Vault of the Griffin

By W. B. Baker

Inspiring and Utterly Brilliant Storytelling London, England

"Eagerly awaited sequel to The Orphans of Carmarthen, Vault of the Griffin re-introduces the reader to fifth-century Britain. A fantastic descent into the bowels of the cavernous empire of the White Griffin, Bakers latest novel is a devastatingly candid and brilliant commentary on human nature. The pastoral countryside of Wales is painted in broad and exceptional vistas, the author skillfully employing language to exemplify the struggle between great concepts of ideology and theology, most capably illustrated against a backdrop of poverty and classical mythology. Once again, this internationally acclaimed writer validates his reputation as a master of literary exposition."

Ruth Ryland &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspCORO Fellow 1991 - 1992

The second novel in the Carmarthen trilogy, Vault of the Griffin takes up again the exploits of Myrddin Emrys, stray child of the vale of Towy. Introduced in the first novel, The Orphans of Carmarthen, he, along with his dog, faces the challenges presented in post-Roman Wales. Confronted with a realm of superstition, dragons, and sorcery; the pair try to endure as best they can outside the influence of civilisation; where only an ancient Banfith witch takes any interest in their survival.

"W. B. Baker surpasses himself with the creation of an entirely believable, functional religion of the Banfith Witches, demonstrating not only a masterful command of the English language, but revealing astounding insight into theoretical theology. Within the realm of conceptual mythology this writer is, conspicuously, one of the most intuitive authors of the genre."

"Idyllic conceptual thinking; imparted in a beautiful tale of a boy and his little dog. Emotions envelop the reader completely and swathe ones consciousness with the realization that, on the odd occasion, grandeur and brilliance of sentiment lie far beyond our ability to express. Vault of the Griffin is one of those rare, exceptional examples."

Lazaro Espinoza

"As soon as the lad had submerged under the surface, he started crawling frantically through the fluff toward the fissure on the border, arriving there just as the weight of the griffin landed in the centre and tried to stomp the very life out of him. Emrys wriggled through the fissure at the edge, as the massive neck hurled its mighty weapon into the down; snapping blindly shut with the hope that the megalithic beast might yet catch the thief within its nest.

By the time the griffin finished threshing the feathered pallet apart and raised its head a second time for a better look about, the lad had already scooted through the flaw in the nest and was halfway across the clearing. Running for his life, trying to dart about like a rat or vole amidst the cracked towers of crystal, Emrys made a frantic dash for the tiny fissure he had spied within the sandstone wall.

Enraged, the behemoth leapt upon the rim of the crystal parapet and vaulted twice its entire body length in a single leap, snapping its savage beak closed upon feeble shards of crystal only inches from the boy. Emrys dove headfirst into the cavity just as the powerful serrated beak managed to clear the rock formation and snap shut; slicing through the crystal like a cleaver and just glancing off Emrys left leg. The boy screamed in agony as the zigzag edge of the bill caught the slackness of his skin, though he could not even hear his own shriek for the one emitted from the griffin as it realised that it had narrowly missed its prey."

Vault of the Griffin is based upon the actual legends and ancient superstitions of Carmarthen, W

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 16, 2004
• ISBN: 9781465317803

W. B. Baker

Member of The Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, the author has been recognized by the Congress of the United States of America and awarded the Queen’s Golden Jubilee Medal for his contributions to Literature. W. B. Baker has been honoured with inclusion in Gale (Cengage) Contemporary Authors, Who’s Who in The World, The Magistracy Medal of Honour (Order of St George), Top 100 Writers Author Laureate (Cambridge, England), and recognised with a Resolution from the Missouri Senate (United States). Enthusiastic readers in forty-one countries around the world attest to this author’s breath-taking imagery and his ability to convey the uncommon faith and courage of the British nation. “Kudos to the author for clouting our sensibilities – in an unapologetic attempt to awaken England’s devotion to a grand and goodly heritage … and his tireless service to the United Kingdom, its culture and its people.” — Royal Tunbridge Wells

Book preview

Copyright © 2004 by W. B. Baker.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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1-888-795-4274

