“I would be happy to do that,” I assured him, “if I could. But I can still hear her voice screaming out those—those lies.”
“You believed her,” he observed, and I was ashamed to admit that I did. “Well, that is all her craft. There is no fault in falling into a trap when it is set by a most cunning adversary. But you must not languish in it when you discover that it is a trap.
“Morgian was a champion of lies,” he said. “Do not upbraid yourself for believing her. Only you must stop believing her. Do you understand what I am saying?”
I nodded, though I did not fully understand. The Wise Emrys knew this, so he said, “You know Avallach, the Fisher King, and know that he suffers yet from a wound which he received many years ago. Do you know how he came by this wound?”
“No,” I answered. “But what does Avallach’s wound have to do with any of this?”
“I will tell you. Avallach was King of Sarras, a country far from the Island of the Mighty. There was a war, and he fought bravely against his enemies. But one night, as he rushed to the aid of his son, he was ambushed and cut down.
“It was dark and he was not wearing his kingly armor, so he went unnoticed on the field. His enemies devised a torture for those they captured—they tied each living man to a dead one. Avallach, as it chanced, was bound wrist-to-wrist, ankle-to-ankle, and mouth-to-mouth to the corpse of his son.
“The enemy abandoned them to this insane torture, and Avallach was left to die in the poisonous embrace of his once-beloved son.”
I had never heard such a hideous thing, and told Myrddin so.
“Yes,” he agreed, “it is ghastly and terrible—Avallach bears the infirmity of it to this day.” He gazed steadily at me so that I would understand him. “And this is what Morgian hoped to do: bind us with half-truths to her corrupting lies. And like Avallach and his ambushed soldiers we are meant to flounder in their deadly embrace until we perish.”
“Is there no escape?”
“Trust God, Aneirin. Trust the Good God. We have sinned; yes, that is true. But we have the Christ’s sure forgiveness. Only ask and it is granted. By this we will be loosed from Morgian’s curse.”
I heard him and at last began to understand what he meant. “What of Medraut?”
The Emrys shook his head slowly and dropped his eyes to the embers as if to glimpse the future there. “Medraut is dark to me; his path lies in shadow and uncertainty. One thing is certain, however; we have not seen the last of Medraut.”
7
Seven bright summers passed, and seven mild winters. The Summer Realm enjoyed its fairest season. All things flourished which the High King blessed, and peace reigned in the Island of the Mighty and its Seven Favored Isles. No more barbarians invaded, and the Saecsens kept faith with Arthur. Men began speaking of the battle of Mount Baedun as the greatest victory ever won in Britain and holding Arthur Pendragon as the greatest king ever to rule in the world.
From across all seas—from Ierne, Daneland, Saecsland, Jutland, Norweigi, Gotland, Hoiland, Gaul, Ffeincland, Armorica, and Ruten—kings and rulers came to pay homage to Arthur and learn his justice. In all it was a time unknown since Bran the Blessed banished war in Ynys Prydein. Jesu’s holy Church sank its roots deep into Britain’s soil and spread its sheltering branches over the land.
Ships plied the wide, wave-tossed waters, bringing costly goods from every foreign port: fine wine in sealed amphora; the beautiful rainbow-hued cloth called samite; magnificent horses; worked leather; cups, bowls, and platters of gold, silver, and precious glass. From out of Britain flowed other goods: strong steel, lead, silver, wool, beef, and hunting hounds.
For a time the fairest island that is in the world flowered, filling this worlds-realm with a heavenly scent.
Through all trials did Britain triumph, and in all good things did it abound. The Island of the Mighty reached a height exceeding even that which it attained in elder times under the Roman emperors. Britain was exalted then.
For this reason it was decided that Arthur should attain his highest honor. At Whitsuntide in the twenty-first year of the High King’s reign he would receive another coronation: the Laurel Crown of the Roman Empire. Yr Amherawdyr Arthyr, he would become, Imperator Artorius; Exalted Arthur, Emperor of the West and Chief Dragon of the Island of the Mighty. The last remnants of the Empire would be placed beneath his hand.
