When Kay was found among the roots and leaves
He'd stained the earth with heavy blood that oozed
From gash along his side. His plate was off,
His pauldrons too, he'd stripped them down
Allowing wound to bleed. "We must away,"
Said Gwalchmai, dragging Kay to shaking feet.
"Some shelter we can find, some place to rest
And eat, and heal ourselves. We've done it, Kay!
The beast is dead! The monster boar lies slain!"
But only dull approving nod gave Kay,
So dazed from loss of strength. He faintly walked
While Gwalchmai struggled sore to hold him up,
And bind the ragged rip that wept his blood,
And on and on the miles to forest's end.
Through haze of pain Sir Kay did weakly smile,
"Perhaps this is a dream from fevered wound
Across my side, yet what do I recall?
Some Well we found, some magic hidden stream?
I wish that this were true, for I've a thirst."
His head did limply nod 'gainst guilty knight,
Grey Gwalchmai bore Sir Kay, and felt his pain,
But Kay had passed from consciousness to sleep,
And damning thoughts, like ghosts, drained Gwalchmai's mind
As through the tangled nest of vines he strode
While setting sun gave way to twilight gloom.
A noise behind, some rustle in the leaves
Alerted grey-cloaked knight to draw his sword
And lay unconscious Kay to rest in peace
Among a bed of bluebells, in the shade.
The guilty Gwalchmai waved his brand about
And called "Seek not this foe! I am a knight
In sore despair, and all with hate shall meet
This blade that drinks of hearts." From shadowed leaves
The rustle was pronounced and shape there came:
The youngling boar, still of a size with men,
Stepped through the vines and snarled, dripping drool.
A grace came over silver knight aloof
And into stance he slipped like falling leaf.
His steel was poised, his arms were steel, his mind
The undercurrents of a mountain stream.
His voice was subtler still when then he spoke
Behind his mask of concentration. "I…
Am sorry. Trwyth was a beast of lust
That threatened peace in woods that stretch between
These endless seas of mist. Deserved his death
Perhaps I'd say he did, were I to judge,
But I do not, and meant no harm to you
In either course. If raw your heart and blood,
If raw your veins and all your brains are boiled,
Then seek us out when you are grown with strength
For Justice is our courthouse built upon,
And thus is how we hold King Arthur's court.
Yet learn, I urge you son of forest god,
The ways your father was corrupt, and grow
From out of them to throne of nature's power!
Injustice is a wheel that faster turns
When we reach out to spin its ugly spokes."
They stood, they two, the man and hateful beast,
Surveying pools behind the others' eyes
And slowly, very slow, the vines and thick
Did swallow younger boar beneath their dark.
A sigh expelled the worried winds inside
As Gwalchmai hefted Kay across his back
And dragged him from the silent woods of death.
Beyond the nest of twisting angry trees
They found, in plains that bordered ceaseless shore,
A lonesome farmer's cottage on the hill.
The orange friendly light from windows spilled,
Illuminating pockets of the mist
That shifted white and grey like Gwalchmai's cloak.
His gauntlet wrapped upon the wooden door
Disturbing restful night from those within.
There was a peaceful farmer, and his wife,
And faithful donkey steed who slept with them
Beside the breathing swirling tongues of flame
That barely clung to life. The life in Kay
As faint as glowing embers in the cold
Of early winter. "I must beg your help,"
Said Gwalchmai grey to them. "A knight I am,
Of Arthur's court with knightly friend in need.
Some shelter, food, is all that we require,
I humbly beg you sovereign farmer lords."
A kindly couple roused from sleep they were,
And sheltered knights for nights and days while Kay
Did heal. His consciousness was in and out, he dreamed
Of other lives that people might have lived
And other shores inhabited. Are these
Delusionary thoughts, or prophecies,
He wondered in the pathways of his rest.
While Kay did sleep and farmers farmed their fields
The honest Gwalchmai rode the donkey steed
And after several setting suns, returned
With mounts in tow that they had brought and lost,
With saddlebags of Caerleon intact.
A gift he made of boons he stored within
And labored in the kindly couple's fields
As one of them. And every plant he touched
Was blessed to be perennial and green,
For him the secret god who led our minds
In times when wilderness was all we knew.
And when the moon saw wide with opened lids
Sir Gwalchmai and Sir Kay set out for home.
The fields they passed gave way to plains in bloom,
Splotched red and pink and dewy blonde, the hills
That swelled as ocean waves propelled them home
And kept them not to wander endless seas.
The plains they passed gave way to woods of light,
Aglow with bough and leaf of sleepy green
And sneaky white of moss and lichen ghost,
Unlike the gloomy woods where beast was felled
Where vines had choked the breath of branch and bird.
The woods through which they rode became well-known
The acrobatic trunks grew pale and slight
With strange and twisted summer plants asleep,
And silver leaves did crown the canopy.
The streams ran in to one, as do our hearts,
And mighty river Usk revealed the route
To bring them to the foot of fabled keep...
Where Arthur never truly held his court
Or lived, but in the trails from heart to heart.