Gilead

I dedicate this book to my daughter Evan Faith Spangle for she knows what it means to rise to seek the answers

PART ONE: THE JOURNEY

1 Amludd and Balthus

Prayers to God

Dear Lord,

This is the eleventh day of my quest for the Holy Grail. Our group of men mainly a dozen or so of Lord Amludd’s and Lord Balthus’s men and six of my loyal followers, have stopped for the night somewhere deep in forest. I have retired to my camp pallet but the others have remained awake to swill the meager stores of our mead. I have rolled over, pulled my mantel up to my chin, and turned my back on my roguish companions; that I might pray to Thee, oh Pater Meum, and go on wishing, for what seems a dog’s age, for my guides to collapse into slumber. They are making much racket and there is no leniency for sleep. Prayer may sooth me, Lord, but sleep will not visit me this night.

I worry that Ye have better things to attend to, than my rising fear that I have made yet another blunder in my choice of guides. If Lord Balthus and Lord Amludd ever do succumb to slumber, their portly bellies will rise and fall with their mead-laden breathing, their gnarled, scarred hands still gripping their sword hilts. Their blood-stained, spittle soaked beards will stick to their armor as if the slaughter our party just committed was some routine feature of life. If I had not been shocked and riddled with terror by the cavalier way they butchered the innocent right along with the well-meaning; I might be sickened; but I dare not.

I have not confided my fears to my overly burdened father, who has had to journey elsewhere to help his friend Percovale find his sister Didrana. Nonetheless I am in sore need of help, myself. I must find a way to escape my evil companions while my head is still upon my shoulders. I must prevent them from raiding my grandfather’s small fortune which is not far from here and what I fear they have planned all along. I pray, Dear Lord, strengthen my resolve for my father’s sake.

Our questing party was so colorful and fine, when we first left the glittering halls of Caerleon, our bright flags flying and our lion-embossed shields shining in the sun. Indeed finery is a shallow indulgence and wasted in this wilderness.

For three days we headed south toward Calleva, our original destination. But alas; either I and my men are being kidnapped or we are sorely lost. I do not need to be a tracker to know that the public road is but a memory. Judging from the sun, we are heading west now, going instead, further and further toward Dumnonia, stumbling about crumbling pieces of Roman sign posts and rocky swards to be camped near the ruins of Venta Bell Garium.

Amludd and Balthus have some explaining to do, not only to my men, but to their own, for the sudden change in our direction, information to which I am not, alas, privy. My men say Amludd and Balthus have received some ambiguous communication sent by messenger, from the Orkney Isles. They say the Grail has been sited, somewhere beyond these forests of Dartmoor, maybe beyond the land of Devon and even as far as Land’s End. How would those in the dark North know anything about our holy quest?

The weather is chill, the dead leaf cover crackling and mixing with thin slivers of ice. Spring is long overdue. The number of our dead multiplies as our food supply dwindles. The Lords’ entourage sleeps inside insect-hollowed tree trunks or covered in leaves. They hide from the prying eyes, silent spears, and the quick-slitting daggers of fairy folk, whom they believe can be their undoing, as they sleep off the last of their mead. The godless inconvenience themselves, incessantly.

Our journeying has also brought us near the childhood homelands of the Lady Gwinn, a place I remember as rough, untilled, and more than dangerous. Lord Amludd explains this way as longer but safer; and not a one of my lot believes him.

Tonight, the nearby wood echoes hollow with antiquity. During the day little light penetrates the gloom; but the Tawny Pipits, Song Larks, and Jackdaws pepper the green moss upon the branch and sing sweetly in hope of spring. Through the misty air one might spy a snow-white Egret, eyeing the stream waters. I delight in the myriad of colorful mushrooms that have popped up, amidst the rain-soaked fern; but I am glad we remain closer to the edge of this wooded obscurity.

My guides finally snore and I feel a bit safer as sleep embraces me. But tomorrow, Lord, I must find a reason for our lot to depart from the way we are going, a task far more challenging than finding Thy Grail. I send Thee my love and loyalty, Lord, Amen.

Dear Lord,

Day dawned fine and warmer this twelfth day of quest. I chose to bide my time for departure, as all were hopeful at the Lords’ news; though I found it a more spurious, delaying tactic rather than a cause for a new direction. We crossed over ambiguous Saxon borders, ignorant of it, until we sited tracks, which placed us somewhere near the southern regions near Calleva.

Raiding Saxon marauders aborted our arrival at this citadel and brought three of our men’s souls to thee. I pray, Patris Meus, Ye bless them, though they were the Lords’ infidels who only came with us because they were loyal to Lord Medraut.

