Hope lives eternally in the streets of Constantinople outside the church of Hagia Sophia when the defenders hear of the progress of the Allied Forces.
Percivale and Arn send orders that their thrones there be dusted off, for in Constantinople there are three extra thrones standing by in case the three other Christian Kings of Britain, Gaul, and Thule should ever come to visit.
Greece Retaken
The Romans retake the bulk of their eastern empire in Greece, excepting Constantinople, while Gundar’s navy clears the Adriatic Sea and enters the Ionian. Those enemies who survive the Roman purge are pushed back into Austria.
A mighty fleet sails between southern Greece and Crete and boldly enters the Aegean Sea where the Misty Isles lie. Galan’s fleet races to meet the threat! Battle stations are quickly called and men scurry to their posts. Caught off guard, Galan recovers quickly, and, after seeing to his battle formation, peers through a long spyglass at the opposing commander’s ship. What he sees is somehow both startling and expected: in his scope Galan sees Gundar Harl looking back at him through his own spyglass! Friends meet at last! The meeting of these two fleets can mean only one thing! The Inland Sea is cleared of barbarians from end. Gundar and Galan now lead the way to Jerusalem and Constantinople!
The Master Plan
In the early stages of a war, Victory usually favors the invader and his two greatest generals, Surprise and Momentum. Such was the case with the invasion of Europe with the invader’s discipline versus the defender’s panic. So the invaders had the advantage now, but, the war was far from over. Many struggles lie ahead, but the invaders have a master plan and it is gradually becoming clear.
The invaders have succeeded in dividing the enemy while penetrating deep into the continent. The enemy has retreated to well fortified castles after defeat. Why should they waste men on the battlefield when they can be safe behind the stone walls? Let the invader starve and freeze, they say, for he has long outrun his supply lines and winter is approaching. But Percivale’s master plan calls for the using of the winter as a shield for resupply and regrouping, for battles are not fought in winter, but, and this is a very big BUT, he must take some castles to shelter his troops…
At this moment, Thule’s navy, having played their role in the invasion, now return to home ports in Thule, Scandia, and Britain where the harvest has just been brought in. Half is to go to men overseas. They are to be fed and resupplied via Europe’s great rivers, the Dvina, the Vistula, the Sienne, the Elbe, and the Rhine!
The great ships of Thule leave with their cargoes just before the northern ice freezes On the continent, winter will come, somewhat later, but, when it does, the ships will be trapped in Europe and will have to fight their way to summer in Vienna. But from the Adriatic Gundar and Galan’s ships will enter the Danube and head into the continent thus bringing the power and usefulness of the their navies against the enemy’s heartland.
Arn’s men prepare to winter in Andelkrag in northern Saxony while Arn himself takes some of his best with him to aid in capturing castles in southern Gaul. For a time now, the invaders have to scrounge for food, but soon the peasants come forth with stores of food that they had artfully hidden from their conquerors. As for taking castles, there are also strategies in the master plan which have such illustrious names as “The Mole”, “The Termite”, “The Undermine” and “The Flood”.
“This particular castle,” continues the King, “has a secret escape tunnel. Of course the end of the tunnel is not completely dug through, lest it become an entry tunnel into the castle. Only a few feet of earth remain to be dug at the end of the tunnel, but as you can well imagine, one might dig and search for it forever if he did not know where to start. However, we know that the end is to come out behind that clump of trees over yonder, so get some diggers and open the tunnel’s end and we’ll invade the castle from the inside and totally surprise the Visigoths. We’ll play it for all it’s worth by pretending that we are to enter by magic!”
The tunnel end is dug out and the Visigoths wonder why the invaders seem to be retreating and abandoning the taking of the castle.
Meanwhile, Taliesin wears one of Merlin’s magic-looking cloaks and stands in front of the castle, stating that the invaders have the power to become quite invisible and pass through solid stone walls. The Visigoths have heard of Merlin and anxiously look down at the bases of the mighty stone walls.
