Stephen Lawhead - Grail

'Gereint!' I shouted.

He entered the chapel at a run. Without a quiver of hesitation, Gereint interposed himself between the monstrous Peredur and me, his blade drawn. Taking no heed, the thing lurched nearer, growling and slavering like a wolf for the kill.

Gereint held his ground; the blade in his hand never wavered. Heedless of the sword, the brute lunged and made a raking swipe, which the young warrior deftly deflected. The howling thing received a quick slash on the arm. 'In God's name, stay back!' warned Gereint.

At this the creature threw back its head and shrieked, gnashing its teeth and clawing at the air. Then, still shrieking, it started forth once more. Bors came awake at the sound. He pushed himself up from the floor and struggled to rise – only to slump back once more. 'I am with you, brother,' I said, holding to him so as to protect him.

On a sudden inspiration, Gereint grasped the naked blade and turned it in his hand, presenting the hilt upward in imitation of the Holy Cross – as Arthur had done at the consecration of the Grail Shrine. Taking the blade in both hands, he held the sword hilt before him, thrusting it at arm's length into the brute's face.

The creature roared, and staggered backward. Gereint advanced, holding the sword-cross and calling, 'In Jesu's holy name, be gone!'

The brute loosed a mind-freezing scream and began clawing at itself, as if to tear the ears from its own hideous head. It sank to its knees, wailing, keening, gnashing its teeth. Dauntless Gereint bore down upon it, calling upon Christ to drive the thing away.

The wicked thing shrieked and shrieked again to drown out all sound but that of its own torment. Then, even as we watched, the thing began to change again: its body stretched, growing thinner and taller, until its narrow head almost touched the rooftrees of the chapel – whereupon it could no longer support its height and fell, doubling over itself, to writhe and thrash, beating itself upon the floor.

Gereint, unyielding, his face hard as flint, clutched his improvised cross and stood implacable. Wailing pitifully, the creature continued its hideous transformation, its thin body becoming small and scaly and its terrible voice waning away to a high, hissing scream. It rolled in its writhing coils and then slithered for the chapel door, where, with the speed of a fleeing serpent, it slipped over the threshold and disappeared into the night beyond.

The young warrior, still clutching the sword-cross, hastened to where I knelt with Bors. 'It has gone,' he said, his voice hollow, his face drained.

'Well done, Gereint,' I told him, and noticed the blood dripping from his hands. He had gripped the sword blade so tightly, he had cut his palms and fingers. I reached for the hilt. 'You can let go now, son. The fight is over.'

Gereint released the sword, which I returned to its place at his side, then helped him cut strips from his cloak to bind his hands. I tied the strips in place, and we turned our attention to Bors. Between us, we rolled the big man onto his back, bunched up his cloak, and put it beneath his head to make him as comfortable as possible. Then Gereint and I sat down together; leaning against the stout wall, we rested and talked about what had happened.

'What do you think it was?' Gereint wondered. 'A shape-shifter?'

'A demon maybe,' I replied. 'I have heard Bishop Elfodd tell about such things.'

'Is that why you thought to bring it into the church?'

'Truly, I do not know what I thought,' I confessed. 'I only knew that Peredur was a devout man and it would be no hardship for him to take an oath before the altar.'

'But how did you know it was not Peredur?'

'Something about his manner made me suspicious. I cannot say what it was. But then' -1 shrugged – 'it seemed silly to hold such a small thing against him. I doubted myself and almost let him go.'

'But how did you know?' Gereint asked, then added ruefully, 'I was taken in completely.'

'There is no shame in it,' I assured him. 'As to what warned me, I can but say I did not like his manner. When I spoke of the Grail, he behaved as if it were a thing of no importance.'

'Yes!' agreed Gereint. 'The true Peredur would have wanted to see it.'

'So I thought to test him at the altar. It seemed to me no one given to evil could abide the presence of the Grail.'

Gereint nodded with sage admiration. 'You are a very Druid yourself, Lord Gwalchavad. I would never have thought of that.'

'I only wish it had been Peredur,' I replied, and thought again how very close we had come to believing the lie. It could easily have gone the other way, and now we would certainly be dead and the chapel undefended.

As if to draw me out of my unhappy reverie, Bors awoke just then with a groan and sat up holding his head. 'Be easy, brother,' I said, bending over him quickly. 'All is well. The wicked thing is gone. Rest a little.'

'Mmm,' he said, craning his neck around. 'It feels like a wall has fallen on my head. Here, help me stand.' I took him by the arm and he made to get up, but fell back again at once, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. 'Ahh! No, no – on second thought, I think I will sit here a little longer.'

'There is no hurry,' I told him. 'Let us fetch you a drink. Here, Gereint, take the bowl and bring Bors some water.'

The young warrior retrieved the bowl from beside the altar and started for the door. 'You should go with him,' Bors said, rubbing his neck.

'It is only outside,' Gereint protested.

'Go,' Bors insisted. 'I am well enough to sit here by myself. Go.'

'I could do with a drink, too,' I said, and told Gereint, 'Come, then, show me the well.'

Gereint led me out and around to the rear of the chapel. The ground was lumpy with mossy stones, and rose to a small, tidy outcropping a short distance away.

'Here!' called Gereint, springing up the rocks. 'The well is just here.'

The well, as Gereint called it, was actually a small pool; sometime in the past it had been edged with unshaped stones to form a low wall around its oval perimeter. From a metal peg driven into one of the stones dangled the bronze chain which had secured the bowl Gereint had used to fetch water to help clean the desecration from the altar.

We dipped water and, as we drank, began speculating about how the chapel and the well had come to be here. 'This must have been a joyous place once,' Gereint mused, gazing over the clearing.

'I would like to have seen it in happier times.'

'Was there ever such a time?' he wondered.

'The Grail was offered here,' I replied. 'Whoever built this church must have known it as a holy place.'

Oh, yes, I thought, but this is Llyonesse, the blighted land, desolate, barren, and beset with strange airs and weird creatures. Perhaps it was not always so. This little chapel still survives to tell a different tale, after all. Perhaps there is yet some better hope for Llyonesse.

'We should go back before Bors wonders what has happened to us,' I said and, leaning low over the water, refilled the bowl, and we hurried back to the chapel.

Bors had moved himself to the near wall and sat against it. Accepting the bowl, he drank his fill, set the vessel aside, and professed himself refreshed and ready to resume his duty as Grail Guardian.

As if in answer to this declaration, Gereint cocked his head to one side, half turned towards the door, and said, 'Did you hear that?'

'I heard nothing,' I confessed.

'Nor I,' said Bors.

'Listen!' Gereint whispered. Drawing his sword, he stepped lightly to the door and out. I followed close behind, and we scanned the chapel yard. I saw nothing, and was about to say as much when Gereint raised the point of his sword and said, 'There they are.'

Until he spoke, I had seen nothing but the dark shapes of the trees rising above the thick gloom of the encircling thorn wall. But even as he raised his sword I saw the heads and shoulders of three warriors emerge from the darkness of the hedge and step into the clearing. I saw the long spears rising above the large round yellow shields they carried, and knew we were in for a fight.