Stephen Lawhead - Grail

We raised our faces to the glorious water and drank it down.

'The chains -' called Gwenhwyvar, holding up her hands, 'I am free!' Myrddin and Arthur held out their hands, and Rhys and Peredur. As with Gwenhwyvar, wherever the rain touched the links, the chains parted and the pieces fell to the ground, the shattered links melting like ice.

Standing in the rain beneath that low, leaden sky, I looked around and understood that we alone had survived; of all the multitude, only we were left: Arthur and Gwenhwyvar, Bors, Gereint, Peredur, Rhys, Myrddin and me, and, alas, Llenlleawg. Dazed and bewildered, we all gazed at one another, trying to comprehend our miraculous survival.

Arthur moved to where Bors and Gereint and I stood. Falling to one knee, he put Caledvwlch point downward on the ground and held the bare blade in both hands. Then, as if swearing a solemn oath upon the Holy Cross, he said, 'Most noble friends, I owe you my kingdom and my life. No king was ever served by more loyal and honourable men, and no king was ever more aware of his failing. I beg your forgiveness, and offer my pledge, as I would offer it to Jesu himself, that I will never forget the debt of gratitude and honour that I, and all Britain, owe you.'

Bors, touched by the king's words, rushed forward and embraced him, saying, 'Rise, Arthur, rise. You owe me nothing, and there is nothing to forgive. I did only what I have ever done in your service.'

Gereint, shamed at the sight of his king kneeling to him, bent his head nervously and looked away. I stepped forward and prostrated myself before Arthur. 'Lord Pendragon,' I said, 'it is I who must beg your forgiveness. It is through my weakness that this evil has befallen us.'

Arthur stood, reached down, and raised me to my feet. 'Where is the fault? You have remained steadfast through all things. What lord could ask more?'

So we stood together, my king and I, the rain falling over us. Gwenhwyvar, Rhys, and Peredur joined us and, in delight and eagerness, everyone began talking at once.

'God love you, Bear, but it is Earth and Sky to be with you again,' Bors said, his grin wide and handsome. 'I thought I would never see any of you again.'

It was exactly what Bedwyr would have said, and grief awakened at the words. 'Lord,' I said, turning to Arthur, 'I fear the answer, but I must know. What happened to the rest of the Cymbrogi?'

'I never saw any of them after the fire,' replied Arthur sadly. 'We all became separated in the forest. I fear they are dead. Rhys, Myrddin, and I somehow stayed together. I thought we were the only ones left until we saw you.' He then told us how they were ambushed in the darkness while they slept; Llenlleawg, leading a host of the foe, delivered them to Morgaws, with whom they found Gwenhwyvar and Peredur bound and waiting. 'There was nothing we could do,' Arthur said. 'You saw how many warriors she commanded. We fought, but were overwhelmed from the start.'

We then told Arthur how it was with us: how we had come upon the chapel and had cleaned away the defiling filth. We told how the Grail Maiden had appeared and returned the Holy Cup, how we had found Caledvwlch in the well and fended off each attack made on the chapel.

'You have done well,' Myrddin declared. 'Heaven has blessed your efforts. Your reward is assured.' Lifting a hand to the chapel, he said, 'Come, let us thank God for the victory he has given us.'

'You are right to remind us of the source of our salvation,' replied Arthur. 'But say not that we have won a victory this day; rather, say that God in his mercy has cut short the tribulation and spared our lives.'

The Wise Emrys motioned to Gereint, who, bearing the Most Holy Grail, entered the chapel. We followed, silently, each wrapped in his separate thoughts, to join the young warrior at the altar. He had replaced the cup and it sat on the stone, glimmering softly in the light of its own gentle radiance. The king gazed long upon the cup, then bowed his head and wept for his lost Cymbrogi. In this he was not alone; I, too, gave myself over to my grief for the dead, as did we all.

After a time, Myrddin stirred and, in his clear, strong voice, began singing a lament for the dead. He sang The Last Returning, a fine and fitting song for a warrior who has fallen in the fight and will not be going home with his king. Then the Wise Emrys led us in prayers of thanksgiving for our deliverance.

Our voices filled the chapel and our hearts lifted under the benison of Myrddin's comforting words. Holding fear at bay for so long is a wearisome labour, and I felt my spirit ease as the prayers did their work. I cannot say how long we stayed in the chapel, but when I rose at last, a massive weight had fallen from my shoulders.

Myrddin was attracted to the carvings on the walls; while the others talked in low voices at the altar, I joined him to ask what he made of the strange markings. 'Do they speak to you?' I asked.

They do.' The Bard of Britain ran his strong hands across the etched designs as a mother might trace her fingers over the sleeping face of her much-loved child. Entranced, he walked the walls and embraced the messages in silent wonder.

'Make no mistake, Gwalchavad,' he said, turning to me at last. 'Llyonesse was not always the wasteland it is now, and it will be redeemed. One day Llyonesse will prove a boon of great blessing to all Britain.'

The others joined us then, and the king, awed by the chapel, remarked on the mystery of the place. 'To think,' he mused, 'this chapel has been here – here in this blighted realm – from the beginning.'

'The beginning?' said Myrddin. 'Know you, the beginning was long, long ago.'

'And yet the chapel remains,' Bors pointed out. 'It was not destroyed.'

'Yes, the chapel remains,' agreed the Wise Emrys. 'Let all who love the truth think on that and engrave it on their hearts.'

Turning abruptly, he stepped before the altar and, while we all stood watching, took the edge of his cloak between his hands and tore off a portion. Then, bowing in reverence to the cup, he carefully covered the Grail with the cloth. This done, he took up the cup and addressed us. 'The Holy Cup of Christ has been reclaimed. It is time to make our way back to Ynys Avallach.' Cradling the cup, Myrddin stepped from the altar.

We emerged from the chapel into a cold, grey dawn. The vile yellow had washed from the clouds and the rain pattered steadily around us. We stood for a moment, looking into the sky as the healing rain streamed down our faces. Water dripped from the branches of the trees all around, filling the air with the woodland scent of wet bark and leaf mould. Even in the pale dawnlight, I could see further into the wood than before. Darkness had loosed its hold on the land and shadows no longer reigned in this place.

Morgaws' body lay where she had fallen, eyes wide in the shock of her undoing. Llenlleawg sat a little apart, his back to her, his head low, rain beating down on him. Arthur, calm and resolute, strode to where Llenlleawg sat, and stood for a moment looking down at his fallen champion. 'Get up,' he commanded after a moment.

Llenlleawg did not so much as raise his head.

Summoning Peredur and Gereint, the king indicated that they should raise the Irishman between them. The two pulled Llenlleawg to his feet and remained beside him – more to support him than to prevent him from escaping.

Llenlleawg stood before the king as if he no longer possessed the use of his limbs, or perhaps lacked the will to stand and did so only by happenchance. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, abject in every line and ligament, he swayed slightly on his feet. Remorse dripped from him like the rain which spattered upon his head and trickled from his sodden hair in rivulets, dribbling off his downcast face. Guilt pressed full on him and he bent under the terrible weight.