The Red Book of the High and Holy Grail, Chapters 4 – 7: Corbenic
Chapter Four
Peredur entered the forest. There he found and followed the thread of secret thoughts that had led him to Caerleon from his mother’s house.
But who can explain the supernatural science of unfolding revelation – what it is, thought that comes from God and is part of God – and where it leads a man who is purged by its stringent transfigurations? The words of the Bishop grew in him:
“It is possible that some may win an exalted experience of divinity…”
Thoughts, like the tongues of flame dancing upon the foreheads of the Upper Room, energizing the unborn questions hidden in destiny, wrapped his contemplations in robes of splendor, woven in the towering fires of Sinai!
“…the fire that stood upon the summit of Sinai, the fire into which Moses walked, until he stood face to face with God…”
And the theophanic utterance hammered into stone, that broke open the chair in which he sat, staring into the loving countenance of the man-befriending Savior – offering the cup of Vision; offering the drink of Deification; offering such intimate communion with the Godhead.
“…if you return to prayer, and persevere in it, God will bring you to the end He has in mind for you…”
And he entered the silence of the forest. A silence holy and wise, it was a stillness growing beyond horizons seen and unseen. Fewer words were dropped into the cup of that silence, except that occasional gusts of prayer shook the branches, the prayer that his mother had planted in his heart. Fewer thoughts were brushed across the pure skies of that silence, where the vision grew in him…
“…seek out the council of the holy hermits of Avalon; do not depart from their guidance!”
Now, as he looks up above the trees into the descending glow of darkness, he sees a thing he has never seen. A high tower takes shape before him out of a mist of mixed sunset and gloom. Its supporting walls seem formed and created before his eyes out of the lower shadows. Suddenly he broke free of the forest, onto a rocky bluff over the sea. Waves roared below, sending up their spray. A river rushed out of the forest, pushing its way down through divided cliffs to a rocky beach. His road descended to the graveled ford before climbing again to the gates of a Lord’s walled fortress.
“I have come to the doors of Heaven!” he says to himself; and seeing the gate-keeper waiting for his approach, he inquires: “Is this the gateway to the marshes of Avalon?”
“This is the hall of Gornemant, Prince of Graherz,” replied the man. “To come to the beginning of those marshes, it is another day’s travel by horseback, I think.”
At these words, the wind of nightfall came up from the sea. Voices seemed to cry out in the trees, and the desire for his quest fell on him again with all the power of the descending winds of Pentecost.
“Then I will be going on,” said Peredur.
The gate-keeper reached for the horse’s bridle. “Not on your nobility, sir. You must rest within the protection of my lord this night, or he will be offended. Even if you have no need of rest, think of your horse.”
This sensible speech made Peredur aware of his fatigue and hunger. He allowed himself to be dismounted and led in. The maiden who took his hand within the hall blushed at his beauty and dropped her eyes; but he took no notice until she began to unbuckle his armor.
“What are you doing, sister?”
“Do you wish to sleep in your chain mail, with an iron helm for your pillow?” she laughed.
“I had not thought of that.”
“By the way you wear your arms,” she said with quick insight, yet blushing as she spoke, “one would not think you are unused to them!”
At that moment, the lord of the fortress entered. He was a large and vigorous man, though well into the graying years of his beard. He stared at the youth a long time.
“Who are you?” he said at last.
Of all the things he had turned over in his mind that day, the meaning of this question had not been one of them. He still held no suspicion of not knowing who he was. He realized that he did not know his father, but he had no idea of family history or what this could mean to him. It was enough to him that he had known his mother; but how she had shaped his identity had never occurred to him. Truly, he was as innocent as a child just emerging from his mother’s embrace – a child, almost, before the awakening facility of language to interpret the world has made a stronger impression on him than the fading memory of the womb!
None of this occurred to him now, nor had he given it any thought. He knew only that he had heard the same question once before – that very morning, in Arthur’s council chamber – and that he had been taught an answer to it.
“I am Peredur.”
“Peredur! The son of Eliffer?”
“My mother told me I had a father, but she did not give me his name.”
“You were born in the city of York?”
“What is a city? Is it like the place where Arthur dwells?”
“Very like, except that York was once more splendid by far.”
“Then I can not be the son of Eliffer. I grew up among trees and pastures, never knowing there was such a thing as a city, until my mother told me it was time to go and find Arthur’s court.”
“Your mother is Erfyddil, sister of King Urien of Rheged?”
“If she had any such name, she never told me of it.”
“You bear too great resemblance to my brother Eliffer; I cannot think it is simply coincidence that you have this name! My brothers and I defended the northern borders in the days of Uther. The three hundred horsemen of Kynfarch and his son Urien; and the battle-host of my oldest brother Pabo, whom they called the Pillar of Britain! And my brother Keidyo, the father of Gwendoleu; and I too, youngest of my father’s sons, I, Gormenant, had a share in that glory. On the battlefield they called me Kynvalyn, after Kymbaline the ancient hero. As long as our cavalry rode the border, Britain was safe from invasion.”
“My mother did tell me this,” said Peredur with a strange sense of awakening interest, “that my father was a commander in Uther’s cavalry.”
“Yes, yes, I thought so; Eliffer of the Great Host! I remembered, when you told me your name, how Eliffer stopped to see me on his way to Corbenic. He told me then his wife was to have another child. Were it to be a male child, he had chosen this name: Peredur. Nor can I study your face nor your stance without recalling that of Eliffer’s, standing before me in so much the same manner. You are my own nephew; what a man you will be!
“But Eliffer was slain mysteriously, returning from that same pilgrimage to Corbenic.
“For him, it was a pilgrimage; but Merlin and Uther had called all the kings and war-leaders to a council there. It is said that the purpose of that council was to examine the legendary weapons of the gods, and their power to defend Britain. Eliffer refused to cooperate in such a venture. He wished to remain loyal to Christ. So did Riderch, who drew the Archangel’s sword from its stone; and forced to defend himself with it, he broke in half the sword of Nudd!
“This was a blow to the plans of Merlin! That is why it is rumored that Eliffer paid the price of Merlin’s revenge – though the circumstances of his death in the forest of Gloucester remain uncertain.”
The voice and countenance of this Lord altered as he spoke, becoming lined with anger.
