They dressed themselves then, drawing on the kind of garments with which kings and queens array themselves. Teleri found his horse grazing nearby and mounted. He settled his new wife before him and rode from the pool, returning to his former realm the same way he had come.
By and by, Teleri and Arianrhod returned to Caer Cadwallon where they were greeted and made welcome. His former friends exclaimed much over Teleri’s good fortune and finding a woman so beautiful and wise to be his wife.
“Welcome home, Teleri,” said King Cadwallon. “You have returned at last. And here I was thinking that I would have to rule my realm alone, for I could find no one worthy to help me.”
“What are you saying, lord?” asked Teleri. “Hy Gwyd left before I did. He it was who killed the Black Lord.”
“Ah, but it is not Hy Gwyd I see before me,” Cadwallon answered, “nor is it Hy Gwyd who has entered my presence arrayed in splendor with so fair and queenly a wife.” The great king shook his head slowly. “The man you speak of has not returned, and I think he never will. Therefore, let no man speak of him more. For I have found the one who is worthy above all others to share my throne, and whom, for this reason, I desire to elevate above all other men in my realm. From this day you are my own son, and as my son you will enjoy the benefit of my power and prosperity.”
So saying, the Great King removed the torc from his own throat and placed it around Teleri’s throat, thereby conferring a kingship no less sovereign than his own, nor yet less honorable. Teleri could not believe his good fortune.
Cadwallon proclaimed a season of feasting throughout the realm and caused great rejoicing among all who held him sovereign. Then he placed half his kingdom under Teleri’s authority and removed himself to the other side of his realm, where he watched with greatest delight and joy all that Teleri did. For in everything Teleri showed himself an astute and able king, and as Teleri’s eminence grew, so did Cadwallon’s; and as Teleri’s honor increased among the people, so did the great king’s prestige increase through that of his adopted son.
For his part, Teleri was well pleased with his lot and ever looked to increase the great king’s honor among men. But of Hy Gwyd he heard nothing more, nor did any man ever lay eyes on him again. It was as if that man had never been born.
Teleri and Arianrhod ruled long and wisely, ever exulting in their delight. And the love with which they loved one another increased until it filled the whole of the great king’s realm with a potent and powerful goodness.
Here ends the tale of the Great King’s Son. Let him hear it who will.
11
THE BOAR HUNT
On a high-skied, sun-bright day in early spring we left Dun Cruach. Snow still veiled the high ground, but I was eager to return to Dinas Dwr. The necessity of completing the circuit of Albion required a lengthy sojourn in Prydain and Caledon. There were still many clans and settlements to visit in the south, and it would likely be some time yet before we could at last turn our steps once more to Dinas Dwr in the north.
My entourage had swelled in number since setting out. It seemed that we added new members at each place visited. Dun Cruach was no exception—Cynan insisted on escorting us on our journey through southern Caledon, claiming it had been too long since a Galanae king had made the circuit. Now that he was king it was his right; besides, it would increase his renown to be seen in the company of the Aird Righ.
The real reason, I suspect, was that he just wanted to show off his new bride. But I did not mind. It gave us an opportunity to ride together once more, which I enjoyed.
As before, messengers rode before us, summoning the people to the king’s llys. We made camp in the holy places—at crossroads, at standing stones and gorsedd mounds. There I received the fealty of the Caledonian tribes, and—as in Prydain and Llogres—placed the people under my authority and protection.
Ever and again, my thoughts turned toward Dinas Dwr, my splendid Water City. I wondered how the people fared, how the herds and crops were growing. I missed the place, missed my motley tribe, and wondered if they missed me. I longed for my hearth and hall. The minimal pleasures of a nomadic life were beginning to pall—the amusement of sleeping in a tent had long since worn off.
“There are only four or five tribes left to visit in the south,” Tegid offered by way of consolation. “And as there are still very few people in Prydain at present, it will not be long before we begin making our way north again.”
“How long?” I asked.
“Twenty—” the bard replied.
“Twenty days!” I shouted. My impatience got the better of me.
