Taliesin: Book One of the Pendragon Cycle

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Briseis laid her head on his shoulder. "It is a frightful, horrid thing. I grieve for Danea; her sorrow must be overwhelming."

  They sat for a long time in silence, and after a while there came a knock at the door. "There is Annubi," Briseis said. She went to the door and opened it to the seer.

  Avallach rose and turned to his advisor. "What word?"

  "Nestor has left the city," said Annubi.

  Briseis glanced at her husband in surprise. "You knew this?"

  Avallach nodded. "How?"

  "By ship. A trireme was standing ready in the inner harbor."

  "When did he leave?"

  "The harbormaster would not say precisely—I assume his silence had a price." The seer grimaced with disgust. "But a ship's leaving is difficult to hide with a few coins. I talked with some who saw the ship leave; he could not have put to sea more than three hours ago."

  "Thank you, Annubi. Rest now. I will need you with me tomorrow."

  "Rest well, Sire." He turned to the queen and wished her good night and vanished once again into the darkened corridor.

  "What does this mean—about Nestor?" asked Briseis as she closed the door.

  "It is his confession," Avallach said fiercely. "But it will not avail him to flee the deed. He will face justice."

  Briseis considered this, then asked, "But don't you think it odd that Nestor would make ready to sail before the council met? It means he knew the council would go against him."

  "Someone warned him." Avallach frowned. "Hmmm, my wife has a devious mind."

  "There may be another in league with him."

  Avallach dismissed the possibility with a gesture. "Only Belyn and Seithenin knew I intended on supporting Danea." He shook his head lightly. "Nestor wanted the ship ready because he knew he might need it."

  Briseis stepped close and gathered her husband into her arms. "I know this is mean-hearted, but I cannot help feeling glad that I am not the one to sleep alone tonight. I do not think I could bear it."

  "Nor could I," Avallach whispered, holding her close. "I am not that strong."

  FIFTEEN

  TWO DAYS AFTER TRIBUNE AVITUS' VISIT, ELPHIN SET OFF ON his journey to raise a warband. Cuall rode beside him, the first warrior in the future lord's warband. At Machynlleth, a hamlet of wattle-and-daub dwellings at a ford in the heat of the Dyvi valley, they were received with some enthusiasm. The clan chief, a red-bearded giant named Gweir Paladyr, greeted Elphin warmly, clapping him on the back until the young man's spine rattled.

  "Och! Prince Elphin! Look at you! Marriage agrees with you lad, does it? Aye, it does. Come, lift a jar with me." He turned to some onlooking clansmen. "Here, lads! Fetch the horses water and a mouthful of fodder."

  The three entered Gweir's round house where a plump woman greeted them and threw herself into a fit of industry, bustling to and fro, scattering earthenware jars and plates before her unexpected guests. "Steady on, Osla, just bring us the beer," Gweir told her.

  She placed a good-sized crock before Gweir, who poured the jars full to overflowing and then lifted his high, saying, "Long life to our lord…May his spear fly true!"

  They drank and the jars were refilled. "Well now, Elphin lad, what news? I heard about the attack."

  "Raiders, yes—" he began.

  "Lord Elphin here slew two with a single throw," put in Cuall. "Saw it myself. Two on one spear—with the battle frenzy on him."

  "So I hear," replied Gweir, nodding his approval. "So I hear."

  "It was a small band," explained Elphin, "and poorly organized. They were after cattle, not a fight."

  "He routed them single-handed," Cuall boasted proudly. "Saw it myself."

  "They were scared and hungry. I rattled my shield at them and they dropped their weapons and ran."

  "He had no shield!" crowed Cuall. "And the spear—the spear he snatched out of the air as it streaked toward his own heart!"

  Gweir chuckled into his beard. "That ought to give the rascals something to think about. Did you recognize them?"

  Elphin shrugged. "They were a bit small for Cruithne, and some had painted themselves."

  "Picti!" cried Gweir, slamming his hand down. "The same thieving swine that's been troubling the Wall for the last two summers."

  "They are far south then," observed Elphin.

  "Och, aye. And now they have seen the land hereabouts they will be back—you can count on that."

  "That is why I have come," Elphin said. "I am raising a warband."

