"They are fast," insisted the boy, "faster than any in the Nine Kingdoms. One day I will will race them in Poseidonis." race them in Poseidonis."
"I prefer horse racing," sniffed Guistan importantly.
Not to be outdone, the youngster said, "My uncle races horses. He was won wreaths and chains at every important race."
"What is his name?" inquired Guistan around a mouthful of food.
"Caister; he is very famous."
"I have never heard of him," replied Guistan.
The boy huffed and turned away. Charis felt sorry for him, having been baited and bested by Guistan. She gave her brother a jab in the ribs with her elbow. "Ow!" he cried. "What was that for?"
"He was only trying to be friendly. You could be polite," she whispered.
"I was was being polite!" Guistan hissed angrily. "Did I laugh in his face?" being polite!" Guistan hissed angrily. "Did I laugh in his face?"
The feast continued, Guistan"s bad manners notwithstanding, and the night stretched on with more eating and laughter and dancing. Charis ate until she could not hold another morsel, and then joined the dance with some other young people. They a.s.sembled beneath the lanterns and formed a serpentine to weave among the lantern poles and pavilions.
The dancers chanted as they wound through the feast site, lifting their voices as the serpentine moved faster and faster, until they could no longer hold on and tumbled over one another to fall sprawling to the gra.s.s. Charis laughed as she lay on the ground, lanterns and stars spinning dizzily above her.
She closed her eyes and panted to regain her breath. The laughter in the air died. She sat up. Others were standing motionless nearby, staring into the darkness. Charis climbed to her feet.
A looming, dark shape waited just beyond the periphery of the light. As Charis watched, the shape moved, advanced slowly toward them. The silent dancers backed away. The mysterious shape drew closer to the light and the ma.s.s of darkness resolved itself into the arms and legs, head and torso of a man.
He did not advance further but stood just at the edge of the light, looking at them. From a place just a little above his shoulder Charis saw a cold glimmer of yellow light, a frozen shimmer, like the wink of a cat"s eye in the dark.
Charis felt an icy sensation of recognition. She knew who stood there watching them. The stranger made no further move toward them, but Charis could feel his unseen stare. Then he turned and walked away as silently as he had come.
Some of the older boys snickered and called after him- rude taunts and insults-but the man had vanished in the darkness. The others quickly formed another serpentine, but Charis did not feel like dancing anymore and returned to her place at the table, where she sat for the remainder of the evening despite Liban"s repeated urging to join in the fun.
The moon had long ago risen and now rode a balmy night breeze, spilling its silver light over the land. When the guests had had enough of food and celebration, the carriages were summoned and people began making their way back to the palace.
Charis, half-asleep, was bundled into the royal carriage where she curled into a corner and closed her eyes.
"Look!"
The voice was sharp in her ears; Charis stirred.
"There... another!" someone else said.
Charis opened her eyes and raised her head. All around her people were peering into the heavens; so Charis too raised her eyes to the night-dark sky. The heavens glimmered with the light of so many stars that it seemed as if a tremendous celestial fire burned in the firmament of the G.o.ds, shining through myriads of tiny chips in the skybowl.
As she watched, keen-eyed in the darkness, a star slashed across the heavens to plunge into the sea beyond the palace. Instantly another fell, and another. She turned to her mother and was about to speak when she saw a light flash on her mother"s face and all cried out at once.
Charis glanced back and saw the sky flamed in a brilliant blaze, hundreds of stars plummeting to earth, arcing through the night like a glittering fall of fire from on high. Down and down they came, striking through the night like burning brands thrown into dark Ocea.n.u.s.
"Will it ever stop?" wondered Charis, her eyes bright with the light of falling stars. "Oh, look at them, Mother! All the stars of heaven must be falling! It is a sign."
"A sign," murmured Briseis. "Yes, a very great sign."
As suddenly as it began, the starshower was over. An unnatural stillness settled over the land-as if the whole world waited to see what would happen next. But nothing did happen. Mute spectators turned to one another as if to say, Did you see it too? Did it really happen or did I imagine it?
Slowly the nightsounds crept into the air again, and the people started back to the palace once more. But the queen stood gazing at the sky for a long time before taking her place in the carriage with others in the party. Charis shivered and rubbed her arms with her hands, feeling the breath of a chill touch her bones.