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Contents

Author’s Introduction

Acknowledgements

Cover Artwork

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

About the Author

Bibliography

For

Gary Scott Mitchell

My Best Friend

With gratitude to his lovely wife,

Shelly

for overlooking a lapse of better judgement on his part

By the same author:

The Orphans of Carmarthen

(Xlibris/Random House)

Philadelphia, PA; USA. 2001

A Solitary Frost

(Xlibris/Random House)

Philadelphia, PA; USA. 2000

A Solitary Frost

(New Millenium Publishers)

(First Edition)

London, England; UK. 1998

The Director’s Handbook

(A Survival Guide for the Theatre Director)

(Private Printing) 1995

Celtic Mythological Influences on American Theatre

(Chwedioniaeth Geltaidd Dylanwad

ar Chwaraedy Americanaidd)

(University Press of America)

London, New York 1994

Author’s Introduction

The second novel in the Carmarthen trilogy, Vault of the Griffin takes up again the exploits of Myrddin Emrys, stray child of the vale of Towy. Introduced in the first novel, The Orphans of Carmarthen, he, along with his dog, face the challenges presented in post-Roman Wales. Confronted with a realm of superstition, dragons, and sorcery; the pair try to endure as best they can outside the influence of civilisation; where only an ancient Banfáith witch takes any interest in their survival.

Vault of the Griffin is based upon the actual legends and ancient superstitions of Carmarthen, Wales, where the tempo of life is, to this very day, still supported by character of its citizens. The genuine, honest nature of the population of the Vale of Towy made the creation and compilation of this second novel a true joy; their spirit and joy of life proving a source of unending encouragement. This fictional account would truly be diminished without the enthusiasm of their contributions and the equal passion of their convictions.

Acknowledgements

With regard to the historical background and research necessary for the production of this volume, there are several individuals who should receive special credit and commendation.

Particular gratitude is extended to the following individuals and organisations for their time and contributions: Bethan Charles, Librarian at Coleg y Drindod (Trinity College Halliwell); Dara at Amgueddfa Caerfyrddin (Carmarthen Museum); The National Library of Wales in Aberstwyth; Gwasanaeth Archifdy (Archive Service) in Parc Myrddin, Carmarthen.

The author would especially acknowledge the significant contributions of Jenny Gammon, Reference Librarian at the Llyfrgell Caerfyrddin and Neil Ludlow, Senior Archaeologist at the Dyfed Archaeological Trust in Llandeilo, Carmarthenshire; who were instrumental in procuring necessary historical and mythological references.

Appreciation is also extended to Marty Beamer for his professional services with regard to the author’s cover photography. My highest recognition and indebtedness is extended to Gary Scott Mitchell for his unfailing friendship, critical perspective, and an indomitable sense of humour.

Cover Artwork

Sandra SanTara graciously consented to the use of her artwork to embellish the cover of this volume.

SanTara’s creative style is expressed through a variety medium including acrylic and airbrush painting, colored pencils and pencils, pen and ink, and scratch board. Besides the traditional flat surfaces, she enjoys creating on untraditional surfaces from the natural world. These include leather stretched medicine shields and drum heads, however the currently very popular, paintings on feathers have taken particular notoriety. Not only in the show circuit, but with a number of Art Galleries carrying them as well.

This phenomenal artist’s body of work includes:

*     Over 90 Limited Edition Print runs

*     36 T-shirt designs

          Northern Sun Merchandise, Pyramid Books Catalogue, and other independent distributors.

*     Josten Sportswear

          6 wildlife designs for the World Wildlife Fund series.

*     Art work for the Fantasy Gaming industry

          Including the Talislanta Series by Bard Games and a Fantasy Card Game.

*     Cover work for Wendy and Richard Pini’s Elfquest comic book.

*     Circle Network News.

*     Interiors for Green Egg Magazine.

*     Cover art for Ard Magister by Laura Underwood

          (Yard Dog Press).

Countless commissioned and original pieces sold nationwide.

