If only I could read that memory, she thought, what would this place tell me?
The question occurred to her every time she visited the ruin, which was often because its peaceful solitude touched the restlessness inside her and calmed it for a while.
She advanced slowly from the cover of the surrounding trees, leaving the pony to graze. The ruin's timber frame was intact, although much of the mud had crumbled from the wicker wattles between the beams. The broken roof allowed what little light that penetrated the clearing to fully illumine the weed-choked interior. Charis stepped to the open door, aware once again of a hushed whisper—the breeze, or an echo of a voice long past.
Something important had happened here once. Either that or a very powerful god ruled the place and imbued this little patch with his own potent charisma. Whatever it was, Charis could feel the immense attraction of this primitive magnetism within her own spirit. She had felt it before but never stronger than this time. As a result, she stood at the door of the rude hut, holding her breath, listening, imagining to herself that the place, even in its decaying state, had been the site of the most high and holy of temples.
"Who are you?" she asked quietly, half-expecting an answer. The still, quiet air reverberated with the sound of her voice. The upper branches of a nearby ash tree rustled and a woodcock took flight. Charis listened to the soughing of the breeze in the leaves. The burring buzz of an insect seemed to fill the entire glade with its drowsy drone.
She stepped inside the decaying structure, placing a long, slim hand on the rotting doorframe as she passed. "Speak to me," she whispered. "Tell me your secrets."
The interior of the habitation was overgrown with nettles and nightshade and lacy-leafed fern. The smell of damp soil and rotting wood was strong in the place. She moved into the center of the building, ducking beneath one of the fallen beams. There were no furnishings to be seen—not the smallest utensil or fragment of pottery remained. In fact, there was no firepit or oven, no place for warmth or cooking anywhere that she could see. How odd, she thought. Who had lived here that had no need of warmth or food?
There were no windows either. Only a curious slit high up in the back wall, too high to serve as a window and too small to let in much light. It was strangely-shaped too—one long vertical slash, crossed at its upper terminus by a horizontal slash nearly as long.
The light entering through this unusual window slanted down in a bright shaft in which midges and motes of dust idly whirled. She watched for a moment and then turned to go, but reached the fallen roof beam and stopped. The peace of the odd ruin appealed to her and she sat down on the beam, the light from the curious window falling all around her.
The warmth of the sunlight on her back felt good and Charis closed her eyes. Outside she heard the tinkling of the tiny silver bells braided into her pony's mane as the horse grazed quietly and the sigh of the breeze…
But there was something else as well. As she listened, Charis became aware of a mumble of voices speaking softly nearby. Her gray pony whickered to her, tossing its head, making the bells jingle in gentle alarm. Visitors.
The voices stopped as the strangers entered the clearing. Perhaps they had seen her mount. She could not see her guests but imagined them standing without, looking dumbly at the pony and at the ruined building. She heard the slight shuffle of stealthy footsteps as someone approached the structure.
A dark shape appeared in the doorway, that of a young man above middle height who stood blinking into the light. She watched as the man's eyes wandered over the interior and then, at last, came to rest on her, taking her in first as a feature of the place and only later as a living being like himself. The shock of this small revelation made the man gasp and fall back. His reaction was noticed, for a quick exclamation of concern sounded from outside.
The man in the doorway did not answer; he did not take his eyes off Charis. He stood for a moment, staring, then took a slow step into the ruin and sank to his knees, clasping his hands in front of him.
Charis was as surprised by this behavior as the man was shocked by her. The stranger's companion exclaimed again— Charis heard the fear in the man's voice—but received no answer, for the man in front of her remained motionless, staring at her, terror and rapture on his face.
His fellow rushed in then, took in his friend in a prolonged gape, and raised his eyes to where Charis sat, hands folded in her lap, serene and regal as any queen on her throne. The second intruder sank to his knees also and raised trembling hands in supplication to her. "Maria!" he said, joyous tears boiling over his cheeks. "Ave, Maria!"