“—or thirty,” Tegid added quickly. “Perhaps more. I cannot be certain until we have visited all the gathering places in the south.”
“It will be Samhain before we get home again—if ever.”
“Not at all. We should be within sight of Druim Vran before Lugnasadh—well before harvest time.” He paused, almost beaming with pleasure. “We have done well. The tribes honor your kingship. Your brother kings welcome you. It is all we had hoped.”
Truly, the circuit had been a triumph. As Tegid pointed out, people did accept me as Aird Righ, and I could already see a direct benefit. After such a time as we had just been through with Siawn Hy and Meldron, the High Kingship offered a substantial degree of stability—not to mention tranquility. If observing the ancient rite of the Cylchedd had helped bring this about, I would do it all over again.
I would do anything to make Albion again what it had been when I came. Absolutely anything.
“Why not go hunting with Bran?” Tegid suggested, stirring me from my thoughts. “We will reach our destination just past midday. Bran and some of the others are planning to explore some of the game runs Cynan has told us about. You could go with them.”
“Trying to get rid of me, brother bard?”
“Yes. Go. Please.”
Bran was more than happy to include me in his hunting party. It had been a long time since I had ridden the hunt with him, or with anyone else. “It will not do for the High King’s spear points to rust from neglect,” he remarked. I took it as a kindly way of saying he did not want me growing soft now that I sat on a throne more often than a charging horse. Fair enough.
Upon reaching our camping place for the night, we gathered our spears and rode to the forest. It was just past midday, as Tegid had said it would be, and the day was warm. We struck the first game run shortly after entering the wood, but decided we would be unlikely to find anything so near to the outer fringes of the forest, and so pressed deeper into the heart of the wood.
There were six of us in our party altogether and, upon reaching a second run, we divided ourselves into three groups and proceeded along the track, two abreast. Bran and I rode in the center, three to four spear lengths between us; and though I could not see the others through the tangled wood, I knew they were within easy hailing distance.
We rode in silence for some time, and at last came upon a spoor of wild pigs. Bran dismounted for a closer look. “How many?” I asked.
Bran, kneeling on the trail, raised his head and said, “A small herd. Four at least—maybe more.” He stood and glanced ahead into the shadow-dappled trail. “Let us ride a little further and see what we find.”
We proceeded with caution. This is always a tense situation, for until the pigs are sighted, there is the very present danger of riding into them or overtaking them unawares. That is when accidents happen. Many is the hunter who has had his horse cut from under him—or worse—by a charging pig he did not see. Wild pigs are fearless fighters and will not hesitate to attack when pressed too close—though, like most animals, given the chance they prefer to flee.
Bran and I proceeded a short distance further down the run and paused to listen. The air was still in the depths of the forest; only the quick tak-tak, tak-tak of a woodpecker broke the dull silence. Then, a little way ahead, we heard a low, grunting huff—which was followed by a snap of twigs and the shifting of dry leav
es. Lowering his spear, Bran pointed into the dense thicket ahead and to the left of us. We waited, motionless, and in a moment a good-sized sow stepped onto the run before us, just beyond a sure throw. Pigs do not see well, though their hearing is acute and their sense of smell is keen. There was no wind, however, and if we kept quiet, there was the chance she might wander nearer.
We waited.
Two piglets, small—they had been born only days before—joined their mother on the trail. They were joined by three more, all of them making small mewing sounds and scampering under the sow’s belly and between her legs as she moved, snout down, along the run.
Bran shook his head slowly; we would not take the sow and leave the young without a mother. Accordingly, we made to turn off the track to give them a wide berth—a new mother feeling protective of her young would be extremely touchy, and we had no wish to upset her. But, just as we turned aside, the thicket gave a shake and out burst a huge old boar.
He seemed more startled than angry, for he halted in the center of the run, turning this way and that—trying to locate the source of his agitation, I suppose—before gathering himself for a foray in our direction. This gave us time to ready ourselves, and we were moving forward, spears low, when he charged. He closed the distance between us with surprising speed. We were ready, however, and had decided how to take him; Bran would strike the beast high in the shoulder, and I would go for his ribs.
