Taliesin

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  "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 carrots 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 Gwynedd than Gwyddno Garanhir; everyone was assured 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 noble 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, butter 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 wagon 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 torc 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 space 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 jingled on her wrists; her cloak was of radiant purple silk with tiny silver bells sewn to the tassels along its edge; around her waist she wore a pearl-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 goddess' 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 passed 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 the 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.

  Elphin gazed at his wife and loved her. Rhonwyn returned his gaze and leaned close, nestling her head against his chest. And all who saw them remarked at the great change in Elphin, for indeed he seemed a new-made man.

  When the filidh finis
hed their songs, a cry went up for Hafgan. "Give us a song!" cried some. "A story!" cried others.

  Taking up his harp, he came to stand before the table. "What do you wish to hear, lord?"

  He addressed Elphin, and no one failed to grasp the significance, although Elphin deferred, saying, "It is my father's place to choose. I am certain his choice will please."

  "A story, then," said Gwyddno. "A tale of bravery and magic."

  Hafgan paused for a moment, plucking a few idle notes on the harp, then announced, "Hear then, if you will, the story of Pwyll, Prince of Annwfn."

  "Excellent!" the listeners cried. Cups and bowls were refilled as the wedding guests hunkered down to hear the tale.

  "In the days when the dew of creation was still fresh on the earth, Pwyll was lord over seven cantrefs of Dyfed, and seven of Gwynedd, and seven of Lloegr as well. In Caer Narberth, his principal stronghold, he awakened one morning and looked out upon the wild hills abounding with game of all kinds and it came into his head to assemble his men and go hunting. And this is the way of it…"

  Hafgan's voice rang out strong and clear, and the story unfolded in its familiar pattern to the delight of the listeners. At certain places in the tale, the druid would strum the harp and sing the passage, as prescribed by tradition. It was a well-known story, one relished by all who heard it, for Hafgan told it well, acting out the important parts, making his voice accommodate the speech of the various characters. This is the tale he told:

  "Now the part of his realm that Pwyll wished to hunt was Glyn Cuch and he set out at once with a great company of men and they rode until dusk, arriving just as the sun was slipping into the western sea, beginning its journey through the Underworld.

  "They made camp and slept, and at dawn the next morning they rose and entered the woods of Glyn Cuch, where they loosed the hounds. Pwyll sounded his horn, mustered the hunt and, being the fastest rider, set off behind his dogs.

  "He followed the chase and in no time was lost to his companions, far outdistancing them in the thick-tangled woods. As he was listening to the cry of his hunting-pack, he heard the cry of another pack, far different from his own, coming toward him, their cry a chill on the wind. He rode to a clearing before him and entered a wide and level field where he saw his dogs cowering at the edge of the clearing while the other pack raced after a magnificent stag. And lo, while he watched, the strange dogs overtook the stag and bore it to the ground.

  "He rode forward and saw the color of the hounds, and of all the hunting dogs in all the world he had never before seen any like these: the hair of their coats was a brilliant, shining white, and that of their ears red. And the redness of the ears gleamed as bright as the whiteness of their bodies glittered. And Pwyll rode to the shining dogs and scattered them, choosing to set his own hounds upon the killed stag.

  "As he was feeding the dogs, a horseman appeared before him on a large dapple-gray horse, a hunting horn about his neck, wearing a pale gray garment for hunting gear. The horseman approached him, saying, 'Chieftain, I know who you are, but I greet you not at all.'

  "'Well,' said Pwyll, 'perhaps your rank does not require it.'

  "'Lleu knows,' exclaimed the horseman, 'it is not my dignity or the obligation of rank that prevents me.'

  "'What else then, lord? Tell me if you can,' said Pwyll.

  "'Can and will,' replied the horseman sternly. 'I swear by the gods of heaven and earth, it is your own ignorance and discourtesy!'

  "'What lack of courtesy have you seen in me, lord?' inquired Pwyll, for indeed he could not think of any.

  "'Greater discourtesy have I never seen in man,' the strange horseman replied, 'than to drive away the pack that killed the stag and set your own upon it. Shame! That shows a woeful lack of courtesy. Even so, I will not take revenge upon you—though well I might—but I will have a bard satirize you to the value of a hundred stags.'

  "'Lord,' Pwyll pleaded, 'if I have committed a wrong, I will sue directly for peace with you.'

  "'On what terms?' asked the horseman.

  "'Such as your rank, whatever it is, may require.'

  "'Know me then. I am crowned king of the land from which I hail.'

  "'May you prosper with the day! Which land might that be, lord?' wondered Pwyll, 'For I myself am king of all lands hereabouts.'

  "'Annwfn,' replied the horseman. 'I am Arawn, King of Annwfn.'

  "Pwyll thought about this, for it was ill-luck to converse with a being of the Otherworld, king or no. But as he had already pledged himself to redeem friendship with the horseman, he had no choice but to abide by his word if he would not bring greater dishonor and misfortune on his name. 'Tell me then, O King, if you will, how I may redeem our friendship, and I will do it gladly.'