“If Merlin or his pagan allies were responsible for Eliffer’s death, their mistake was soon evident. Kynfarch and Pabo had already retired to the monasteries. Without Eliffer’s leadership, the northern border became vulnerable. Britain was buried under Saxon invasions. There were strange reports, too, that in the ambush that fell upon all of Eliffer’s sons, and my own as well, fierce and merciless warrior-women were seen, directing the slaughter. York and its palaces were burned soon after, and your mother disappeared before she had given birth. It was assumed she was captured or killed. Meanwhile the slaughter and destruction increased. Nor did it cease that season, nor that year. Until the rise of young Arthur, there would be no reprieve throughout the Island of Britain.”
“Sir,” said Peredur, “I have never heard anything like this tale! Is it possible that it relates to me? I must hear it all.”
“I will instruct you, not only in the lore of Uther Pendragon, and of Arthur his son,” said Gornemant; “but in their skills as well. Then what a man you will make! You are already nearly the stature of your father. Do you know the use of your sword?”
“I know how to buckle and unbuckle its harness, and how to hold it to the light,” said the youth.
Evan as he said this, the lord’s daughter removed the youth’s chain-mail; and seeing the simple and incongruous garb beneath, she found it difficult to suppress her mirth.
Her father spoke to her sharply. “Bring him a robe such as befits his nobility!”
She hurried to carry out his command; but Peredur protested. “This tunic was sewn for me by my mother, whom you say was the sister of king! Ought it not to be honored above any other?”
“I can see the skill of her hand in the design,” the lord admitted with tact. “But she has given you the outfit of a boy. It is no longer fitted to your station, if you are to become something more in the world. It is my duty to bring you to the stature and consciousness of a man. I cannot succeed unless you dedicate yourself to my guidance. I will make you the son of your father. He was a master of the highest of martial skills: those of the cavalry on horseback, coordinated in the Roman disciplines.”
“Tell me about this!” the youth responded eagerly.
“When Rome first came into the Island of Britain, the coordinated charge of legionnaires on foot was considered the primacy of strategic warfare. Cavalry was no more than an auxiliary force, used on the flanks of attack. But the brilliancy of British horsemanship launched the cavalry into the ascendancy. After the withdrawal of the Roman legions that had protected our island, the expertise of Kole and Keneu, the fore-fathers of our family’s line, showed what cavalry could accomplish, against hordes that even a greater number of legions could not subdue. This art of war reached new heights under the leadership of Ambrosius. His greatest commander was Kynfarch the Dismal, who further advanced the skills and strategies of mounted units. With his sons Urien and Llew, and with your father Eliffer of York and we his brothers, this was the finest army of cavalry units ever to see deployment – that is, until Arthur began to learn these skills from his foster-father Conrick.
“Arthur, as a youth not much older than you, became the most brilliant war-leader of them all. Using the old Roman roads, he led his army from one end of the Island of Britain to the other with speed that astonished the enemy. He had a mind that proved him undefeated in the field, even against impossible odds. With Caius by his side, with Gawain and Bedivere on his right flank and Lancelot and Owein on his left flank, he drove wedges between the Saxon hordes and shattered them. In twelve famous battles, he drove them out of the island!”
“These are the skills I will teach you, if you wish, since anyone can see your youthful limbs yearn for the craftsmanship of your father’s weapons.”
New feelings surged in the heart of Peredur – new desires to excel in martial prowess. His blood remembered how it was stirred, when he was attacked by the warrior whose armor he now carried. The Arimathean’s chalice was forgotten for the moment. The youth thought only of his wretched nakedness in the knowledge of the weapons he wore.
“What must I do to receive this teaching?” he said.
“First of all, you must you must promise to cling to my instruction…”
“I will. My mother advised me to always turn to worthy men for counsel,” Peredur answered quickly.
“And you must never again speak of those things she taught you,” Gornemant rebuked him. “A mother’s teachings are necessary to a child; but when it is time to become a man, too much of a mother’s influence will make you seem like a fool!”
The shock which appeared on Peredur’s face showed how little prepared he was to hear such a thing.
“I remember that your mother was wise,” Gornemant said more gently, “and she proved it by keeping you alive, and by sending you to Arthur when the time was right. But you must now cease repeating her instructions over and over! Let them continue to shape your manners, if you wish. Noble manners are essential; gentleness and respect speak for themselves. But I tell you, your manners will improve if you learn to speak less forthrightly! Listen more; speak less, and only after careful consideration. It is my responsibility, as your blood relative, to tell you this, and to make a man of you.
“I cannot understand, though, why this was not accomplished in Arthur’s court, before they let you leave there.”
The vision of the chalice was remembered.
Ah, Gornemant, what do you know of the youth that stands before you? You think he is a fool; you think he is empty-headed? You do not know what it means to be pure, what creative power rests in the Name of God that his mother taught to him in the forest! You do not know what this silence is that he brought into your hall, this tremendous innocence, or what it is that grows in him.
The youth trembled; and his eyes, penetrating horizons veiled in night beyond the walls, showed hints of the light they had seen.
“Why were you not at Arthur’s court on the High Day of Pentecost?” Peredur demanded.
Gornemant sighed. “I have not seen Caerleon these many years. Arthur’s court no longer has the renown it once had, when the king was young and zealous for deeds.”
“But if you had been there this morning, you would have seen a wonder such as has never been seen in the Island of Britain, if I were to judge by the astonishment of the king himself!”
“Was it a vision of light in the altar?” the daughter interrupted.
“That, and more,” the youth replied; but his eyes regarded her with a new wonder.
“You were out hunting,” she said to her father; “but everyone in the chapel saw it.”
“A new quest has begun,” said Peredur; “one which, according to the others who vowed its accomplishment, will eclipse all others in the Island of Britain!”
“What quest?” Gornemant demanded. “Has Arthur decided to put down again, once and for all, the kingdom of the Picts and the raiders from Ireland? Has he determined to march against the very homeland of the Saxons? Or has he set his eyes upon the inheritance of Constantine, the twin high thrones of Rome and Byzantium?”
“None of these, but to recover the relics stolen from Corbenic.”
“I never understood the attraction of Corbenic,” Gornemant frowned, “or the monastic life into which so many of our kings have longed to retire. It seems that now Arthur himself has begun to consider that life.”
“It is not into retirement that this quest calls us, but to search for the sacred things that Merlin stole.”
This put a new face on Gornemant. “It is a formidable enemy that you will be facing. Merlin and Gwendoleu, sons of our own fore-fathers: it was they who opened the breach in the northern wall and caused the waste of Britain! Their minds are poisoned, and their weapons have the bite of demons! Eliffer knew of the battle-storm that was coming from the north! That is why he named his last son Peredur, “the steel spear”! Arthur should have gone after him long ago. Come; I will equip you for your quest against the Lord of the Red Tower!”
