Page 87 of The Dragon Ring
They looked up as we entered with Nial, and there was a general chorus of “milord, milady”, though the bone shuttles in their callused fingers never stopped flying through the nets.
Nial led us across the tiny square and down some steps on the far side to where a platform dipped toward the water’s edge. Drawn up against a ramshackle landing stage was a long, flat-bottomed boat.
Arthur handed me down into it. There was a plank for a seat, so I sat down. I’d never much liked boats, and this one looked as dilapidated as the island village. Arthur climbed in and sat down beside me, drawing his cloak about him. Then Nial untied the ropes and hopped in at the stern, a long pole in his hand.
“Be like old times, won’t it?” our escort said with a lopsided grin.
Arthur nodded. “It’s long since I was a boy here, fishing with you.”
“A sight too long.” Nial pushed us off from the jetty, out into the deeper waters. I hung on tight to my rickety plank seat.
Arthur shifted a little, and the boat rocked. “I’m no longer the boy you knew.”
“Kingship be an ’eavy burden to bear. But one I know ye can.”
Arthur’s hand covered mine reassuringly, as though he sensed my trepidation.
Nial stood at the stern, propelling the boat forwards with his long pole as we skimmed out across the wide waters of what must have been part of a river. He made it look easy, which I’m sure it wasn’t. The only comfort I got from his steering was the knowledge that the water couldn’t be all that deep or he’d not have been able to reach the bottom with his pole.
Our course took us upstream, against the current, but we made steady progress and gradually the two shores drew together. Little channels broke off to left and right and the bankside trees grew stunted and misshapen. As we passed into the marshes, shreds of mist rose to hang over the water, and a curlew’s lonely call broke the silence. The air was damp, and the smell of rotting vegetation strong. The cold seeped into my bones. Like Arthur, I drew my cloak close about me.
Up ahead, the river twisted to the right, and as we rounded the bend, a low wooden landing stage came into view, deserted now but surely our destination. Nial guided the flat-bottomed boat in until it lay up against it. Seizing the bow rope, Arthur leapt out onto the jetty and wrapped it round a wooden stanchion. Nial took the stern rope, and we moored as easily as that.
Arthur held out his hand. “Welcome to Ynys Witrin, the Holy Island.”
I took the proffered hand and warily disembarked. It was good to stand on dry land again. Good to be at Glastonbury. And if all went to plan, I wouldn’t need to brave that threadbare boat again. The knot which had been slowly untangling itself in my stomach while I concentrated on not being frightened, retied itself with alacrity. Why was I so worried? Surely, if all went well, I could be back where I belonged within a few hours? Wasn’t that what I wanted?
But where did I belong?
Arthur’s hand in mine was warm and solid and real. I squeezed it tightly, feeling the bones beneath the skin, the calluses on his palms, my fingers sliding between his. I didn’t want to let him go.
He didn’t seem to have noticed. “This is the monks’ wharf,” he said, gesturing around expansively at next to nothing. “Where their goods come in and out. A lot of their cider comes our way in late autumn, but that trade’s over now, just like the year.”
The landing stage stretched to twice the length of our boat. The bank it abutted was muddy and pocked with prints made by the cloven feet of cows and sheep. Beside the landing stage, the traffic of animals had hollowed out a muddy watering place. Beyond, tall bare trees marched away from us, scattered over a long tongue of rising land.
“Wait here for us, Nial.” Arthur took my hand. “I’m off to show the Queen what there is to see. We’ll be stopping by the abbey to offer our prayers to the Virgin, so we might be quite a while.”
Nial nodded and, pulling a fishing rod out from where it had been lying along the bottom of the boat, prepared himself for some leisure time.
We walked away from him along the rise through the trees. Before we’d gone very far, we could no longer see him or the river. The island that was Glastonbury lay spread out before us.
“Why’s it called the Holy Island?” I asked. The big trees had thinned, and now we were walking through apple orchards, the trees bare of both apples and leaves, but standing in regimented rows plainly planted by human hands. Ynys Afallon– the island of apples. Avalon. How appropriate to find it thick with apple trees. And magic, of course. That was the reason for my visit here. The magic of the place.
“It’s always been a place of worship.” He paused. “A place where you can be close to God. Before it was His, it was the sanctuary of the old gods, and they don’t easily give up their hold.” Glancing around myself, I got the distinct impression they’d never left. He went on. “It’s said the entrance to the otherworld, Annwfn, is here, and that if you find it, you’ll meet Gwynn ap Nudd, its ruler. My people worshipped the old gods a lot longer than they’ve been worshipping the Christian God at the Abbey.”
I’d been to Glastonbury on many occasions, but in my time it was full of tourist attractions, gaudy shops, the museum, and nutcases who thought they were being spiritual. The magic was muffled. But it was still there, flowing beneath the ground, camouflaged by modern life.
Now, standing alone with Arthur on the slopes of the island, the magic of the place hit me in waves like a spring tide rolling up the beach. Surely, here I’d find what I wanted?
Arthur gave my hand a tug. “Come on, I’ll show you the abbey. Abbot Jerome is a good man. You’ll like him.”
I hung back. Now, at last, was the time for some honesty. Abbot Jerome wasn’t likely to have forgotten me. I’d rather it was me who told Arthur than anyone else.
“I know he is.” I tried to sound matter of fact. Not to make a big deal out of it. “I met him when I was here before. It was he who sent me to Din Cadan.”
Arthur turned around and looked at me, eyes full of surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Maybe he was wondering why Merlin hadn’t told him either.