  "'Listen, chieftain, here is how you will redeem it,' began the horseman. 'A man whose realm borders on mine makes war on me continually. He is Grudlwyn Gorr, a lord of Annwfn, and by ridding me of his oppression—which you can do quite easily—you will have peace with me, as will your descendants after you.'

  "And the king spoke ancient and mysterious words and Pwyll's likeness became that of the king's so that no one could tell them apart. 'See?' said the king, 'You now have my shape and manner; therefore, go into my realm and take my place and rule as you will until the end of a year from tomorrow, when we shall meet again in this place.'

  "'As you will, lord, but though I succeed in your place for a year, how will I find the man of whom you speak?'

  "Grudlwyn Gorr and I are bound by oath to meet a year from this very night at the ford of the river that separates our lands. You will be there in my place, and were you to give him a single blow he would not survive. But though he may beg you to strike again, do not—however he may plead with you. For I have fought him often and have struck him many a mortal blow; yet he is always whole and fresh the next day.'

  "'Very well,' said Pwyll, "I will do as you say. But what will happen to my kingdom while I am away?'

  "And the King of the Otherworld spoke additional ancient and mysterious words and his shape changed to that of Pwyll's. 'See? No man or woman in your realm shall know that I am not you,' said Arawn. 'I will go in your place as you go in mine.'

  "And so they both set off. Pwyll rode deep into Arawn's realm and came at last to Arawn's court: dwellings, halls, chambers, and buildings—all the most beautiful he had ever seen. Attendants greeted him and helped him remove his hunting gear, whereupon they dressed him in the finest silk and conducted him to a great hall where he could see entering a great warband—the most splendid and best equipped of any he had ever seen. And the queen was with them, the fairest woman of any in her day, dressed in a robe of glittering gold, her hair shining like bright sunlight on wheat.

  "The queen took her place at his right hand, and they began to converse. Pwyll found her to be the gentlest, most considerate, kindly and amiable of companions. His heart melted toward her, and he wished with all his heart that he had a queen even half so noble. They passed the time with pleasant discourse, good food and drink, songs, and entertainments of all kinds.

  "When the time came to go to bed, to bed they went, Pwyll and the queen. As soon as they were in bed together, however, Pwyll turned his face to the wall and went to sleep with his back toward her. So it was each night from then on to the end of the year. The next day there was tenderness and affection between them. But no matter how affectionate and loving might be their words to one another by day, there was not a single night different from the first.

  "Pwyll spent the year in festivity and hunting and ruling Arawn's realm fairly, until the night of the foresworn encounter with Grudlwyn Gorr—a night remembered well by even the most remote inhabitant of the kingdom. He conducted himself to the appointed place accompanied by the nobles of his realm.

  "The moment they arrived at the ford, a horseman arose and called in a loud voice: 'Men, listen well! This encounter is between two kings and between their bodies alone. Each of them claims the lands of the other;
therefore, let us all stand aside and leave the fight between them.'

  "The two kings made for the middle of the ford to clash. Pwyll thrust his spear and struck Grudlwyn Gorr in the middle of the boss of his shield so that it split in half, and Grudlwyn Gorr tumbled the length of his arm and spear over the rump of his horse to the ground, a deep wound in his chest.

  "'Chieftain,' cried Grudlwyn Gorr, 'I know no reason why you should wish to slay me. But as you have started, please, for the love of Lleu, finish me off!'

  "'Lord,' answered Pwyll, 'I have come to regret doing what I did to you. Find someone else to kill you; I will not.'

  "'Trusted lords,' cried Grudlwyn Gorr, 'take me hence; my death is assured now, and I will no longer be able to support you.'

  "The man who was in Arawn's place turned to the noble assembly and said, 'My men, take accounts among you and discover who owes allegiance to me.'

  "'King,' replied the lords, 'all owe it, for there is no king over all Annwfn except you.'

  "And then he received homage of all present and took possession of the disputed lands. By noon the next day the two realms were in his power, and so he set out to keep his tryst with Arawn at the appointed place. When he came to Glyn Cuch again he found Arawn, King of Annwfn, waiting for him. And they rejoiced to see each other.

  "'May the gods repay your friendship to me,' said Arawn. 'I have heard all about your success.'

  "'Yes," replied Pwyll, 'when you reach your dominions you will see what I have done for you.'

  "'Hear me then,' said Arawn. 'By way of gratitude, anything you may have wished for in my kingdom will be yours.'

  "Then Arawn uttered the ancient and mysterious words once more and each king was restored to his own shape and semblance, and each took himself once more to his own kingdom. When Arawn arrived at his own court, it gave him great pleasure to see his own retinue and warband and his fair queen since he had not seen them for a year. But for their part, they had not felt his loss, so there was nothing extraordinary about his presence.