The Hallowed Isle Book Three (22 page)

“It is Pentecost!” cried Father Kebi, “and the Holy Spirit has come to us in wind and fire!”

But the lightning passed, and the raging of the heavens was replaced by a sudden singing silence. They were in the eye of the storm. They sat, staring, while the blood beat in their ears, and the lightning focused to a single sphere of radiance that floated slowly around the interior of the hall. So bright it was that no man could say who bore it, or if indeed it moved by any human agency at all.

Guendivar stared at that brightness and knew that she was weeping, though she made no sound. From one person to another it passed, pausing for a few moments and then moving on, awarding as much time to a chieftain as to a serving lad, and to the woman who fed the pigs as to the priestesses who had come with Igierne. She saw it surrounding Julia, who crossed herself and then reached out, her cheeks shining with tears.

What are you? Who are you?
the queen's heart cried as the light drew closer. Now it seemed to her that forms moved within that radiance; a procession of bright beings was passing through the hall.
What do you want from me?

And then it was before her, swallowing up all other sensation except the pressure of her husband's hand.

An answer came. “
I am as full of wonders as Faerie, and as common as day. I am what you most desire. Now I stand before you, but only when I stand behind you will you understand Me truly, and be fulfilled.”

And then it seemed to her that the light shimmered, and she glimpsed within it a woman's form. The radiance surrounded her, and she tasted sweetness beyond the capacity of mortal food, though she never afterward was able to say if it had been truly taste instead of sight or sound.

Betiver heard singing, as he had heard it in the great church of Saint Martin as a child. With it came the sweetness of frankincense, filling the hall in great smoking clouds of light. The brightness drew closer, surrounded by a shifting glimmer like the movement of mighty wings. For a moment then he glimpsed a Chalice, through whose pure curve a rose-red radiance glowed.

“
I am thy true Lord and thy Commander. Follow Me!
”came a soundless Voice, and Betiver's spirit responded in an ecstasy of self-offering—

“I am Thy man until my life's end. How shall I serve Thee?”

“
Serve Britannia . . . serve the King
.. . .” came the answer, and he bowed his head in homage.

“Always . . .” he murmured, “always, wherever the road may lead___”

To Igierne, alone among all that company, the visitation had a tangible form. She saw the glowing silver and knew it for the Cauldron, but as it approached, the image of the Goddess grew out of the low relief of its central panel to a full figure that expanded until it filled the hall.

“Brigantia, Exalted One, power upwelling—” she whispered, “watch over Your children.”

“
When have I failed to do so? It is you who turn away from Me . . .”

“Did I do wrong to bring the Cauldron to the king?”

“
You did well, though a time will come soon when you will question that choosing. But for now, be comforted, for in the flesh your son has his healing, though he will not be whole in spirit until he sees Me in another guise.”

The radiance intensified, growing until she could no longer bear its brilliance, carrying her to a realm where the spirit and the senses were one, and she knew no more.

To each soul in that circle the Cauldron came, after the fashion in which he or she could see it most clearly, and each one received the nourishment, in body and in spirit, that was most desired.

And presently folk began to blink and stir, gazing around them as if the painted pillars and the woven hangings, their own hands and each other's faces were equally strange and wonderful. It was no supernal radiance that showed them these things—that Light had disappeared. But the great door to the hall still stood open, and beyond it glowed a clear, rose-tinted sky, and the first golden rays of the rising sun.

Betiver looked exalted, as a warrior who has seen his victory. It was an expression that illuminated the faces of many of Artor's Companions, though they gazed around them now in confusion and loss.

“I had it—” whispered someone, “I almost understood—where has it gone?”

Igierne lay still, with her priestesses around her, but her breast rose and fell, and Guendivar knew that in time she would wake, restored. Father Kebi was murmuring prayers, on his face an unaccustomed peace. The cooks and the kitchen slaves gazed about them in amazement. But Manus' eyes shone like two stars.