Internationally renown for a blend of visionary and realistic forms, Ms. SanTara specializes in totemistic symbols and wildlife art. Her incredible artistic talents may be viewed on her official website at Windwolf Studios, found on the Worldwide Web at www.windwolf.com.

Prologue

The feathered griffin of a dragon dismissed the defenceless boy to turn its full attention to the mighty crimson creature that had dramatically erupted from the pool. Emrys rapidly deduced that the tremendous call issued earlier from the feathered beast had been purposely sounded to rouse this second, reddish creature from the deep; although the boy could not fathom why, so formidable was the winged leviathan that burst up from the depths and sleep.

Unlike the first, the crimson creature flew, on waxen wings that water could not soil. Emrys clearly saw the fluid sheet off its tapered body, as a trickle of oil might effortlessly slide down and bubble off a heated shield. Water spattered and engulfed his body, his clothing and his head, the columnar walls and the stony bank around; so much so, the boy had to swallow to keep from drowning there on his back upon the ground.

Above his head beat wide, fantastic crimson wings, not very unlike those of a gigantic bat. The monster’s skin, the colour of dried blood, was completely covered in ridged, triangled scales. Its neck and tail appeared of equal length, with a head much like an armoured stallion’s, toothed with needled teeth like nails, that equal spaced its maw above and below. Its jaws gaped wide, revealing an enormous flicking tongue, which looped and licked like a yellow flailing serpent within its razored grin.

The monstrosity’s demonic eyes glowed like two unblinking coals straight from the furnaces of Hell, set well below two small pointed, equine ears perched high back on its head. The second dragon’s forelegs were much smaller than the hind: the front about the size of a full grown man, the rear like mighty, ancient oaks; whose sinews rippled like waves under its glistening, armoured hide.

Each claw-like foot was tipped with talons like those of a mighty hawk; massive black, curved fishhooks made of bone. In triads three, they slashed against the cavern’s sky in bold defiance of the creature underneath it on the ground.

All the while, the serpentine-like tail, a full eleven arm-spans long and three around and armed at the tip with a bony triangled spade, whipped wildly, like a pennant, side to side. On a neck of length and girth quite comparable to the creature’s tail, the magnificent head stabbed down from heavily muscled, armoured shoulders as it fluttered in wide orbits above the pool.

The first great, feathered monster continually pivoted upon its massive thighs to constantly keep its airborne adversary in sight. Try as it might, it could but raise its weight in height, in ineffective attempts to reach the crimson beast above: ruling the ground while the second ruled the air above its head.

A blaze of static fire, the likes of which Emrys had never seen, bolted through the ozoned air; between the tips of the blood-red dragon’s wings and off the feathered plumage of its counterpart below. Blue crackled, it immediately retaliated from the tip of the white dragon’s beak, and shot instantly back to shatter against the red monster’s triangled tail and talons flailing above.

Like shafts of sapphire light, the charges shot like arrows between the combatants whenever they came close. Repeated tentacles of tiny lightning, discharged like bolts of fire cracked from a thousand crossbows, served to illuminate the combatants as if by sorcery. Emrys felt the charges stab his sodden clothes and hair, thrusting through the small child’s body from above and all around; like ribbons of blue pixie light, the shafts penetrated all three of their physiques and crackled to the ground.

The great behemoths circled round the pool and snarled noisily and roared, with neither able to gain any advantage over its foe. Horrendous battle cries, which could well have blustered for literally thousands upon thousands of years, shrieked between the two contestants as they met upon the field of pearl-like stones. Each hurled its mighty physique at its winged antagonist with all their dragons’ might to terminate an ancient argument; a combat that surely must have commenced long before man had risen to take the reigns of the earth in hand.

*     *     *

Two shadowy warriors, whose fierceness only seemed to amplify within the waning light, the monstrous apparitions appeared to alternate in fury as one parried while the other would thrust in vicious attack. The white creature rushed, leaping in the air to sink its beak into its crimson foe, to find too late his enemy not there. The flying dragon deftly rose above that gnashing beak and slashed its talons down to rake the back of the flightless, feathered dragon underneath.