When the sun rose over the courtyard of the keep, in the shadow of Gornemant’s tower, Peredur learned the language of the sword. Against his own uncle, and against another youth whom that Lord had in training, Peredur sharpened his new skills. On the second day, they took their horses out to the meadows to learn tactics of coordinated charge and defense.
The youth advanced swiftly in horsemanship and weapons. He had not yet been under his uncle’s instruction for one week, however, before his mind began to turn again toward his quest. The maiden found him walking in the hall before sunrise.
“I must continue toward Avalon,” he said to her. Without a word, she armed him. He was mounting his horse in the yard when Gornemant appeared.
“It is too soon to try your skills in single combat,” Gornemant warned him.
“I will return for your lessons in the proper season, then,” said Peredur. “With all my heart, I thank you for your generous advice and training. I will forget none of it. But my soul oppresses me with an urgency to find the way toward the ancient and mysterious fortress of Corbenic.”
“Will you not take one day more to join me in the delights of the hunt?” his uncle pleaded.
“Were it not that I must go on to Avalon with all speed, I would like nothing more than to learn of the hunt.”
They accompanied him to the gates and watched him disappear into the forest. Then the maiden turned to her father.
“You never told him who he is!”
“What can you mean by that?” he said with surprise. “Did I not embrace him like a son? I acquainted him with the meaning of his name; I gave him the name of his parents and the importance of his paternal lineage! I awakened the spirit of his blood, and gave him the skills of his father! What more could I have done for him, in such a brief time?”
“You never told him of his mother’s lineage.”
“Certainly I did! I told him that his mother is the daughter of King Urien!”
“You did not show him that he is the son of saints. Did you not see their mark in the beauty of his countenance? You said nothing of Urien’s ancestors, the guardians of the relics in Corbenic. You did not mention his mother’s mother, a daughter of St. Brychan. And knowing that he travels toward Corbenic, you never showed him that the present king of Corbenic is his own great-grandfather; nor did you prepare him in any way for what he will meet in that place.”
“My responsibility was to prepare him for the trials he must encounter on the way.”
“That part you did well,” the girl admitted. “But what will he encounter when he comes to Corbenic itself?”
“I did not think of that. How could I? I do not know myself what that mystic hall is like! Anyway, I am less worried for his welfare once he arrives there. He will know what to do; or if not, he will find out. That is not my concern. Whatever else he may be, he is a youth of my own blood. He will have plenty of time to discover the hidden depths of his manhood; but he needs to begin at the beginning. Youth is the age of action; later, he can turn his mind toward contemplation, if that is his inclination. I did him no wrong.”
“I think that I should follow him to Corbenic.”
“Impossible! You do not know the dangers of those marshes!”
“No, but the vision he spoke of reminded me of what I saw myself; and it has instilled in me a tremendous desire for a pilgrimage to Corbenic. My cousin’s determination confirmed it. I don’t know why; but I must go.”
“How can I let my only daughter ride into such perils?”
“Give me as escort your apprentice in arms; he is the son of a lord, is he not? Have you not promised him my hand in marriage? You must trust him deeply, then; or are you not confident of your instruction in weapons?”
The Lord of Graherz was not happy with his daughter’s persistence; but seeing that he could not with honor resist such a desire, he submitted. He called the servants and he called for his ward, and ordered them to prepare horses, tents and supplies for the journey.
Chapter Five
Peredur traveled until the road lost sight of the sea. Hills and forests were his only companions, except for the thousand birds that celebrated midsummer with their song. His ear was not impervious to their varied notes of joy; but his heart interpreted them in the language of his destination, according to the mystery of Corbenic. Now and then the deer stood still and alert to watch him pass, but his eye and all his thought and were only on his road.
As the sun drew near to the end of its own high road, he descended the last hill into a lowland forest of oaks. The ancient trees were of tremendous size. The lanes beneath their massive limbs were wide but deeply shaded. The sun could not see far into the gloom of that forest; but he thought he saw a strange brightness wrapped in smoke. Turning his horse in that direction, he came upon a hut on fire. Outside it stood an old man, with the swords of two men at his throat. A third man ran out of the smoking hut; his face showed rage.
“What he says is true,” yelled that third man. “There is nothing of value at all!”
“Where are your treasures and your books?” threatened one of the two with swords. “Where are the weapons of which you spoke, the weapons that guard Paradise?”
“Go ask your lord Maelwas,” the old man answered with no sign of fear. “He knows where they are, in his own fortress,”
“He cannot come near them. He is driven out of his own hall by the magic that comes from them.”
“And what would you have me do?” said the old man meekly. “If he repents of his evil, he would be welcome in the company of the saints. But you know he will not listen to me.”
“We know that the lovers of your Christ,” and here the third inquisitor spat, “are all obedient to you!” He wrenched his own blade free from a stump of oak. “Therefore listen to me. Command the magic out of all those things, or your life is over.”
“My life is worth nothing,” answered the old man. “Take it, if that is what you want.”
The roar and smoke of fire had concealed Peredur’s approach, but now he made himself known. He leapt from his horse and fell on them like the flames. All were amazed at the inspiration of his attack. The three outlaws quickly found themselves pleading for mercy.
“You would have had no mercy on a defenseless old man!” Peredur answered. “You are not worthy of mercy. Here is what you shall do to earn it. First go to your master Merlin and tell him: Peredur is coming for the relics he stole. After you have delivered that message, go and surrender yourselves to Arthur. Do you agree to these terms?”
All nodded without a sound. Peredur took their weapons and sheathed his own; and those three men ran for the forest road.
“They will take your message to Merlin,” said the old man. “Beyond that, they will not keep their word.”
“Have they no honor?” Peredur replied. “They have lost their manhood if they have thrown away all respect for honor!”
“I do not think you could understand,” said the old man, narrowing a powerful gaze upon the youth, “how far those have destroyed their manhood.”
“Even if these robbers found nothing to rob,” Peredur replied, “still they have burned your home!” The youth was close to tears.
“It was nothing but a crude hut for an old man’s prayers,” said the elder.
“That made it a holy place”, said Peredur. “Is there no other roof for you?”
“This forest has an abundance of anchorite’s cells,” said the elder; “but the hermits have been driven out.”
“It would be good for us to find shelter soon.”
“There is a ruined church nearby, which had a holy altar before it was desecrated.”
“That does not sound like a place for a restful night,” said Peredur.
“There are no restful nights in the forests of Avalon,” the old man answered. “Night is the time for watching, and for spiritual warfare. I can see you are weary; but God has brought you here to spend a night in prayer with me. Do not fear; you will see terrible things, but you will also find consolation.”
