“Seeing all assembled, Mab Rígh plunged a bowl into the water and dashed it over the unsuspecting crowd. The people stared at one another, dripping, and the Coranyid howled with anger. Ignoring the outcry, Mab Rígh quickly filled his bowl again and flung the contents over the gathering. The people laughed, and the demons screamed, assuming their normal grotesque shapes. They pleaded with Mab Rígh to abandon his plan, but the lord turned a deaf ear to their cries and, filling his bowl once more, sprinkled the contents over the crowd.
“The vile Coranyid shriveled and died, releasing the people at once. And everyone acclaimed the king and his wisdom, and celebrated the virtue of the healing water. Wasting not a moment, Mab Rígh set about measuring the length and breadth of the island. When he had done this, he quartered the land and thus divined the center. He ordered a deep pit to be dug at the center; and he ordered a great cloth to be made from the first shearing of all the lambs in the island.
“The cloth of undyed lambs’ wool was brought to the place and spread over the huge pit. A third portion of the grain was put into a vat with the blood of nine lambs, and that vat set in the center of the cloth. It happened that the next night was the eve of Beltain, and the serpent emerged from its underground den and quickly scented the blood of the lambs. The wicked beast, drawn to the vat, slithered onto the cloth and coiled itself around the vat, preparing to feast. But before it could so much as dip its tongue into the vat, the cloth sank into the pit.
“Mab Rígh, who had been hiding nearby, ran out and grabbed the loose ends of the cloth before they fell, tied them together and bound the knot with strong ropes. He and his men pulled the bundle from the pit and dragged it to a high promontory, the snake screaming all the while. They hauled the bundle to the cliffs and cast it into the sea. The snake thrashed and screamed and thrashed as it went down. This ended the terrible scream and it was never heard in the realm again.
“And the people, who had gathered along the clifftop, sang a song of liberation as the snake sank out of sight. They lifted Mab Rígh onto their shoulders and carried him back to his hall to celebrate his victory. They prepared a great and wonderful feast, using the last portion of the grain which they made into dough and baked. The dough produced enough bread to feed the whole of the realm for thirty-three days.
“When the feast was served, everyone sat down to eat. But before even the smallest morsel could be touched by the smallest finger, the assembly grew sleepy. Yawning widely, they all put their heads down upon the board and fell fast asleep. Mab Rígh also found himself yawning and rubbing his eyes. He longed to sleep, but remembered his king’s words. As his eyes closed and his head sank towards his chest, he stepped into the vat of cold water by his side. The cold water shocked him awake once more.
“As he shivered in the vat of cold water, there came the sound of a heavy footstep on the hearthstones. A heartbeat later, a shadow passed over the hall and a giant man appeared at the banqueting board. This huge fellow was dressed in leather clothes head to heel, and carried an enormous hammer made of stone. A long shield of oak bound with iron bands was slung on his back, and in his wide belt he carried an axe with an iron head. He also had a basket made of wicker, which he proceeded to fill with food: bread and meat and victuals of all kinds tumbled into this basket without end. Mab Rígh watched with amazement, wondering how any vessel could hold so much without ever growing full.
“Finally, the giant had cleaned the board to the last crumb; only then did he stop—and then merely to see if he had neglected anything—and seeing the board swept clean, the immense man turned and started off into the darkness once more. Up charged Mab Rígh, leaping from the water and splashing after the giant. ‘Stop! In the name of the one who is lord over us, I command you to stop!’
“This is what Lludd had told him to say, and the giant stopped, turned, and raised his stone hammer. ‘Unless you are better skilled with your weapons than you are at guarding your feast,’ the giant replied in a voice to tremble the hills round about, ‘I will soon add your pitiful carcass to my wicker tub.’
“Mab Rígh was ready with his reply. ‘Though you have wrought endless crimes and turned the joy of many into laments of sorrow,’ he said, ‘I say that you shall not take one step more.’
“The giant mocked him, saying, ‘Will you not defend your feast, Little Man? For I tell you, I am not easily persuaded against my will.’ He swung the hammer high over his head and down with a savage sweep.