If ever there was an angry soul that needed blessing, it was surely his; and that of his father, Lord Artus ap Uthyr, though we know not if he lives or has died by his own son’s sword. Lord Artus and his sword, Excalibur, disappeared upon the miracle lake of Lady Viviana, who shifted its waters onto the battlefields of Dolorous Guard, only to make them vanish again, as if they had never been there before.

In the end, Balthus’s men fell and it was my men who had suppressed the raiders. I and my men survived because Lord Balthus felt adamantly I should be protected. I was ashamed of the final outcome, but my men forgave me as they were unfamiliar with the southern region of Atrebatia, and had wanted to ride behind anyhow. My gratitude sits bitter on my tongue though for what darkness I sense behind Lord Balthus’s motivations. In the name of Christ, I pray, Lord, Amen.

Dear Lord,

Day fourteen and we are still in Saxon-occupied territory. We have changed our route, yet again and are now traveling further west and north. We have stopped to rest and replenish our food stores from the edges of the forest that still follows our going.

To avoid further raiders and maverick Saxons, we must move surreptitiously, padding our horse’s hooves with moss and rags and saying little over a rough whisper. Keeping track of where we are is useless for the forest inhabitants compromise the land signs, marked on our maps and destroy our game traps.

We have been in Rhegehd country now for five hours, skirting haunted ravines, balancing upon narrow cliff hangs and creeping slowly through vast rolling fells like a line of ants. To my unpracticed eye, it seems we travel in circles; and I personally, despair over our dwindling ability to protect our welfare in such wild country.

Most distressing is what I overheard Lord Balthus say, as I came upon him and Lord Amludd passing water in the bush.

The pup is a motherless bastard, he said, When alive his mother committed the sin of suicide. It is said it was over the man she wanted and could not have.

I wager that man was Lord Geraint and our whelp is the result of their illicit shagging, said Lord Amludd. Women-they do love a performance. I say we perform our own little play and confront her son with our demands. With Gilead as our prisoner, taking Lord Pelles’s stronghold in Cumbria will be like taking sweets from a baby.

Aye, said Balthus, and I have heard Lord Pelles was never fond of his grandson. Lord Amludd scowled. His eyebrows crawled over his brow like a large caterpillar. Lord Pelles might open the doors to Astolat, that he might gladly strangle our piglet himself. Once within we can murder them both and purloin the old fool’s coin, which will be a far mightier sum than what Gilead has promised.

Aye, said, Lord Balthus and now that Lord Medraut is dead we are free to find the Ogham Stone, a more lucrative and terrifying power than some supercilious Grail Cup.

Do not rush ahead of thyself, Lord Amludd whispered, as he clapped his free hand over his comrade’s mouth. I put no store in rumor. Better we hold the grandson for ransom and are assured of a reasonable fortune without the risk that comes with lifting a sword, which could get messy.

Oh Lord, for once I wish I was deaf. Forgive my shortened prayer. I must slip in to a natural pose and affect ignorance. They have seen me. Amen.

Dear Lord,

I should have listened to my father, even though I am finished with letting others make my decisions. But woe is me. I have discovered another weakness keeping my soul tainted and unclean. Why did I not confront these blackards when I had the chance? Now more than ever, I could have proven my courage. My desire for righteousness is not shining through.

Ye are the chosen one, Lord Amludd had said to me, at Lord Artus’s funereal feast. He and Lord Balthus were dressed in funereal black, a color Lord Medraut carried off with an arrogant pride every day of his short life. But black made the lords look overdressed.

Thy mother had much to say upon that score, agreed Lord Balthus who had taught Lord Medraut to walk as a boy. Everyone within the stronghold speaks of it.

Ye need not blush, Sire. said Lord Amludd with an overly generous smile. It is obvious just by the way ye carry thyself, the way ye grasp a hand in friendship. What doubt could there be about the grace and honor of Lord Geraint’s son?

Ye know my father well? I asked.

His reputation precedes him wherever he goes, said Balthus, matching his comrade’s grin. He is much loved by the people and by the woman who was Lord Artus’s wife. They cannot sing thy praises enough. They say that one day ye will bring peace to all of Lloegyr.

I shall never rule by the sword, as did Lord Artus, I dared say in the bright light of their praise, but I will never rule at all. Lord Artus will return, as God is my witness. Furthermore, I have a quest which God has asked of me.