The ruby hued beast then rapidly dropped to the attack with razored teeth that grazed the graceful, cat-like flanks covered with down; slicing the air in its attack like honed and whetted ice might carve through snow. Taking full advantage of any opportunity; the pale dragon clamped down its murderous cleaver of a bill upon the crimson scales on the red monster’s long, unguarded tail as it swung round.

Each gave as good as each received, Emrys noted; so equal were they matched in size and frame. While the white dragon was perhaps half again as huge, the red made up the difference with its thin, fantastic wings, whose total span was wider than its writhing frame was long.

The feathered beast sprang and twisted in the air to slash and tear and cleave with its keen butcher’s beak, while paws with massive claws whipped through the blast, attempting under one of them to pin any portion of the crimson dragon’s limbs.

In opposition, from a reliable distance overhead, the rubied dragon’s talons, teeth, and tail all moved together in a deadly, scything whirr. To its advantage, it was well proportioned, long and lean, and the wide extravagant wings, in furious beat, manoeuvred it just out of reach of that murderous, jagged beak below.

Emrys’ mind turned from abject terror to zealous admiration of the strength and power each gigantic warrior displayed; for surely not their equal had been created since before the mountains were made, or at least since puny men had swarmed like ants upon the hills above their heads.

How glorious they fought; how bravely and judiciously each countered its opponent’s strengths. How fortunate they turned their wrath against each other rather than man, for only gods could hope to stand against their unbridled rage: magnificent leviathans from an ancient, forgotten page of history.

Perhaps, Emrys wondered, peering from the dark; they might in truth be demigods, arrayed like good and evil to engage in metaphor or simile of all that lay above. Constrained by greater gods to test the mettle of still finer concepts of truth and fact; then finding over the centuries that each was unable to prevail over the other, they resolutely consigned themselves to forever finitely confront their immortal foe.

With hearts resigned for victory and not for woe or any other emotion sanctified by men, conflict might be, indeed, their only purpose in some vast, majestic plan. A plan far greater than the imagination of man might ever hope to comprehend: to fight eternally, throughout and long after the age of humanity; whose demise actually might free them from this formation underground and provide the noble combatants birth into a realm more worthy of their divine character.

Their shrieks and screams tore through the subterranean air, as if each thought, by sheer volume, one might penetrate its opponent’s sinewy, muscled flesh. The columns shook, as did the walls, and amplified the sounds of their immortal combat far underneath the ground. Like a bell, the cavern’s atmosphere compressed and then expelled their enraged roars out every passage that led back up to the world of light above their heads.

*     *     *

At her post inside the grotto’s vestibule, Woof helplessly listened to the overwhelming, grand tattoo; her body still unable to scale the obstacle of earth that held her there.

Her furry, pointed ears pricked high to pick up every sound that resonated loud enough to hear. The powerless dog would, on occasion, back out of the earthen room and bark, then run back in to look and see if Emrys had emerged out from the darkened nook above.

Woof sometimes circled, sometimes stopped to lay and rest, but never once abandoned her persistent sentry in the darkened foyer of the cave.

*     *     *

The dragons revealed a sentiment Emrys had never witnessed before, a chivalry that rose majestically far above the confines of the human heart. Despite their obvious hatred for each other neither resorted to villainous trickery to gain advantage over its adversary. They met and fought as champions of might, with victory no more the object of their contest, but something far more glorious.

Battle to both was all and everything, each revelling in its opponent’s gains; bellowing approval above the savagery of war, in a camaraderie much finer than humankind might ever find occasion to illustrate. They demonstrated a reverence that the civilised world of humanity might never understand, tempered through the ages down through time, which bordered on the brink of the sublime: characteristics far beyond and high above as love or hate might majestically loom over rank indifference.

At length, the agitated confrontation ended without fatigue or injury, and so suddenly that it appeared almost as if by design. The dragon flocked in white simply dropped down to its knees, while that armoured in red touched ground and arrayed its body down squarely in front of the first.

