Taliesin: Book One of the Pendragon Cycle, Page 4

  Elphin quickly pulled on his trousers and belted his tunic over them, stuffed his feet into his boots, then fastened his cloak. He took up his reins and leaped up into the saddle, pulling furs over him, then held out his hands for the child, which had ceased crying and now snuggled quietly asleep in its fur bed. Ermid passed it up to him and quickly regained his own mount, and the three started back down the trail to the caer. Elphin was careful to let his horse amble gently along, lest he disturb the sleeping child.

  * * *

  By the time Elphin and his companions reached the caer, the snow had stopped and the clouds had thinned so that the sun could be seen as a ghostly white disk floating behind a gauzy gray curtain. A few clan members saw them return and ran to call others to see how Elphin had fared at the weir. Since there were no sacks of salmon hanging from the cantles of their saddles, most of those who followed the horses to Gwyddno's house assumed that Elphin's luck had held true, which is to say that he failed.

  The seal fur bundle that Elphin cradled in his arms intrigued them, however. "What have you there, Elphin?" they called as he rode among the squat houses of the caer.

  "You will see soon enough," he answered and kept riding.

  "I see no salmon," they whispered to one another. "His evil luck has done for him again."

  Elphin heard their whispers but did not acknowledge them. He passed through the inner palisade of wooden stakes and came to his father's house. Gwyddno and Medhir, Elphin's mother, came out to watch their son's approach. The two weir wardens dismounted and stood a little way off, subdued. Hafgan, the druid, leaned on his staff, head cocked to the side, one eye asquint—as if trying to ascertain a fine alteration in Elphin's appearance.

  "Well, Elphin, how have you fared?" asked Gwyddno. He peered sadly at the horses and at the empty sacks behind their saddles. "Was the spirit of the weir against you, son?"

  "Come close and see how I have fared." Elphin spoke in a loud voice so that all those gathered around could hear.

  He extended his arms and showed his bundle. Gwyddno reached for it, but Elphin did not hand it to him. Instead, he lifted the edge of the sealskin and pulled it back so everyone could see. As he did so the sun burst through the thin cloud cover. Bright white light showered down upon him, illuminating the infant in his hands.

  "Behold! Taliesin of the radiant brow!" cried Hafgan, for the infant's face shone with a bright light as it caught the rays of the sun.

  Medhir rushed forward to take the babe; Elphin handed it to her gently and dismounted. "Yes, I have fetched a child from the weir!" he said. "Let him be called Taliesin."

  The people were silent. At first they merely stared in wonder at the fair child with the shining face. Then someone muttered from the crowd, "Woe, woe! Who has heard of such a thing? Surely it bodes ill for the clan."

  Everyone heard what was said, and soon all were decrying Elphin's catch and making the sign against evil behind their backs. Elphin heard their mutterings and shouted angrily, "It makes no difference what I do! Whether I had brought back three salmon or three hundred you would find some fault and say I was cursed!" He took the child from his mother and held it aloft. "In the day of trouble this child shall be of more service to me than three hundred salmon!"

  The child awakened and began crying hungrily. Elphin looked at it helplessly. Medhir came close and took the infant, cradling it against her breast. "Anyone can see this child is no water spirit," she said. "He cried as lustily as any babe might who needs his mother's milk."

  Elphin turned away sadly. He had no wife, and surely none of the women in the clan would agree to raise the child. Without a mother, Taliesin would die. What they say is true, he thought, I am unlucky. He remembered all the times he had ignored the talk of his kinsmen against him, pretending that it did not matter, and he hung his head.

  "Elphin, cease your lament," said a voice behind him. He turned to see Hafgan watching him. "Never in Gwyddno's weir was there such good fortune as this day." The druid came to stand before the babe and raised his oaken staff high in the air. "Though small you are, Taliesin, and weak in your leather coracle, yet there is virtue in your tongue. A bard you will be, a maker with words, renowned as no other from the beginning of the world."

  The people looked to one another in amazement. Hafgan turned and lowered his staff and tapped it three times on the ground. He stretched out his hand and pointed at those gathered there. "You have heard my words; now keep them in your hearts and remember. Henceforth, let no one say that Elphin is unlucky, for he shall become the most fortunate of men."

