‘That’s the Night Hunter for you: unpredictable.’ Creirwy sipped her water.
Both Owain and Gwion’s eyes drew open wide, but as Ganhumara was led into the atrium, the Lady Tegid held a finger to her lips to prevent them voicing their concerns.
‘Dear Lady, thank you for this audience.’ The bride-to-be looked wretched from crying and torment as she threw herself at Creirwy’s feet. ‘I never intended to cause you offence, I—’
‘You have caused none.’ The Lady crouched down to assure Ganhumara. ‘It is I who should apologise for causing you such distress on your big day.’
‘No, great Lady—’
‘Yes, dear one.’ She wiped some of the tears from the younger woman’s face. ‘But I have a gift for you that will more than make up for any ill-will or misunderstanding between us.’
The scene was heart-warming to watch. Yet with the knowledge that the gift was from the Night Hunter, Gwion felt that his lady’s display of compassion could just as easily be the consummate act of deceit – for she was still bound to carry out the Night Hunter’s will.
‘You have a gift for me?’ Ganhumara ventured to smile.
‘Not just a gift, but a magical treasure.’
Ganhumara gasped, her large pale blue eyes red and swollen, opening wide.
‘Crafted for you by the Fey upon the request of their lord.’
‘Oh my goodness! What an honour.’ The women rose and as they approached the chest, Ganhumara looked to Owain, who immediately lost his frown and replaced it with a grin of reassurance.
The King looked to Gwion, who also had an uneasy feeling about this, but what could they do but force a smile and hope for the best.
When the Princess opened the chest and pulled out a perfectly plain tunic, ordinary in every way, she was bemused, but gracious. ‘Thank you, Highness, I like it very much—’
Creirwy had a little chuckle. ‘You are so sweet, child . . . but I have to tell you, the magic is in the wearing. Come, try it on and you will see what I mean.’
As Creirwy led the King’s bride to her private chambers, Gwion felt sure the King wished to intercede, but clearly his bride was excited and he didn’t dare risk upsetting her again. He waited for the ladies to be out of sight before approaching Gwion. ‘What in the Otherworld is going on? Why would Gwyn ap Nudd send my bride a gift?’
‘I wish I knew, Sire.’ Gwion fought his inclination to expect the worst. ‘Perhaps it is a blessing, as with the Goddess’s gift to you?’
The mention of the gift triggered another topic of interest to the King. ‘And what of your invisible tricks last night?’
‘I am happy to say I have nothing untoward to report.’
Owain waved off the news. ‘I apologise for abusing your new talent; I know spying is against your moral code. But it’s not against mine, you understand? I’m all for using any means at my disposal to protect the stability of Cymru.’
‘Yes, I have noticed that about you, Sire.’ Gwion drank more water to smother a smile.
‘I did possibly overreact in this case, but your advice was sound,’ Owain conceded. ‘Are you certain you won’t reconsider joining my court when you are done with your commission for Keridwen? Such counsel and abilities are surely wasted on a scholar.’
‘Majesty—’
‘Or . . . if not immediately, perhaps one day?’
Gwion was very fond of Owain, and saw no harm in allowing for the possibility. ‘If you ever really need my help, you know where to find me, Highness.’
‘Majesty, look!’ Ganhumara did a twirl as she re-entered the atrium, wearing a beautiful tunic that transformed in style, colour and texture as she moved. ‘I shall never lack for a new look ever!’
‘That’s the magic?’ Owain was very relieved. ‘What a thoughtful gift.’
‘I can think of none better.’ Ganhumara was clearly thrilled. ‘Now I have the enormous problem of deciding how I should wear it today!’
‘Speaking of which, you should make haste to get ready for your wedding.’ Creirwy rushed the bride past her king and to the gate, where they hugged. Ganhumara made for her carriage, and Creirwy rejoined them in the atrium.
‘You have made her very happy; I cannot thank you enough.’ Owain was clearly overwhelmed by her generosity.
‘There is one more thing about that tunic that the Night Hunter wanted only you to know,’ Creirwy advised, and Owain went a little pale. ‘It is a tunic of devotion, and will only transform for a faithful wife. Congratulations, Owain, your queen truly loves you.’
