Grail

'You have done well,' Myrddin declared. 'Heaven has blessed your efforts. Your reward is assured.' Lifting a hand to the chapel, he said, 'Come, let us thank God for the victory he has given us.'

'You are right to remind us of the source of our salvation,' replied Arthur. 'But say not that we have won a victory this day; rather, say that God in his mercy has cut short the tribulation and spared our lives.'

The Wise Emrys motioned to Gereint, who, bearing the Most Holy Grail, entered the chapel. We followed, silently, each wrapped in his separate thoughts, to join the young warrior at the altar. He had replaced the cup and it sat on the stone, glimmering softly in the light of its own gentle radiance. The king gazed long upon the cup, then bowed his head and wept for his lost Cymbrogi. In this he was not alone; I, too, gave myself over to my grief for the dead, as did we all.

After a time, Myrddin stirred and, in his clear, strong voice, began singing a lament for the dead. He sang The Last Returning, a fine and fitting song for a warrior who has fallen in the fight and will not be going home with his king. Then the Wise Emrys led us in prayers of thanksgiving for our deliverance.

Our voices filled the chapel and our hearts lifted under the benison of Myrddin's comforting words. Holding fear at bay for so long is a wearisome labour, and I felt my spirit ease as the prayers did their work. I cannot say how long we stayed in the chapel, but when I rose at last, a massive weight had fallen from my shoulders.

Myrddin was attracted to the carvings on the walls; while the others talked in low voices at the altar, I joined him to ask what he made of the strange markings. 'Do they speak to you?' I asked.

They do.' The Bard of Britain ran his strong hands across the etched designs as a mother might trace her fingers over the sleeping face of her much-loved child. Entranced, he walked the walls and embraced the messages in silent wonder.

'Make no mistake, Gwalchavad,' he said, turning to me at last. 'Llyonesse was not always the wasteland it is now, and it will be redeemed. One day Llyonesse will prove a boon of great blessing to all Britain.'

The others joined us then, and the king, awed by the chapel, remarked on the mystery of the place. 'To think,' he mused, 'this chapel has been here – here in this blighted realm – from the beginning.'

'The beginning?' said Myrddin. 'Know you, the beginning was long, long ago.'

'And yet the chapel remains,' Bors pointed out. 'It was not destroyed.'

'Yes, the chapel remains,' agreed the Wise Emrys. 'Let all who love the truth think on that and engrave it on their hearts.'

Turning abruptly, he stepped before the altar and, while we all stood watching, took the edge of his cloak between his hands and tore off a portion. Then, bowing in reverence to the cup, he carefully covered the Grail with the cloth. This done, he took up the cup and addressed us. 'The Holy Cup of Christ has been reclaimed. It is time to make our way back to Ynys Avallach.' Cradling the cup, Myrddin stepped from the altar.

We emerged from the chapel into a cold, grey dawn. The vile yellow had washed from the clouds and the rain pattered steadily around us. We stood for a moment, looking into the sky as the healing rain streamed down our faces. Water dripped from the branches of the trees all around, filling the air with the woodland scent of wet bark and leaf mould. Even in the pale dawnlight, I could see further into the wood than before. Darkness had loosed its hold on the land and shadows no longer reigned in this place.

Morgaws' body lay where she had fallen, eyes wide in the shock of her undoing. Llenlleawg sat a little apart, his back to her, his head low, rain beating down on him. Arthur, calm and resolute, strode to where Llenlleawg sat, and stood for a moment looking down at his fallen champion. 'Get up,' he commanded after a moment.

Llenlleawg did not so much as raise his head.

Summoning Peredur and Gereint, the king indicated that they should raise the Irishman between them. The two pulled Llenlleawg to his feet and remained beside him – more to support him than to prevent him from escaping.

Llenlleawg stood before the king as if he no longer possessed the use of his limbs, or perhaps lacked the will to stand and did so only by happenchance. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, abject in every line and ligament, he swayed slightly on his feet. Remorse dripped from him like the rain which spattered upon his head and trickled from his sodden hair in rivulets, dribbling off his downcast face. Guilt pressed full on him and he bent under the terrible weight.

Arthur gazed upon his former champion and friend. I could see the conflict warring in the king's features: his mouth frowned with repugnance and distaste even while his eyes, soft with sorrow, searched for some redeeming sign. 'Do you know what your betrayal has wrought?' asked the king at last, his voice tight, almost breaking.

Llenlleawg gave not the slightest indication that he had heard, so Arthur repeated the question. Still Llenlleawg made no answer.

'I take your silence to mean that you own the consequence of your deeds,' said the king. 'Do you have anything to say in your defense?'

Unable to bring himself to look upon the lord he had betrayed, Llenlleawg did not raise his eyes, but muttered something in a voice so low, I could not hear it.

Gwenhwyvar, stepping close, said something to him, and the Irishman, glancing quickly from under his brow, breathed a quiet reply before lowering his head once more. Gwenhwyvar, grave and sorrowful, relayed his words to the king; her eyes never left her kinsman as she said, 'He offers no defense, but begs his lord for the judgment due his crimes. He wishes to be killed now and his body left to the birds and beasts.'

'So be it,' Arthur concluded. 'By reason of your treachery, I condemn you to the death you ordained for your swordbrothers.' With that he took Caledvwlch in both hands and raised the blade.

'Arthur, no!' called Gwenhwyvar. She stepped boldly between her kinsman and the king's upraised sword. 'Do not kill him.'

'Step aside, woman,' the king said. 'Justice will be served.'

Gwenhwyvar flared at this. Drawing herself up full height, green eyes ablaze with righteous anger, she glared at her husband. Turning to Myrddin, she demanded, 'Am I not a queen? Am I not both daughter to and wife of a king?'

'You are,' Myrddin replied.

Facing Arthur once more, she said, 'As Queen of Britain, I claim my right to intercede for this man's life.'

'He has betrayed his lord, slain men who were under his command, and aided an enemy who schemed to destroy us all,' Arthur replied firmly. 'Do you deny that he has done these things?'

'I do not,' replied Gwenhwyvar smoothly. 'Neither do I deny that any one of these crimes is worthy of death.'

'Then step aside,' said Arthur.

'I will not, my lord. I speak on behalf of my champion – your champion. He saved our lives. When awakened to the knowledge of his error and Morgaws' wickedness, he roused himself to our defense and killed the true traitor.'

'If not for him,' the Pendragon countered, returning his queen's defiant stare, 'such defense would not have been necessary. He knows his crime and accepts his punishment.'

'Then punish him, by all means,' Gwenhwyvar replied scornfully, 'but know you this – hear me, all of you.' She turned and included the rest of us in her appeal. 'Llenlleawg was bewitched and he was beguiled. His will was weak and he chose to follow that temptress, yes. But we were all of us deceived by Morgaws, and we all took part in her schemes.'

Arthur lowered his arms and rested the sword. 'All men are responsible for their actions,' he maintained stolidly. 'Some gave in to evil and allowed it to overtake them; others did not. I do not make him answerable for the evil, but only for his failure to resist it. For this failure, I do condemn him.'