"...then came their king himself with speed;
a hundred knights with him and more,
and damsels, too, were many a score,
all riding there on snow-white steeds,
and white as milk were all their weeds;
I saw not ever anywhere
a folk so peerless and so fair.
The king was crowned with crown of light,
not of red gold nor silver white,
but of one single gem 'twas hewn
that shone as bright as sun at noon.
And coming, straightway he me sought,
and would I or no, he up me caught,
and made me by him swiftly ride
upon a palfrey at his side;
and to his palace thus me brought,
a dwelling fair and wondrous wrought.
He castles showed me there and towers,
Water and wild, and woods, and flowers,
and pastures rich upon the plain;
and then he brought me home again,
and to our orchard he me led,
and then at parting this he said:
"See, lady, tomorrow thou must be
right here beneath this grafted tree,
and then beside us thou shalt ride,
and with us evermore abide.
If let or hindrance thou dost make,
where'er thou be, we shall thee take,
and all thy limbs shall rend and tear --
no aid of man shall help thee there;
and even so, all rent and torn,
thou shalt away with us be borne."'
When all those tidings Orfeo heard,
then spake he many a bitter word:
'Alas! I had liever lose my life
than those thee thus, my queen and wife!'"
J.R.R. Tolkien
Sir Orpheo
. . . .
Green, green all about them...
The three travelers found themselves in a wide
field; in the distance stands of oak trees dotted
the countryside amongst smaller brush and hedges,
the omnipresent rock walls, small rounded
hills spotted about the verdant landscape...
this surely, could only be:
'England's green and pleasant land'.
They gazed about them at this marvel and as Emlyn
shielded her eyes from the sun, her sight focused
upon one hill in particular.
'Daryl!' She touched his arm, 'Look there! That
is Glastonbury Tor, is it not?'
'Oh, oh, the Glass Castle! We must go there,
surely!' Shannon nearly leapt for the joy of it.
Daryl pondered this miracle a moment, then
shifted his gaze to the women. His frown then
changed to a smile.
'It would appear we must.'
At last they stood at the base of the Tor.
Walking around it, they came to a garden, and
within the garden...
'Chalice Well!' Shannon exclaims, running over
and kneeling beside it. 'Ooh...Bridget be
praised!' She dipped her hands in the cool water
and pressed her hands to her eyes, letting it
drip down her face. She sighed.
Daryl and Emlyn followed as if in a dream, and
perhaps they were.
Emlyn joined Shannon beside the Well, and
closing her eyes to give thanks to Gaia and the
Lady, the Spirit of the Well, she reached into
the cold clear liquid and also rinsed her
forehead, eyes and face with the water. She
fancied she can almost hear the silvery chime of
faery bells on the wind... She sits back and,
still with eyes closed, begins to dream...
Daryl begins to follow suit, ("No rake am I,
brought up in Venus' train..."), he wishes to pay
homage to the Goddess as well, but he sees the
two of them, both with eyes closed, still and
silent, and he pauses.
Perhaps I'll wait here a while and act as
guard, he decides; watching Em and Shannon, and
wondering.
He glances around. He has seen no one else about
the country side. Birds singing, wind sighing
through the leaves, this is all that he hears in
this be-spelled land.
The Cup brought us here, for a reason, though.
Enough! He thinks, and reaching for Emlyn's
shoulder, he grasps it, shaking her gently.
'Awake, Emlyn! It's time to go.' Em's head falls
sideways, but she sleeps on...
Daryl frowns. 'Arriba! Josephina, andele'!' He
shakes her harder.
Emlyn's head snaps up, her eyes flutter open.
'I'm here!' She looks at Daryl. 'Was I asleep?'
Daryl doesn't waste time, but moves to Shannon,
grasping both her shoulders with a shake.
'Shannon! Awaken!' Shannon's eyes remain shut,
no response. Daryl shakes her again. 'Wake! Ah,
what's the Irish? -- du'isg, Shannon, du'isg!'
Still nothing.
Emlyn puts a hand on Daryl's. 'Let me try:
Shannon! Come back, Shannon...Josephina calls
you!'
Shannon opens her eyes. Both Daryl and Emlyn
sigh, relieved.
'Let us climb the Tor,' Daryl stands, and
holding out hands to them both, helps them rise.
The trail winds about the Tor in a spiral dance,
and as they climb, the view enlarges about them.
They are walking slowly, reverently, and feeling
their way about them, using all senses, as much
as they watch the scene unfolding with their
eyes.
