Free Pendragon's Heir by Suzannah Rowntree Page A

on the mountain, and skirted the devilish dale.
    I have laid my mouth in the dust, and begged the Might to be kind,
    I have come to the feast, and I famish. Now grant me the Holy Grail.
    Blanche stirred like a sleeper waking. Naciens was speaking.
    “To you, it is given.”

7
    But a lamp above a gate
    Shone in solitary state,
    O’er a desert drear and cold,
    O’er a heap of ruins old,
    O’er a scene most desolate.
    Rossetti
    Art thou, like Angels, only shown,
    Then to our Grief for ever flown?
    Heyrick
    O NE DAY S IR P ERCEVAL TOOK HIS horse and arms, both the spoils of the gilded knight, and rode into the forest, aiming north and west into the deepest regions of Wales. Summer had slipped away since he first came to the castle of Gornemant to be trained in arms, and during that time he had worked harder than he had thought possible. Even the old earl had been pleased with his progress. All the same, when Perceval decided to leave, Gornemant had objections. His training was incomplete, his shield arm needed another fortnight to heal, and autumn was wearing on, and would slip into winter early this year.
    Perceval listened to the earl with the reverence due to an elder and benefactor, but the next morning at sunrise he was in the stable saying goodbye to his old pony Llech and saddling his war-horse Rufus. He rode away into the wilds with the sharp clean air of autumn scouring his lungs with every breath. As he looked into the colourless sky, he stretched away all the stiffness of the last months, and quickened his horse into a trot between his knees. He brought the animal to an easy canter and hummed a few bars of the Gloria . It was too long since he had slept under the cold stars.
    He rode toward the mountains. Down in the grey-and-green valleys at their roots, the hush before wintry storms lay thick on the landscape.
    Days passed. In the woods there had been settlements, farms, travellers, and the odd chance of a joust. Now he was alone, his silent musings set to the rhythm of his horse’s hooves. His food, cold stiff hardtack, dwindled and vanished at last, and he fasted on black icy streams. Had there been anything else to eat, he would have killed and roasted it, but he seemed to have left every living creature behind.
    Where was he going? At first he had intended to find some adventure, but very little had come his way before he wandered into this waste. Now, although he could always have turned back, something kept him pressing forward, some sense that this stillness and desolation signified something, if the interpretation could only be found.
    And in the meanwhile, peace settled upon his soul. For the first time since his journey to Camelot, he had the luxury of solitude. Nothing came between him and the quiet voices of the world.
    The land changed around him. Every day it became more craggy and forbidding. Deep shadowed meres opened at his feet, sheer sunless sheets of rock barred his path, black clouds heavy with unshed snow loomed above him.
    An evening came on stormy wings. The long twilight had begun at midday under frowning clouds that blocked the sun, but as the light began to fail altogether, a wind rose and began to clamour through the valley. Perceval hunched shivering into his armour. With a high-pitched whinny the wind flung the first snowflakes at him. He pulled on his helm for shelter, but the inside filmed over with water droplets at once.
    Snow began to drift over the path, transmuting the landscape in bites and swallows from lead to silver. Perceval crested a low saddle, bending in the wind, looking in vain for shelter. Below and to the right, a desolate valley full of black stunted fir-trees ran away to the lowland. It looked kindlier than the mountainside, so he turned Rufus to pick his way down the slope.
    Down in that valley the wind’s bite blunted and the snow fell more gently. Perceval urged Rufus into a slow trot and followed the downhill course of a little black stream. Then the path