Stephen Lawhead - Grail

'Stand!' said Bors, repeating his command with a jerk of his sword.

The man before us opened his mouth to protest, then hesitated – only for an instant, but when he spoke, his demeanour had altered completely. The hate and suspicion fell away from him and he became so mild and contrite I felt ashamed of myself for doubting him.

'Cymbrogi,' he said, 'it is me, Peredur. Why are you treating me so poorly?' Raising an inoffensive hand, he made to step by us. 'I am so glad to see you. Truly, I thought I would never see any of you again. How long have you been here?'

'Forgive us, brother,' Gereint said with a sigh of relief. 'We did not mean to offend you.' He put up his sword and glanced at Bors expectantly. Bors, too, lowered his blade.

'We should try to find Arthur and Myrddin,' Peredur said. 'They cannot be far away. I will show you the trail. Come with me, it is not far.'

Instantly, my senses pricked. I felt a thin thrill of fear ripple across my shoulders. Without a second thought, I stepped swiftly to Peredur. My knife flicked up in the same quick motion, and I pressed the keen edge hard against his throat.

'Step away from us, Gereint,' I commanded. 'Bors, take his weapon.'

Peredur gaped in disbelief. 'Have you gone mad?'

'Perhaps,' I replied as Bors, sword upraised, quickly snatched the blade from the young man's hand. From the corner of my eye I glimpsed the chapel, and it came into my mind how we might discern the truth. 'But you will forgive us our madness, I think. We will not be deceived again.'

I grasped him by the upper arm and, my knife still hard against his throat, I pulled him forward.

'Where are you taking me?' he asked, growing frightened.

'To the altar,' I answered, 'where men's hearts are tried and known.'

The Grail is gone.

Morgaws telk me that it disappeared. The lying bitch insists she had it secured, and that from the moment Llenlleawg delivered it to her, the casket never left her sight. The casket she possesses still, but the cup is gone; what is more, she claims it vanished at the moment the king's champion attacked his king. Morgaws will pay for this blunder. Oh, yes, she will pay dearly. I taught her better than this. Could she not see how much they valued the Grail – that alone should have warned her to be on her guard. How could she be so blind?

The insolent cow insinuates that it is my fault for not warning her of the cup's true power. I remind her that whatever else it may be, the cup is just bait in a trap so far as she is concerned, and that whatever powers it might possess, the gaudy trinket certainly did not divert the doom which even now crushes our enemies in its cold embrace.

The disappearance of the cup makes not the slightest difference; it will not change anything. All is ordered as I have planned, and even now the end swiftly approaches. Already, events are hurtling towards the consummation of my plan: my crowntaking, and the reign of terror to follow. My triumph will be devastating.

Some monarch, upon accession to the throne, declare the pardon of their opponents, and the forgiveness of sins practised against them. I shall do the opposite, however. The blood will flow from one end of Britain to the other! I think I shall begin with bishops, and then… well, all in good time.

First, I must have that cup. Morgaws will devote her full attention to its recovery – before the fools somehow discover what it was they let slip away. The thought that they might get hold of it again does not sit well with me. It may be time for me to intervene.

'Brother,' said Peredur, dragging his feet, 'there is no need for this. You are anxious over nothing.'

I drew the young warrior forward a few paces, whereupon he stopped. 'Gereint,' he said, pleading, 'you are my kinsman. Tell them – tell them.'

Bors stepped behind us and prodded the reluctant warrior from behind with the sword point in the small of his back. 'Move along, friend.'

Peredur, outmanned and unarmed, seemed to accept his lot. He nodded and proceeded docilely. 'You are wise to be suspicious,' he said after a few steps. 'But you know me. What can you possibly hope to achieve? It is meaningless.'

At this I began to doubt. What did I hope to prove by making him swear his faith and loyalty before the altar? It was, as he had said, a meaningless exercise and would prove nothing.

I felt hard bone and muscle under my hand and doubt stole over me. Fool! What are you doing? Has the enemy so confused and deceived you that you can no longer tell the difference between friend and foe? Let him go!

As if echoing my thoughts, Peredur said, 'Let me go -1 will not think the worse of you. Trust me; we can still find the others, but we must hurry.'

If I had been alone, I believe I would have released him then and there. The urge to do so was stronger than my conviction to see the thing through. But Bors, when roused, is not easily put off. 'Save your breath,' he told the young warrior flatly. 'It is soon over, and no harm will come to you.'

With that we marched to the chapel door, whereupon I removed the knife from his throat and, shifting my free hand to the back of his head, pushed Peredur down so he could navigate the low entrance. He stooped and bent his back as he entered the narrow opening. But as his foot touched the threshold, he suddenly froze.

'No!' he shouted, and made to squirm away. I renewed my grip on his arm and held him tight. 'It proves nothing. I will not do it.'

Bors, close behind, put out a hand and pushed him further into the narrow opening. The young man arched his back and dug in his heels.

'Get on with it, man,' Bors urged roughly. There is nothing to fear.'

'No!' he cried again, almost frantic this time, his fingers raking at the pillar stones of the entrance. 'No!'

Bors, larger and stronger, pushed him further through the doorway. Twisting and turning, Peredur fought, resisting with all his strength. He shouted to be released, his distress turning quickly to rage. Bors, however, was growing ever more determined and would not be moved. He stooped and, with a mighty heave, shoved the struggling warrior through the low entrance and into the chapel.

Bors followed him through and I pushed quickly in behind them. Peredur had landed on hands and knees on the stone-flagged floor, and Bors stood over him, reaching down a hand to raise him up. I joined Bors and, taking hold of the young man's arm, said, 'Here, now – come stand before the altar.'

As I took his arm, I felt a tremor pass through his body. His head whipped around, mouth open to bite my hand. With but a fleeting glimpse of his face, I released my hold and leapt aside. 'Bors!' I cried. 'Get back!'

In the same instant, Peredur gave out a tremendous guttural growl and rose up, flinging Bors aside as if he were no more than a toddling child. Bors fell on his side, his head striking the stone floor. He made to rise and collapsed. I dove to his aid as Peredur, shaking in every limb, began howling like an animal.

'Bors!' I cried, trying to shake him awake. 'Can you hear me? Get up!'

A ragged snarl of rage filled the chapel. I glanced over my shoulder to where Peredur stood. I no longer recognized him at all: his neck was bent, forcing his head down low onto his chest; his lower jaw jutted out and his mouth gaped, revealing teeth both sharp and oddly curved; his shoulders and arms were thicker, his back more broad, with humps of powerful muscle. But it was his eyes that startled me most – red-rimmed and wild, they bulged out of their sockets as if they would burst from within.

Still howling, he turned and slowly stepped towards me, long hands with fingers like claws, twitching and reaching. Bors was still unconscious, and I could not leave him. I looked for his sword, but could not see it.