'So, were we asleep, Daryl?' asked Em at last.
'So it would seem.' Daryl looked back at her,
as they filed singly up the hill. 'Why is it that
'Josephina' could awaken you both, I wonder?'
'Gypsy magic,' Emlyn replied, turning and
smiling at Shannon behind her, who acknowledges
her with a grin, obviously ecstatic at finding
herself here, in the Otherworld.
At last they reach the top, and the Tower. A
strong wind is blowing, teasing their hair.
'Gwenivere was imprisoned in this tower, it was
said,' Daryl put a hand on the stone edifice.
her hair out of her eyes as best she can.
'It is, one side of Avalon, perhaps,' Daryl
surmises.
'Ooh! Look you here!' Shannon shouts from
around the other side of the Tower.
They round the tower to find Shannon holding her
wind-toss'd hair back with one hand, the other
pointing at the field beyond. 'Look!'
In the canvas of green below them, someone or
something, has carved a great work of eldritch
influence into the living crop.
The three travelers stare into the distance
fascinated by the intricacy and detail, the
precision and elegant design of the marvel before
them.
'"Wonder is the beginning of wisdom",' Daryl
quoted from somewhere.
No one could argue with that...they were
enraptured by this particular journey, moreso
than the others; and which, thus far, was proving
to be rather less perilous.
'"Signs in the earth, signs in the sky..."' Emlyn
quoted.
'This, this is a crop circle, yes, Daryl? Such
as we saw in your book!' Shannon regarded him.
'So it would seem, indeed,' Daryl answered.
'It is the Holy Grail,' Shannon nodded, folding
her hands across her breast. 'Blessed Bridget and
all my Ancestors! That I should witness such a
gift of the Earth Mother to her children!' She
smiled reverently down upon the earthly miracle.
Daryl and Emlyn did not argue this, either, for
at the moment, upon Glastonbury Tor, within the
fold of Avalon, the marvel they beheld did seem
to be That, and none other. The Graal was an old
legend, indeed, existing long before strange
eastern messianic cults, and before the
Romances were dreamed of in the sleeping minds of
bards and poets who lay dreaming still; deep
within Caer Sidi, Caer Arianrhod...
'I see something, someone!' Em suddenly
exclaimed. 'They're approaching on horseback,
see?' She pointed back down the hillside, whence
they had come.
All turned their focus to where she was
pointing, and yes, two horses and riders were
heading toward the Tor.
'At last; I wondered if we were alone in this
dream...' Daryl said, turning and heading back
down the winding spiral path. Shannon followed,
skipping lightly along as she went.
Emlyn paused, however, and narrowed her gaze at
the newcomers. Friend or foe? She couldn't
discern faces from here as yet. She cast a
long lingering gaze over her shoulder back at
the wond'rous circle; the Graal come to earth, a
queenly gift of Gaia, indeed...how could such a
wonder be reviled?
Then she turned and followed the others back
down the winding trail along the Tor.
By the time they reached the Chalice Well and
garden, the riders had arrived and dismounted.
A man and a boy were they; one dark haired, the
lad with a head of auburn, a pair of bards, they
seemed, carrying harp and lute.
They were crouching by the well, drinking from
cupped hands when the Company came upon them from
the trail above.
'Greetings, good sirs,' called Daryl as they
approached.
The tall man arose and answered, 'Good morrow to
you, sir; miladys...' The bards bowed gracefully
before them. 'Allow me to present my nephew, a
novice to the calling, and I, his guardian and a
bard of some experience and mastery, so it is said.'
Emlyn noted he gave not his name, however.
'We are three travelers as well, come to take in
a bit of the countryside on this fine day,' Daryl
studied the two with serious mien, trying to feel
out their intentions, or indeed, just who or what
they were, exactly.
'We are following the Mary and Michael line from
Glastonbury here to Avebury. Will you not join
us?' The tall dark man inquired, not especially
intent on knowing names either, it seemed.
Daryl knew they spoke of the ley or dragon lines;
those earthly lines of power that dowsers could
detect in the ground below, upon which the many
ancient and sacred places were situated. Whatever
this dream was about, they were obviously meant
to follow them as well.
Daryl glanced over at the two women. Shannon
nodded, smiling, and Em eventually gave a slight
nod as well.
'We would be delighted,' he answered.
The Company walked out together, following the
ley line the two bards had set forth along,
leading their horses and allowing Emlyn and
Shannon to ride a while.