So widely renowned and revered was our Pendragon that as soon as word of this impending honor was spoken out, the four winds carried it far and wide throughout this worlds-realm to all foreign nations. And the best men in the world at that time began journeying to Britain to hail the new emperor. Kings, lords, noblemen, bishops, and archbishops of the Church—men whose worth was beyond measure in their own homelands—came to honor Arthur, and to see him crowned in glory.
There were so many that Arthur was forced to leave his beloved Caer Lial and go to Caer Legionis in the south. For though it was not a fine city like Caer Lial, it was larger and could house all those streaming into Britain. Also, the deep River Uisc nearby gave safe harborage to the innumerable ships arriving by twos and fives and tens as soon as the weather broke fair.
In this way, the old City of the Legions came once more under the authority of an emperor and knew again something of its former grandeur. Caerleon, as it was sometimes called now, also boasted another benefit—the twin churches of Julius and Aaron, presided over by Arthur’s friend Illtyd, lately archbishop.
Preparations for the coronation began directly after the Christ Mass. Braving winter seas, I sailed with the Emrys, Bedwyr, and a hundred of the Cymbrogi to the south to help make ready. Most of my work consisted of reroofing and timbering the long-unused storehouses to receive the tributes of grain, lard, wine, ale, and fodder which began flooding into the city as soon as the roads and mountain passes thawed in the spring.
Each of the others directed equally ambitious works of repair and reconstruction in the halls, the houses, the streets and walls. Indeed, the whole city resounded with so much uproar of carpenters and masons that it was called Caer Terfsyg—Fortress of Riot. I labored from sunrise to long past twilight, tireless in my many tasks. My hands grew hard and my muscles lean. I led men and commanded good works to be done. When the Emrys saw that I could accomplish much, more was given me to do. Thus, I became one of Arthur’s captains, though I had never led a battle.
From midwinter to spring’s end we labored, and the ancient vicus was transformed. Walls were rebuilt, streets repaved, foundations shored up, roofs patched and leaded, gates repaired, aqueducts retiled; the marshland south of the city was drained to accommodate the myriad tents and bothies—thus even wasteland began blooming with wildflowers again. The people of Caerleon threw themselves into the redeeming of their city, and nowhere did a laborer go without meat or drink or a helping hand when he required it.
The Emrys oversaw the principal work of restoring the governor’s palace. Actually, there had never been a governor in Caer Legionis. The fortress had been once been ruled by a vicarius named Matinus, who lived well and was widely reputed to be a fair and honest man. His extensive house was later inhabited by a succession of legates and tribunes who added to its luxury and grounds so that in after times it came to rival the governors’ residences in Londinium and Eboracum.
This palace, the Emrys decided, should become the site of Arthur’s triumphal reception. The coronation itself would take place in the twin churches: the Church of Aaron for Arthur, and the Church of Julius for Gwenhwyvar. The palace had long been abandoned and considered a prime source of good building stone by the locals, who pulled down much of the dressed stone and plundered the furnishings. Only the tesselated mosaics on the floor escaped being carried off.
Yet, the Emrys maintained that this house alone would serve. And when the citizens learned of the high honor to be paid them in hosting Arthur’s coronation and the work of restoration began in earnest, the pillaged furniture began to reappear. Even the dressed stone return
ed, liberated from whatever use it had served in the generations since the last tribune decamped for Rome.
When complete, the palace was a marvel. All who looked upon it came away inspired and cheered to see this revival of imperial splendor. But not only was the empire revived—Celtic nobility also roused from its sleep. Under Myrddin Emrys’ guiding hand, the inspired blending of both was accomplished: Roman in form and foundation, Celtic in execution and expression. No one who beheld the finished work failed to recognize that in the Pendragon’s palace a new craft had come into being.
“It is magnificent!” cried Arthur when he saw it at last. “Myrddin, you are indeed a most magnificent enchanter!”
“Speak to me of enchantment!” declared the Emrys. “If this could have been accomplished by enchantment, I have wasted good men’s sweat and sleepless nights for nothing!”
“Not for nothing,” soothed Gwenhwyvar, her dark eyes adazzle at all around her. “Never say it. Your gift is the more precious to us because it wears your love in every line.”