This both unnerved and fascinated Charis. Clearly she was being addressed in some reverential way but in a strange speech—definitely not the language of the local Dumnoni. Who were these men—dressed plainly, hair cropped short over their round heads in the manner of scholars, their young, bearded faces bright with joy and reflected sunlight—who could they be?
She rose to her feet, a motion which brought a gasp from one of the men. "Who are you?" she asked in the speech of the Britons.
The men looked at her, their eyes growing wide with wonder. To her surprise one of them answered her. "Holy Mary, mother of the Christ, Lord of all the Hosts of Heaven, have mercy on us!"
Although the words were strange, she understood them; the man could speak the local dialect. "Who are you?" she asked again.
"Why—followers of Martin," the man sputtered, confused.
"Ave, ave, Maria, Mater Deo!" jabbered the second stranger, his face raised to the hole in the roof, the light full on his blissful countenance.
"Why have you come here?"
"We have come seeking this holy place…"He gazed at her and doubt came into his eyes. Charis read his confusion.
"You are far from home," she said quietly.
The man nodded but did not speak. The expression of joy faded from his face, replaced by one of uncertainty.
"Who is this Holy Mary of whom you speak?"
"Mother of the Most High God, Jesu the Christ, Savior of Mankind, Lord of Heaven and Earth." He lowered his hands and unclasped them. "You are not the Blessed Lady?"
Charis smiled. "I have never heard of this goddess."
The man's round face flushed crimson. He climbed quickly to his feet. "Forgive me, lady," he muttered. His friend opened his eyes and peered around. Seeing his companion on his feet, he too jumped up and rushed forward, falling on his face at Charis' feet and seizing the embroidered hem of her tunic in his hands. He raised the garment to his lips and kissed it.
"Collen!" exclaimed the first man, and went on to say something in a burst of odd-sounding speech which Charis did not understand. The other looked around curiously, glanced back at Charis, dropped the hem and scuttled backwards.
"Forgive us, lady," said the first intruder. "We thought…We did not know."
Charis dismissed the apology with a gesture and asked, "She is your goddess, this Mary?"
"Goddess?" The man blanched, but answered forthrightly, "In the name of Jesu, no! We worship no god but the True God." He raised a hand to their surroundings. "The God who was once worshiped here in this very place."
"The True God?" Charis puzzled at the meaning of these words. "Worshiped here?" It seemed unlikely to her.
The second man asked a question of the first, who answered him in the foreign tongue. They discussed something for a moment and then the first turned and addressed Charis. "Collen here is not fluent in the tongue of the Britons as I am. Although his grandmother was born in Logres, he is from Gaul and has only the speech of the Gauls and of our brothers in Rome." He smiled and made a polite bow. "My name is Dafyd. I am of the Silures in Dyfed, no great distance from here."
"I am Charis; I live near this place in the palace of my father, Avallach, who is king of all these lands."
The man's glance quickened. "Avallach? The king of the Fair Folk who dwell on the Glass Isle?"
"Ynys Witrin; yes, that is what they call our palace."
Dafyd's eyes grew round. His comrade glanced at him in alarm and asked an unintelligible question. The first man put out a hand to silence the other and shook his head, keeping his eyes on Charis all the while. "Faery," he whispered.
"Is something wrong?" Charis asked.
"The people here tell many strange tales about you. We have heard things—" He broke off.
"Disturbing things," Charis guessed from the trepidation in his voice.
Dafyd nodded.
"Enchantments and magic," she continued. "We are said to change our shapes at will: wolves, hounds, stags; we take on the forms of birds and fly; we never sleep or rest; and we have but to bid and the winds bring us news from any corner of our realm, thus any word or speech is known to us…Yes, I know well what they say of us." She shrugged and lifted an eyebrow. "But you appear to be learned men, what will you believe?"