Returning from victory at Joyous Garde, Percivale again comes upon Theodoric, leader of the Ostrogoths, However, he is about to be hanged by people of the village.
“What has this man done?” asks the King.
“Well, nothing yet,” answer the people, “but he leads a tribe who will pillage and burn our towns.”
“This is not so,” replies Percivale, “and I so command that you spread the word that I guarantee their safety. As a student of history I tell you that these are peaceful Ostrogoths, not marauding Visigoths, although similar to them in appearance. Look at them closely: they bring women, children, and equipment for homesteading—they are settlers, not raiders. Fierce? Yes, but only if you mistreat them. In the knightly code, disrespect must be earned—it cannot be merely presumed. The Ostrogoth, like many of you, has been displaced from his lands. Now untie them and let them go forevermore!”
The Ostrogoths are unbound and Theodoric regains his dignity and composure after being given back his sword.
“I am Percivale,” states the King to Theodoric, “commander of the Allied Forces of Iceland, Ireland, Britain, Thule, Scandia, and Jutland.”
“And I, Theodoric, am King of the Ostrogoths. The remainder of my legions are but a day behind. A likely mistake has been made, which has now been corrected. For this I cannot thank you enough. Long ago we disowned our barbaric cousins, the Visigoths, and now, at last, we find friends to whom we can honorably state allegiance. From this day on, in thanks for saving our lives, my forces are your forces, for your cause is now our cause.”
At last the allies skirt Cisalpine Gaul and enter Austria, the common land of the Huns, Visigoths, Turks, Moslems, and other assorted and unnamed hordes of Mongols streaming in from China.
The Ostrogoths make good progress in Italy and thereby save the Allies’ rear and right flank from attack, but dangerous times are ahead, for the enemy has been pushed back into his own homeland.
Some minor battles are fought and won along the way, but it is well known that the enemy strength has been concentrated in the heart of the country. Unfortunately, the Allies will be outnumbered there five to one!
The Last Battlefield
Our story: Day after day after day battles rage on the last battlefield, with neither side able to gain a clear advantage. Outnumbered, the Allies must use their every clever battle-call, take every chance, just to stay even. The battle-calls of the “Flight of the Seagull”, “The Sting of the Bee”, and the “Charge of the Wounded Bear” are called and provide many gains, but eventually they are learned by the enemy and become useless. The Allies are gradually being pushed back!
The Final Battle-Call
The Allies are losing the main battle and Percivale must play his last three desperate cards…
The navy is recalled from their ships to act as one more battlefield unit, a risky maneuver, for the ships could be taken.
Percevale then asks the trumpeter to blow a battle call that everyone knows but never thought they’d hear. Wafting over the field comes the call of the “Crane“! Then he calls for his “Crimson Spear”.
Of course! The “Crane”, Gawain’s complicated invention, is so ridiculous that it might even work. But is it also very risky, for with the openings left by its wide-ranging flank-movements, entire battle-wings can be lost quickly during “vulnerability windows” which are both planned and unplanned. However, it does seem to be made for a large-scale battle and has now become the perfect battle-call!
The “Crane” now puts all of its weight on one leg and attacks the enemy’s weakest spot in order to disrupt their battle formation. (But won’t our heroes be surrounded eventually?)
Meanwhile, the ships are abandoned, the navy comes in, adding its men!
The “Crane” builds slowly but surely, yet it is also dynamic, and many of the captains often hear the trumpeter call them back to the standard for changes:
“Sir Valiant, the right wing is giving way. Take your warier-troubadours and relieve the pressure!”
“Gawain, the Huns are swarming out of the vale and will get to our rear. Drive them back.”
“Tristram, prepare the knights behind the hill for the final charge of the pincer and slice! I will soon join you.”
The “Crane” barely holds together at times, but seems to be working…
All allied forces are now, committed to the battle and it is win or die, for there are no reserves to call on…. unless….