They came to the shore of a wide lake. In its middle rose a conical island, green and lovely. It was covered with forests of oak and apple which were divided by pastures in flower. A road was worn into its steepness in gentle spiraling circles. This led to a church, which stood on its crest in the last rays of the sun.
“What is that?” asked Peredur.
“That is the Isle of Avalon, with the Church of the Archangel. The church was built around a sword that the Archangel Michael thrust into a stone.
“Is he not the Archangel who carries a sword of fire?”
“You have seen it?” the elder responded sharply.
Peredur was silent for a moment before replying. “In icons,” he said as though from a trance. He was thinking of the frescoes in his mother’s chapel; but remembering the advice of his uncle, he did not mention her. He only sighed.
The old man turned his translucent gaze hard upon the youth. “In this age of the world, my child, there are few who comprehend the blessing of purity. Remember this, and guard your heart when men advise you in matters they do not comprehend.”
“I do not understand now,” said Peredur. “Why do you say this?”
“A mother needs protection from her son,” said the old man. “This is natural. But if she is able to give up all things of this world – her ancestral lands, and even her own son, for the sake of the kingdom of God, then know that her prayers are guiding you. Never let other men tell you otherwise. Now where have you seen that sword?”
“It was only an illusion,” the youth answered, “when the sunlight flashed against the armor of three soldiers of Arthur’s court. I thought I saw the three angels of the Holy Trinity…”
“Child,” said the elder, “you must find someone skilled in the discernment of vision to help you to understand experiences such as these. Otherwise you will lose your way, and perhaps even your mind and soul.”
“Do you know of such a guide?”
“You will find one in Corbenic.”
Peredur dared not ask how the old man knew his destination. Perceiving that he was a holy man, though, he asked if the sword in the stone were the one that barred the way to Paradise.
“The sword that guards Eden is an immaterial weapon of Uncreated Fire. There is none other like that – it is the speech of truth from God’s own mouth, as seen in the vision of the Apocalypse of St. John, in the tongue of the Ascended Lord. The one in the stone was Joshua’s sword. It, too, was given by the Archangel, when Joshua entered the Promised Land, after the exile in Egypt. It too was forged in the furnace of Divine Vision. Other than that, its origin rests in the Unknown. It was inherited by the kings of Israel, Saul and David, who used it, as Joshua had, for war. Solomon used it only in his judgment hall, where it became the symbol of his wisdom. It was kept in the palace of the kings, then taken among other spoils in the Babylonian captivity. After fourteen generations, it was brought back from Assyria as a gift for Herod’s birthday; and with it, on that day, John the Baptist was beheaded.
“But that sword is no longer in the altar. After it was moved to Corbenic, it was taken by Merlin in his anger, and hidden, no man knows where.”
“Is the Church of the Archangel in use?” said Peredur.
“It is. Only a few days ago, I heard the confession of King Arthur there; and I served the Divine Mysteries to him and to Bedivere.”
“Then you are the most wise Gildas!”
“I am the sinner Gildas.”
“I was told to confess to you before proceeding toward Corbenic.”
“My son, what could you possibly need to confess?” The old man wept as he said this. “I am a sinner, you are but an innocent youth!”
“And yet I have already killed a man, though I did not mean to. It was a reaction of self-defense.”
“Well, there will be time tonight for such discussion, believe me.”
Gloom was descending. Its sudden yet timeless fingers were mixing with the shadows of the oaks, when they saw the church-yard not far from the shore.
“How was this chapel desecrated?” inquired the youth.
“It was built over a pre-Christian site, a cave where pagan rituals were practiced long ago. An early hermit lived in that cave, a disciple of Joseph of Arimathea. The chapel was built after he died. The graves of several generations of hermits are here. At one time, the burial shroud of Christ Himself covered this altar! Now it has been replaced by a magician’s cloak, the hide of a swine that has terrible spells in it. The prince who took over this chapel claims that it should be restored to its pagan use. He practices his magic in the crypt-cave below.
“Arthur and Bedivere took shelter in this chapel on a stormy night. It was the night before they crossed to the island. But it was a night of terror for them.”
“Would it not be better to go without shelter?” suggested Peredur.
‘We come on the eve of St. John’s Day”, Gildas replied; “and if you examine the churchyard, you will see what we came for.”
One great oak dominated the churchyard. Under it lay a broken tomb, one of many. A shield hung from the lowest branch that reached over that tomb. It was white, with a red cross upon it. On the reverse side was painted an icon of the Mother of God.
Peredur pointed at the shield. “You have not taken it to Corbenic, as you told Arthur you would?”
“I was prevented by those same robbers and their prince,” Gildas replied. “They are desperate to destroy the last relics of Corbenic, the ones that Merlin left behind.
“Their overlord in the North was preparing an attack upon Arthur. They sent a messenger to Caerleon; but when they heard he was killed in single combat by an unknown youth, they hesitated. They decided instead to launch their attack from a hidden quarter. They thought of their alliance with Maelwas, who had already been trying to take Corbenic. Here is where they surrounded me, demanding the sacred shield of Evalak.
“You were not afraid of them at your hut! Why at that time?”
“I was not afraid; but Maelwas’ magic has been weakened since that shield was left on the tree here. It is the will of God that the one who takes it from that branch will be the one to take it to Corbenic. Every man who has attempted to touch it so far has encountered the Divine Wrath.”
Peredur did not hesitate, not for one breath. Dismounting, he led his horse through the churchyard gate to graze the thick grass. He himself advanced swiftly to that oak, secured the shield his uncle had given him to the same branch, took down the red-cross shield and threw it over his back.
Immediately a volley of arrows came down upon him from behind. One after another bounced off the shield, but a few bruised and drew blood through his chain mail shirt.
He turned like a lion, presenting sword and shield and staring in the direction from which arrows continued to fly. Nothing could be seen in the gloom.
“Where are you?” Peredur shouted. “Coward, show yourself!”
As he voiced this demand, Peredur remembered the old man’s advice to bring prayer into the moment of battle. He made the sign of the cross with his shield, and his mind rang out like a bell of silence, touching the name of God.
The tomb beside him began to shake. Without letting go of his sword, he paced his hand to its lid, and, with a fury of might, threw it off.
“Who is there?” he shouted into the tomb.
He was answered by a thin scream, and by a shade that flew out of the tomb and into the forest gloom.
At the same moment, a ragged man ran out of the church. His appearance was pitiful; he was little more than wrinkled skin over a skeleton, with hair severely thin and a few strands of a beard. His only clothing was the dirty hide of a white pig. His expression was that of a madman.