Again the young king was relieved. ‘I did not doubt it.’
‘And now you never need doubt it.’ The Lady smiled coolly. ‘My Lord leaves it entirely up to you as to whether you care to share this other magic feature with your betrothed.’
Owain nodded as he mulled over the Night Hunter’s consideration. ‘I should rather not make my marriage a breeding ground of deceit from the start, but I thank the Night Hunter for the option.’ The King backed up, needing to leave and see to the day’s events. ‘I will see you both at the ceremony.’
Gwion collapsed into a seat upon the King’s departure, and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So the Night Hunter’s gift was fairly benign.’
‘Hardly,’ Creirwy scoffed. ‘It is a trap. The Night Hunter’s insurance against a bastard stealing the throne of Powys.’
‘How do you mean?’ Gwion was back on his feet again, to approach Creirwy, who could only whisper the response to such a query.
‘Years from now, when they have not conceived a child, Ganhumara is going to start to wonder whether it is her husband or herself who is barren. There is only one way to discover that truth.’
‘Lie with another.’ Gwion saw the grander scheme and was staggered by the Night Hunter’s foresight.
‘And if she does, her treasure will become her death warrant.’ Creirwy did not appear indifferent to the outcome; shame and loathing underpinned her words. ‘A complete innocent, led to the slaughter to fulfil the Night Hunter’s ends. All part of our Otherworldly service.’ She turned about and retreated to her quarters.
There was no point asking her why she had done it; she was following orders. Owain had begotten a child on Creirwy, so whatever had happened to make the Otherworldly folk believe the King was barren, it had occurred since Gwion had made his acquaintance. He could only conclude that Owain must have traded his heirs for his flaming sword, despite swearing that he would only ever trade what was entirely his to give. Did the King not consider how adversely his queen would be affected?
How can I regret something I don’t remember? A recollection of Owain saying so surfaced from Gwion’s deep memory of their visit to the Otherworld.
The only way such an insight would occur was if the Lord of the Otherworld allowed it. Gwion’s skin crawled to realise that the Night Hunter was so close, watching every move, following every thought, just waiting to vex him.
Thus he cleared his head of anything beyond getting through the ceremony this day, comforted by the knowledge that he would soon be back within the confines of Keridwen’s realm. Therein his thoughts and feelings were only subject to his mistress, whom he trusted not to use his secret aspirations against him.
Beneath the grand semicircular apse at the east end of the basilica, filled to bursting with guests and subjects, the Lady Tegid placed Owain’s hand upon that of the Lady Ganhumara. Their wrists were bound with a fine white ribbon, embroidered at each end with the symbols of their houses – the red dragon and the black bull. ‘May this sovereign bond, by peaceful means, establish tranquillity in this kingdom from this moment on.’
The King and his betrothed bowed their heads, and Creirwy laid her hands upon them.
‘May your devotion for each other and your people be a treasure beyond reproach, and bring you prosperity, good health and joy hereafter. For those whom the Goddess has co-joined let no one tear asunder.’ Creirwy stepped back. ‘Arise . . . husband and wife.’
Owain and his bride complied.
‘I present the King and Queen of Powys,’ the Lady Tegid announced. ‘Majesty, you may kiss your bride.’ Creirwy stepped away from the touching moment, but applauded along with all in attendance.
Gwion was impressed by his lady’s heartfelt address – Keridwen could not have carried out the rite with any more refinement had she presented herself this day.
‘Eminence.’
Gwion, startled by the address, looked aside to find a young bard, around his age. There was an Otherworldliness about his intensely blue eyes, which were almost painful to observe. Dark blue robes, well worn but clean, hung on his tall, lean form. Long, dark hair flowed down around him like it had never been cut, but he was clean-shaven.
‘You don’t know me—’
‘Weren’t you playing harp last evening in the courtyard?’ Gwion recalled that he was one of the few people who saw his appearing and disappearing act.
‘I was,’ he granted with a humble nod-cum-bow of his head.
‘You were a student to Talhaiarn, for many years.’ Gwion recalled the bards travelling together.