  Medhir took the babe into Gwyddno's house and prepared some goat milk. She warmed the milk in a clay bowl by the fire, then fed the child by dipping the tip of a soft cloth in the milk and giving it to the baby to suck. Gwyddno and Elphin watched and when the infant Taliesin was satisfied, he fell asleep again. Medhir wrapped him in his gray seal fur and lay him down on a bed of clean straw.

  "He will sleep now," said Medhir, "but goat's milk will not keep him for long. It is a mother's milk he will be needing, and that soon."

  Elphin held out his hands helplessly. "If I knew the woman, I would bring her here in an instant."

  Gwyddno rubbed his hand over his chin. "Mother or wet nurse, I think it matters little to the babe."

  Medhir brightened at the thought. "I have a kinswoman at Diganhwy, named Eithne—the babe has me bewitted or I would have remembered before now. Is is her daughter, I am thinking, whose own dear babe came stillborn this forenight past. We could send for her to nurse the child."

  "What of her husband?" wondered Elphin.

  "She has none. That is, she was barter wife to a man named Nuin for the child to be his heir. They were never married, and as the child was born dead there was the end of it. Nuin paid her mother as he had promised so there would be no words between them."

  "I will send for the girl," declared Gwyddno. "Perhaps she will come."

  "Let me go myself," replied Elphin, looking at the sleeping child. "And I will leave at once."

  "Her name is Rhonwyn," Medhir told him. "Greet her in my name when you meet and remember me to her mother."

  "And," his father added, "tell her Gwyddno Garanhir will give her two head of cattle and four pigs if she will consent to nurse the child."

  Elphin left his father's house, saddled a red mare for Rhonwyn and, taking up his reins, climbed into the saddle once more and rode north for Diganhwy, leading the mare.

  THREE

  KELLIOS GUTTERED HARD BENEATH BEL'S FIRE-BRIGHT DISK as it rode high in the sky of cool azure, trailing wisps of clouds like gossamer streamers. The streets had been swept clean and washed the day before and were now crowded with people who had come from all over Sarras to see the spectacle and enjoy the festivities.

  The line of royal carriages emerged from the King's Gate in the northern wall of Avallach's palace and entered the Processional Way—led by the king's gleaming chariot, pulled by four stallions and driven by Avallach himself. Charis peered from the queen's coach at the crowds thronging the streets and hanging from upper windows, cheering noisily as the procession rolled slowly past. The princess waved now and then and accepted the gifts of flowers that were tossed into the coach. Her two younger brothers caught bouquets in the air and threw them back, making a game of it as they went along.

  At length the carriages arrived at the arena. "The best seat is mine!" announced Guistan, vaulting from the carriage as soon as it rocked to a halt outside the main entrance.

  "Wait one moment!" called Briseis. "It will do no good to shove your way through the crowd. Our seats have already been assigned in the royal loge. Ushers will seat us."

  "Aw!" whined Eoinn, "I want to sit in front."

  "Perhaps we shall," replied Briseis. "In any event you will conduct yourselves like civilized beings. Guistan! Do you hear me? And there will be no squabbling for seats. Do you understand?" She received muttered promises and they disembarked.

  Charis did not care wher
e they sat, as long as it was inside the arena. Many would be shut out that day; most in fact. The bull dances, all too rare in Sarras, were always well attended by an enthusiastic and appreciative crowd.

  Blue-clad ushers muscled them through the knot of people at the arena gates where Briseis paused. "I think we should wait for Belyn and Elaine."

  "We will lose our places," Eoinn whined.

  "Be quiet," said Charis. "Consider yourself fortunate to get to go at all. Long ago there was no room for anyone—no one but the king attended the ceremonies."

  "Who told you that?"

  "Annubi," replied Charis. "Ask Mother if you do not believe me."

  "Is that true?" wondered Eoinn

  "Only the king?" asked Guistan.

  "Only the king, and perhaps a few Magi," Briseis acknowledged.