"We will believe," Dafyd answered slowly, "what the Holy God reveals to us as the truth of this matter."
Charis pondered these words for a moment and asked, "This god is this same True God?"
"He is one and the same, lady," replied Dafyd. "We call him Lord and King, Almighty Father, for he is Creator of all that is seen and unseen, and we are his servants."
"Indeed? I have never heard of this god," replied Charis matter-of-factly. "Tell me about him."
Dafyd grinned happily. He spoke a quick word to Collen, who with a last backward glance moved to the doorway and hurried off. "I sent him to look after the horses," Dafyd explained. "He will wait for us without."
Charis seated herself once more on the fallen beam and indicated that the holy man should take a place next to her. He did so, approaching with caution, settling beside her, near but holding himself apart, as from an open flame.
"This ruin whose walls enfold us was once, we are told, a place of worship sacred to the Almighty. We have come to find and if possible restore this chapel in order that the truth of our God might be proclaimed once more hereabouts."
"You speak often of truth," remarked Charis. "Is this god of yours so interested in truth?"
"In truth, yes; but in love as well."
"Love?"
"Oh, yes. In love most of all."
"A strange god then. And often disappointed, I should think."
"I do not wonder that it seems strange to you. For so it seemed to me when I first heard it. But I have studied long on it and have in time come to be convinced of it. More, I have learned the truth of it for myself and now cannot be persuaded otherwise—no matter what may befall me." He looked at Charis frankly and said, "What god do you worship or sacrifice to?"
"None whatsoever," snapped Charis with sudden vehemence. She recoiled from the sound of her own voice and said more softly, "Once I believed in Bel, the supreme god of our people. But he proved himself a false and unworthy god, allowing destruction to come upon his race; so now I neither serve nor worship any god at all."
"Well said! I was myself like that once—until Jesu found me." Charis could almost feel the eagerness and enthusiasm bubbling inside this strange priest—so unlike the jaded priests of Bel. "That is how he is! He reaches out; he draws men to him. He is the Good Shepherd who searches in the wilderness for his lost sheep, never resting until he gathers them to his fold."
They talked a little longer and then Charis rose and said, "I must go now. If you intend staying in this place, you must ask my father's permission."
"We will do whatever is required," answered Dafyd.
Charis moved to the doorway, then hesitated, thinking that perhaps she had dismissed the priest too abruptly. "Dine with us tonight; you can ask him then."
Dafyd held up his hands in protest. "Please, we do not seek to exalt ourselves. Rather, allow us to remain here and eat the provisions we have brought with us."
"You may not remain here until you have the king's permission to do so, and my father will be most overwrought to learn that I have not extended the generosity of his house to you. If you refuse me, he may even come here himself to fetch you."
At this, the holy man relented. "That would never do! We are servants of all men, kings and beggars alike. It shall be as you say."
"Then follow me," said Charis, "I will take you there at once."
* * *
The place of Avallach was like nothing either of the holy men had ever seen: outside it was built on an imposing scale, while inside it was all smooth, polished stone—slender columns supporting delicate arches and high vaulted ceilings; intricate tile floors and inlaid with mosaics and richly painted walls, detailing fabulous scenes of an otherworldly water paradise. And everywhere they looked there were tall graceful beings, men and women of beauty unrivaled.
Collen took one look at the stablehands who led their horses away and whispered to Dafyd, "Truly these are the Faery! There can be no doubt."
"Nay, brother, they are mortals like as we."
Collen rolled his eyes. "Mortals they may be but never like us." He inclined his head toward the youth leading their horses away. "Why, look—the lowest stablehand is arrayed more richly than any Gaulish king!"
Charis had led them inside where, despite their best efforts, they stared unashamedly at all they saw and could not keep themselves from remarking at each new thing. She brought them into the great hall with its canopied litter of scarlet samite on which Avallach rested.
"Father," said Charis drawing near, "I have brought visitors."
