such homecomings commonplace, but he did not treat it as commonplace, but as a thing new and surprising. He did that all his life.

On reaching the feast Hall at the summit of the hill he dismounted lightly, catching his horse’s bridle before anyone else could. He glanced back at the throng of welcoming servants and homecoming warriors who had followed him, then beckoned one of the servants—the steward—from the crowd and began talking to him, gesturing down the hill. Making arrangements for the cattle he had plundered from the Saxons, no doubt. The steward nodded, then gestured in reply to some other question of the king’s. Arthur looked up, and for just an instant he reminded me sharply of someone else, someone with the same kind of wide grey-eyed stare, but I couldn’t place the memory and was not really trying.

“Bedwyr!” called the king.

Bedwyr had been somewhere in the crowd and emerged from it as if from the air. “Here, my lord.”

Arthur gave him a different smile, one separate from the sort he had given the others, and held his hand out. Bedwyr caught it, and Arthur clasped it with his other hand as well. “Did you bring the mead from Ynys Witrin?”

“Yes. And food enough for a few days.”

“Laus Deo for that. How much is there?”

“Gweir is making an inventory now. And I have already ordered the victory feast.”

“Good man. Is there any ale here?”

“The sour leavings of last winter, nothing more.”

“It will have to do. Goronwy, some ale for the Family. And Gruffydd is bringing in the wounded; send someone to see that he has what he needs for them…” he went into the Hall, still giving orders to various of the servants. I followed with the rest of the crowd, going up nearly to the high table, then stopped, uncertain what to do. Everyone was so busy. I could say nothing to the king yet; best to wait. I found I was in the way of some of the returning warriors and looked for a quiet corner.

Arthur dropped into a chair at the high table, caught the horn of ale offered by a servant and took a deep drink from it.

“Welcome back,” said Bedwyr.

“Welcome back yourself,” returned the Pendragon. “When did you arrive here?”

“About an hour ago.”

“What? For God’s sake man, sit down and have some ale. Goronwy…” he addressed the servant with the ale in an undertone, and the man nodded. “So, Bedwyr, and how is abbot Theodorus?”

“Dishonest as ever. But we did find the mead.”

“So. And what is the matter?”

“The matter?”

“The thing that is weighing upon your mind. Were things very bad at Ynys Witrin?”

Bedwyr shook his head. Goronwy came back with some more ale and whispered to Arthur, after giving Bedwyr a horn. “Don’t use all of it, then,” Arthur said, apparently in reply to the servant. “Tell the men we’re short and they can only have one glass each, but there’s plenty of mead tonight.” I had never heard of a king running short of ale before and I blinked, but no one seemed in the least surprised. “Well, Bedwyr, and did the monks throw stones and cry, ‘Death to the tyrant who steals our good yellow mead! Plague upon the Dragon and his Family, since we cannot get drunk on Sunday!’?”

Bedwyr smiled. “No. There was no trouble. They were not pleased, but gave in. The matter is of a different kind.”

Arthur glanced down the Hall. “Your whole party looks as gloomy as men the morning after a feast. Even Cei and Agravain—especially Cei and Agravain.” He leant forward a little and lowered his voice.

Bedwyr shook his head in response. “No, no bloodshed, thank God. Where are Cei and Agravain now?”

“I sent them to help with the cattle. It concerns them, does it? Very well, we will wait. The walls have not progressed as far as I had expected. What do you think…”

More of Arthur’s Family trooped in and settled thirstily upon their ale, joking about it. Presently Cei and Agravain entered as well, and stood about, presumably looking for me.

“Here!” Arthur called. “Bedwyr says that there is a matter you wish me to resolve.”

Neither of the two had noticed me, and Cei was frowning uneasily as they came up to the high table. I stood, uncertain whether to join them now or not. The warriors in the Hall ceased to talk and listened.

“My lord,” said Cei, “We wish you to make a decision concerning Agravain’s brother.”

Arthur sat up straighter, setting his horn of ale down in its stand.

“Which brother?” he asked, in a very low, strained voice.

