Avalon (27 page)

The King smiled, and the flashes blazed. And then, in a purely spontaneous moment of welcome, the assembled media army began to applaud. Most peculiarly, especially for hardened media pros, the applause did not die away in an embarrassed ripple, but grew more enthusiastic as James, smiling, genuinely moved and appreciative of his reception, offered an impromptu bow in acknowledgment of the honor paid him. And when he stepped into their midst to shake their hands, the press pack actually began cheering.

This spontaneous act of welcome proved infectious, for it was widely reported in the next day’s papers that in pubs, homes, and offices, all over the country, viewers applauded and cheered, too.

Later, skeptics would say that it was only the release of tension after the mad scramble to capture the first glimpse of the man who would be king. Others said that it was merely a way of breaking the ice of what was after all a very awkward moment. Still others said it typified and was a physical expression of the confused emotional state of the country following King Edward’s death.

Perhaps it was all those things. Even so, the image of the young man of regal bearing, receiving the adulation of those who had waited many hours in the winter cold to see him, was the perfect portrait of the new King — a fact not lost on the photo editors of the national press. Most newspapers in Britain carried the photo — the rest ran some variation of it — on the front page; it also made the papers across Europe, the United States, Australia, and Canada, as well as the rest of the world.

When the acclaim finally slackened, James Arthur Stuart raised his hand for silence, and tens of millions leaned forward to hear what he would say.

James stepped out to confront a gathering of men and women almost faint with expectation. Having waited through the day in a state of heightened anticipation, the crowd surged forward to meet this new upstart of a king.

He looked at the faces of all those strangers, so eager, so hopeful, and it seemed to him that in that moment — if for
only
that moment — they needed him and genuinely wanted him to succeed.
Here
, James thought,
I have been bracing myself for an angry confrontation, but they only want to welcome me
.

Indeed, the enthusiasm of the crowd lifted him high, and he was swept away on waves of optimism and goodwill. He found himself so overwhelmed, it was some moments before he could find his voice to speak. So he just stood there and grinned. Then, he bowed in acknowledgment of their homage, and the camera flashes went off, and the applause started.

In the same instant, James felt the
fiosachd
quicken. The skin on the back of his neck tingled, and he felt a queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach as if the earth were dropping away from beneath his feet. The scene before him abruptly changed.

All the photographic and video gear disappeared, as did the castle and car and drive. It seemed as if the crowd were standing at the upper end of a gently sloping meadow, with thick forest pressing in all around. James did not need to turn around to know that if he looked behind him he would see the leather campaign tent which had once belonged to Uther Pendragon and, behind it, row upon row of picketed horses. Spread out on the wide meadow before him a number of bonfires had been lit to take the chill off the night; but there was a ring around the rising moon, and he knew there would be snow before another day was done.

The people have come to me
, he thought.
They expect something. What is it
? He looked at their hopeful faces, the way they leaned towards him in their yearning. What did they want? What did they need?

James reached out to them with the
fiosachd
, and suddenly he understood.
There is a battle coming
, he thought.
The enemy is approaching and will soon close upon us. The people are looking to me for reassurance. They want to know that I will not fail them, that my courage is sufficient to the day. They want to hear me tell them how it will be, so that when the fight begins in earnest they can trust me to lead them to victory
.

He looked out at the close-grouped crowd and heard the fluttering hiss of the torches and the crack and ripple of the bonfires; he gathered his people to his heart and began to stoke the flame of their valor. For the British are a remarkable race, quick to rally, slow to fear, quietly determined and able to endure the worst with patience and fortitude. They possess a natural nobility staunchly resistant to oppression and injustice. Although uniquely tolerant, and therefore difficult to rouse, once roused, even the least among them is capable of great heroism.

The battle begins here. As always, the battle begins here and now. Before the first blade is drawn, before the foe is sighted, we begin by putting fear to flight
.

