Stephen Lawhead - Arthur

The day was clear, the sea-wind strong. We fairly flew over the water like the gulls that soared above our mast. And it seemed that the dun-coloured cliffs of Rheged had just fallen away behind us when I saw the faint blue smudge of the island on the horizon away to the south-west. 'There it is!' I cried. 'That is Ynys Avallon.'

Bors adjusted his course and steered for it. I settled in the bow and fell asleep listening to the slap of the waves against the hull. I awoke some time later, thinking to see the isle directly ahead. Instead, I saw nothing but a grey sky and grey sea all around.

My shipmates were all asleep, save for Bors, so I crept back to sit with him at the tiller. 'Where is it?' I asked, sliding onto the bench beside him.

He pointed ahead. 'Rain is blowing in from the east and it has come over misty. But the island is just before us, never fear.'

It was true. The island was before us, though I could not see it. That is the peculiar nature of the isle – which is why the men of Ierne consider it an Otherworldly island: it appears and disappears, seemingly at will.

But Bors proved a good pilot and we reached Avallon after midday. 'Where is the best place to put to shore?' he asked, scanning what we could see of the coastline through the mist.

'We must go round the southern point to the western side,' I told him. The harbour is not so good there, but Avallach's palace is on that side. That is where Myrddin has taken Arthur to be healed.'

So we made our way round the southern end of the island and round to the western side. It was difficult in the mist, but the queen helped, for she had visited the island and remembered where to look for rocks below the surface, and where to find harbourage.

Nevertheless, it was late when we finally came into the harbour and drew in beside the boat Barinthus had used. We made landfall and tied our boat beside Barinthus' vessel, and gathered on the red rock shingle below Avallach's towered stronghold. We looked up at the cliffs rising before us, their soaring tops lost in the mist above. 'They will not have seen us coming,' Bedwyr said. 'You had better lead us, Aneirin.'

I turned to the queen, but Gwenhwyvar said, 'Go ahead, Aneirin. You know the way better than anyone here.'

I did as I was bade, and found the winding, rock-cut steps that led to the palace. They were wet with mist and slippery, which made the going slow.

By the time I reached the top, I could scarce make out the contour of the ground before me as it rose slightly before fading into the grey obscurity of shifting cloud. I walked a few paces forward over the curled, wet grass to the path leading to Avallach's fortress, feeling all the while as if I had crossed one of those invisible boundaries and entered the Otherworld. For, even as my foot touched the path, the mist grew luminous and bright, all gold and glittering, shining with the westering sunlight through it.

The sudden brilliance dazzled my eyes for a moment, I admit. But only that. Even so, mist or no mist, I know we would have seen the Fisher King's palace if it had been there.

But it was gone. Neither tower, nor wall, nor gate, nor hall remained. There was nothing left at all.

A grave for Constantine; a grave for Aurelius; a grave for Uther. All the world's wonder, no grave for Arthur!

I know neither the how, nor the where, nor the why. I only know what is: the palace of the Fisher King was gone and Arthur with it. The mist parted and we saw only the flat expanse of grass and the trees beyond. The smooth white towers, the high-peaked hall, the stout gate and wall – not a stone or straw remained. I had slept beneath that roof! I had eaten food from that board! Like a dream passing from memory upon waking, all had vanished out of the world of men.

We stood blinking in strong sunlight as the mist dissolved and knew ourselves to be witness to a miracle. Loath to believe it, we said foolish things.

'A sea wave has carried them off!' said Cador. Yet there was no storm, and Barinthus' boat was still tied in the bay.

'Sea Wolves!' cried Bors. 'Barbarians have attacked them!' Even the barbarians have not so mastered the art of destruction as to leave neither smoke nor ash where they have plundered.

We said other things and began at once laying plans to search the island and surrounding sea for any sign of them. Even as we began our search, we knew – each of us, in our deepest hearts, knew – the sharp spear-thrust of despair: all our effort would avail nothing.

Still, we searched. A fire is not more consuming than our scouring of Avallon. The rain is not more penetrating than our plying of-the sea round about the island. For many days, and yet more days, we searched both land and sea. Gwenhwyvar sent Bors to bring the Cymbrogi to ride from one end of the isle to the other, and assembled most of Arthur's fleet to sweep the sea from Caer Lial to Ierne, and from Mon to Rheged.

While we searched, we prayed. Gwenhwyvar sent for the renowned Illtyd and many of his followers to join with the brothers there on Avallon and pray unceasingly. And ever while there was a boat or rider yet searching for Arthur and the Emrys, the holy men besieged the throne of the Most High God with their prayers.

In the end, we found what we knew we would find all along.

Winter gales rising in the sea-paths, snow and rain blowing in, the sky a darkling slate, the world growing colder – the queen had but little choice. Sadly, Gwenhwyvar commanded the searching to end. With tears in her eyes, she ordered the ships and Cymbrogi back to Caer Lial, where she attempted to begin her rule alone. But word of Arthur's disappearance had spread far and wide throughout Britain, and the people cowered in fear.

'Arthur is gone!' they wailed to one another. 'What is to become of us?'

'We will be attacked by our enemies! We will be killed!' they cried.

'Woe! Woe and grief! Our life is done!' they said, and lifted their sharp lament.

And the more they said these things the more fear blighted their souls. Gwenhwyvar could do nothing against this. Despite her skill and courage, it was not an enemy she could fight. And the small kings, without Arthur's strong hand upon them to keep them in their places, began raising all the old complaints against her. 'She is Irish! She is not of our kind! She is a barbarian!'

In truth, it came to this: they would in no wise hold a woman sovereign over them.

Oh, she fought valiantly. She was ever more than a match for any adversary. But a monarch cannot rule where there is no faith. The petty kings and lords of Britain set their hearts against Gwenhwyvar and would not be appeased. Of Arthur's subject lords only Bors, Ector, Meurig, Cador and Bedwyr held faith with Gwenhwyvar.

At Eastertide the following spring, Gwenhwyvar gave command of the Cymbrogi to Cador, and returned to the home of her father and kinsmen in Ierne, where she founded a monastery on the coast within sight of Avallon, there to devote her life to prayer and good works among her own people.

Bors, Bedwyr and Rhys, who had served so long with the Pendragon, could not be happy with any lesser lord – even the honourable Cador. They determined among themselves to answer the long neglected challenge of the Grail. They rode off in quest of this most holy vessel, to find it and establish it in the Round Table.

They hoped by this to honour Arthur's dearest wish and, I believe, to restore the quickly fading glory of his exalted reign. For the darkness that Myrddin and Arthur had so long held at bay was, like flood water spilling over an earthen dike, already rushing in to extinguish the feeble glow that yet lingered upon Britain. The last of the renowned Flight of Dragons hoped yet to turn men's hearts from fear, and to crown the passing age with its highest honour.