The boar was a doughty old warrior, wise in his strength. He made his first charge a bluff, breaking off at the last instant so that we were forced to reign up and wheel our mounts to keep him between us. High-backed, his crest bristling over his sharp shoulders, he paused for a moment in the shadows, head down, tusks gleaming, slobbering as he pawed the turf. The sow and her brood had scattered, meanwhile, squealing as they fled down the run.
Bran and I readied ourselves for another charge. My pulse beat in my temples. I felt my blood warming to the challenge of this old boar. Not waiting for the pig to decide the matter, we urged our horses forward to take him on the run. The beast did not move but stood his ground and waited. Our spears were almost upon him when he broke sharply to the left, toward me—presenting his massive side as an easy target for my spear. I drew back to throw.
The boar must have sensed the movement, for he swerved and came headlong at me. His legs were a blur, and his tusks a glimmer of white in the gloom as he drove at me, grunting as he came. I braced myself for the impact, having already decided to let him come as near as possible before releasing my spear. Bran raced to join me, hoping to get in a second strike if mine missed.
All at once, there arose a great squeal and two more pigs darted into the run. I saw them only as two dark smudges speeding at an angle toward me. Bran shouted, his cry loud with surprise. I jerked the reins back hard, and my mount’s legs all but folded under as the creature struggled to halt and turn itself in one swift motion.
The first pig darted under the horse’s rearing forehooves. The other I managed to ward off with a quick spear thrust as it made to rip my mount’s flank. I got a good look at the beast as it swerved aside to avoid the spear. It was a young tusker, not yet come into its full growth: thin in the hindquarters, and light in the chest. Yet, what it lacked in bulk, the beast more than made up for in speed and determination. For, no sooner had it passed one way than it charged again from another.
I shouted at Bran to warn him and saw him, out of the corner of my eye, slashing at the second pig with a short, chopping motion of the spear. The pig fell, rolled on its back, legs kicking in the air, and then scrambled away, screaming as it fled.
This gave Bran a brief respite. He raised himself in the saddle and called for help, his voice ringing in the wood. I thought to give voice as well but was soon too preoccupied to shout. The old boar had passed Bran and was now behind me. I heard a snuffling grunt as he lunged forward. I wheeled my horse and brought the spear down hard and fast. The blade caught the beast on the ridge of tight-muscled flesh atop his hump.
The spear bent, and then came a loud, splintering crack as the shaft snapped in two. The next thing I knew I was falling sideways onto the forest floor.
I threw my leg over the saddle as I fell and landed hard on my side. But at least my leg was not trapped beneath the horse. I scrambled to my feet and dived for another spear—bundled behind the saddle of my floundering mount.
Bran, seeing my predicament, threw his own spear to me. It struck the earth two paces beside me. I dived for it, snatched it up, and then whirled to my horse, seizing the reins and urging it upright. Blood flowed from its hock, and I hoped the wound was not serious.
“Llew!” Bran shouted. A spear streaked past my shoulder as I turned. The missile hit the charging boar a glancing blow—only enough to turn it aside. I spun and thrust with my spear as it went past, but missed completely as the wily animal dodged aside, streaming fluid from its nostrils and foam from its tusks.
Just then I heard behind me a crashing sound and turned to meet Emyr and Alun as they rode to our aid. At the appearance of the newcomers, the pigs turned and began racing down the trail.
“They’re running!” cried Alun, urging his horse to the chase.
Emyr and Bran were next away. I hooked an arm over the neck of my mount and swung myself up into the saddle. An instant later I was bolting after them. The pigs kept to the side of the hunting run, low among the branches, where they were hardest to reach. Our only hope of roast pig was to keep pace with them and strike when they broke cover and dashed into the open.