The carriages rolled over the starlit meadow to Seithenin"s palace. When they arrived, guests alighted and filed slowly into the hall, many talking in hushed but animated tones about what they had seen. Briseis turned to see Annubi standing alone, gazing into the sky. "I will join you in a moment," she told the others and returned to where he stood. "What did you see, Annubi?" she asked when they were alone together.
The seer lowered his eyes to look at her and she saw sadness veil his vision like a mist in his eyes. "I saw stars fall from the sky on a cloudless night. I saw fire rake the furrows of Ocea.n.u.s" waves."
"Do not speak to me in Mage"s riddles," said Briseis softly. "Tell me plainly, what did you see?"
"My queen," replied Annubi, "I am no Mage or I would see more plainly. As it is, I see only what is permitted me, no more."
"Annubi," Briseis chided gently, "I know better. Tell me what you saw."
He turned to stare at the sky once more. "I saw the light of life extinguished in the deep."
The queen thought about this for a moment and then asked, "Whose life?"
"Whose indeed?" He gazed into the star-filled night. "I cannot say."
"But surely"
"You asked what I saw," Annubi snapped, "and I have told you." He turned brusquely and started away. "More I cannot say."
Briseis watched him go and then rejoined the others inside.
Annubi walked the terraced gardens alone, lost to the world of the senses as his feet wandered the shadowy pathways of the future which had been so fleetingly revealed in the glittering light of the starfall.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
Elphin and his companions forded the river and fol-lowed the wooded track along the southern bank, until they came at last to the gently sloping headland which overlooked the Aberdyvi, and upon whose flat crown lay the hillfort of Elphin"s father. They pa.s.sed pens with ruddy pigs and dun-colored cattle that lifted their heads to watch them as they climbed the rock-strewn track past thatch-and-twig outbuildings to the ditch-encircled caer.
In Caer Dyvi the riders were greeted with the tight-lipped stares of the clansmen, none of whom appeared especially glad to see Elphin or were greatly cheered by the sight of two strange women with him or their meager flock of bleating sheep.
Nevertheless, by the time the riders reached the large dwelling in the center of the caer, they had attracted a sizable" following of curious kinsmen. Gwyddno emerged from the house with Medhir, who carried the babe Taliesin in her arms. "Greetings, Elphin!" called Gwyddno. "You have returned successful, I see."
"More than successful, Father," answered Elphin. "I went in search of a nurse and have returned with a wife." He slid from the saddle and helped Rhonwyn dismount to the murmured surprise of the onlookers.
"A wife!" cried Medhir. "Is this so?"
"It is," answered Eithne. Medhir saw her kinswoman climbing down from the red mare.
"Eithne!" Medhir, cradling the infant, ran to her cousin. "The sight of you warms my heart. Welcome!"
The two women embraced, and Eithne looked down at the sleeping child. "This must be the babe Elphin has found."
"The same, to be sure." Medhir lifted the infant"s wraps so Eithne could see.
"Oh, such a beautiful, beautiful child! Elphin said the little one was comely, but he did not say it was this fair. Why, if there is an equal I have never seen it."
"The same might be said for your daughter," replied Medhir, gazing with approval at the young woman beside her son. "Little Rhonwyn, it is this long since I have seen you. Ah, but the girl is a woman now-look at you, all grown, and a beauty." She embraced the blushing Rhonwyn while Elphin stood beaming. "Welcome to you."
Taliesin stirred and cried out. Medhir handed the infant to Rhonwyn, saying, "It is all one can do to keep the child fed. He is hungry all the time."
Rhonwyn parted the coverlet and gazed at the infant. Surprised by the sunlight, the babe stopped crying and, seeing the face above him, gurgled softly and smiled. "Look at that!" said Gwyddno. "She has but to hold the babe and he quiets. That is a mother"s own touch."
"He is beautiful," said Rhonwyn, who had not taken her eyes from the child.
"But what of this marriage?" asked Gwyddno, regarding his son happily. "This is unexpected."
Glancing at the gathered clansmen, Elphin replied, "Let us go inside and refresh ourselves and I will tell you all that has happened since I left."
Gwyddno ordered two men to unload the horses and they all entered the house, leaving their audience agape but with fresh fodder for gossip. Once inside, Taliesin began crying again; so Rhonwyn took him to a corner pallet and, letting down the side of her runic, began to suckle him while the two older women bustled about preparing food. Elphin regarded the scene with favor and began to relate what had transpired on his trip to Diganhwy.
