Arthur

For the duration of the song we breathed the air of a different world wherein is lived a different kind of life, richer, higher, and more complete in every way.

Merlin possessed the gift; it was, I imagine, much like his father's.

'Now I know what men heard when Taliesin sang,' I told him later, when we had a word alone together.

He shook his head firmly, the corners of his mouth bending in a frown. 'Taliesin's gift was as high above mine as the sighted man's vision above that of the wretch born blind. The two are not to be compared.'

Early the next morning, a little before dawn, we took our leave of Bervach and the rest of the holding who had gathered in the yard to watch us away. As we mounted our horses, some of the mothers stepped forward and lifted their small children to Merlin to receive the Emrys' blessing. He gave it with good grace, but it disturbed him.

We made our way through the valley in silence, and on into the lowlands beyond. It was not until we stopped at midday to rest and water the horses and take a small meal ourselves that Merlin would voice what was on his heart.

'This should not be,' he muttered. 'I am no holy man that babes should receive blessing from my hand.'

'Where is the harm?' I asked. 'The people need someone they can look to.'

'Let them look to the High King!' The words were out before he knew it. Arthur winced as if pricked by a thrown knife.

'No… no,' Merlin said quickly, 'I did not mean it. I am sorry, Arthur. It is nothing to do with you.'

'I understand,' said Arthur, but the pain lingered in his pinched expression. 'I am no king, after all.'

Merlin shook his head sadly. 'Oh, the Enemy has set a most subtle trap. There is danger here and we must tread lightly.'

The unhappy spirit of this exchange reigned over the rest of the journey like the dark, wet clouds that hung above our heads – and continued until reaching Ynys AvaJlach.

Coming in sight of the Glass Isle lifted our hearts. There was food and drink and warmth, blessed warmth, awaiting us in the Fisher King's hall. And, though the cold wind lashed our frozen flesh and stung our eyes, we slapped leather to our horses and fairly flew down the hillside towards the lake. Arthur shouted at the top of his lungs, glad to arrive at last.

The lake and salt marshes remained open, and ducks of all kinds had gathered to winter there. We raised flocks of them as we galloped along the lakeside.

Even though the groves were empty, the trees bare and lifeless, the pall of white snow on the ground made the isle appear as if made of glass indeed. The sudden flaring of the afternoon sun, as it burned through the clouds, lit the Tor with a shattering light: a beacon against the gathering storm.

But, as we came to the causeway leading to the Tor, Merlin halted and said, 'We will seek shelter at the abbey tonight.'

I stared at him in disbelief. Why spend the night in a monk's cell when all the comforts of the Fisher King's palace lay just across the lake? We could be there in less time than it takes to tell it!

Before I could voice my astonishment at Merlin's suggestion, he turned to Arthur, 'The sword you are to have is near. You will spend the night in the Shrine of the Saviour God, praying and preparing yourself to receive it.'

Arthur accepted this without question, however, and we turned off the track and made our way round the lake to the abbey below Shrine Hill. Abbot Elfodd gave us good greeting and bade us warm ourselves by the hearth. He offered a blessing for Arthur, whom he knew by sight though they had never met.

'You are welcome here, of course,' the abbot said, pressing cups of mulled wine into our hands, 'but Charis and Avallach will be expecting you.'

'They do not know of our journey,' replied Merlin.

'Oh?'

'We will see them soon, but we have a purpose to accomplish first.'

'I see.'

'Arthur has come to consecrate himself to the saving of Britain.'

Elfodd raised his eyebrows. 'Is this so?' He regarded Arthur with renewed interest.

'It is,' Arthur answered evenly.

'We thought to hold vigil in the Shrine,' explained Merlin.

'As you wish. So be it. I have no objection – save that it is cold, as there is no place for a fire.'

'It will serve.'

Merlin and the abbot talked briefly of the affairs of the realm, and Arthur joined in from time to time, but I noticed the Duke glancing towards the door as if eager to be away. Finally, Merlin rose. 'Thank you for the wine and the warmth, Elfodd. We would stay, but we must be about our business.'

'Please, as you see fit. We will not hinder you.'

So saying, we took our leave and returned to the yard. The sky was nearly dark, the setting sun all but obscured by the clouds which had moved in once more. 'There is the Shrine,' Merlin said, indicating the small white chapel on top of the nearby hill. 'Go now and begin your vigil.'

'Will you join me?'

Merlin shook his head slightly. 'Not now. Later, perhaps.'

Arthur nodded solemnly, turned, and began climbing the hill to the Shrine. It came to me that Merlin's words – about a vigil of prayer and preparation, of consecration to the task of saving Britain – had begun to work in Arthur, answering the brooding in his soul manifest since losing Macsen's sword.

'This is well and good, Pelleas,' Merlin said quietly, watching Arthur walk away. 'You will stay here with him tonight, and I will return at daybreak tomorrow.'

The horses were nearby and he swung up into the saddle and started away. I walked a few paces after him. 'Where are you going?'

'To arrange for Arthur to get his sword,' he called over his shoulder, as he galloped away.

We spent a long, cold night together, Arthur and 1.1 slept somewhat, huddled in my cloak. Arthur knelt before the altar of the little round building, head bowed down, hands crossed over his chest.

Once I stirred, thinking it was morning, and awakened to a sight I shall never forget. The sky outside had cleared, and a bright mid-winter moon had risen and was shining full through the narrow, cross-shaped window above the altar.

Arthur was kneeling in the pool of light – in the same attitude I had seen him before – head down, arms folded. I thought he had certainly fallen asleep. But, as I watched, the Duke of Britain raised his head and slowly turned his face to the light, at the same time lifting his arms as if to embrace it.

He stayed like that the longest time. Head up, arms open wide in acceptance and supplication – all the while bathed in the soft, silvery light. And I heard the quiet murmur of his whispered prayer.

As I listened, the chapel filled with such peace and tranquillity, I knew it to be a high and holy sign. I had no doubt that Arthur had entered the presence of Jesu, whose kindly light shone upon him in benediction. My heart swelled to bursting with the wonder of it, for I knew myself to be favoured among men to witness this sign.

But a little while later, I heard a low whistle outside. I rose and went out to meet Merlin leading the horses. 'It is time,' he said. 'Fetch Arthur.'

I looked and the sun was rising in the east. The moon, so bright only moments before, now waned as the sky lightened. Crisp and sharp, the cold dawn air pricked me fully awake, and I went back into the Shrine to summon Arthur. At the sound of his name, he rose and came forth.

We mounted and silently made our way along the lakeside path leading to the causeway. The world seemed new made, delicate, yet invincible in its beauty: the pale white snow underfoot and deepest blue night above… the smooth black water of the reed-fringed lake… the red-gold of the rising sun flaming the eastern sky.

I first thought we would go to the Tor directly, but Merlin led us along the causeway and continued on around the lake, stopping at a clump of leafless willow-trees. Here we stopped and dismounted. Merlin faced the placid, dawn-smooth lake and pointed to the bank of reeds before us.