Agravain paused, looking slightly surprised. “My brother Gwalchmai, who I thought dead. We met him at Ynys Witrin, and he came with us to Camlann. He wishes to join us. My lord, he is a very fine warrior. I had a match with him on the way from Ynys Witrin, and three times he downed me.”

“My lord,” said Cei. “There is some reason to suspect him of sorcery.”

“He is no witch!” snapped Agravain. “I swear the oath of my people to that. He is a warrior, and a very fine one. Ask Bedwyr.”

Arthur looked at his friend, and the dark warrior nodded. “He is a fine warrior, and, I think, a good man. I would take oath that he is no witch.”

“I have heard of Gwalchmai, son of Lot,” Arthur said. “And what I have heard has not been good.” I closed my eyes, my hand clutching the hilt of Caledvwlch. Lugh had warned me that Arthur might be suspicious. “But you would vouch for him, Bedwyr?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Well.” Arthur looked at Cei again, “I think the matter may need consideration, but I will consider it. Where is your brother, Agravain?”

Agravain began to answer that he did not know, and I forced myself to walk out of the shadows and stand before Arthur. “Here,” I said.

The grey eyes widened just slightly and fixed me. He did not move, and his face held no expression, but it was as though a shadow fell across him; and I suddenly sensed that what I had thought was a neutral tone was coldness, and that what touched him now was horror.

I tried to strangle the sharp-edged misery which leapt up in me. I would not, after all, wish him to accept reputed sorcerers readily, and still I had that reputation. I did look something like my mother, and perhaps he had met her, and I had recalled her to his mind.

But within me something said that the Darkness must have touched me to the very bone, and I would never be free of it, that it blighted everything I tried to touch, and I would never outrun the shadow of my youth

I went down on one knee to Arthur and stood again. There is still hope, I told myself. This is what you have been led to. It must come about.

“So,” said Arthur at last, still in the neutral tone which was not neutral but cold. “You are Gwalchmai ap Lot?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“I had not heard that you had…returned to the Ynysoedd Erch. Surely, if you had, your brother should have been told of it.”

“I did not return to the Orcades, Lord Arthur. I have been only three weeks in Britain.”

“The story came here that you fell into the sea on Samhain, more than two years ago. Now you appear suddenly at Ynys Witrin, convince the lord Cei that you are a sorcerer, and ask to join my Family. What is the truth of these matters?”

I stood silent for a long minute, trying to think of an answer that would be easier to tell, then realized that the actual truth was the only possible reply. I told my story, hesitatingly at first, and painfully aware of the listeners. I left some things out; I could not bring myself to speak of the real depth of Morgawse’s evil. After a while, I found that I could ignore the watchers and concentrate on my own words, so that they said what I meant them to. No one interrupted me.

When I had finished Arthur shook himself. “A tale like the tales of poets, both in the matter and in the telling, Gwalchmai ap Lot.”

“I know. Perhaps, Lord Arthur, if I wished to lie I would tell a story more easily believed.”

At this, Bedwyr smiled, but Arthur’s face did not move. “Perhaps. And perhaps you might expect it to be believed because of its very strangeness, which matches a strangeness in yourself. Admittedly, that is a subtle ploy, but your father also is a cunning man and your mother is…” the shadow across him grew darker, and I saw that he must have known her at some point, for he finished in a whisper, “…very subtle.”

“Lord,” I began, uncertain of how he received me and afraid, “I am neither my father nor my mother. I have told you the truth. I have admitted that I did indeed once study sorcery; but I have renounced it, and never again will have anything to do with it.”

“Why does Cei think that you are a sorcerer? He usually disbelieves such tales.”

“It was the sword,” said Cei. “When he fought Agravain he drew it and it burned. I swear by Saint Peter, it burned brighter than a torch. Ask anyone who was there, even Bedwyr; they all saw it.”

“It burned with light,” Bedwyr said. “But Gwalchmai has told you where he received the sword.”

“Swords do not do that,” returned Cei firmly. “I would have said it was impossible, but I saw it. So, it must have been some sorcerous practice of the wielder that caused it to burn, a spell he worked against his brother.”