They ate while Elphin talked, and when he finished Gwyddno asked, "What was Lord Killydd"s disposition?"
"He was well disposed to the marriage. In fact, he agreed most heartily when I offered him Eithne"s house. He is getting old and wishes no trouble between our clans. He says there is enough trouble already from the Cruithni in the North."
Gwyddno considered this. "Well said. I, too, am concerned. The Cruithni become bolder with each pa.s.sing season. They wait only for an opportunity to strike in force."
"That they dare not as long as the garrison remains in Caer Seiont."
"Ah, there is an uneasy peace. Better to have them there than here, I say. It is a shame we have to have them at all." He reflected for a moment and said, "Still, they are stout fighting men and never shrink from a battle. Was there any news?"
"Little enough. It was a quiet winter for them, as for us. He said the tribune came once to talk about sending men to help protect the Wall. Killydd declined, telling him that he needed his men for planting in the spring. He gave them horses instead."
Gwyddno nodded. Save for his yearly taxes, which he al ways delivered in person so the magistrates would not forget for a moment who it was that paid, Gwyddno kept his direct dealings with the Romans to a minimum and considered him self fortunate. Although many lords, like Killydd, traded with them-and more than a few battlechiefs fought alongside them for silver-Gwyddno liked them best at a distance. Somehow, where the shrewd and swarthy Romans were concerned, one always came out the poorer for the bargain.
"Now then, about this wedding," the king said, "I am well pleased." He turned to look at Rhonwyn sitting beneath the window, her hair aflame in the afternoon light streaming in through the narrow opening. Oblivious to his stare she continued feeding the babe. "Ah, you have done well indeed."
"When will the marriage take place?" wondered Medhir.
"As soon as possible. Tomorrow, if it can be arranged, or the day after," replied Elphin.
"We will have a wedding feast!" exclaimed Gwyddno. "The biggest wedding feast anyone has seen."
"Tomorrow?" began Medhir, looking to Eithne. "Brighid help us, it cannot be tomorrow-or even the day after."
"And why not?" asked Gwyddno. "If that is Elphin"s choice, so be it."
"Lord, you forget that Rhonwyn has just given birth. The marriage cannot be consummated until the end of the month at least."
"It cannot be helped," agreed Eithne. She glanced fearfully at Elphin and Gwyddno.
"A marriage unconsummated is no marriage at all," added Medhir uncertainly.
"Well, many a marriage has been consummated well before the wedding," observed Elphin. "We will do it the other way around."
"See? You fret over nothing. We will have the wedding," declared Gwyddno. "Rhonwyn and Elphin will stay here until they can sleep together in the house that I will build for them."
Elphin thanked his father but said, "I wish to build the house myself." He gazed at Rhonwyn proudly. "It will be my gift to my wife."
Hasty plans were made and the wedding announced to the clan, who at once began preparing for the feast. Fire pits were dug and piled with kindling, caldrons scoured and filled with potatoes and turnips in fresh water, hunters dispatched to bring back wild pigs and deer, cattle slaughtered and dressed, fish hauled from the sea in nets, casks of mead and ale stacked on a long table made of split logs, bread baked in special wedding loaves, and torches lashed to long poles.
Immersed in the festive spirit, the clan soon forgot their differences with Elphin and began considering him in a more kindly light. After all, a king"s son was not married every day. And never was there a more generous lord in all Gwy-nedd than Gwyddno Garanhir; everyone was a.s.sured of a king"s portion and a celebration second to none.
By midmorning the following day, smoke from the cooking fires was ascending in thick clouds and the aroma of roasting meat permeated the village. The people, free from their work for the occasion, gathered in groups to talk and laugh as the preparations continued. By midday, riders who had been sent out at dawn"s first light to each of the six cantrefs to bid the n.o.ble houses and kinsmen to come to the feast began returning with the invited guests.
Each tribe brought with it a substantial contribution to the feast: smoked meat and fish, great white wheels of cheese carried on poles, mounds of sweet barley loaves, skins of honeyed mead and good dark beer, chickens and wild fowl, lambs and kids, eggs, b.u.t.ter and curded milk in crocks. One of Elphin"s kinsmen, an uncle from an eastern cantref who wore a thick gold chain on his chest, brought a wagoo full of skins containing wine obtained from the garrison at Caer Legionis.