“Who are you?” shouted this strange creature in the broken shape of a man.
Now Peredur had learned the answer to this question, and he saw no reason to conceal it. “I am Perdur, the son of Eliffer of York.”
This answer caused a stare of fear and sickness to cross the strange face. He threw off the hide that covered him as though it burned him, and then ran naked into the forest, shouting incoherently.
“You will have no more opposition on your way to Corbenic,” said Gildas. “The chief of your opponents has been disarmed for now.”
“Who was this unfortunate man?” said Peredur.
“He is a shadow of who he once was. This was Maelwas, the Prince of this land. He was first instructed in magic by Merlin himself. He specialized in the practice of invisibility, through which he has earned a name for terror and malice. It was he who abducted Arthur’s queen and brought war into this country. His ambition and pride had grown so great that not even the tribes that opposed Arthur could support that war. They forced him into a treaty, through which Guinevere was returned to Arthur.
“After that disappointment, Maelwas put all his mind into his evil studies. He wanted to know the experience and thoughts of the bodiless ones – he wanted to wrench himself free of the body, believing it weighed down the power of his spirit!
“A man is not that kind of creature. He is body and soul, one person; though fallen, so that one is temporarily sundered from the other at death, they will be re-constituted in unity beyond the grave on the Day of Resurrection. This the demons hate. They inspire the delusion that man, freed of the body, is equal to the angels. It was Maelwas’ initiation into the deeper secrets of magic by fallen angels that has driven him to this state. Truly unspeakable, the malice of these spirits!”
Even before entering that chapel, Gildas began to pray. He sang Vespers in churchyard, with prayers of thanksgiving for the deliverance of a holy place from desecration. Immediately upon entering the little church, he performed the prayers of exorcism, all from memory.
Chapter Six
I will not say that the night in that chapel passed without incident. Far from it, when the Holy Spirit unfolds His Uncreated wings; but guarded by such a Presence, that night was not interrupted by any demonic intruder.
Gildas blessed Peredur to lay down and rest in a corner, while he himself began the prayers of the All-Night Vigil. The young traveler rose from a deep and dreamless sleep before the first hint of dawn and found the old man still standing in prayer. He heard the youth’s confession, and they conversed together about the spiritual life until the sun came up.
By the time that Peredur set out on the path to Corbenic, he understood many things that had been perplexing to him before. All his childhood and unusual upbringing stood before him in the way the holy Gildas had presented it: as something unique but appointed and planned by God for a purpose not yet disclosed. His heart full of hope, he recalled the glory and innocence of his earliest days. He remembered the mornings of his boyhood, how he would awake and stare into the beauty of the sky; he remembered the joy of going out into the woods. He remembered the sight of his mother as he ran past her, how she stood beautiful and joyful and radiant as the morning itself. And on this morning, as he recalled such things, he felt that way again.
The path was not an easy one to find and follow; but Gildas knew it well, and had set it clearly before him. As the afternoon declined, this mere suggestion of what had once been a road emerged from thickets again to a water’s edge. Reeds grew tall along the shore. He could see that the lake had narrowed to a river with a string of hills on the other side. He followed its shore, wondering how this river could be crossed.
Something about the terrain reminded him of his native country. It was just such a river where he went to fish – or, sometimes, he hid in the reeds, waiting to snare a duck.
The thought of his mother came again into his heart. At first, remembering his uncle’s advice, he drove the thought away; but the thought returned. He recalled Gildas’ advice to dismiss thoughts of temptation; he wondered if this were such a thing, to distract him from his journey. It is one thing to drive a thought from the mind; it is another to expel one that is deeply embedded in the heart. It occurred to him for the first time that the prayer which was embedded in his heart came from her own lips. The sound of her voice, since before he could remember, was closer to him than any thought of his own identity. His heart split open and poured itself out in tears.
Irrationally he felt convinced that if he could just cross this river, he would again see his mother alive and well.
“Oh Lord, if you would only allow me to cross this river…” he began.
At that moment, a boat drifted into sight on the river, with two men.
One lay still on a pillow, looking into the broad sky. There was a crown on his white head. He wept as profusely as did Peredur himself, except that he was silent. The other sat fishing. This one, in spite of his gray beard, seemed younger about the face. His eyes were bright, almost joyful, and there was something ageless in the expression.
“Our catch is imminent, holy king!” said the fisherman. “I can feel its approach.”
The old king raised himself on elbow and stared at Peredur. Right then, the other man pulled a great golden fish into the boat.
Peredur stared in wonder. The king’s gaze, though mournful, was inexpressibly powerful. The beauty of that wonderful fish, appearing at the same moment, made him forget how to speak.
“Greetings, young warrior of the Red-Cross Shield!” said the fisherman. “You are riding in a remote corner of the land; you need will shelter for the night. Follow this river to the bridge, and you will see our hall.”
Peredur wandered on beside the river. All day he had seen no human habitation of any sort; and, as the forest grew thicker, that wilderness seemed more remote. Hills came nearer; the river came down in increasing cataracts, then disappeared into a gorge out of the hills. Every moment, that country seemed a less likely place for such a thing as a fortress.
At a sharp turn in the river, he saw it suddenly, as if it had appeared out of nowhere. Its walls were strange – not that the youth had seen many halls, but this one looked far more ancient even than Roman Caerleon. Far up the slope, on the other side of the river it stood near the sky.
The bridge was high and narrow, barely wide enough for one horse. Riding across, he saw how far the river had fallen, and how violent in thundering cascades it had grown. The stone-work of the bridge seemed delicate for such a height, the wooden railing flimsy for a horse. The necessary concentration upon his reins was challenged by dizziness. Crossing this perilous bridge toward such an unusual fortress, and one that had seemed to arise from the mist, he was overwhelmed with a feeling as though he were entering another country, another world. Nevertheless he gained the opposite hill, rode up the steep slope and over a smaller bridge across the moat. An old man in a white cassock waited to take his horse within the narrow courtyard, and Peredur entered the hall.
The moment he crossed the glazed threshold into the great hall of Corbenic, Peredur entered an entirely new state of mind.
He could not tell which was most beautiful: the faces of the elders who sat at the long table-board looking at him, or the extraordinary light that filled the hall.
Most of the twenty-four men were elderly. Long white beards made this evident, though one or two were young enough to retain a trace of gray or touch of color. But the expressive countenances, like those of the men at the river, gave them an impression of youthfulness.
The light that pervaded the air seemed to have no source – unless it was in those eyes that seemed to hold the quiet power of the angels. It was the same light that spilled from the faces of the frescoes on the walls; it was the same light that Peredur had seen blossoming in the cathedral of Caerleon, except that here it did not fade.