  "What about the races?" Eoinn wanted to know.

  "There were no races," informed Briseis. "And no tableaux, either."

  "What did they do?" asked Guistan.

  "They performed the sacred rites of purification, sacrificed to Bel, and dined on specially prepared foods."

  "They ate horsemeat," added Charis importantly.

  "They did not!" complained Eoinn, finding this fact hard to accept.

  "They did!" insisted Charis. "Annubi told me."

  "It was long ago," said Briseis. "People believed differently then."

  Charis wondered what else they believed long ago that no one believed now. "Why did they change?" she asked.

  "It happens," said her mother. "Little changes, like small steps all along the way, bring you to a different place. One day you wake up and things are not the same anymore."

  Belyn and Elaine's carriage rolled up then and when the two had joined the others, they all entered the cool darkness of the entrance, ringing with the distant-sounding voices of those already filling the arena. A moment later they were blinking in the bright sunlight once more, the muted cheers now a throaty roar. They entered the royal loge, a large wooden gallery filled with chairs and rows of padded benches and covered by a rippling blue canopy on poles of burnished bronze.

  The ushers led them to a high-backed chair with a long bench beside, which to the delight of the princes was but one row from the very front. A few of Belyn's men and others Avallach had invited were already seated. Belyn excused himself and took a seat next to one of his courtiers.

  With a stern admonition to the princes not to besmirch the family honor, Briseis allowed the boys to find their own places while she and Charis joined Elaine. The two women fell into easy conversation and Charis, thoroughly enjoying the excitement of the crowd streaming into the arena, turned her attention to the sights and sounds around her.

  The arena was an enormous oval of white stair-stepped stone, affixed with wooden stands and benches, most of which were uncovered, although many far-thinking spectators had erected sunshades of various types to keep off the worst of a hot afternoon sun. These shades gave the steep sides of the stadium a patchwork appearance as colorful and rowdy as the throng clustered beneath, voices raised, all of them, to highest pitch.

  Horns blared and drums boomed as musicians wandered up and down the wide aisles. Across the carefully raked sand of the arena floor a section opposite the royal logo erupted in a spatter of applause as a trio of acrobats practiced their craft; jugglers amused the crowds for the coins flung to them. Above the commotion vendors shouted, their well-seasoned voices cutting through the din as they waved their wares: ribbon bands and small bulls carved from olive wood.

  And the smells—a pungent perfume concocted of the thick, greasy scent of food cooking in heavy olive oil; the rich, earthy odor of the cattle stalls beneath the stadium; the light, airy tang of sun-wanned salt air off the sea.

  For the moment, the world surged around her with excitement and Charis exulted in the splendor of the day in all its disparate elements.

  From the top tier of seats above the royal loge, trumpeters gave forth a shimmering volley that seemed to pierce the air like a flight of silver arrows, echoing and reechoing through the stadium. At the signal, a huge garland-decked staircase emerged below the royal loge; from the far side of the arena a door opened and a chariot pulled by four white stallions rolled out onto the white sand as the trumpets sent a welcoming flourish spinning through the air.

  "Look!" cried Charis. "There is Father!"

  The chariot made a circuit of the arena and rolled to a stop at the foot of the staircase. King Avallach handed the reins to his driver, Kian, stepped lightly from the chariot, and proceeded up the stairs to take his place in the royal loge.

  The heralds trumpeted once more, sending a cascade of glittering sound into the air and Avallach rose to speak, raising his hands for silence. "My people!" he called, his voice penetrating the restless quiet. "We have come together to renew the bond between king and kingdom. Today you are part of this ancient and holy rite." He paused to gaze over the impatient masses. "Let the ceremony begin!"

  The trumpets blared and the arena doors were opened. Huge platforms drawn by oxen in gilded harness trundled slowly into the bright sunlight, each platform a mobile tableau. Though she had seen them many times before, Charis leaned forward eagerly. As each tableau moved past, she felt as if she were there, transported back through the ages to the event portrayed: Astea toiling at the loom of the Cyclopes; King Corineus wrestling with the giant, Gogmagog; Dryope plucking the lotus from the pool of Eternity; Melampus among the wise serpents; Tisiphone with her whip of scorpions, punishing the sons of Incubus for stealing the souls of her children…

  One after another, the platforms made their slow way around the arena to a chorus of gasps and sighs from an appreciative audience. Musicians assembled in the center of the arena filled the stadium with melodious sound. Charis gazed entranced at each and every one and applauded with the rest when the last rolled by.