  Gweir raised shaggy red eyebrows in surprise. "A warband, eh?" He looked from one to the other of his guests, a smile slowly spreading on his lips. "A warband, aye! How long has it been?"

  "I will need a hundred men."

  "A hundred!"

  "And horses for all."

  Gweir leaned on his elbows, hunching his heavy shoulders. "That is a few men, Elphin. A fair few indeed."

  "We will not be discouraging cattle thieves, Gweir. We will be protecting our lands and people. My warband will be trained Roman cavalry."

  "Roman trained?" The smile faded on the big chieftain's face; the magnitude of the plan was beginning to daunt him.

  "I have struck a bargain with the tribune at Caer Seiont. We supply the men and horses for his use over the summer, and he returns them to us trained and battle-ready."

  Gweir hesitated. "A hundred men and horses," he muttered.

  "We will raise them," said Elphin confidently, "if we all do our part. I intend riding with them to learn command. Tribune Avitus says that besides the Cruithne, there are Attacotti and Scotti from Ireland pushing south beyond the Wall—and some called Saecsen as well. We can expect raids this harvest if not before."

  "Can the garrison not hold 'em then?"

  "No." Elphin shook his head firmly. "Not anymore. None of the garrisons are fully manned."

  "I know I pay enough taxes," snorted Gweir Paladyr.

  "Taxes aside, there are not enough men. And even if there were, the savages become bolder. If we stand by, if we wait, we can expect to see the heads of our children hanging from their belts."

  "Is it as bad as all that?" wondered Gweir.

  "Believe it," said Cuall.

  "It is. And it is going to get worse." Elphin lay his hands flat on the table. "A strong warband is our best hope."

  "And the Lord Gywddno? What says he?"

  "He agrees. It is field a warband or sit by and watch our villages burned and looted, our cattle and women carried off."

  Gweir ran a hand through his grizzled hair. "I had no idea."

  "Then you will support us?"

  "Och, aye! You can count on Gweir Paladyr to do his part. Machynlleth will stand men and horses."

  Elphin beamed. "Good!" He raised his cup. "Long life to you, Gweir."

  "Aye, long life and health to our enemies' enemies!"

  They drank, wiping foam from their mustaches with the backs of their hands, and busy Osla brought a steaming pot to the table. While she ladled stew into wooden bowls, Elphin asked, "Now then, how many can we count on?"

  Osla gave her husband a cautionary look. Gweir pursed his lips and, ignoring his wife's silent warning, said, "Fifteen. No, make that twenty!"

  Osla banged the iron pot down on the table and stalked off.

  "Say ten," replied Elphin. "It is enough; we do not want to bleed the strength of the village. You will need men to work the fields and harvest."

  "Ten then," said Gweir, smiling expansively. "By Lleu's lightning!—it will be a handsome warband, will it not?"

  * * *

  So it went. At Nethbo, Ysgubor-y-Coed, Talybont, Nevenhyr, Dinodig, Arllechwedd, Plas Gogerddan, Brevi Vawr, Aberystwyth, and the other settlements of Lord Gwyddno's realm, Elphin was received courteously and made his request for men and horses. Where confidence and clear-headed logic failed, Elphin coaxed, wheedled, challenged, flattered, and provoked. One by one he persuaded them all to his cause.

  He returned to Caer Dyvi five days later with ple
dges amounting to one hundred and twenty-five men. Gwyddno Garanhir was pleased at his son's success. "When will they come?" he asked.

  "Three nights before full moon. They are to bring food enough for themselves and the horses for the journey. We are pledged to supply meat, drink, and provender after that."

  "As agreed. I hope Tribune Avitus appreciates our generosity," Gwyddno added grudgingly.

  Elphin fixed him with a fierce glare. "Hear me, it is not for Avitus or anyone else that we do this. It is for ourselves. You heard Centurion Maximus; we protect our own. It is important that we all understand this."

  "Yes, yes, I understand," his father said impatiently. "It is just that—why pay my taxes if not for soldiers to protect my people?"

  "Gweir, Tegyr, Ebrei, and the rest—they all feel the same and said so," replied Elphin. "But it does not change the fact that Rome's power is limited. And even if it were not, a legion cannot be everywhere at once.

  "Listen, we need this for ourselves and it costs us little— a portion of the season's tribute. It is a foolish lord who would risk everything to save so little."