…and I pray that purpose be realized, sooner than later. They had both said and I, thinking of the grail, declared the day closer than they might imagine and we were off to swallow a pint of mead together and I, boasted a wagon load of fodder about my enthusiasm for them to share in my plans for the cup’s discovery.

Willing were Amludd and Balthus to show me respect and honor within the walls of Caerleon, where the widow of the great warlord and commander of Lloegyr was struggling to hold together her missing husband’s crumbling realm. Though we were all there to mourn his loss, both Amludd and Balthus used their time to frequent my company and oblige my every desire.

Do not let those reprobates cloud thy vision, Master Myrddin had said to me before we left. Their joviality is a shroud over dangerous intentions. Thy tales of the Holy Grail is watered wine against their wild and precarious interest in high adventure. They will be bitter to thy taste in the end, he warned.

Lord Medraut would have wished to see the grail, also, lied Lord Balthus.

He was much maligned by his parents and his extended family; but he was a good lad at heart, added Lord Amludd.

Back then I believed them, for I had little experience traveling and had known little of Lord Medraut growing up. His followers’ seasoned skill with sword and knowledge of hill and vale was something I would need.

I chose to ignore Lord Balthus’s involvement in the surreptitious removal of Lord Medraut’s body from the battlefield in Gallia. It was Balthus who brought the body back to Lord Medraut’s island home, that his family might place his body upon a straw carrack woven with magic, a magic that was said to float the body above the carrack until Lord Amludd’s flaming arrow had ignited the bow. How could I forget it was Lord Medraut who stabbed his own father in the heart, destroying his family’s honor and leaving two hill forts and an entire realm in shambles? But I pray, it is better to realize it now than later.

All this day the lords have been procrastinating and we still in Saxon territory. . Lord Amludd and Lord Balthus were standing upon a large boulder at a distance in order to scan the horizon for shelter and privacy from spear and spy. The other men had gone off to see to the burial of one of our fallen, higher up the rise, which was where I was headed, and again overheard the lords talking.

Too bad we must flee those hairy savages, said Lord Amludd, I would sooner take Saxons by surprise, if it were not for this burdensome charade we are playing with Lord Gilead. Why not leave him here to keep them occupied for a while?

Be patient and thankful we have not more of our own to bury, shot back Lord Balthus, the more practical of the two.

Then let Lord Geraint’s weakling bastard do the digging, when they catch up and ambush us from behind.

I would sooner take on the whole pack of savages myself, than let him make fools of us. Ye can wait to make our move. Lord Balthus snapped, while wiping the blood from his Coney dinner off his smirk. Lord Amludd , who bore the same pale pallor as his cousin Medraut, and shifted his thicker build in the same sinister manner, scratched his capacious red beard and sucked upon his teeth, a habit he demonstrated incessantly, while upon the road, but said nothing more.

As ye can see Lord, I must find a way to strike out on my own, sooner than later, but the idea of this, in such hostile country, strikes fear in an already trembling heart. I am not of the caliber Ye would like me to be, Lord. Father found no pride in my cowardice at the battle at Cefnllys and then I went on to lose my way to Caerleon. Not only did I fail to perform Wyr Geld to avenge my family by killing my own father, but my father forgave my twisted and confused intentions and took me under his wing. No doubt my angry grandfather would be ravaged by shame, for this, if he knew.

Even now when my hopes are high to discover Thy chosen artifact, I have muddled its search with evil doers and betrayers. I can no longer bear to hope I am worthy of deliverance from my own imperfections. I can only hope Ye would find it in thy heart to deliver me from a world that cares little about me and makes less sense to me every day. Yet I remain thy faithful servant, Lord.

Amen.

2 Percovale and Bors

Prayers to the Virgin Mary

Hail Mary, Blessed is Ye Among Women.

I beseech thee to embrace my mother in thy forgiving arms. She loved thee well and worked her heart to bursting to pay her penance. I miss her, though I confess, I never let her know it. I would give my life to tell her right now and if I forfeit it not, then I would get out of this tangling predicament, for I am trapped and not clever enough to find my own way to freedom.

I nearly got my throat slit rummaging through Lord Amludd’s saddle bags for his map of Lloegyr and I should thank thee for this sparing; but I am now bound fast and fear thy wish to keep me alive shall be shorter lived than ye might have first intended. I have no doubts now that Lord Amludd and Lord Balthus mean to wrench my fortune from me.

They will use some strange and unusual torture, performed with some terrifying tool that is useless for several reasons, the first and foremost being, that I would tell them what they want to know without the aid of a single torturous effort; and secondly, if they do carry through with aforesaid device, they shall find my vomit on their shoes.