The young holy man seemed most surprised to be recognised. ‘It is true, I had the honour of being his student.’
‘You play harp very well,’ Gwion awarded, having no musical ability himself.
‘You are too kind, Eminence.’ There was that nodded bow again.
It felt very uncomfortable to have a well-versed and travelled bard humbling himself before him. ‘Please, call me Gwion, and I believe your name is Neiryn?’
‘Yes, Emin— I mean, Gwion.’ Neiryn near-choked on the informality.
‘How can I be of service to you, Neiryn?’ His name meant ‘surrounded by light’ and the young man did seem to beam with vitality.
‘It is my hope that you will grant me a private audience some time before you depart our fair city.’
With a glance in his lady’s direction, he concluded Creirwy would be caught up with the wedding party for a while yet. ‘No time like the present.’ Gwion directed his new acquaintance towards the exit doors of the basilica. ‘I know where we might find some sanctuary from the crowd.’
The silent vacancy of the bathhouse was a welcome change from the crowds and pageantry of the day.
‘How can I help?’ Gwion sat on a stone bench facing the still, steamy water.
‘I fear my curiosity might offend your sacred person.’ Neiryn didn’t sit, but knelt on both knees to address Gwion.
‘There is nothing sacred about my person,’ Gwion informed him, taking hold of Neiryn’s arm. ‘And please don’t kneel before me; you are a far more learned man than I.’ He urged the young bard to rise and be seated. ‘You want to know why the Goddess picked me to be her student . . . a no one, with no formal training, who knew nothing about the Otherworld but what he’d heard from the lips of your teacher.’
‘Yes,’ Neiryn seemed ashamed to confess. ‘When many have studied the legends, the traditions and rites of our people, and have dedicated their entire life and being to the service of the Great Mother, and the glory of our king. Why did the Goddess not see fit to bestow her wisdom and supernatural gifts upon any of them?’
Gwion felt it a fair question, and was almost relieved to be having this conversation with a man who would never allow his viewpoint to be forgotten. ‘I asked my mistress the same question, and she told me that she had chosen me, not because of who I am, but rather because of who I was and would be. I am a very old soul, apparently . . . I have no idea what that means.’
‘Perhaps you are one of the old ones, incarnate on earth?’ Neiryn’s eyes widened with awe at the notion. ‘How much of your legend is truth? Did you really raise one thousand men from the dead?’
‘Not one thousand.’
‘But the feat is true.’
Gwion nodded. ‘The act sucked fifty years from my bones and rendered me an old man for a time. Stay young, Neiryn, old age is woeful.’
‘But you recovered.’
Gwion could almost hear Neiryn composing the tale in his head. ‘With the aid of the healing power of the Lady Tegid.’
‘Did you release the dragon to aid Caswallon?’
‘I witnessed its release, but it was not my doing.’
‘And when did you master the art of invisibility?’ Neiryn was intensely serious suddenly – or perhaps it was envy Gwion saw in his eyes. ‘That is surely an ability beyond any mortal man.’
‘It is no art on my behalf, but a Goddess-given gift,’ Gwion explained, yet tears could be seen glimmering in the young bard’s eyes.
‘And you leave Viroco tomorrow with the Lady Tegid, to return to your studies with the Goddess?’ he clarified.
‘Yes, I—’
‘Why?’ Neiryn stood to quietly appeal to the heavens. ‘Such a gift would be invaluable to the King. You have the power to be his unseen eyes and ears; why would the Goddess grant such a power to anyone, if not to be of service to her chosen king and her people?’
‘That is a very good question.’ Gwion knew she hadn’t intended it to be used in jest, or for his protection from thieves, for in truth Creirwy was more than enough security. Was it his imagination, or was the pouch containing the enchanted ring that he had tucked inside his chest leather getting warmer?
‘Oh to be so exulted by the Great Houses.’ Neiryn sank back into his seat, bemused. ‘It is indulgence to aspire to such heights when there are many bards more wise, more worthy. I am too young to be held in high regard by my peers, or my king. I fear that I, like my teacher before me, will grow old and sickly before I am deemed worthy of the King’s trust and the gods’ favour.’