We readied our spears and ranged ourselves accordingly. Then, as we drew even with our fleet-footed quarry, the hunting run turned suddenly and we found ourselves in a sunlit, bramble-hedged glade. In the center of the glade stood a dolmen: three upright stones capped by a single huge slab, which formed a roof. The dolmen was surrounded by a shallow, grass-grown ditch and ring.
The old boar put his head down and ran straight across the clearing, skirting the dolmen and driving into the thicket on the far side of the glade. His young companion, however, was not so canny. The pig scurried across the ditch and disappeared behind the dolmen with Emyr right behind. Alun and I peeled away, racing for the opposite side to cut off his escape. Bran halted at the entrance to keep the brash porker from retreating back down the run.
The pig cleared the dolmen, saw us, and continued on around for the second time. Emyr picked him up as he passed and gave chase. Then it was Alun’s and my chance once more. But the speedy pig darted among the stones and eluded us. Emyr shouted as the pig appeared on his side once more, and then I saw the brown blur as it rounded the ring and sped on for a third circuit.
Alun lofted a spear as the pig appeared once more. The spear struck the soft ground just in front of the young boar’s jaw. The pig gave a frightened grunt and lunged for the cover of the dolmen stones.
I saw it scramble into the deep shadow under the capstone—I saw its silhouette sharp against the bright green beyond. And then it disappeared.
The pig simply melted from sight. I saw it go. Rather, I saw it, and then I did not see it anymore. The creature had evaporated—tusks, tail, bristles and all—leaving not so much as a squeal behind.
I saw it go and my stomach tightened. My heart sank and I suddenly felt weak. My spear fell from my slack fingers; I made a clumsy grab for it and missed. The spear dropped on the ground.
“Where is it?” shouted Emyr. He looked to Alun, who leaned poised in the saddle with his spear raised, ready to throw. Neither had seen the pig vanish.
“The beast is hiding!” replied Alun, indicating the crevice between stones.
Cautiously, Emyr approached the dolmen and jabbed his spear beneath the capstone, thinking to drive the pig out. With trembling fingers, I gathered the reins and turned my mount, leaving the glade. Bran hailed me as I passed. “Have they made the kill?” he called. “Llew!”
I made no answer. Overcome by the enormity of the crisis, I could not speak. I simply spurr
ed my horse away.
“Llew! What has happened?” Bran called sharply.
I knew what had happened: the web between the worlds had now grown so thin and tenuous that a frightened pig could cross the threshold in broad daylight. The balance between the worlds was skewed; the Endless Knot unraveling. The Otherworld and the manifest world I had left behind were collapsing inward each upon the other. Chaos loomed.
I could hear the shriek of the void loud in my ears as I passed from the glade. The chill touched my heart—and my hand: my silver hand had grown cold on the end of my arm. The cold spread to my bones. Blackness swarmed the borders of my vision.
“Are you injured, lord?” called the Raven Chief behind me.
Ignoring Bran, I rode on . . .
I had almost reached the edge of the forest when the others caught me. They were puzzled by my actions and disappointed at having to abandon the hunt. No one spoke, but I could feel their tacit bewilderment at my behavior. We rode back to camp without explanation and, upon dismounting, I turned to Bran. “Bring Tegid,” I said, and ducked into my tent.
Goewyn was not there. No doubt she was away somewhere with Tángwen. I sat down on the red oxhide in the center of the tent, crossed my legs, folded my arms across my chest, and bent my head until it almost touched my knees. I waited, feeling a cold tide of desperation rising within me. If I did not think about what I had seen and what it meant, I could keep the tide from overwhelming me.
“Hurry, Tegid,” I murmured, rocking slowly back and forth.
In this way I held the tide at bay and kept it from swallowing me and carrying me away. I do not know how much time passed, but I heard the brushing tread of a step at the doorway and then felt a presence beside me. I opened my eyes and raised my head.
Tegid was bending over me, concern creasing his brow. “I am here, brother,” he said softly. “The hunt went well?”
I shut my eyes again and shook my head. When I did not reply, he said, “What has happened?” He paused. “Llew, tell me. What has happened?”
The Endless Knot Page 13