….the large troop of sailors from the ships can be counted upon, and they are still far away, but racing toward the roar of battle.
This is the moment that the knights were born and bred for: far outnumbered and fighting in the enemy’s center.
Percevale now throws his personal safety to the wind and transforms his King’s command and guard into a roving extra lance unit—it is an option of the “Crane”, albeit a most desperate one. And so the Allies’ standard is left to fall and does so… the golden standard is down! The Allies know it as a trick, for one would always retrieve the golden standard from the dusty earth, but the enemy now senses the apparent winning momentum and rushes to the spot. The Huns especially sense victory, but the battle is far from won for the Huns…
Trumpets now blow the final option of the “Crane”… poets and troubadours still tell of the mighty deeds that took place that day.
The “Crane” confuses the enemy. Just when his victory is assured, battle formations magically change and take the fight elsewhere.
Sir Valiant and his companions-at-arms have saved the right wing, when the trumpet calls them to the standard.
“But what of the left wing?” wonder Percevale, who couldn’t cover it. He glances back. a troop of wild men come storming down the slope and scatter the enveloping Turks. Who are they? The navy!
Suddenly, the enemy is in a very vulnerable spot as lance-units approach from every direction, yet seemingly from nowhere.
Hengeist realizes that he must get his warriors out of the vale and behind the shield wall or they will be at a disadvantage, as all of the “crane’s” final effects suddenly become all too apparent to the enemy leader.
Then the knights of the round table come pouring over the crest of the hill in a glittering flood into the nightly-packed hordes. They crash, at angle slicing off small sections, and these groups, too small to contend with mounted knights, run for safety. The seeds of panic have been sown.
…The earth shakes as the last mounted knights, lance points gleaming, come thundering from the fold of the ridge where they were concealed.
The mighty knights of the round table form the terrible wedge and, like a plowshare, cut a crimson path, lopping off small sections, for a foe fleeing in panic is helpless, and the knights, with true medieval ferocity, reap a grim harvest.
Suddenly there is great alarm on the Allied side, for Hengeist, the enemy leader, reaches his panicking troops and directs them to the unguarded Allied fleet! They will escape and will perhaps raid Britain while the knights are stranded here!
…but…
They never reach the ships…
Hengeist might have re-formed for a counterattack, but the camp followers, cooks, servants and slaves had arranged the baggage wagons across the valley floor so they could view the great battle. Now it is like a dam holding back the flood.
And what was in these baggage wagons?
Why, it was the pieces and parts of some furniture dragged halfway across a continent—the actual Round Table itself!
No quarter is given and many of the devils are slaughtered… and so ends the greatest battle that the Dark Ages have ever known. (Mel is gone.)
Were this battle to have been lost, then, quite possibly, civilization as we know it and love it would have vanished forever from the face of the earth.
The Vandals cross over into Spain from North Africa at the narrow inlet of the Inland Sea and remain there with the Moors and the remnants of the Visigoths that were defeated by the Franks in southern Gaul. These enemy forces are too small to challenge the Allied Empire and are, at any rate, forever hemmed-in there by the mountains to the north and the sea all around. Soon they take to fighting amongst themselves.
In thanks for their assistance to the Allies, the Ostrogoths are granted Italy as a place for their great and homeless tribes to settle.
The Moslems retreat to Asia, excepting those in Spain.
The Huns no longer exist.
The Romans solidify their Eastern Empire and also conquer all of North Africa. The Roman General, Belisarius, enters Spain to do battle with the Vandals.
The flame of freedom burns brightly once more.