Agravain snorted. “He needed no spells to defeat me. Even without the sword he downed me twice. And remember how Gwalchmai has fought for us already!”

“According to his own account. Tell me, Gwalchmai, if you have seen Cerdic, what does he look like?”

I described the Saxon king carefully. Arthur nodded, and asked some more questions about the Saxons, and about Sorviodunum, and how many men where there. I saw what he wanted and gave all the details I could recall. Cei and Agravain fidgeted.

“What is the point of this?” Agravain asked at last. “We know this already.”

“But it is not common knowledge,” replied Arthur, smiling at my brother. He looked back to me and stopped smiling. “You have been among the Saxons recently, so part at least of your tale is true.” He looked past me, down the Hall into nothing, a wide, grey stare, remote and infinitely piercing. “And yet, that you killed Saxons proves nothing. Saxons kill Saxons. The Queen Morgawse your mother: do you think she is beautiful?”

I was taken completely by surprise. “Yes.”

“Why?”

I looked about in confusion. “Why? Lord, why do we think anything beautiful? She is as perfect and terrible as Death itself, and so say all who have met her.”

Our eyes met for a long moment, and the thing that was common between us was a shadow, a knowledge of Darkness.

“Your story has a great deal of the Otherworld in it,” Arthur said at last. “And although Bedwyr thinks highly of you, and although by blood you are my nephew, little as your mother may like the idea, I do not think that I can trust you.” My heart seemed to stop, and I stood, staring back at him, swallowing. “You are free to take service with any other king in Britain, or to return to the islands. But I cannot give you a place here.”

It could not be over with, not so quickly. It could not be. It was not just. I stood stupidly in the middle of the Hall, still staring at the Pendragon. He looked away from me and picked up his ale-horn.

“Lord, I protest!” exclaimed Agravain. “Take my oath that Gwalchmai is no sorcerer; or at least give him some chance to prove himself. Wait until we have news from the Saxons, see if his story…”

“My lord, let him prove himself by fighting for you,” urged Bedwyr. “I spoke with him on the way; I am certain that he is no witch…”

“Do you question my judgement?” asked Arthur coldly, looking up at them.

They fell silent. Bedwyr bowed slightly; “Never, my lord.” Agravain stammered, fell silent again.

I bowed to the High King once more, turned, walked out of the Hall. It was true. It was over.

“Wait!” shouted Agravain, and hurried after me.

Outside the Hall, he caught my arm. “I do not know what the matter is, but this is unlike the Pendragon. He will change his mind.”

“He has decided,” I replied.

“He has…but, Yffern! It is unlike him. I do not understand it.”

It is forbidden, I thought to myself, to know too much of the Darkness. How could I serve a king like Arthur, when I had such knowledge? But I had thought the Light wanted it. I had been so certain. Where was everything now? What could I do?

“Listen,” Agravain said. “Cei and Bedwyr and I share a house, with two others. Come and rest there, and Bedwyr will speak to Arthur for you.”

“He said that he never questioned the High King’s judgements.”

“And he never would, before the Family. But sometimes he disagrees with Arthur and argues the point with him, and sometimes Arthur changes his mind. The High King thinks highly of Bedwyr, he made him cavalry commander—magister equitum, he calls it. I told you they spoke a deal of Latin here. Come and rest…and you look as though you wish to be alone.”

“Yes.”

So Agravain took me to his house and left me there, muttering something about seeing to his horse. I was grateful for it, and grateful that Agravain was of high enough status not to have to sleep in the crowded feast Hall. I sat on his bed and stared at the rush-covered floor, gripping Caledvwlch.

But what was it for? I demanded silently of the Light. Why the sword, the power, the struggle, the voyage to the Otherworld, if, at the end of it, I can’t fight? You wanted me to take service with Arthur—Lugh told me to. So why is it denied to me now?

There was no answer. I drew Caledvwlch and looked at it. The sword remained as dull as my own confusion.

I despaired. I was trapped, forever locked in the evil of Morgawse, damned by the road I had taken in my youth. And yet, I had refused to follow her, I had killed her demon, I had found Light—to be sure, no Darkness is defeated forever, but I had truly conquered! That I could not doubt.