“It is true, Exalted Emrys,” remarked Gwalcmai, who with his brother and the others of the Round Table had come with the High King to inspect the work and order the final preparations. “No king has ever had a palace so richly wrought. In this,” he spread his arms to the gilded hall around us, “the Summer Realm finds its fairest flower.”
The Emrys smiled, but shook his head lightly. “Its first, perhaps. Not its fairest. Higher, more noble works will be accomplished. What you see is a beginning only; there are greater things to be done.”
“Greater works will be done,” affirmed Arthur. “But let us honor this one with the proper respect. Thank you, Myrddin. Your gift beggars me for words.”
The Emrys enjoyed the pleasure his gift gave the Pendragon, but he had little time to savor it. For the next day but one, the first of the High King’s guests began arriving. Some had wintered in Caer Lial, others at Caer Cam and Caer Melyn in the south. By ship and on horseback they came, and once the flood started it did not reach highwater mark for many and many a day to come.
Thus, on the day of the coronation, a day of unrivalled glory in the Island of the Mighty since its beginning, were assembled lords, kings, princes, noblemen and dignitaries of great renown. Fergus and Aedd of Irene, Cador of Cerniw, Meurig Hen of Dyfed, Ectorius of Caer Edyn, Caw of Alclyd, Maelgwn of Gwynedd, Maluasius of Hislandi, Doldaf of Gotland, Gonval of Llychllyn, Acel of Druim, Cadwallo of the Venedoti, Holdin of Ruteni, Leodegarius of Hoiland, Gwilenhin of Ffreincland in Gaul, Ban of Armorica, and many, many others of various ranks and races entered the city to do the Pendragon homage.
Early on Whitsunday we gathered in the Church of Aaron and bowed the knee before the altar of Christ. When everyone was assembled, then did Arthur make entrance. He wore a pure white robe with a belt of braided gold. Before him walked four kings: Cador, Meurig Hen, Fergus, and Ban, each wearing a red cloak of state and carrying a golden sword upraised in his hand. The church was filled with the music of a choir of monks singing praise-song and psalms of honor and glory in exquisite voice, accompanied by the bishops and archbishops of Britain robed and with their rods of office.
Another procession, like to the first, but made up of women, left the palace and made its separate way to the Church of Julius. This procession was led by the Archbishop Dubricius, who conducted Queen Gwenhwyvar to her own crowntaking. Before her walked the queens of Cador, Meurig Hen, Fergus, and Ban, each wearing a red cloak and carrying a white dove. Following the queen came the ladies of Britain such as Gwenhwyvar deemed worthy to attend her, and the wives and daughters and female kindred of the Pendragon’s subject lords.
Together this fair fellowship went forth from the palace, the radiance of their garments and the splendor of their joy so brilliant, so beautiful to behold, that the throngs lining the streets nearly prevented it from reaching the church at all. The press was so great, and the acclaim so loud, that Gwenhwyvar could hardly make her way through the city.
When all the royal guests and people were gathered in, the High Mass was celebrated in both churches. Never was a more joyous or more reverent rite observed in that city before or since. At its conclusion, Archbishop Illtyd placed the laurel crown upon Arthur’s brow and proclaimed him Emperor of the West.
Not to be eclipsed by her husband’s glory, Gwenhwyvar likewise received a crown and became the Empress of the West. Then did such merrymaking ensue in both churches that the delighted congregations hastened back and forth from one church to the other to enjoy the festivity, and to fill their ears with the lovely singing of the churchmen and the beauty of the Emperor and his Empress.
Throughout all Britain on that Whitsunday endured the most harmonious and glorious celebration, for the Light of Heaven shone full upon the Summer Lord that day.
Upon receiving the crowns, Arthur and Gwenhwyvar offered a feast to their guests. Whereupon the storehouses I labored so long and hard to prepare were all plundered to provide the food for the feast. Of meat and mead, bread and ale, wine and sweet fruits there was no lack. When the tables were filled in the palace, the feast spilled out onto the yards and then into the streets, and from there outside the walls to the meadows and fields around the city.
At the height of the feast, the celebrants marched forth from the city into the tent-filled meadows and formed themselves into groups for games: riding and racing, throwing lances and stones, wrestling and swordplay, and feats of skill and daring. The day passed in a wealth of joy for everyone, and from this day men understood the meaning of happiness.