And the thoughts that occurred to him in the light of the cathedral on Pentecost, these thoughts re-emerged with power, soaring toward maturity!
What those thoughts were, he could not put into any language he knew. In them was a feeling as though he had arrived at home. He seemed to know that his father and mother came from a place like this, or were looking for a place like this. This instinct was strong, growing quietly to an explosion of unknown knowledge within himself.
The elders gazing back at him remained silent as well, as though the language of their communication were best interpreted by silence. One of them, however, whispered, loud enough to be heard by all: “He has the shield!”
One rose – it was the one whom he had seen fishing.
“Have you had food this day?”
Peredur shook his head. The elder led him to the only empty seat at the board. He shared the simple meal with them in silence, while another read from the correspondence of St. Germanus to the bishops of Britain.
Afterward, they entered a chapel for the singing of Vespers and Compline. Then they returned to the hall benches for rest; but no one rested. Some stood in prayer, others kneeled in prostration. For Peredur, there was no thought of sleep in such a light, which filled him with prayer.
This prayer was active and powerful in its invisible embrace. It came and departed in waves, leaving a few thoughts in its wake.
First among these climbing intimations of a new and burning intelligence was the mystery of his own existence. This was not entirely lost in that light; but it was lifted up, both anchored and buoyed, floating one moment, ignited and soaring in the next within new and unlimited parameters. He had only just learned his name and the few details of his lineage, without having the experience to understand what these things meant. Even his newly acquired warrior’s skills seemed destined for some use beyond his comprehension.
His own ignorance of himself was perhaps the key to his easy entrance into the intimate embrace of divinity that ruled that hall. A feeling of coming close to self-knowledge was everywhere magnified, as though he knew himself best while knowing nothing. He could not speak. Why should he? I am a fool to explain his heart in writing, even to myself. I am forced again to ask my master Blaise to help me with these madman’s words! While I waste ragged phrases upon his silence, his awareness grows in the pulsing heart of his Creator, the tailor of those garments of light that are laid upon him! And the elders of Corbenic, seeing this in such a youth, were themselves astonished.
After a while, one of the elders approached Peredur. It was the fisherman again. He motioned him to a bench in a corner where they could converse.
“There are not many who find this hall,” said the elder.
“I would not have found it either,” answered Peredur, “without your guidance from the river.”
“How did you even find your way so far up the river?”
“Gildas gave me directions.”
“You are not the first to arrive from Arthur’s court at Pentecost,” said the elder. “Gawain has been here already.”
“He passed me, then,” mused Peredur, “while I was delayed at my uncle Gornemant’s hall. Truly, I wish I had not missed him. Where is he now?”
“He told us of the vows that were made on the Holy Feast,” said the elder. “So we sent him north to search for the sword of the Baptist.”
“And Lancelot and Bors,” Peredur said, “have they not also found this hall?”
“They have not,” said the elder. “Do you know who we are?”
“I heard at Arthur’s court that you are the holy elders of Avalon.”
The elder nodded assent. “These twenty-four monks are the successors of the original twelve disciples of Joseph of Arimathea.” As he said this, he indicated the frescoed icons upon the walls. “Phagan and Deruvius, the ambassodors to St. Germanus of Auxerre, later found the hermitages of Avalon in ruins, and they renewed it. Patrick of Ireland retired here in old age and was made abbot. In this hall, however, there lived another lineage of saints, holy kings descended from Evalak and Bran the Blessed, guardians of the sacred relics brought into Britain in the days of the apostles. The great Romano-British High Kings are related to this lineage; but this hall has been reserved for those kings who renounced the world. In addition to its relics, this hall contains a rich library of ancient manuscripts. It was once the best library in the land; but the manuscripts that Illtud and Cadoc have brought from the east have elevated their own monasteries to an even greater splendor than ours. Glory to God, Who has so enlightened our land!
“May I tell you a little about our brotherhood of the Holy Chalice? Since the days of the Arimathean, we have been bound together by the mysteries of the Eucharistic vessel. God poured His Life into this cup, both by His Divine Energies in the Blessing of the First Sacrament, and literally from His side upon the cross, to give us strength for the struggle to become new creatures. Its mystery does not end, then, by tasting from this cup; it proceeds to the transfiguration of mankind. In Communion with God, the created personhood of man, at the very foundation of being, receives a unique illumination from the Personhood of God.
“We come together regularly for the Holy Sacrament; then we go off into the forest to be alone with God in our struggles. This is how it has been since St. Joseph first came here. But there is trouble in Avalon, as you have no doubt seen. The hermits have been driven from the forest. We have been forced to take shelter in Corbenic. Gildas alone remains in those perilous marshes.”
“Why do you allow Maelwas the freedom to abuse you?” said Peredur.
“Maelwas should be the rightful Prince of this hall, had he not disinherited himself from the old king,” answered the abbot. “Nevertheless we pray for him. You do not understand the warfare that is fought here. There is one kind of warfare, where men of violence attack, and others are forced to defend their lands, their families and their lives. But there is another kind, an interior warfare. This is the battle that is fought in prayer against the attack of malevolent thoughts, doubts, and evil passions. This is the warfare to which we are called.”
“I know nothing of this kind of warfare,” said Peredur.
“If that were so, you would not have arrived here. The shield which you carry has begun to teach you already.”
“Tell me more about this interior warfare.”
“To learn its art is very difficult, requiring many years of training and hard work. Our confessor can tell you more about it.”
“Your confessor is Gildas the Wise, is he not?”
“Gildas, as his name suggests, is among the wisest ever to walk in the island. But our much-suffering king, the right-believing Kynfarch, is the greatest ascetic of our age, and perhaps the greatest visionary ever to live in the island of Britain. He is confessor even to Gildas the Wise!”
“Then he is the one to whom Gildas sent me,” said Peredur. “Is he known to have acquired discernment in the Vision of God?”
“Are these the words of Gildas?”
“As near as I can recall.”
“I will arrange for you to speak with him in the morning, then,” said the elder, standing. “Now it is time for the All-Night Vigil to begin.”
The many chapels of Corbenic reminded Peredur of his mother’s estate – except that here they were all contained within one building, along a corridor underneath the fortress. The crypts and corridors beneath the hall seemed impossibly even more ancient than the fortress itself. The main chapel, however, had the appearance of having been recently re-carved out of the old rock, freshly plastered and painted. Built into the taller downhill wall of the fortress, it had two windows of molten glass along one long side. It was a simple apartment, just large enough for the twenty-four hermits, and the few household servants of the king. The exquisite paintings, however, seemed to have been done by the same hand that had painted his mother’s chapels. The compositions and colors, though not identical, were so familiar that tears were spilled, tears of a youth endowed with an abundance of prayer.