Occasionally, Emlyn felt she was being followed,
and watched. She once turned round and bethought
she glimpsed a rider through the trees,
but a moment later, she beheld only the birches.
into a wood of birch and hazel, about which ivy
and mistletoe twined and the odd wild rose. The
bards began to sing a duet together, and Daryl,
Shannon and even Emlyn began to relax and enjoy
the day.
The sun climbed higher and the afternoon
grew warm. Seeing a stream ahead, Shannon stopped
and dismounted, and Em followed, as they led the
horses down for a cooling drink.
Daryl and the bards caught up to them and
refilled their water skins. The young ginger lad
strode up to Emlyn who was leaning against an ivy
bedecked tree, idly fingering the new bud of an
ivory rose which had also wound itself amongst
the ivy.
'I wouldst present to thee such a rose,
milady,' The lad bowed before her, 'If thou
wouldst kindly grant me such a liberty...'
Emlyn smiled down at him, watching as he stood on
tiptoes, and tried to wrestle the thorny flower
from it's vine.
'Here, take this,' Emlyn recalled her herb-
knife and took it from her sheath, handing it to
the young bard.
With this, the lad's hand trembled slightly, as
he grasped the hilt of the knife, and he bit his
lower lip, much as Emlyn would often do; he
clasped the knife to his chest with both hands
and bowed before her.
'You grant me too much favor, milady...' he
spoke with a wavering whisper. Slowly, he raised
his eyes to hers, and as their gaze locked, Emlyn
felt Time Stand Still.
Suddenly, all was quiet within the wood; no birds
sang, the rushing of the creek was stilled, no
wind stirred the tree tops...
Emlyn gasped, as she at last, recognized Llew.
She turned abruptly, and, sure as the devil in
springtime, there stood Gwydion before her.
'In the flesh, as it were,' he affirmed,
and smiled an exceedingly satisfied smile.
'You, you--' Em began...
'--I merely did what any good guardian would
do, for the lad,' Gwydion interrupted. 'His
mother has named him, and now she has given him
arms.' He nodded to Llew, who approached them
warily, his eyes locked upon Em, pleading with
her to please understand, and not to blame him.
'He is a man, now. Come of age, and his
majority.'
Emlyn's anger subsided somewhat when she looked
upon Llew; he had grown since she had seen him
last...he appeared a young adolescent, now. Her
heart went out to him; how must it be, living
with such as Gwydion, and without a mother's love
or comfort?
'What is the meaning of this?' Daryl was on the
scene now, all indignant fury. 'A trick! Oh,
Gwydion, the Trickster! We must have been greatly
bewitched not to have known you for the recurrent
bother that you have become!'
Shannon followed, bewildered by the drama playing
out before her. She went to Emlyn, taking her
hand in sympathy. 'Is this your son, then? He is
a fine lad, Em! And, so like you...'
Emlyn choked back a small sob.
'Enough!' Daryl bellowed. 'You've done what you
came for, now leave us in peace!'
'Oh, I rather think that we are all just now
getting nicely re-acquainted here!' Gwydion was
himself again; a picture of dark, stormy
arrogance and Otherworldly power. He held a hand
out to Emlyn,
'Milady, I...' He paused then, frowning.
'What--?' He growled, 'Who is this, come now?'
Heads turned to view where Gwydion was staring;
across the stream, upon a hill. there had
suddenly appeared a great black destrier, heavily
comparisoned, bearing a mysterious rider in
silver mail which gleamed in the sunlight.
Gwydion seemed to be in shock. 'No. What is
this?' He narrowed his gaze at the errant knight.
He shook his head, murmuring something which
sounded like, '...Ystyngeo dyledwar!'
Gwydion slowly turned about then, and looked hard
at Emlyn.
'You did not tell me, that you already had a
husband!'
He whistled then, a sharp shrill note, and the
horses came to him, and Llew as well; and with a
nod from Gwydion, they both mounted and were off
as though pursued by the hounds of Arawn.
When the three who were left, looked back to
where the knight had been, they found no one
there.
Emlyn and Shannon still stood, hand in hand.
Daryl approached them, looking at Emlyn with
sympathy and sorrow, and took both their hands
in his--
--All they knew was a loud crack of thunder, and
then,
They were Back.
. . . .
WATCH AND LISTEN!
Crosby & Nash - Guinnevere /BBC 1970
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPvOTVVbMko
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