“Mab Rígh leapt deftly aside, and the hammer fell without harm. The giant turned and began walking away. He took one step, and then another, and on the third step was staggered backwards by the weight of the wicker basket. He struggled ahead another step, but the basket had suddenly become so heavy that he could no longer hold it. ‘What manner of bread is this?’ he wailed. ‘It grows heavier with every step!’
“With that, the basket slipped from his hands and smashed to pieces on the ground. The giant saw the loaves of bread and joints of meat roll upon the earth and fell on hands and knees to retrieve his feast. He seized a round loaf in his hands and lifted it; but the bread was too heavy for him and, despite his enormous strength, the uncanny weight bettered him and he fell beneath the bread as beneath the heaviest millstone that ever ground a grain.
“Casting off his amazement, Mab Rígh strode to the nearest loaf and picked it up with one hand, raised it, and held it over the giant’s head. ‘I have another loaf for you,’ the lord of the isle said. ‘As you are a greedy giant, I shall give it to you. Add this to the one you clasp upon your chest.’
“The giant saw the bread poised over his head and cried, ‘Please, lord, I yield. Do not hurt me further, for though you may not know it, I am weakened even unto death by the very loaf I clutch.’
“Suspecting a trick, Mab Rígh said, ‘How can I believe you, who have stolen the life from the mouths of my people?’
“The giant wept and cried that the loaf was crushing him. ‘Lord, I cannot endure the weight any longer,’ he said. ‘Unless you free me, I am dead. If it is my life you desire, then you have it, lord, and my word with it. Free me and I will never again trouble any who have tasted the bread by which you have conquered me.’
“Holding the loaf, Mab Rígh said, ‘Your life is small enough payment for the wrongs you have done to my people, but for the good of all I will free you.’ With that he lifted the bread loaf which had conquered the giant. ‘Go you hence,’ the lord told the giant. ‘You will have neither morsel nor crumb from us for ever more.’
“The giant rose and shook himself all around. Then, honoring the oath by which he had bound himself, he took his leave of Mab Rígh and walked away to the east and was never seen in the island again. And thus the island was rid of the three plagues, and the people were released from their long ordeal. As sore had been their affliction, so great was their happiness. They delighted in their deliverance, and reveled in their release.
“For thirty days and three, the people of the island realm feasted on the bread of their liberation, and as much as they ate, there was three times that much left when they were finished. Indeed, they will feast on it for ever!
“Here ends the song of Mab Rígh and the Grain of Rescue. Let him hear it who will.”
9
AS THE LAST GLITTERING NOTES went spinning into the night like the flaming sparks from the fire behind me, I gazed upon the hillside. The people sat rapt, unwilling to break the spell that held them. They had tasted—had feasted!—on the food of life and were loath to leave the table.
Oh, but it was not my voice that stirred those starving souls to their feeding; it was the Great Light, rising like the morning sun within them, bidding them break their long fast.
I became aware of a movement nearby and Arthur was there beside me, tall and strong, his face lit by golden firelight, a field of stars behind him. He lifted Caledvwlch, brandishing the naked blade as if he would drive away all dissent. I stepped aside and Arthur took my place.
?
??Cymbrogi!” he cried, lofting the sword, “you have heard the song of a True Bard, and if you are like me your heart aches with the beauty of things we cannot name. And yet…and yet, I tell you that it has a name. Truly, it is the Summer Kingdom.”
The High King spoke simply, but with the zeal of a man who knows his greatest hope is within his grasp. Vitality shone from him, brightening his countenance with holy fire. He was the Summer Lord and he had glimpsed his kingdom, still far off, but nearer now than it had ever been.
“The Summer Kingdom,” he said again, his voice almost reverential in its awe. “Myrddin Emrys says this wonderful kingdom is near. It is close at hand, my friends, awaiting our good pleasure to establish it. Who among you would shrink from such a glorious undertaking? If we hold it in our power to establish the Kingdom of Summer, how can we turn aside?