Constantinople lasts another thousand years…
{We are, all of us, Cain’s children, and so,
must prove ourselves Abel and worthy.}
The Jewels in Time’s Chest
That Light whose smile kindles the Universe,
That Beauty in which all things work and move,
That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse
Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
Which, through the web of being blindly wove
By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of
The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me,
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
— Shelley
The last knight finds himself strangely drawn to the castle’s parapet and looks off into the distance…
“Can it be true?” he thinks. “Does a familiar voice call to me on the winds?“…
…and so he makes his way to the “Giant’s Dance” of Stonehenge…
… a Druid priestess appears and bids him to enter. She takes him ever downward to a chamber far beneath Stonehenge…
Oh, cruel Time! which takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave
When we have wandered all our ways
Shuts up the story of our days.
—Ralegh
“Merlin!”
“Is it you, Percevale?” asks Merlin, for he is now weak and blinded from his war against the devil. “Come close, let me put my hand on your head and know is you! Tell me, Percivale, did we win?
“We did.”
“Then the world is saved!” replies Merlin. For together we have subdued the devil! One day we shall destroy him! In a time that is very far off he will return and the once and future knights and their King and their magicians shall greet him. Yes, Percivale, we will return when the world needs us most… you, me, and our friends behind me on the wall, and, when we do, when that great day comes, we’ll enter paradise and place the apple back on the tree whence it was stolen in the Garden of Eden.
Beneath, there sate on many a sapphire throne,
The Great, who had departed from mankind,
A mighty Senate; some, whose white hair shone
Like mountain snow, mild, beautiful, and blind.
Some, female forms, whose gestures beamed with mind.
—Shelley
“Merlin,” questions Percivale, “how is it that so many times you have told me that you were moving on, leaving the earth even, and yet, time after time you return—or, perhaps you never really left?”
“Yes, Percivale, I attempted to leave many times but found that I could not because I’d grown accustomed to the earth and loved its people too much. At first I thought that I was so very different from mankind, but I’ve come to learn that we’re really very similar and that we all—those of us that have goodness—want the same things: love, peace, and righteousness.
As you may have known or surmised, my own grandfather was the archangel who fell from heaven and became the Devil. But there was a bit of goodness buried deep in his black heart. My father was also a devil, but my mother was a saintly nun. From my demon sire comes my power, but from my mother comes my virtue. Luckily, I have been able to combine the two in order to come to the aid of the earth and its peoples. And so it is that good can conquer evil, and not the other way around. Therefore, there is great hope and promise for man, for his situation is similar.
For we are—and I speak from my human half now—all of us, Cain’s children, not Abel’s, and are therefore born bad, with original sin, but with a capacity for goodness. Add to his the fact that we also carry traits with us from the gods of old and also from our animal ancestry and you can see that there are many forces which tug at us from all directions. And some of you are even my descendants!
Although the full gods of old and of Avalon and of Heaven have left the earth, they have been persuaded and encouraged by our actions of goodness, and still continue to cast favor on me with a backward glance or two now and then, focusing their energy on this and other megalithic monoliths throughout Britain, Stonehenge being the central focus point.
Thus all who reside here may gain some measure of immortality. Come with me into the next room and I will show you the jewels in time’s chest…”
Percivale is led into the adjoining room and sees those who he thought he would never see again. There is King Arthur, Sir Launcelot—his former master, Prince Valiant, and many more knights—all apparently quite well and sleeping soundly.
“Here are the best of men,” replies Merlin. “They will sleep here until the future calls to them. You will join them.”
“There lies Taliesin, your son”, notes Percivale. “Is he? Dead?”
“No Percivale, he is merely resting awhile before returning to the outside. Before he returned to you to help you fight the great war, he recuperated here after daring to fight the unpastured Plague Demon in his own den… He rejoined you a bit prematurely and so must rest another couple of years.”
“Merlin, will I now join my fellows and lie down by their side?”
“No, Percivale, it is not yet your time. You still have much work to do, such as editing the Last Knight’s Almanac.”