Guendivar turned to her husband, understanding that she had seen the thing that was behind the faerie-folk who had once so enchanted her, and the source of their magic, though the images were fading so swiftly that she could no longer say just what it had been.

“What did you see, Artor?” she whispered. “What did you see?”

But he only shook his head, his eyes still wide, half-blinded by looking on too much light. She reached out, and he drew her to him and held her close against his heart, and for that moment, both of them were free.

Morgause gazed at the glory of the new day and cursed the gods. A night of elemental fury, followed by a dawning that might have belonged to the morning of the world, could only mean that Igierne had unveiled the Cauldron. The mysteries Morgause had studied during these past years had taught her how to sense the cycles of the land as once she had charted her own moontides, and she knew that this had been no natural storm. Such lore as she had been able to glean in the years she spent on the Isle of Maidens suggested that the precautions with which the Cauldron had always been surrounded were not only intended to control access to it—they were needed to control its power.

On the night just past they had surely seen the result of letting that power flow free. The ground was littered with leaves, and the woodlands were striped with pale slashes where entire branches had been torn from the trees. As the horses picked their way along the muddy trackway towards Camalot, she saw that the homes of men had fared even worse. Huts stood like half-plucked chickens, the bracing of their roofs bared where the thatching had been torn away. At that, the Celtic roundhouses, whose frames flexed with the storm, had fared better than the square-built Roman dwellings, which tended to crumble when the wind ripped off their terra-cotta tiles.

For anyone caught in the open, as she and her escort had been, the hours of darkness had been a nightmare. The cloak Morgause wore still steamed with moisture. Only the yew wood in which they had found shelter had saved them from an even worse battering by the storm.

And then, in the most secret hours before the dawning, the wind had dropped. For a few moments Morgause had wondered if the fury of the storm had transcended her powers of hearing. Then the air grew warmer, and she knew that the stillness betokened a Presence and no mere lack of sound.

Until then, she had hoped her suspicions might be mistaken. Her spy in Artor's kitchens knew only that Guendivar had summoned the Lady of the Lake. But in her dreams Morgause had seen the Cauldron rising like a great moon above the land. And so she had come south—but not swiftly enough to prevent her mother from bringing the Cauldron—the Hallow that was Morgause's birthright—to Artor.

This smiling morning only confirmed her in her conclusion. She felt orphaned; she felt furious. She had learned much from the witches of the Pretani, and yet she was a foreigner among them, always conscious that they kept secrets she could never learn. With the Cauldron, she could face them as an equal. During the past few years her desire for it had grown from an irritation to an obsession. It had to be hers!

There was no point in following her mother to Camalot and confronting her—the damage was done. Still, Igierne must leave eventually. Better, Morgause thought now, to keep her presence in the area a secret. Just ahead, the road had been washed out by the storm. Any party attempting to return to the Lake from the south must detour through the woodland. The damaged forest could hardly have been better arranged for setting an ambush. Limbs of alder and oak littered the ground, while sallow and willow had bowed to the blast. The marsh grasses were half submerged and the higher ground muddy. At her feet a marigold nodded in the light breeze. Morgause wondered how it had escaped the fury of the storm.

“We will stop here,” she told her men. “Uinist, set a watch and send scouts around the woods to watch the southern road. Doli, it will be your task to position the men where they can attack successfully. And when we have finished, we will flee westward. If there is suspicion, they will be searching the main road that leads north from Lindinis. No one will expect us to skirt the higher ground and push towards the sea.”

They had three days to wait before her men reported a large party coming up the road from the direction of Camalot. The horselitter, Morgause knew, must be carrying her mother. But even without the scouts she would have known who, and what, was coming—she could
feel
the presence of the Cauldron, as if its recent exercise had increased its power. She could feel it, and she wanted it, as a thirsty man desires the well.

Morgause ordered her men to do no harm to the Lady of the Lake. Far better, she thought vengefully, to let her mother live with the knowledge of what she had lost, as she herself had had to live without her birthright. The others they might kill, so long as they carried off all of the baggage and gear.