After hours of unbridled fury, the two aggressors now lay completely immobile, with the singular exception of their hot and heaving breaths; which each appeared to hurl like misty gauntlets into their opponent’s face. They snarled their foggy huffs and puffs, but it was clear to see that, for all their previous intentions, their skirmish had abruptly ended without decision or fatality.

Chapter One

Within a forest clearing, not too distant from the Rhine and before the quill of history had scratched its record upon man’s memory, seven virgins met to contemplate the rhymes of life.

They met by the light of a full autumn moon in a collective attempt to understand their plight within a world so clearly driven by the whims of men. Each faced the selfsame destiny, regardless of bearing, appearance, or intelligence: as all seven maids were doomed to bear the weight of men. There was no other role for them to earnestly pursue, as their function within the nearby village had been loudly pronounced by the accident of their gender at birth.

While sons were afforded the opportunities fathers provided heirs, they, as daughters, were destined to be bartered off as property to some other father’s son for the sole purpose of motherhood. No single female retained the right of protest, and was as likely to be fondled and kept by the ugliest and most brutish of the single sons about, provided the simplest form of dowry was tendered to their enthusiastic fathers. Having assessed their limited prospects within their roles as wives, as well as careful observation of the currently available crop of hormone driven lads within their range of selection, the virgins opted to reconsider their alternatives as a cloister within the available breeding stock of the vicinity. For several months, each time they secretly met under the pretence of attending to daily chores, each bewailed the lustful glances of the lanky, pock-marked faces of those motley boys who would shortly barter for their charms.

By summer, they had dismissed all other options shy of suicide and, in quiet desperation, hatched a daring plan. It took a while to acquire consensus within the group, for one named Clotild had already been plucked from their midst at the ripe old age of fourteen by the unhappy purse of fate. While she had not been the most attractive from a subjective male perspective, it was clear she had other assets; her father, being a miller, had the ability to raise a substantial dowry to bait an equally unremarkable young man to take her from his home. A second maid named Rigunth, the frailest among their company, had regrettably succumbed to the ravages of winter and died at home in bed as the hawthorn buds began to break. While her family took her demise with difficulty, there was a hint in the demeanour of her father that he was silently relieved: saved from raising a substantial dowry in order to rid her from his table. She had been sickly from her birth and would be no prize to be raffled off to the voracious bachelors when and if the girl had chanced to reach puberty.

Recognising that their prospects were now even more dire, the five remaining daughters hatched a clever, well-deliberated scheme. Initially, they had though to feign mutual insanity, but more than the odd addled mind, the scheme would not be believed. Five virgins all succumbing to madness simultaneously might appear as witchery, with their kinsmen being more likely than not to justify themselves into beating, branding, and burning the evil from their bodies. That recourse held no attraction for any of the remaining five, so they, as one, adopted a far more crafty and intricate strategy.

Each went to her parents and asked their leave to visit the local holy man; the object of their visit being to be purified and blessed against their impending engagements. This was a sly manoeuvre on the part of the maidens, for the five realised they could play the blessings of purity and chastity off against the guilt and shame of their fathers in order to secure their leave.

By prior arrangement, the group had been stockpiling clothes, provisions, and the occasional weapon against their scheduled departure, so that, as each contentedly abandoned her patriarch’s home, all were determined to never return. In point of fact, the band did meet quite near the hovel of the local oracle; but only to shed their outward appearance as maidens and to don the disguises of men. This was actually quite easily achieved by simply cropping off their hair and dressing in their father’s or brothers’ stolen garments. As the girls had sewn most of the clothing initially as part of their training as future wives, tailoring the articles to better fit their frames and needs proved no great difficulty.

While setting off on such a venture might appear tantamount to suicide, one must remember that each had been trained by loving mothers from their youth to live off the frugal gifts of the countryside. All had shared their upbringing with brothers who had, by reason and as a result of their sibling rivalry, toughened them to defend themselves against the unwanted attentions of men and the brutality of the world.