“I do not know whether we shall succeed or fail,” he continued. “The task may be more difficult than any alive can know. We may give all we have and still we may fail, but who in the ages to come would forgive us if we did not try? Let us therefore pledge our hearts and hands to something that is worthy—nay, more than worthy—of our best efforts. Who will make this pledge with me?”
At this the warrior host roared out a shout to tremble heaven and earth. My song had filled them with a yearning for the Summer Realm, and the sight of their High King bold and bright before them had given them a glimpse of its lord. They pledged themselves freely and with all their hearts.
But Arthur was not finished. When the shouts had died away, he looked at Caledvwlch in his hand. “This blade is mighty; my arm is strong,” he told them.
“Cymbrogi, you know that I love Britain better than my life. Had I ten lives I would hold them worthless if I could not spend them in the Island of the Mighty.”
This brought whole-hearted approval, which Arthur humbly accepted. “Believe me when I tell you that I would never do anything to defile this land, nor less yet bring it to harm. Believe me also when I tell you that this ruinous war must cease.” He paused, gathering all eyes to himself. “Therefore, I will meet the Black Boar on the plain tomorrow and I will fight him.” The High King, still grasping the sword, threw his hands wide. “Cymbrogi!” he cried, “I ask you to uphold me in the day of trial. Uphold me, my brothers! Tomorrow when I walk out onto that plain, I want your hearts and prayers united with mine in the battle. Cast off doubt, brothers. Cast off fear. Pray, my friends! Pray with me to the God who made us all to grant me the victory—not for my sake alone, but for the sake of the Summer Kingdom.”
He paused, looking out across the silent sea of faces. “Go now,” he said, “go to your prayers and to your dreams. Let us all rise tomorrow in the strength that comes from hearts and souls joined in true accord.”
Thus did we sleep. And when night faded in the east and the High King and Queen emerged from their night’s rest, Gwenhwyvar stood resolutely beside Arthur, her face impassive against the day.
Arthur broke fast and held council with his chieftains. “You have pledged to uphold me through all things,” he said, reminding them of their vows of fealty. “I commend your readiness for war, but now ask your willingness for peace. Today I will fight Amilcar and I demand your sufferance. Hear me: no one shall give the Vandali cause to doubt that I shall hold to the terms of the ordeal in good faith.
“If any man among you cannot agree this course, let him depart now, for he is no longer friend to Arthur. But if you stay, then you will honor me in this.”
Many among them still distrusted the barbarian’s intent. I do not blame them for feeling uncertain. A man can doubt, can nurse great misgivings, and yet uphold his vow though his heart is no longer in it.
This, I believe, is the spirit’s highest consummation—holding fast to faith by dint of will alone when the fire of certainty has grown cold. For when the fire-wind of ardor gusts high, even the weakest soul can fly. But when the fire dies and the wind fails, the real test of a soul’s worth begins. Those who persevere through all things gain strength and find great favor with God.
Arthur did not cozen them, but let the lords of Britain know what he demanded and what their support would cost. To their credit, the nobles remained staunch; none, despite their misgivings, deserted the High King, or muttered against him.
Accordingly, as the sun began to break the far horizon, the High King armed himself, donning his good mail shirt and his war helm, and slinging his iron-rimmed shield over his shoulder; with Cut Steel on his hip, he tucked a dagger into his belt, and selected a new spear. Cai and Bedwyr did what little they could to help him, inspecting his weapons, tightening straps and laces, offering small advice and encouragement. When he was ready, he mounted his horse and rode out to the arranged meeting place on the plain, the amassed war host of Britain at his back.
The place was not far, and when we halted a short time later Arthur ordered the battlechiefs to take their places, bidding Rhys to remain alert to his signal, and his chieftains to maintain keen vigilance and order among the men, come what may.
He leaned from the saddle across to Gwenhwyvar, stoic and steely at his side, cupped a hand to the back of her head and drew her face near. “You have ridden at my side in battle,” Arthur said gently. “Each time I have taken up the sword I might have been slain. Truly, I might have been slain a thousand times over. This day is no different, so why do you fear?”