When the sun began lowering in the west, Gwyddno, seeing that all the guests had arrived, climbed up on the pyramid of stacked casks and blew a long blast on his hunting horn. The people gathered around and he shouted, "Let the wedding celebration of my son begin!"
And so it did. Elphin emerged from his father"s house wearing a great silver tore around his neck, a bright yellow tunic, and green trousers bound to the knee with strips of blue silk; an emerald-studded dagger was tucked into his wide leather Belt, and a new cloak of orange-and-scarlet plaid was fastened at his shoulder with a great gold brooch inlaid with garnets. As he made his way to the feast site, which was now crowded with people, a small s.p.a.ce was cleared and Elphin came to stand in the center of the ring.
Medhir and Eithne came next and stepped to either side of the doorway to hold aside the pelts covering the entrance. Rhonwyn emerged, straightened, and walked slowly to the circle. She was dressed in a long gown of spring-green linen, embroidered in gold at the neck and hem; a necklace of braided gold lay upon her breast, golden armbands in the shape of serpents encircled her bare arms, and gold bracelets jkigled on her wrists; her cloak was of radianTpurple silk with tiny silver Bells sewn to the ta.s.sels along its edge; around her waist she wore a peari-encrusted girdle, and on her feet were slippers of gilded leather. Her red-gold hair fell in russet waves down her back, beneath two long, intertwined braids into which white campion blossoms had been plaited and secured with jeweled pins.
Elphin gazed upon her as she walked slowly forward and knew that he had never seen a woman so fair. And he was not the only one with thoughts like these: most gathered there Believed her to be the loveliest woman yet seen in the kingdom, and said so, proclaiming this loudly to their neighbors.
When Rhonwyn had joined Elphin in the circle, Hafgan, with oaken staff in hand, came to stand before them. He was followed by his two new filidh, one of whom carried an earthenware bowl and the other a pitcher of wine. He smiled warmly at the couple and said, "This is a most auspicious time for a marriage. Look!" He pointed with his staff towards the first evening star already shining in the clean, cloudless sky. "The G.o.ddess" own star looks down and blesses you with its light."
Then he took the bowl, filled it from the pitcher, and raised it, offering it to the setting sun and to the rising moon, repeating a special wedding invocation to each in turn. He pa.s.sed the bowl to Elphin saying, "This represents life; drink deeply of it."
Elphin took the bowl and drank, emptying it in three great swallows. Hafgan refilled the bowl from the pitcher and gave it to Rhonwyn, repeating his injunction. She drained the bowl and returned it to the druid. The bowl was filled a third time and placed in the wedding couple"s hands. "This bowl represents your new life commingled; drink deeply of it together. "
Elphin and Rhonwyn lifted the bowl and shared it between them until it was gone. While they were drinking, Hafgan stooped and, taking hold of the ends of their cloaks, tied the two ends together.
"Smash the bowl!" instructed Hafgan when they had finished, and they threw the bowl to the ground where it broke into three large pieces. The druid studied the shards for a moment, then raised his staff and proclaimed, "I see here a long and fruitful marriage! A union richly blessed with every good fortune!"
"Long live Elphin and Rhonwyn!" returned the guests. "May their house prosper!"
An avenue was opened in the circle, and Elphin and his bride were conducted to the long timber table where they were seated on a couch of rushes covered with dappled fawn skins, and the feast began. Food was served up in wooden trenchers, the choicest morsels going to the wedding pair. A huge silver chalice was filled with wine and placed before them. Everyone found a place to sit: honored guests were seated at the low tables to the right and left of die wedding pair according to rank, and all the rest claimed places on skins and rugs scattered on the ground.
They talked and laughed as they ate, voices loud in rejoicing. And when the delights of the table had been sampled sufficiently, the people began to clamor for entertainment.
"Hafgan!" called Gwyddno merrily. "A song! Sing us a song, bard!"
"I will sing," answered the druid. "But I beg the honor of singing last. Allow my filidh to begin in my stead."
"Very well, save your voice," answered Gwyddno. "But we will require your best before this feast is through."
The apprentice bards produced their harps and began to sing. They sang the old songs of conquest and loss, of heroes and their mighty deeds of valor, of the love of their women, of beauty bright and tragic death. As they sang, the moon rose with her train of stars, and evening deepened to night.