  Gwyddno agreed lamely. "There was a time when having a garrison nearby meant something."

  Elphin smiled broadly. "There it is, you see? By summer's end we will have our own garrison."

  The next weeks were devoted to readying supplies for the trip to Segontium and for the long summer months ahead. It seemed to Elphin an awkward time to be leaving, for it had only been a short time since the wedding and he was anxious about the welfare of his new family. He therefore spent as much time as possible with them; he and Rhonwyn walked for hours beside the river and along the sea cliffs watching spring transform the winter-drab world beneath the sun-bright days and crisp, star-filled nights.

  "You will be gone so long this time," sighed Rhonwyn as she placed dinner on the table of their new home. "We will miss you."

  "Already I miss you," said Elphin softly as he caught her hand in his and pulled her away from her serving. "Can you be strong? Can you endure the waiting?"

  "I do not say it will be easy, but I will do it gladly. I know how important this is. If we are to have a future, you must go."

  Elphin drew the hand of his new wife to his mouth and held it against his lips for some time, savoring her sweetness. "Ah, Rhonwyn…"

  "The moon has come and gone since we have been married, husband."

  "Yes."

  "The time for us to separate is past. It is time for us to be together."

  Elphin laughed and clasped her around the waist. "You are a blunt woman, Rhonwyn. You are also very beautiful, very strong, very kind…very much the woman for me."

  She brushed aside the strand of ginger hair that had fallen across her eyes and pulled him to his feet, then to their bed.

  * * *

  Hafgan sat on a stump in the sun, turning his staff in his hands, his blue cloak thrown over one shoulder. His gray-green eyes scanned the heavens and he seemed as one lost in a daydream, but the two boys sitting at his feet knew he was not lost, nor was he dreaming. "Observe," Hafgan intoned, "how they fly. How do they hold their wings?"

  The two filidh followed the druid's gaze skyward to see a small flock of wood pigeons flying toward the wooded hills to the east of the caer. "They fly low, Hafgan, with their wings close to their bodies," replied one of the youths.

  "Does this suggest anything to you?"

  The boy studied the pigeons for a moment, shrugged, and said, "They are clumsy birds and difficult to read."

  "Nothing in nature is clumsy, Blaise," Hafgan chided. "Each body is created for a life peculiar to its purpose. Therefore, when compelled to tasks beyond its wont it may labor awkwardly. We observe, we see, and when the reasons for what we see are known, we know." Hafgan pointed to the pigeons. "Now, look again and tell me what you see."

  "They waver in the air, now up, now down. Such erratic flight seems most inexplicable."

  "Think, Blaise! Do they cry out as they pass overhead? Are they fleeing a predator? Do they fly against the wind? Are they winging to roost?"

  The dark-haired youth shaded his eyes with his hand. "They fly against the wind. There is no predator. They make no cry as they pass."

  "Do you yet see the reason?"

  "I can see no reason, Master," replied Blaise hopelessly.

  "You are silent, Indeg. I hope this betokens sagacity." Hafgan turned to his other student. "What is your answer?"

  "Neither do I see a reason why wood pigeons should fly as they do," the young man admitted. "It makes no sense to me."

  "Look again, my dull-witted friends," sighed Hafgan. "Look beyond the pigeons." The boys raised their eyes. "Higher, higher. Look above. Higher still. What do you see? What is there? What is it that soars without a wingstroke?"

  "A hawk! I see it!" cried Blaise, jumping up. "A hawk!"

  "Ah, a hawk, yes. What kind?"

  The boy's elation turned at once to dismay. "I cannot see that far!"

  "Nor can I," chuckled Hafgan. "But that in itself should suggest something."

  Blaise's brow wrinkled with the effort of his thought. "A kite—or one of the red-tailed kind. The pigeons fly low and close together to escape."

  "Well done, lad! But by horned Cernunnos, it is like pulling teeth!"

  Blaise followed the flight of the pigeons as they disappeared into the woods. He turned to his master, beaming. "I see now. The presence of the predator addles their flight. They fly like that for fear!"

  "Fear! What of fear?"

  "It is a powerful advocate of action."

  "It is the most powerful advocate," added Indeg. "More powerful than any other."