The long prayer services, too, he knew well enough from childhood. Timeless hours walked slowly by before the windows began softly to waken with dawn. Just before sunrise, the Divine Liturgy began. An elder dressed as a deacon entered, carrying a chalice. Behind him walked two deaconesses, one with a cruet of what seemed blood, and another with a cruet of water. They wore nun’s gowns under their vestments, so that only the faces and hands were uncovered. As it was with the elders, so with these deaconesses it was impossible to discern their age. Following these walked a priest carrying a spear. Droplets of blood seemed to collect about its tip.
The abbot, standing before the altar and dressed as a priest, took the chalice. This was the fisherman-monk who had spoken with Peredur. Another priest took the spear and placed it against the altar, while the deaconesses carried their cruets aside to the table of oblations. The litany of the communicants began. The chalice was lifted from the altar; the sun rose, and light ran through the chapel everywhere.
Peredur stood fixed in an ecstasy of that pervasive illumination. He saw that it was of a different nature than what came through the windows. All the unfolding glories of the vision at Pentecost were nothing but veils over the pure light that spilled from the chalice.
At the end of the service, the monks processed in silence out of the chapel and back to the hall. Empty dishes waited in front of the benches. At the head of the table, in a large platter, was the wonderful golden fish the abbot had caught the day before. Beside it was a loaf of bread. The monks stood at their places around the table, waiting for the abbot’s blessing.
The abbot came last. He whispered to another priest who then went to the head of the table, while he himself came to stand next to Peredur. They seemed to be waiting for a blessing; and while they waited, the abbot whispered to the youth: “Why did you not partake of the chalice?”
“It is possible to drink from that vision?” Peredur, startled, answered.
“ ‘Taste and see!’ Unless you take His flesh and blood into your flesh and blood, you have no life in you! Have you never communed with the Divine Mysteries before?”
“Oh,” said Peredur, “I must have forgotten; so many unspeakable thoughts and visions entered my heart…”
“What did you see”? the abbot demanded.
“I saw the form of a man, a king, taken up from the earth in clouds of glory and then seated upon the throne of glory. Such glory I cannot describe to you; all this I saw revealed in the lifting up of that chalice.”
The abbot shook his white head. “This is a serious error, refraining from the taste of that chalice. Communion with God is the source of all blessings; but this is given to us not merely through Vision, but also, through the Sacrament, to body and soul. What is revealed must also be realized in practice. Our very flesh also must be transformed, or there was no reason for the Light to become flesh, to die and to rise and to ascend to that glory. How well do you understand these mysteries?”
“I thought I did, from childhood; but now, I do not know. What I thought was simple is so much more exalted than I knew! I wanted to ask questions about what I saw, but I cannot remember what I wanted to ask…”
As his words faded into rumination, the procession of the chalice came out and passed through the main hall. The deacon and deaconesses carried the chalice and spear up the stairs from the underground chapels to the door of a private chamber. A strong but indefinable fragrance accompanied this procession, which passed in silence.
It was a silence that fell on Peredur with power, nor was there any question of speaking. It was a silence in which revelations unravel all their intricacies into one unified beauty. It is a silence that will not understood by many who try to tell this story. They will accuse Peredur of failing to ask to whom the chalice was taken, whom it serves, or some other absurd question. If there were any question to know, it is not that! That chalice is served for every man; but not every man prepares himself properly for such a potent taste of the Godhead!
When the procession disappeared, the blessing to eat was intoned. Then Peredur saw another wonder. He did not recall servants coming to distribute food, yet all the plates at the table had been filled. Golden portions of fish, fragrant in oil and herbs and steaming, were in every dish beside a piece of broken bread. On the platter at the head of the table, though, that wonderful golden fish and the loaf, too, lay whole and uncut.
The fisherman himself, the abbot, sat next to Peredur and motioned for the astonished youth to eat. An elder read out loud, from the writings of St. Germanus to St. Patrick. The taste of that fish was marvelous. When the meal was ended, the abbot asked Peredur if he were tired.
“No,” said the youth; “but there remains in me a strange hunger, one that has nothing to do with food.”
“I will ask the holy ascetic if he will see you now,” said the abbot.
Chapter Seven
The frail, white-bearded king raised himself from the bed on one elbow to look at Peredur.
He gazed long at the youth, saying nothing; but tears ran down into the beard, glistening there like a broken chain. Peredur, for his part, was astonished by the beauty in that aged face, so deeply sculpted by wisdom and compassion and something else indescribable.
“Why have you come to us?” the old man said at last.
“Like others in Arthur’s court, I made a vow on the day of Pentecost,” Peredur answered.
“A vow?”
“A great light appeared; and in it, the form of a chalice. The holy Bishop identified it as Joseph of Arimathea’s, which he had seen here in Corbenic. Vows were spoken then; whether to come here and see it; or if, as it was rumored, Merlin had stolen it away, to find and restore it to this sacred hall. But he did not take that chalice; I knew as soon as I saw the light in this hall. It is the same light that I saw on Pentecost.”
“And did Dubricius bless these vows?” the old king responded. “It is easy for one so young to speak a vow in the presence of noble companions. To have the knowledge and perseverance to carry it out could be another thing.”
“Both Arthur and that holy man gave this same warning. Then the Bishop blessed us, advising us to cling to the counsel of the elders of Avalon.
“And are you willing to adhere to my counsel?” demanded the frail old king.
The youth replied that he was.
“When God reveals the existence of a holy relic to the faithful,” said the king, “it is usually done so as a command to recover it for the veneration of the faithful.”
“But Merlin did not steal that chalice, did he?” said Peredur. “I knew as soon as I stepped into this hall, when I walked into the same light that we saw in the vision of the chalice!”
The old king’s countenance was filled with wonder at these words; but he said only, “Merlin stole the horn of Bran, which he believes is the ancient source of all blessings. He thinks it is able to pour out all the power of the gods. But Merlin never came to know our God.”
“Others vowed to retrieve those relics that Merlin stole,” said Peredur; “but I promised to drink from the vision of that chalice.”
“But you did not drink deeply enough! You did not even put your lips to the wine from that grape.”
“I made a second vow in the presence of Gildas,” Peredur admitted. “This time, I also swore to recover the relics Merlin stole.”