Yes, Neiryn was young, but so was the King at present. Gwion being of a similar age was at least part of the reason why Owain enjoyed his company. Many of his royal advisers were of his father’s generation and ilk. Gwion saw a way to supply Owain with the confidant he needed and to fulfil Neiryn’s aspirations at the same time.
This is a very great treasure, Mistress; what am I to do with it? In his mind’s eye he saw his mistress smiling at him and nodding. You will know when the time comes. The hidden pouch became so hot he felt compelled to pull it out. ‘I can assure you that the Goddess is well aware of your aspirations.’
Neiryn did not appear convinced; he was more interested in the pouch Gwion was shuffling from hand to hand.
‘In fact, I believe that the Great Houses have a proposition for you.’ With this resolve, the ring pouch in his hand cooled.
‘That worked out rather well . . . for Mother,’ Creirwy commented from behind the reins of their carriage and team – Gwion rode alongside on Moonlight, on their way out of Viroco. ‘Now Mother can keep you all to herself, without the King calling for your aid every time peril threatens.’
‘Well, once I explained to the King that the Goddess had selected Neiryn and bestowed on him the same gift of invisibility, Owain could only be delighted. Neiryn is very likeable and as he is Keridwen’s choice for the ring, I believe their friendship and mutual trust will flourish.’
The marriage feasting and games would run for days more yet, but having performed their duty to the Goddess and the King, Creirwy had advised their majesties that Keridwen could spare them no longer.
‘And you are riding away with a lovely new horse.’ His lady was clearly proud of him.
‘And the deed to my own land on Mon,’ he added, having not mentioned that to anyone before now.
‘Is that right?’ Creirwy raised both brows, and then laughed. ‘Owain desperately wants to ensure your loyalty, doesn’t he?’
‘Llyn Cerrig,’ Gwion advised, sticking with the subject of the land to avoid the Lady prying into the secret he protected on behalf of the King.
‘Sacred land, like my home,’ Creirwy said wistfully. ‘I am sure it is very lovely, but I never wish to leave Llyn Tegid.’ She looked forward and winced. ‘Despite the difficulties it poses to me controlling my son.’
Gwion had to repress
a grin, wondering how much progress Creirwy’s father had made on the cottage build in their absence. ‘Our brewing days are near done; soon I will have more spare time to work on that cottage I promised you, and . . .’ He stopped himself mid-thought, despite that the Night Hunter was probably already well aware of Gwion’s aspiration to break Creirwy’s bonds to him.
‘And?’ Creirwy prompted.
‘Complete my studies.’
‘Oh.’ She sounded a little deflated by his resolve. ‘I miss teaching you.’
‘I miss learning from you. It is much more arduous on my own. However, Morvran finally introduced me to the library, and there are tools there that shall help expedite the process.’
‘The Sharpening Stone,’ she assumed. ‘That’s cheating.’
‘I do not have as many years as you Fey, to learn all the tongues of the world.’
Creirwy looked to him and suppressed a grin. ‘Fair point.’
‘I am yet to find evidence to prove my theory that Keridwen is the Arth—’
Creirwy chuckled at this. ‘Mother is so cruel. Have you been doing any work on astronomy?’
‘I have in fact been reading a Latin translation of Claudius Ptolemy, and by his charts have begun to put names to the star constellations in the night sky.’ Gwion didn’t get a lot of time between shifts in the sanctum and sleep, but the creation of his tower room had not been a total loss.
‘Ursa Major,’ Creirwy hinted, and Gwion grinned.
‘The great she-bear.’ He drew a parallel to his quest. ‘But how do I connect this to the Mistress?’
‘That’s where the cruelty comes in, for it would require tracing Mother’s numerous identities back tens of thousands of years, through numerous cultures, to a time when she was known as Ninharsag, the Great Mother, who has always been associated with this constellation.’
‘Ninharsag?’ The name was foreign and yet so familiar; had he read it somewhere? ‘I believe that constellation has always been associated with the Mother Goddess, it’s just that—’
This Present Past Page 25