The feast continued three days, and on the fourth there appeared a small company of men from the east, white-bearded and round of shoulder, twelve in all and each with a ring of gold on his finger and an olive branch in his hand. These venerable princes came before the High King’s throne and greeted him with great courtesy.
“Hail, Great King! And hail to all your people!” said the foremost visitor. “We are come from the court of Lucius, Emperor of the East, to beseech you in his name, and to deliver his desire into your hands.”
With that, the man withdrew from his robe a sealed parchment which he passed to the Pendragon. The parchment was opened, and Arthur ordered it to be read out before all those assembled. In a voice loud and clear, the Emrys stood beside the king and this is what he read:
“Lucius, Procurator of the Republic, to Arthur, High King and Pendragon of the Britons, according to his deservings. I marvel greatly at the unthinkable pride which has inflamed you. You hold all kingdoms in your hand and deem yourself most fortunate, esteemed among men. Yet you do not spare a thought for Rome, who has taught you the law and justice you so rightly honor.
“Need I remind you that you are a Roman subject? I remain astonished at your lack of consideration. Do you so lightly consider Rome? You think to set the Western Empire in your hand, and who is mighty enough to prevent you?
“Yet I, Lucius, tell you that while one enemy draws breath beneath the blue sky of Rome, you are no true ruler! Barbarians beset the Seven Hills and roam at will through the empty Forum. Enemies kill our citizens and despoil the land. Free and loyal Romans are carried off in chains to serve foreign slave masters. The cries of the homeless and dying echo in the Senate, and jackals mutilate the corpses of children.
“We hear of the Mighty Pendragon, Exalted One of Britain, King of Champions. All day long the praise of Arthur fills our ears. Your renown has spread to the ends of the earth, Right Worthy Ruler. But do we see your armies rise up to the defense of your birthright? Do we see you lift your hand to help those who granted you the benefits you now flaunt?
“Have you forgotten the debt you owe? If your courage is even half so great as the fame-singers tell, surely we would have seen some evidence of it before now. Why do you delay? The barbarian dog tears at the throat of the Mother of Nations, but where is the Wonderful Pendragon?
“You call yourself Emperor! Call yourself a god! You know not who you are, nor from what dust you
are sprung, if you do not offer protection to the Mother of your youth by whose sacrifice you were lifted up. You are but a faithless craven if you do not march at once to restore the Pax Romana.”
Silence reigned long in the hall when Myrddin Emrys finished reading. That such an acrimonious and belittling message should be delivered to the High King at the moment of his triumph shocked the assembled lords. Arthur withdrew at once to his council room to confer with his lords, sixty in all, and determine what answer he should make to the Emperor Lucius.
Once gathered at the board, Arthur spoke in a stern and solemn voice. “You have been my closest companions, my Cymbrogi; in good times and bad you have supported me. Help me yet again. Give me benefit of your keen wisdom, and tell me what we are to do in the face of such a message as this.”
Cador was first to speak. “Until now, I have feared that the life of ease which we have won would make cowards of us, that we would grow soft during these years of peace. Worse, our renown as champions of battle would be forgotten, and the Flight of Dragons would cease in our young men’s memories.” He smiled as he looked about at his sword brothers. “Perhaps it is to save us from this indignity that God has allowed this rebuke to reach us. Can we really enjoy our peace when the Seat of the Empire is befouled by barbarians?”
Some readily agreed with Cador, but Gwalcmai was quick to speak. “Lord King,” he said, jumping up, “we should not dread the folly of our young men. If they forget the sacrifice that we have made to bring about this holiest of realms, that is their loss, not ours. Even if it were not so, peace is infinitely preferable to war.”
Gwalcmai’s words greatly calmed the more quick-tempered among them, and many agreed with him. So the council was divided and began hotly debating the matter among themselves. Arthur listened to all that was said, a frown deepening on his face.
When this had gone on for a while, Ban of Benowyc in Armorica stood and silenced the argument with upraised hands. “Lord King,” he declared loudly, “long have I served you in goods and gold and men. I do not think it boast to say that no other lord has supported you more loyally or steadfastly.