… Millenniums pass… like scenes on the eternal tapestry… Like Rome, many cities became glorious and were once Queen of the World… but all too soon were reduced to its soiled mistress… and then to dust… to be watered by man’s tears, perhaps flourish again…
…Yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream… and of this future we can only speculate: …that the time comes for that last perfect day on earth… I can see it now: A wash of flowers sways and splashes in the late afternoon sunshine; waves of deep grasses yet move to the rhythms of the earth; trees flood across the haze… and then comes the last sunset, when Beauty herself comes to cast one last fond gaze over the world—ah, we can see her bright flowing gowns in the colors of the sunset as she leans over the earth!
And then, just before the destruction of all life on the earth, or perhaps after it (we know not whither, we can only speculate), comes the redemption of man. Or does it?…
No, the world is doomed, you say, her teeming multitudes to perish forever!!!
…But wait, oh wait! There are jewels in Time’s Chest… There is hope! For those jewels are men and women… and there is heart in wo/man’s chest!
To this day, Merlin, Arthur, and their knights lie sleeping, under the ground.
Farewell to you, dear reader, and the dreams I have spent with you; farewell my Story… It seems but yesterday we met. You have given me a deeper thirsting after life. Your heart-beat was mine, and your breath was upon my face, and I knew you all! I knew your pain, your joy and your dreams were my dreams. Myths and Legends are waves from a sealed memory that keeps records of our yesterdays, a lure that claims many a lover. Even in this deep winter, we must not deny our spring. Forget not that the knights shall return.
Last Knight’s Almanac is a montage and is as much written (as a novel) as it is “put together”, as a scrapbook, and celebrates life, love, and adventure, in the years following the death of King Arthur. But it also serves as a backdrop on which I can draw literary portraits of many of man’s favorite things such as nature, astronomy, emotion, poetry, travel, history, fantasy, art, and so on. Arthurian legend is the main thread of the story and is also one of my favorite things.
So how can a man of action reconcile the fact of writing a book, which is a passive activity, against the fact of the very adventurousness that the book advocates and celebrates to excesses of romanticism? Well, every idea, every description, every friendship, and every story on every page must be somehow lived before it is written! Oh, of course there can be some exaggerations and dreams woven into reality’s fabric, because many dreams do come true. If one dreams enough of, let’s say, spending time in a country inn, then, one day, probably before you know it, you will indeed awake one morning and find yourself in a country inn.
Every minute of writinf the book was enjoyed, as it is with all hobbies. As old Merlin said once, “It is the doom of man that he forgets.” So write things down!
And yes, it’s true, but only if you wish to believe it, that I unearthed these Chronicles from an iron box that was buried 1400 years ago under the Abbey of Glastonbury.
The Arthurian legends are a wonder of the past and present. They buoy our spirits, unchaining us from many of the restrictions of modern life. The legends call to us across the centuries—a call we cannot ignore. We can know Lancelot, and love him for his sins as well as his valor, as if he were our own companion.
How we cherish the legends! Never, perhaps, will we know them with complete understanding. Many writers have tried, using pens of many mettles. I am faithful only to my own dreams of what happened so long ago. The Arthurian tales handed down through generations have been embellished and embroidered so much that we can never be sure of the truth—and we don’t really need to since the legends now sustain themselves.
Even more liberty is granted to the writer of a sequel. The author need only back up against the past as he holds the future at arm’s length—in his pen. Though many of the adventures and descriptions of my novel are new and original, some are not so new and unexpected. This happens when one must draw upon the legends of the past for continuity; but, like the spring, legends belong to everyone.
Yes, I, too, wept when the dream ended, but there are other dreams, other voices to be heard now. We now have the liberty to extend the legends for every whim. Yes, we, the readers and writers of the continuing legend, have the grandest of all quests now laid out before us. But, the quest can sustain us and nourish us like food from the Grail—even those of us who seemingly exist in perfect harmony with the local Universe, who might otherwise lie down and die, astounded with too much knowledge, were it not for the adventure of a quest. Yes, the quest’s the thing—the thrill of the quest! Keep the flame alive.