They were waiting for him to awaken their courage for the battle to come, so he said, “You honor me with your presence here tonight, and I welcome you, one and all.” A rippling flare of light met this first utterance, and the torches and campfires of another time became camera flashes and TV spotlights once more.

“A few miles from here a king was buried today,” James told them, looking away to the east. “With the ending of his reign, another begins. This is the way it has always been in this land, and it is right that it should be so now. I know there are forces at work in our country which would make it otherwise. Yet, God willing, a monarch shall always reign in Britain.

“I say this, not from selfishness or ambition — unless it is the ambition to restore Britain to her rightful place in the world. As I look around me now, I see the hope in your faces, and I, too, take hope. For I see in you the yearning for a better way, a higher purpose, a more meaningful existence than any offered by our materialistic, narcissistic, fatalistic age. I tell you the truth: this longing is not misplaced. Rather, it is our heritage, and it is borne in the blood and bone of Britain’s true daughters and sons.

“Indeed, it is part of the very character of our island race to ever and always look beyond the narrow horizons of time and place and circumstance to the paradise we have seen shimmering in the west. Listen, my friends, and I will tell you a wonder.”

Raising his hands, palms outward in the age-old gesture of declamation, James knew deep in his inmost heart that he had stood this way before and spoken the words he was about to speak. He had no need to plan them, or even to think about them. The words were written on his very soul.

He gazed out upon the expectant faces of the crowd, and loosed the words to do their work once more. “There is a land,” he said, “a land shining with goodness where each man protects his brother’s dignity as readily as his own, where war and want have ceased and all tribes live under the same law of love and honor. It is a land bright with truth, where a man’s word is his pledge and falsehood is banished, where children sleep safe in their mothers’ arms and never know fear or pain.

“It is a land where kings extend their hands in justice rather than reach for the sword; where mercy, kindness, and compassion flow like deep water, and men revere virtue, revere truth, revere beauty above comfort, pleasure, or selfish gain. A land where peace reigns in the hearts of men, where faith blazes like a beacon from every hill and love like a fire from every hearth; where the True God is worshipped and his ways acclaimed by all.

“This is the Dream of Taliesin, Chief Bard of Britain. If you would know this land, know this: it is the Kingdom of Summer, and its name is Avalon. Fortunate are those who stand before me this day. Countless generations have lived and died longing to see what you now behold: the appearing of a king who can lead his people to Avalon.

“I tell you the truth, the Kingdom of Summer is close at hand. Taliesin’s dream can become reality; it only awaits our good pleasure.”

Lowering his hands, James was aware of an embarrassed, uncomfortable silence. He realized his mistake then — people were no longer accustomed to being addressed this way by those who led them. He could almost hear them thinking: is this man a charlatan? is he insane?

“I want you to know, all of you, that we stand on holy ground,” he continued. “Many years ago, in this very place fewer than two hundred warriors led by Arthur,
Dux Bello-rum
of Britain, met the massed warbands of Saecsen, Jute, and Picti under the leadership of the wily marauder Baldulf. Though greatly outnumbered, the valiant British not only stood against the foemen, but also put a far superior enemy to flight. The cost was fearful. When the battle was over fewer than eighty Britons remained standing.

“The blood of the defenders hallowed this ground, and out of recognition for the sacrifice of those brave dead, Arthur gave this land to one of his battlechiefs with the expressed stipulation that it should be held in perpetuity for the defense and support of the sovereignty of Britain. The link forged that day long ago has held fast; the chain remains unbroken — to this day and to this hour. Through the many storms and gales of adversity, the ducal fiefdom of Morven has remained steadfast and loyal — not to the temporal monarchy, which is all too often invested in weak and fallible men — but to something higher and purer: the True Sovereignty of Britain.

“Today, two ancient and powerful forces are united once more: the kingship of Britain and true sovereign power. Kingship, as everyone knows, is a simple matter of birth into a noble house. True Sovereignty, however, is only ever a gift from Almighty God, who alone raises up and establishes those who will wield power in his name. As a wise man once told me, ‘Without God there is no king.’