“Your destiny might be complex enough, without adding vow to vow!” answered the elderly king with what might be interpreted as touch of anger. “Did Gildas bless this new vow?”
“He said nothing about it,” the youth replied meekly. “He told me that I would need to seek someone discerning in the Vision of God.”
“What do you know of Vision of God?”
“I know nothing at all. What is Vision? I know what prayer is; is it different from prayer?”
The old man began to weep. “Do you know what breath is?” he said after a moment.
“One breathes without even knowing it,” Peredur answered, “except for when one is chasing the deer, or learning battle.”
“I see!” sighed the king. “Others will come to fulfill their vows to retrieve the relics. But to him who brings the shield that you brought belongs a different purpose. Why did you travel to Arthur’s court in the first place?”
“I thought I saw the Holy Trinity!” the youth explained. “But then I was told it was three of Arthur’s men, in shining robes of metal! So set out to learn this mystery. I thought I would follow them to the court of heaven; that was how I arrived in the place called Caerleon.” Here the youth confided the strange mixture of thoughts and visions which had accompanied him on the road.
“And when Gildas told you to seek advice: what were you thinking then?”
“He mentioned the sword of fire, and I thought I saw it – the archangel standing on the hill of Avalon. The lightning from that sword was of the same substance as the same light that I see here.”
The frail king began to tremble, and he fell back upon his bed weeping; but his eyes were wide and lovely and seemed to communicate with all the heavens. He did not attempt to raise himself again; he did not appear to dare do so. But after his trembling ceased, he spoke softly.
“So, you came here for the sake of the holy chalice. And what have you seen? A bunch of old men. How will you fulfill your quest now?”
“I do not understand the nature of my quest, nor do I know anything about what brought me here,” Peredur admitted. “As soon as I entered this hall, though, I knew I had come home!”
“You cannot stay here; not now. Maybe later. This is not a community for the inexperienced. We are lovers of the hard existence of the wilderness, extreme solitaries. These fathers have only gathered here because they are driven out of their caves and crude hovels.”
“Then I will restore their beloved wilderness to them,” said Peredur.
The old man turned so that his eyes met the youth’s. “You have already taken steps in that direction; but you will not succeed until you know what it is you fight, what you must drive out. That is not so simple. You do not even know who you are! Are you to be a man of action, or a man of contemplation? If you do not know yourself, how can you know who your enemies are? How will you learn to love your enemies? Because this is what you must do; otherwise you will never learn to know the enemy within yourself.
“Will you adhere to my counsel indeed? You need training in spiritual warfare.
“You have been given a great gift in the shield of the Red Cross. It will help you against those enemies who live in the invisible realms, those who will find hidden ways to tempt you. They know how to arouse your passion and desire, how to turn your extraordinary skill and strength against yourself.
“This is not the place for that training.
“I prefer to send you to the school of Illtud. He has been known to excel both as a warrior for Arthur and a warrior in the spirit.
“You will not be disappointed when I tell you abut the school of St. Illtud.
“Not far to the west of Caerleon is one of the oldest monasteries in the Island of Britain. Only this one is older. As a gift of the Emperor St. Theodosius, when he was in our land, was that school established. It was when the Picts and Saxons first over-ran Hadrian’s Wall, when the whole of Roman Britain saw its first trouble and was nearly wiped off the earth, that the young general Theodosius drove them back. He saved our Christian civilization, re-established order, and founded this monastery. It was known in our language as Cor Tewdyr, after his name. St. Patrick himself was educated there, as was the infamous heretic Pelagius.
“Now it was from the sacred precincts of those very walls that St. Patrick as a boy was taken captive to Ireland. In that same raid, Theodosius’ foundation was burned to the ground. But Illtud rebuilt it so that it is the largest and most successful in all the Western lands. You will receive a true education there in the Byzantine style, not only in sacred books and architecture and painting and all the arts, but also the life of obedience. Gildas himself grew up in sanctity there, along with the saints Samson and Paul Aurelian and David; and many kings as well. This is where you should go, to learn the art of spiritual warfare.
“I must warn you, though, not to swerve from this purpose or turn aside from this quest. Especially do not to abandon that shield under any circumstances, or exchange it for another. You will need its protection. By the sign of the cross test everything: every thought, every apparition that emerges from the shadows.
“You may return here after you gain permission from Illtud to do so.
“But stay with us for one more night. Before you leave here, it is important that you partake of Holy Communion. One to whom it is given to see God Himself in the chalice, and yet does not approach to receive His embrace and to wrap himself in Christ – what is he like? He is like one who has the opportunity to step past the sword of fire and to enter Paradise, and does not go!”
As soon as Peredur had been dismissed, the abbot hurried into the king’s chamber.
“What do you think?” the abbot said. “Is he authentic? Or is he wholly deluded? If so, I fear I may be as well!”
The frail old king sighed upon his pillow. “He is as innocent as Adam. He does not have the discernment to comprehend such a question – far from it! – much less to test things of the spiritual realm.”
“But we can teach him! Did he ask about you? Or does he already know who you are?”
“I have never seen the Vision of God in one so young,” Kynfarch answered. “The youth has the countenance of an angel!”
“He is the fulfillment of your own prophecies, then,” said the abbot. “The one who will restore and guard our Brotherhood, the one who will hold the sword and the shield, the chalice and the spear…”
“I can think of nothing so dangerous as a visionary in one so young and inexperienced,” the old ascetic interrupted. “He needs to be guarded himself, by obedience. I have sent him to Illtud’s school.”
The abbot’s face showed that he was unprepared to hear this.
“I know that the guardianship of these sacred relics is given only to experienced theologians,” he said, “to those who demonstrate the gifts of Holy Spirit…”
“The questions raised by the nature of his visions outstrip any prophecies that I know,” answered the old king. “They show a progress of enlightenment that already surpasses all that one would think possible for humanity! But I fear for him. We must pray constantly for him.”
“I see,” said the abbot, knowing the effectiveness of the aged king’s prayers.
“Only in a monastery like that,” said Kynfarch, “will he learn the nature of this realm – what it is Theodosius and Arthur protected, what it is he must defend – or what it is that I suffer, I and the lineage of kings who retired into prayer.
“There is no doubt that this youth could become the greatest spiritual warrior of our times, like the apostolic martyrs Demetrius and Mercurius and Theodore of old. His greatest test will come when he discovers who he is, and what has been done to his family. Unless he can overcome the temptation to vengeance, he will not be worthy of Corbenic or this brotherhood. If, he succeeds, however, it is possible that he might be the only one who could bring Merlin to his senses.”
Orthodox Illumination 
Language rolls through you like sun through windows