I grew angry. Sheathing the sword, I stood and paced the room. Why should Arthur refuse me so quickly, so completely? It was not just.

No, the fault of necessity was in me. My tale had too much to do with the Otherworld, and I still half-worshipped Morgawse, and had told him so when I said that she was beautiful. I sat down again, and again prayed, and again found silence.

So the afternoon passed, and evening came. Agravain came back and asked if I wanted anything to eat, and I told him, no. He went off to the feast.

There was nothing I could do, I decided. Arthur had rejected me. Oh, I could not simply sit and feel sorry for myself; I must act. What had Bedwyr said that Arthur had said about action?—How could I go to another lord now, after meeting the High King?

I wanted more than ever, now that it was denied me, to serve Arthur. I wanted to have some part in his Family, the color and splendor of it, the glory mingled together with shortage of last winter’s sour ale, which everyone seemed to treat as a joke. The Family was not like other warbands, and the Pendragon was not like other kings. I sat and brooded over it, locked, helpless, in despair.

Agravain returned from the feast, more than half drunk and bad-tempered. It had been a difficult day for him, as well. After a while, Bedwyr and the two others, Rhuawn and Gereint, also returned.

“I have spoken to Arthur,” Bedwyr told me quietly. “He says that he does not think we can risk accepting you, not at such a time as this, and mentioned his distrust of the Queen Morgawse your mother, who by your own testimony is plotting against him. But more than this he will not say. I do not understand it: usually he is willing to give anyone at all a chance to prove himself.”

“Gwalchmai must be a sorcerer, then,” said Rhuawn, a lean, long-faced man.

“Be quiet,” said Agravain harshly. “I have said that he is not.” I recognized the signs: my brother wanted to fight someone. Apparently Rhuawn recognized them as well, for he was quiet.

Finally Cei returned, quite drunk, but controlling it well. “Hah!” he exclaimed when he saw me. “Still here, are you?” He was very pleased, with himself and with his judgement. “I’d’ve thought you’d’ve gone running from here like a whipped dog by now. Or a whipped hawk?” He snorted with laughter. “But hurt hawks don’t run, do they? Don’t even fly. They just…sit. And brood. And glare. As you are. Hah!”

“Hush,” said Bedwyr. “You have no cause for that.”

“That practice of sorcery is cause enough for cursing,” said Cei. “And I think our lord judged well!”

Bedwyr shook his head. He came over to me and said, “I am sorry, Gwalchmai. Understand, it is not Arthur’s usual way, this decision. And this is Cei’s way only when he is drunk.”

“I’m not so drunk as all that,” said Cei. He sneered again. “Well, Hawk of May, where are your spells?”

I realized that I, too, would not mind fighting someone and having some release for my anger. It was absurd, and I realized the absurdity, but still…

“Let him alone,” snarled Agravain.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll challenge you if you don’t,” replied Agravain quickly. He would, and would enjoy it, though I thought that Cei was not too drunk to fight.

Cei blinked at him, then shrugged and fell silent. However, a few minutes later, noticing Caledvwlch leaning against the wall where I had set it, he went over and picked it up, holding the loop of the baldric and swinging it back and forth, whistling between his teeth.

“Stop!” I called, abruptly ending my fit of brooding.

“What? You don’t want me touching your precious magic sword?”

“Put it down,” I said. “It is not for you.”

“Are you still trying to say that it is…”

“It is. My story is true, even if Arthur disbelieves it.”

“Liar,’ said Cei.

Agravain stood, clenching his fists.

I could not let my brother fight my battles for me, however much he wished to. “Stop,” I said again, also standing. “Cei, put my sword down before you come to some harm.”

He laughed, eagerly. “So, at last you are willing to defend yourself! Laus Deo! Do you want your magic sword? I will show you how magic it is…”

“No!” I shouted, seeing what he planned. But he had already closed his hand about the hilt and begun to draw the sword.