I must find a way to warn my grandfather, Lord Pelles. He may be one of the most formidable warlords in the land of Lloegyr; but the element of surprise will render him helpless and vulnerable without some warning. The good news is they will not find my grandfather’s fortune. The grisly, stubborn sod would rather die than tell. (Pardon my malediction, Holy Mother.) The whole affair is useless and in any case, I may vomit before they get here.

Therefore, Sweet Virgin, ye must see my sore need for thy aid.

We are now, somewhere south and west, though I cannot tell by how many leagues, from Astolat, for I have yet to catch sight of a single familiar stone. Those within the lords’ party tell outrageous stories about this land, I would not repeat to my friends, that is, if I had any. Wherever we are, we are leagues from the ancient forests in which we were; but from what I saw of Lord Amludd’s map, we may not be far from the ruins of Durnonovaria.

The wind has been blowing constantly, causing the endless sweep of grass to whistle harshly and to seep through the tightest of my clothing spring still refusing to approach us as if we were lying in wait to murder it. The sun winks in jest as it slides down the fell, aware that night will follow like a hungry wolf. We ourselves are hungrier still. We made a simple camp between two rises; our meal meager, due to the last mean raid, which left us short one horse, the others, too thin to carry the burdened of our wounded or to kill for the meat on their bones.

None of these things concern to me, for the fact that I find myself strapped with leather ties, makes me unable to move, even if food were aplenty. Might, I remind thee here of my sore need? For God’s sake, just let me disappear. I beseech thee in the name of Christ,

Amen

Dear Holy Mother of God,

It is now night and the sky has become a dome of stars. Barren is this cold wilderness; barren is my will to live. I urge my body to float, to hover, and sail out into the firmament; but alas, I feel the chill tighten my limbs and it shivers me back to reality, where I can hear Lord Balthus and Lord Amludd shouting over the screaming wind. Those of their party have bound my six comrades and formed a circle about the arguing lords and the small fire they have built to keep warm. They are encouraging the lords, as if a fight might ease the pain of frozen hands. They are shouting for my torture, to end this futile journey; to take the booty and run. One grabs Lord Amludd about the neck and a flash of a knife in the firelight brings the grabber to his knees. The circle expands and I see the anger the fire reflects in their eyes as they all turn to look at me.

Could be they will put me out of my misery and search for Astolat without me. I will not be able to warn my grandfather. How is it, Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus, that I manage to do everything wrong, when all I want to do is bask in thy shining light?

Here they come. My knees are water. My tongue has stuffed up my throat, preventing a sorely needed swallow. I shall not be able to speak for Lord Pelles or for myself either.

Oh, I dare not stare at the cudgel hanging from Lord Amludd’s fist. He and Lord Balthus are staggering towards me, weak from hunger, surely not from mead. They seem afraid. Could the fear on my face make me look like a daemon? Aye, that is it. I shall appear possessed with spirits. They know the dark side of magic from their close friendship with Lord Medraut. But what need they fear with the giant weapons of torture, purloined from the tribal savages we have left behind, swinging at their sides? They are large and curved and adorned with blood- crusted feathers and teeth from some unnamable beast. Their fine edges catch the dawn light just now peaking over the horizon. They are horrible to my heart.

I see by the light of the men’s torches, they are squinting blind, as if beasts studying their prey. I can smell the hunger that has turned them back to the ways of the wood. Behind them I see my few men being detained by those loyal to the lords. Thank God those brutes have not thought to kill them, yet. I pray their dwindling faith in their leaders keep them from doing anything I am wordless to describe.

Lord Amludd is now standing so he can stare into my eyes; but I cannot stand the smell of him and close my eyes. He labors to straighten his back, as he sequesters his cudgel behind him, I must beg thy pardon, Lord Gilead, he says, My men have a tendency to over-step their bounds. I would wish to release thee, only they have dared to tell me, they have found thee snooping in Lord Balthus’s things. I realize ye are a fine lord of the realm; and on any other occasion, I would treat thee with a higher level of respect. But ye must understand, we are in hostile territory and the laws of the road tend to bend the laws of God, when we find ourselves compromised to the limit of our strength.

My jaw jittered. I sought the map in Lord Amludd’s bags simply to help us find the Grail, I am happy to let ye return to Caerleon and I shall go on alone," I ventured.

Lord Amludd drew closer. His broken nose was touching mine. Lord Balthus and I may give thee thy wish; however, not before ye tell us where the rest of thy treasure resides, treasure ye promised us before we left Caerleon; promised us for our services, whether we found thy bloody cup on no.

I could see he was not in the mood for reason.