“A wife is ever happy to share her husband’s lot,” Gwenhwyvar replied, tears suddenly welling in her eyes. “I have fought at your side, yes, chancing death gladly with you. But I have no portion now in what you propose, and that is more bitter to me than anything I know.”
“I care nothing for myself,” Arthur told her. “What I do this day, I do for Britain. In this battle, I am Britain. No one can take my place or share my portion, for this combat belongs to the king alone.”
He stated the matter succinctly. If peace was to obtain to all Britain, it must be won by him who held all Britain in his hand. Thus, Arthur and no one else. The sacrifice would be his, or the glory. But whether sacrifice or glory, it was a sovereign act, and his alone to make.
Noble Gwenhwyvar understood this and, though she did not like it, she accepted it for his sake. “I will abide,” she whispered. “Only, I wish I could bring myself to believe this barbarian would honor his word.”
“My heart,” Arthur said, taking her hand in his and gripping it hard. “We are not in Amilcar’s hands. Truly, we are in God’s hands. And if the High King of Heaven upholds us, who can stand against us?”
Gwenhwyvar offered a thin smile; she lifted her head and squared her shoulders, the warrior queen once more. In all that followed, she remained steadfast. Though many brave men quailed, Gwenhwyvar breathed no word of doubt or fear. Whatever qualms she might still have harbored in the matter, she spoke never a word more. Nor did she ever so much as hint—whether in mood or gesture—that she distrusted the undertaking. When she at last understood that Arthur would not be moved, Gwenhwyvar took her place beside him as square and true as any of his chieftains. And, if Arthur had so desired, she would have taken the king’s place on the plain without a murmur—such was her true nobility.
Arthur kissed his wife, then climbed down from the saddle and, squaring his shoulders, walked alone onto the battlefield. The Britons stood in ranks behind their battlechiefs, ardent prayers on every tongue.
Great Light, preserve our king! Surround Arthur with defending angels! Shield him with your Swift Sure Hand!
Away across the plain, the Vandali host advanced, nor did they show any sign of halting until they were close enough for us to see their dark eyes gleaming in the merciless light. Their expressions were grave, giving away nothing. They came on—nearer, nearer still—and I thought they would yet overrun us while we stood watching. But, when no more distance than the length of two spear-throws separated the two war hosts, the Vandali halted. Amilcar, with two chieftains and Hergest, advanced.
Seeing that Amilcar arrived
with bearers, I called to Cai and Bedwyr to follow me, and we ran to join Arthur on the plain. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder as we came running. “It may be true that you must fight Amilcar alone,” I told him, “but you need not trust blindly to his barbarian sense of honor. Cai, Bedwyr, and I will attend you and see that the Black Boar keeps his word.”
Arthur glanced at the resolute expressions on the faces of his friends. “Very well. Let it be so. We will go out together.”
The three of us walked with Arthur to meet the Black Boar and I determined to do what I could to ensure the fairness of the contest. We met the Vandal War Leader in the center of the plain and halted a few paces away.
The Black Boar was even bigger and more heavily muscled than I remembered him. Stripped for battle, he presented a fierce and wildly savage aspect. He had smeared his face and limbs with lard, blackened with soot. Naked to the waist, his torso was a mass of scars from old wounds; stout thighs bulged below his leather loincloth. He was barefoot, and carried the heavy shield, short wide-bladed sword, and thick-hafted spear, or lance, favored by his kind. Around his thick neck he wore a triple-stranded band strung with human teeth and knuckle bones. His hair, too, had been greased, and hung in thick, heavy black ropes from his head.
There was indeed something of the wild boar in his aspect. He stood easily, regarding Arthur with mild contempt, no fear at all in his fathomless dark eyes. Amilcar seemed eager to meet Arthur face-to-face at last. In all, he appeared a supremely confident warrior, profoundly secure in his prowess.
The Vandal chief grunted a stream of words in his guttural tongue, which his captive priest rendered intelligible to us. “Amilcar says he is well pleased that Arthur has not run away from this fight. He would have you know that he considers it the utmost honor to kill the British king. The head of such a great lord will bring him much renown.”