The king raised himself on an elbow and looked with interest at his two guests. They saw a handsome man who despite the deathly pallor of his skin appeared in full possession of his faculties. A rich black mane of hair curled to his shoulders, his beard spread over his chest in perfumed coils. He was dressed in a spotless white tunic over white trousers, with a wide leather belt of silver scales, each the size of a plate and inlaid with costly lapis lazuli. His vest was emerald green, embroidered with gold thread in the most amazing designs.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and full, like the voice of a god from the sea. "Welcome, friends, whoever you may be."
Both men bowed humbly. Collen's mouth hung slightly open.
Dafyd gathered his wits and replied, "Greetings to you in the name of our Lord and Master."
"Who might your master be?" asked Avallach.
"He is Jesu, called the Christ."
"Remember me to your Christ when you come again into his realm."
"His realm is large, lord," replied Dafyd. "Those who know him call him King of kings."
Avallach nodded, his brow lowering in a frown. Charis spoke up. "This Jesu is a god, Father. And these men are his priests."
"Priests!" Avallach laughed. "Welcome, priests. I trust your god does not begrudge you meat and drink?"
"No, lord," replied Dafyd. "He does not."
"Then allow my seneschal to find chambers for you where you may wash and renew yourselves. Join me at my table when you are refreshed." He raised a hand and a servant appeared. The two men bowed and fell into step behind their guide and were ushered from the room.
"Where did you find them?" Avallach asked as the doors closed on the hall once more.
"They found me, Father," replied Charis, "at the ruin I sometimes visit. These men came looking for it, saying it is a shrine to their god. They thought me a goddess." She laughed.
"Ah, that is very good." Avallach lifted his dark eyebrows. "I am in need of cheering."
"Are you in pain?" Charis bent near, placing her hand to his side.
He patted her hand. "It is not beyond bearing," he said. "No, I am feeling better. I will be back on my feet again in a day or two. Now send word to the kitchen that we have guests. It would not do to slight two such important emissaries."
TWO
WINTER HAD BEEN HARD, THE SPRING COLD AND RAINY. Summer saw little improvement; crops did poorly, although the grazing was good and the cattle grew sleek and fat. As autumn drew near the winds grew bitter, heralding another bad winter hard on the heels of the
last, for in the bleak north a storm was gathering which few in the southlands foresaw.
Elphin returned early from riding the Wall, anxious and ill-at-ease. Taliesin had not ridden with him this year. Instead, he had spent the summer with Blaise, helping Hafgan instruct a small but lively crowd of noblemen's sons from around the region. When the warband, now grown to nearly three hundred of the best fighting men in all Gwynedd, came clattering into Caer Dyvi, Taliesin and his charges stood out on the road before the gates with the rest of the village to greet them.
He took one look at his father's tight smile and the way he sat tense in the saddle and knew that something was wrong— although with the usual celebration of the warriors' return, it was some time before Taliesin could discover what bothered the king.
"What is it?" he asked when he finally got Elphin aside for a private word. He lifted the jar and poured two drinking horns full with sweet mead and handed one to his father.
Elphin smiled thinly. "Am I as glass to one and all, then?"
"Not to one and all perhaps, but certainly to me." Taliesin raised his cup. "Health to you, Father." They drank deeply and wiped their mustaches with the back of their hands. "What happened up there this summer?" Taliesin asked.
"Little enough. We saw only three wandering bands all summer." The king shrugged and peered into his drink again.
"And yet?"
Laughter pattered through the open doorway of the hall across the way where the feast was just beginning. "And yet there is a heaviness of heart that the wise counsel of my advisors can neither reason away nor lighten."
"What troubles you?"
The king raised a hand and pressed the palm over his heart. "My own wise counselor tells me that there is dire wickedness afoot. Oh, it is quiet north of the Wall; there was no trouble. But I think it is because they are waiting, and avoiding us while they wait."
Taliesin: Book One of the Pendragon Cycle Page 37