The dormant fire leapt, once, like summer lightning or a falling star. Cei screamed and dropped the sword, stumbled back against the wall. I was across the room to catch the weapon as he dropped it; I closed my own hand about the hilt and, without thinking, drew it. The fire blazed, pure, cool, and brilliant.

“Are you hurt?” I asked Cei. He stared, opening and closing his mouth, quite sober now. “I said, are you hurt?”

He looked at his hand. It appeared slightly burned, as though by the sun, but otherwise uninjured. “No,” he whispered. “God. God.”

“By all the saints,” muttered Rhuawn.

I looked at my sword, then sheathed it. “It is well,” I told them all. “This sword is a powerful thing, and I think that, had you drawn it, it might have killed you. Let it alone now.”

“I will,” said Cei. “God. I…I wish to sleep, now.”

No one said anything as we settled down for the night: I, on Agravain’s insistence, on his bed, and he on the floor.

I held Caledvwlch beside me in the darkness. The power was real, real enough to burn Cei when he touched it, real enough to have killed him. The Light was real—my lord, how could I doubt it? And the Light had led me here, and I had come, with high hopes I only fully recognized now that they were gone, and the miracle, somehow, still, had failed, and my soul ached with darkness.

I closed my eyes and ran my fingers over the sword hilt, feeling the cool smoothness of interlaced metal on the grip and the hardness of the single jewel. Simple steel and lifeless stone, yet they could fire with an unearthly light, and burn the hand that ventured to touch them. So could I, all doubts and uncertainties swept away in that white fire that three times now had burned within my mind. And yet, why should such things have happened to me? The Light needed neither men nor swords. Nothing that I did could matter. I had been delivered from the Darkness, and that ought to be enough for me.

I rolled over on the bed and looked up at the thatching of the roof, letting the sword lie on the floor where my hand could easily reach it. It is not as bad as all that, I told myself. This will not kill you. You have only to seek service elsewhere, and there is doubtless much else you can do.

Why a sword? I asked myself again. Why not a harp or a brooch or a ring, as in some tales? If I am not to be a warrior, why an instrument of war? And if I am not to serve Arthur, why be a warrior? No other king has set out to fight the Darkness…

The Darkness. My mind touched it at last, and I remembered Morgawse, as clearly as if she stood there in the room, and the things I had learned from her worked in me like yeast. Morgawse’s eyes found mine behind my closed lids, and she smiled and smiled. I turned my mind from the thought. Eventually, I slept.

I dreamt that night, the only such dream I have ever had.

In my dream I rose from the bed and opened the door of the house to look out at Camlann. I saw all of it at once, with the walls finished, glowing in a golden light, splendid and strong. Arthur was before the gates, sitting upon a white horse, and he held a torch in his hand, the source of the light which filled the fortress. A man I did not know held the horse’s bridle, a dark-haired man on whose forehead blazed a star, and his eyes were filled with infinite knowledge. Arthur lifted his torch, and the light of it sprang across all the west of Britain. I saw the whole island, from the Orcades in the north to the southern cliffs, the forests, fields, mountains and rivers and proud cities, lying like a child’s drawing in the sea. But the east and north was covered with a profound shadow. I saw Aldwulf standing in the north, a black flame burning above his scarred face, and Cerdic in the south, lifting his arm to command an attack, though with an odd expression of puzzlement on his face. No armies answered his command, but a great white dragon, the symbol of kingship, rose into the sky on cloud-like wings. In the west, Arthur’s dragon standard twisted, became a true dragon, and rose to meet the other. Yet I did not watch the combat, for a shadow fell across Arthur and he dwindled to nothing. I looked up and saw Her, ruling in the north and east, Queen of Air and Darkness, Lady of Shadows. Beautiful she was in the flesh, but in the dream the flesh was gone, like a dimming veil, and she blazed in dark splendor across the universe. My heart came into my throat, and my terrible love for her returned. I wanted to fling myself before her feet and beg her forgiveness, but I reached for my sword. It was not there. She smiled, and my strength vanished, so that I could think of nothing but her.

“So, my falcon,” she said, in her infinitely soft, deep voice, “the Dragon does not want you? It is most foolish of him, for you are a great warrior.”