And so she waited while her men disappeared into the woodland, and just past the hour of noon, she heard women screaming and northern warcries, and smiled.

“Mother, it was not your fault!” Artor grasped Igierne's hands, chafing them. “Were it not for my weakness, the Cauldron would never have left the Isle of Maidens.”

“It was my message that brought you—” echoed Guendivar.

“—but my decision to respond . . .” Igierne forced out the words.

She was still shivering, as she had ever since the attack. The men of her escort had been killed, but Ninive had caught one of the horses and galloped back to Camalot for help. That had been at midmorning, and now it was nearly eventide. The Cauldron was gone, and since Uthir's death, she had known no greater disaster. Ceincair wrapped blankets around her and spoke of shock, but Igierne knew it was fear.

“But who
were
they?” asked Aggarban.

“Men, with spears and bucklers and shirts of hardened leather,” answered Nest. “The only words I heard were in British as we speak it in the north, but not the Pictish tongue. They could have been reivers, or masterless men.”

“I thought all such had been hunted down by the king's soldiers,” said Guendivar.

Artor's eyes flickered dangerously. “So did I . . .”

“It does not matter who they are—we must be after them!” exclaimed Gualchmai. “If that was indeed the Cauldron that by the power of the gods came shining through the hall, I would give my heart's blood to see it again!”

“And I!” said Vortipor. Other voices echoed his vow.

When the priestesses returned to the House of Women after that night of storm and glory, they had found the Cauldron safe in its chest, and no one could be brought to admit having touched or moved it. But what else could it have been? Now it was gone, and Igierne shuddered to think of the disaster it might bring in hostile hands.

She coughed and tugged at Ceincair's sleeve. “Did you note, among the riders, any women?”

“I did not,” answered the priestess. “Do you think that Morgause—” She fell silent, seeing Gualchmai's stricken gaze.

“Do you think it is not as hard for me to say it, grandson, as for you to hear?” asked Igierne. “But your mother has always desired the Cauldron. In your searching do not forget the northern roads.”
And if she has taken it, the fault is mine
—her thought continued.
Morgause begged me to teach her its mysteries, and I refused
.

“We will search
all
the roads, Mother,” said Artor. She heard him giving orders as she sank back into the shelter of her blankets.

“And we will take care of you here,” added Guendivar, “where you can hear the reports as the searchers come in.”

Igierne shook her head. “The quest must take place in the mortal realm, and it is the High Queen, the Tigernissa, who is for your warriors the image of the Goddess in the world. I will go back to the Lake . . . I should never have left it, for I am Branuen, the Hidden Queen, and the quest of the spirit must be directed from there. Perhaps the Cauldron will hear our prayers and make its own way home.”

A.D.
502

O
F THOSE WHO HAD RIDDEN OUT FROM
C
AMALOT IN SEARCH
of the Cauldron, the first to return was Betiver. When he came in, Guendivar was in the herb hut, stripping the tender leaves from mints she had gathered in the woods. The sharp, sweet fragrance filled the air.

“Where is the king?” he asked when he had saluted her.

“He rode over to Lindinis. He should be back for the evening meal.”

“The king is riding?” he asked, astonishment sharpening his tone.

“He is much better,” Guendivar said softly, “and the weather has been fine as well. If anyone doubts that what we saw was holy, surely its works speak for it.”

“
I
do not doubt it, though I believe that vision is all that I shall ever see—” He sank down upon a bench, the glow which his eyes always held when he looked at her intensifying. “Perhaps that is why I do not feel compelled to continue trying to see it again.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, watching him closely.

“When the Light came to me, what I saw within it was the Chalice of our Lord, and I was fed, and made whole. We have no assurance that the wonder that moved through the hall was the Cauldron. Igierne's priestesses say they did not take it from its chest, so how could it account for such a miracle?”