Thus equipped, the five girls set off to the north, exuberantly embracing their freedom and their fate. Having been little more than indentured bondswomen in their own homes, the maidens relished their new-found freedom and sisterhood and grew closer than they ever might have without their shared situation. The unlikely group picked their way with subtlety to avoid the nomadic clans of Juts and barbaric Huns who swept like locusts across the countryside, keen to avoid any confrontation where they held no advantage.

At length, the girls took up residence in a stony hollow, near the revetments of a stream; a location chosen particularly and precisely for the protections it afforded. The natural depression gave them shelter from the elements and from attack on three sides, while the stream supplied fresh water and attracted a wide assortment of wild game. The band used stones from their gardened plots and from the outcrops on the hill to construct a single five-sided residence; a design that afforded a large living area within the centre, and featured a compartment for each girl laid out around the central fire. This arrangement provided equal access to its light and warmth, while affording each resident a small window and private exit to the outside.

Theirs was, they thought, the most idyllic life: for, within their cloister, all shared equally of benefit and responsibility. As the girls’ needs were meagre, they never went without, and their shared interdependence and independence from the world afforded them luxuries one would have never enjoyed in their previous lives. At length, the maids grew into women who, relieved from the bonds of marriage and the conscription of bearing children, dedicated themselves instead to each other’s welfare. They shared knowledge and insights about the world as freely as they did their sustenance and, throughout the long winter months, when snow buried the surrounding countryside, the young women snugly discussed the merits of their world.

Over time, the group developed an interdependent philosophy; that the universe must ideally be designed or intended to be inhabited in the complete harmony they had employed. Unlike their kindred from generations past, the five virgins found it folly to hold to the recognised pantheon of gods and goddesses who, as their kinsmen claimed, inhabited the world for their amusement and fought or dallied in the daily affairs of man. The sisterhood, after years of silent observation and having no messianic ministrations or seer to instruct them along any clearer path, elected to reconstitute their kinsmen’s myriad compilation of intelligible gods into an ethical system or codex each might as easily apply and comprehend. The virgins framed the world and their existence by terms they could understand; their concept of theology founded on their acceptance of the natural world and each maiden’s dependence upon the other four.

With the labours of each day accomplished, the group would meet in their central communal room to talk of the nature of the universe they knew. It was determined from the outset that they would, rather than amending the laws and code of conduct they had abandoned with their kin, attempt to live in harmony with their surroundings and each other on the simplest of terms: the result being a code that all could appreciate and easily apply. That said, however, the group sat silently for days trying to sift a pattern for their life from the winter air. After four days, when none had spoken aloud of their difficulty in doing so, Verica, the eldest, abruptly offered her considerations aloud.

Each soul that lives, and perhaps even more unseen, all constrain their existence relative to the physical world. If we pattern beliefs around any crux of what we understand, they should embrace the basest of things we can explain. Otherwise, we run the risk of simply adapting the gods we have been taught for years to revere; or worse yet, accepting what we each have been taught to avoid conflict with the theology of nature.

She continued, To this end, let me propose that we sort the world by its simplest elements, for any gods or interaction with them are likewise defined by their significant characteristics. That said, the basest elements would be water, wind, and fire. Deuteria nodded in agreement, as if to silently second the opinions of her older companion.

But flames cannot exist on lake or breeze, put forth Galswinth, but owe their very existence to that which they consume for survival. Fire incinerates alive each that it touches and moves as a living thing in a purposed direction, driven before the wind to any point until it is vanquished by water or fades for lack of fuel. Even candles and lamps burn down within their established place toward the earth until their fuel or wick is consumed. So, earth itself must share an equal place among the three, for without earth, the wind would pass without means of register, and without its banks of soil, water and flame would then but meet and cancel out the other’s existence.

Radegund picked up the conversation and offered her perspective, "All that cannot be denied, but some force must always determine the boundaries of each. Each day, we tend and feed the fire so that we all may benefit from its heat and light, as well as fetch the water from its place to nourish the plants we use for food. Earth, as well, must be broken and tended to frequently allow the plants to thrive and its stones provide shelter and boundaries for the benefit of man. Without humanities’ assistance, those