  "Fear inspires the timid and makes bold the brave, that is true," replied Hafgan. "But there is one advocate greater still."

  Blaise and Indeg shared a puzzled glance. "What is it?" they asked.

  "Hope," Hafgan said softly. "Hope is the most powerful advocate of all."

  While they contemplated these words, the druid turned and raised his hand, saying, "See here! One approaches who was bereft of hope not long ago but now is king among men."

  The filidh turned to peer at Elphin and Rhonwyn as they strolled up hand in hand. "The future lord of our realm," announced Hafgan. "Hail Elphin!" His two apprentices observed the couple with alert dark eyes. "And hail Lady Rhonwyn!"

  "Servants, Hafgan?" asked Elphin as he came up, indicating the two young boys dressed in gray tunics and trousers with dark brown cloaks folded over their shoulders.

  "The price of eminence."

  "Not a heavy price, surely."

  "Heavy enough. The burden of others' expectation is never light." He gazed critically at the young lord before him and added, "But fortune exacts other costs."

  "I will pay," replied Elphin blithely. "A hundred and twenty-five men, Hafgan. Did you hear? That is a warband to be reckoned with."

  "Yes, and good fortune will require more of you than failure ever did."

  Elphin smiled, filling his lungs with air. "Ah, you are a dreary man, Hafgan. Look at this day!" He flung out his free arm to embrace the whole of creation. "Who can think about failure on such a day?"

  Hafgan saw his other hand joined with Rhonwyn's, fingers intertwined, saw the light of love in Rhonwyn's eyes, her tousled hair. "Drink deeply of life, Elphin and Rhonwyn. Your souls are joined forever hence."

  Rhonwyn blushed at the druid's pronouncement. But Elphin laughed, his voice full and free. "Does nothing escape you, Hafgan? Do you see everything ?"

  "I see enough." He tilted his head to one side. "I see a cocky young man who may find his father's crown too small."

  The laughter died on Elphin's lips. Hot, quick anger spurted up inside him. "Jealous?"

  "Bah!" Hafgan dashed aside the notion with a chop of his hand. "You know me better, or ought to. I say only what is or what might be. But I see I talk to the wind. Go your way, Elphin. Heed me not."

  "Good day, druid," said Elphin stiffly. He and Rhonwyn walked
up the track to the caer, leaving Hafgan and his two filidh looking on. "Meddling fool," muttered Elphin under his breath.

  "Never say it, Elphin," Rhonwyn said. "It is bad luck to speak ill of a bard. Has he ever done you anything but good?"

  Elphin fumed in silence for a moment. "What does he want from me?" he exploded finally. "I do what he says, and when I succeed he tells me I am too proud. What does he want?"

  "I believe," began Rhonwyn, choosing her words carefully, "that he wants you to be the best king our people ever had. Perhaps the best in all the land. If he chides you at all, it is only so that you will not forget what you have suffered so much to learn."

  Elphin considered this for a moment and then smiled slowly. "With a wife so wise and a bard so determined, I do not see how I have any other choice in the matter. Humble I am and humble will be to the end of my days and after." He squeezed her hand tightly. "But, oh, my lady, I did not feel humble in your arms today."

  "Nor will you ever, my lord," she replied, her eyes shining. "There will be only one wife for you, Elphin ap Gwyddno. I mean to hold my place."

  They walked up the long ramp to the gates and passed through to find the first of Elphin's men standing with their horses in the center of the caer near the council oak—six sturdy youths from Talybont with the quick, tireless ponies of the region. The youths saw Elphin and quickly went down on one knee.

  "They are just boys," remarked Rhonwyn.

  "Yes, but they will be men by Samhain." With that Elphin strode toward them, holding out his hands. "Rise, combrogi!" he said, reaching out to pull the nearest to his feet. "We are not soldiers yet, nor am I your king. We are fellow countrymen and do not kneel to one another as the Romans do."

  The young men appeared confused but smiled at their unofficial lord and mumbled greetings to him and his wife, whom they regarded with more than passing admiration. "You are the first of my warband," Elphin told them, "and your eagerness does you credit. Tonight you will eat at my table and tomorrow we will prepare for the arrival of the rest. Come, friends, let us drink and raise our voices in a song or two. There will be little enough singing in the weeks to come."