“But today, my friends, I tell you there
is
a king in Britain. A new reign begins from this moment, and with the help of the Almighty’s Swift Sure Hand, we will live to see this nation flourish and return to its paramount purpose in creation: to be a beacon of hope and grace to a world lost and languishing in the darkness. This has ever been Britain’s true calling, and as your King, I intend to restore the glory of our nation, and lead it to its rightful place — for the good of all people everywhere, for the good of those who live beneath my rule as well as those who stand watching from a distance.”

James could sense the battle forming in the hearts and minds of his listeners. Once, these words would have kindled bright fire in the soul. Now, however, it was like stirring damp ashes with a stick. How to make the dead embers live?

“A moment ago,” he continued, “I told you about a battle that had been fought on this holy ground. The revival of Britain will be a fight no less fierce, no less costly than the one Arthur fought long ago, the enemy no less terrible. I tell you now, that battle has begun.

“Already, doubt and fear are creeping into your thoughts. Already the joy with which you first welcomed me is fading. Very soon, the crass cynicism of this age will rear its hideous head and roar its paralyzing cry. These are the first of the enemies we will face, and there are many more. How swiftly is the battle joined!

“Even so, there is worse to come. The declaration of my reign will provoke the rulers and powers of darkness. I warn you now, the conflict to come will be great. But when the enemy appears with weapons drawn, and when the thunder of their drums and battle horns drives the strength from your hands, I ask you to remember that we do not go into the fight alone. The Swift Sure Hand goes before us, and will not forsake us.

“As Arthur told his scant few soldiers here in this place on that fateful day so long ago, I tell you now: Whether tomorrow finds us in triumph or defeat, I leave to God. I do not ask you to defeat an enemy, I ask only that you stand with me to the end, that our courage may be the spark that kindles the flame of hope in our kinsmen’s hearts. Once kindled, that flame will grow, and it will become a consuming fire that drives every enemy before it.

“Listen! This is where the battle to restore Britain begins. I, James Arthur Stuart, call you to arms. Join me! Fill your hands with strong steel, bind courage to your hearts, and take your place beside me. Together, we will make of this island realm a blessing to all the nations of the earth. Together, we will bring about the wonder that is Avalon.”

The day’s fishing had been moderately successful, and the crew of
Godolphin Girl
were looking forward to their evening pint at the Smugglers’ Arms. The short winter day had left them over two hours ago, but the moon was bright, throwing a tracery of silver netting over the sea. The wind was light out of the south and unseasonably warm. They were seven miles off the Cornish coast, making for their home port of Penzance when they noticed the sea begin to bubble.

“Trevor! Pete!” shouted the boat’s skipper, George Kernan. “Look’ee aft!”

Trevor Qualk, the boat’s first mate, put his head around the small wheelhouse and looked over the rail. He saw nothing but the scattered reflection of the moon over the calm sea. “What was it?” he called back.

“T’sea is aboil!” came the skipper’s reply.

“Where?” he shouted. “There’s ne’er a ripple all the way to St. Mary’s.”

Peter Kernan — the skipper’s son, and one of the two other fishermen aboard — was sluicing down the aft deck and happened to be dipping water when he saw a great bubble rise like a dome to burst on the surface. “I see it!” he shouted.

“Where?” hollered Trevor, leaning out over the rail.

Andy Gullicks, the fourth deckhand, was tying up nets when Peter shouted. He looked back just in time to see the ripple caused by the disturbance. “Away to the southwest!” he confirmed, and joined Peter at the stern.

Trevor walked back and took his place beside them. He was about to ask if they were having him on, when a third great blister, almost twice as large as the first two, bulged up and burst on the surface. At almost the same instant, further away, several more huge bubbles surfaced. The sea rippled in outward-racing rings that overtook the ship and set it rolling in the water.