I was filled with joy at this, and wanted to run to her and…but I forced myself to hold back. “Arthur is free,” I answered. “He may do as he wills.”

“Of course,” she whispered, “though he obeyed me once. But your new Lord permits you also to do as you will.” She leant forward from her throne of shadows, her eyes drinking me, like wine. I remembered, with night-edged clarity, a word she had taught me to fend off spirits. I whispered it, and some of my strength returned.

She smiled, a very sweet, dark, secret smile meant for me alone. “My clever falcon! Yes. You see why I wished to kill you? It can be used against me and for Arthur, to establish the High King’s power in Britain.”

I tore my eyes from her and looked back to the island I stood on. Arthur seemed very small after the Queen, and his power only fragmentary. I felt a touch of pity for him. I saw the battle lines forming, saw myself ride up on Ceincaled, lift my hand, and speak a word of command. Cerdic clutched his throat and fell to the earth, and Aldwulf died, amazed. The Saxons were swept by plague and famine, storms destroyed their ships, and Arthur conquered all Britain. He reigned in Camlann, and I stood beside him, his most trusted counsellor, honored by all. My father came from the Orcades with words of admiration and praise, and chose me to be the heir of his kingship. The Light ruled in Britain.

I looked again at the Queen, and met her eyes fully. She smiled for a third time, and those eyes were full of promises. “Ah, my hawk of spring,” she whispered. “You were always my favorite, and now that you are older…you are a strong enemy, more powerful than Arthur, and a greater sorcerer than that fool Aldwulf.”

I felt deep pride and a searing black joy that she should say so. More than ever I longed to approach her. I could make Arthur accept me! I could use what she had taught me for the Light, instead of the Darkness. Then I thought of what she had taught, and remembered the look in Connall’s eyes when he knew that she would kill him, and the black lamb struggling under my hands while she looked for the future in its entrails, and I felt sick again, and thought of how Medraut was lost. But I needn’t use the worst, I told myself.

“Where is Medraut?” I demanded of the Queen.

“That is of no consequence.”

“He is your son.”

“I have plans for him that are no concern of yours, my falcon. He hates you, my hawk, because you left and betrayed us.”

He would hate me. I could see how she must be working on him, slowly destroying him. “And you hate me also,” I whispered.

She shook her head slowly, and the black fire in her eyes was only the edge of a vast sea. “You are too powerful, Hawk of May, and too beautiful.”

Dizziness swept over me, and I reached once more for my sword. Her eyes were everything in the universe, they were death itself. I could be powerful, and if I were her equal, remained her equal, she would…

“No!” I screamed and flung my arm between us. She stood, terrible in her power, and smiled a final time.

“Ah, but what else can you do, my son?”

What? The Darkness was about me and within me, and I could not even find a sword with which to fight it. I fell back, thinking of Arthur, of Bedwyr, of Cei, Agravain, and then of Sion. Spinning on itself, my mind found the instant at Ynys Witrin, in the silence of the chapel, and abruptly the universe turned about again, and I saw the sun instead of the shadow. My vaguely groping hand found what it sought for: my sword. I drew it and held it between myself and the Darkness.

“I will fight for Arthur,” I said, my voice steady. “He cannot forbid me to follow him, even unaccepted. I will fight for him until he sees plainly that I do not fight for you. However long it takes, and however difficult it may be, this I can be, and this I will.”

Her lies were gone and her plan again defeated. She lifted her arms and the Darkness leapt. But she was distant again, and I stood at Camlann. I looked up and saw Lugh standing in the west, opposite Morgawse, holding his arm above the island so that the Queen could not touch it. Behind him was light too brilliant, too glorious to be seen. For a moment I saw these two confronting one another, and then my field of vision narrowed. I saw the island and the figures of armies. I saw the Family and myself in it. The armies began to move, and the sounds of battle arose. I realized that I saw things that were yet to come, and was terrified. I covered my face with my arms and cried, “No more!”

And abruptly there was silence.

Sobbing for breath I opened my eyes and saw the thatch of Agravain’s house above me. Everyone was asleep. I lay still for a long while.