Austie....it has been so beautiful to follow your translations of the great legends and tales. Your marvellous gift to touch another's soul has moved me often through the telling...in your words my spirit finds no distance between us and as you track your countless footprints across my heart my dreams are rich, my life enriched and my adventures all sparkley from your poetic riotous abandons....you truly are the artist who tips the palette just as though nature moves you to seek the same abandon she displays when washing the mantle of earth with endless magnificent beauty caught only by the perceptive eye and the ready listening ears....I see it all through you...
It wasn't easy to get God to do His rumbling voice on the video, but God is now going beyond publishing a book and will soon be making a full length movie. Im' not sure why He chose German to speak in.
The world is very old, but every spring it grows young again when the angels of nature reconstruct it. While asleep and fused in a kiss that unlocked and merged their souls, Peter and Angelina shared their dreams while a nightingale sang nearby. They left their bodies, and were able, as spirits, to see far beyond human vision and on into the life of things. Time had slowed down—and so they could even catch flowers in the act of forming—by mirroring the pixies and obtaining their colors from the reflections. Peter and Angelina watched as butterflies came to life in the souls of pansies—embodied there by an extension into the third dimension of fluttering flight, looking like flowers floating on air and leaving only their dusty shadow prints behind on the pansies.
Angelina and Peter could see in the dark, for tulip lamps lit the path of the lane and the hollyhock torches illuminated the clearings. The secret hollows glowed at midnight from the crocuses that were cups of stored sunlight. In the luminous back wood haunts, the flowers could be seen growing from the touch of nymphs. They saw fairy’s-frocks, made of elfin sowing, and lady’s-lockets, or bleeding hearts—the two heart halves joined in love—a gift to the imagination from the spirits loosed from Eden, along with Adam and Eve. From the Virgin Virgo were strewn asters, or starworts, in the form of stardust and tears streaming down from the night sky. And wherever fairies had just romanced, wild pansies, once known as ‘jump-up-and-kiss-me’, soon sprouted and sprung from the amorous power of the sprites’ images.
Lighter than air in their spectral forms, Peter and Angelina flew down the slopes of the hillsides, sailing just above treetop level, sometimes grabbing onto branches and sling-shotting ahead, well out over a lake that was covered by a roiling fog, their perpetual momentum carrying them wherever they wished, a real-time virtual reality composed from the computing power of their united brains. They glided down the gradient from middle age into childhood, through all the timeless ages and all the ageless times. Peter was again the Centaur and soon became Pegasus, having sprouted wings, and Angelina was transformed into the Flying Tigress.
Here and there they darted in and out of the trees along the lake shore, sometimes clasping together their hearts, paws, talons, and feathers. The ground rose and fell as they winged along on a cushion of balmy air—washed, for a time, of all mortal cares—transforming to human like forms in midair when they were high enough to be sustained by the updrafts. Up above the clouds they would embrace, and their soaring souls would intermingle and communicate at those wordless levels, those that gave life and meaning to figments and phantasms, which in turn gave substance to mirages, fantasies and even further apparitions.
Outer space was next, and their wraithlike forms hitched rides on the light beams from stars, riding them toward their source, and passing, on their way to other galaxies, burned out worlds that were too close to their suns and frozen planets that were too far away. Into the core of Andromeda they dashed, into the black hole at its center, the beginning of the cosmic subway line, its terminus in another universe, wherein they emerged unscathed—clean and fresh and bathed in the radiance of love and light, and connected in both kiss and thought, still joined by reflection and perception in the mystical experience that we always refer to as attachment, devotion, kinship, warmth, affection, passion, and love. It was the circle of energy that came from being one and in love and so it sustained itself perpetually. Out came their bonded spirits to review the world and all the aspects of nature—spirits shining and glowing like vibrant glints and gleams among the facets of the diamond of life and love. And in this state they awoke somewhere in time, space, and energy, feeling relaxed and refreshed by their sleep, and blessed in serenity by the feeling of well being.
Linear Mode