  "I am hungry," whined a voice, disturbingly near. Charis turned to see Guistan leaning over her mother's chair. "I am hungry." The delicate mood was broken.

  "We will eat something soon," soothed Briseis. "Go back and sit down."

  "But I'm hungry now!" he insisted.

  "Food will be brought when it is ready. Now go back and sit down."

  Guistan shambled back to his seat, and Charis frowned after him. Why did I have to have any brothers at all? she wondered. They ruin everything. I would be perfectly happy alone.

  Charis did not have time to pursue the thought further. The trumpets sounded another flourish, the arena doors were flung wide, and into the ring bounced a troupe of young men and women, tumbling and cartwheeling, their supple bodies glistening as they somersaulted through the air.

  "The bull dancers!" cried Charis with delight.

  The dancers were bare except for the white leather clout, and, for the women, a narrow band of white linen across their breasts. Their hair was worn in a long braid wrapped in strips of white linen; several wore flowers in their hair, others chains of plaited flowers around their necks.

  They made their way to the center of the arena where they were joined by the High Mage of the Temple of Poseidon, who carried an ewer of water and a bowl of wine. The wine was served around the group, standing in a loose circle around the Mage, who took the ewer and poured water over the heads and hands of the dancers.

  Their ablutions finished, the dancers performed a series of intricate acrobatic figures, twisting and spinning as they flew over one another in high, graceful arcs.

  They were so engaged when the first bull appeared, an energetic young beast, heavy of shoulder hump and chest, but light in the hind quarters. Its horns were blunted and the stumps bound in leather. The animal trotted toward the dancers, gaining speed as it came. At the last second it charged. The dancers spun away, leaving the confused animal standing alone in the center of the arena.

  Two female dancers took advantage of the animal's confusion to vault across its back, while a male dancer grabbed its tail and tugged. The animal bellowed
and whirled, but not before another pair of dancers leaped high over its back. This went on for some time, the dancers having fun with the young bull, warning to their art.

  Eventually the beast had enough of chasing shadows, turned tail, and ran from the arena as soon as the wooden doors gapped to let it out. The stadium roared with laughter, and Charis thought the animal appeared relieved to escape.

  The bull dancers, limber and loose from their play, tightened their handstraps and linked arms with one another, singing a song which Charis could not hear. But she saw their heads thrown back and the expression of rapture on their faces, and she understood why people considered them touched by the gods. Theirs was a difficult and dangerous art, with intricacies little understood by those who watched and applauded and threw their coins and bracelets into the ring.

  The dancers accepted these gifts, but danced for the gods and for themselves alone. This set them apart.

  As they sang, the doors opened again. Out charged another bull: a monstrous creature, a mobile mountain, black as pitch, its massive ribs gleaming with the oil that had been rubbed into its velvet hide. Its horns were painted red, with tips of gold that flashed in the sun as it tossed its head. The bull made for the center of the ring and stood flinging sand into the air with a forehoof.

  The dancers backed away slowly, leaving one of their number, the team leader, standing alone to face the bull. The dancer walked slowly toward the beast, hands outstretched. The animal snorted and raked the ground with its hoof, lowered its head and charged. Charis did not imagine a creature that size could be so quick. She gasped and threw her hands over her eyes.

  But the dancer stood unafraid and as the bull closed on him, simply raised his foot and stepped onto the careening animal's forehead, allowing the beast's momentum and the toss of its head to propel him up and over the broad back.

  The crowd sighed and Charis peeped between her fingers to see the bull skid to a halt, the dancer touching down lightly behind him. Before the bull could charge again, two more dancers came running from either side to handspring across its flanks. The bull swung its head this way and that, but the dancers were already gone.