In his voice now I heard his smile, and the loving pride he had never been slow to show. "You do more for our cause with those harpstrings than all the rest of us with our swords. We have had more knowledge, and more certain knowledge, and more crucial knowledge, come to our camps by means of your new codes than ever before—and lost fewer lives to buy that knowing." Now the smile was gone. "Ah braud, I know well you have wanted sorely to be with us: I have wanted you there just as much, and so too the others of our friends who are with me. They have pressed me hard to send for you to join us."
"And yet you did not so." All my hurt and unhappiness was back, and my voice came small and tight and sullen. "Tarian and Grehan and Kei and Betwyr, and gods know who else—new friends—all they might be with you, but I your brother might not be."
Arthur was about to reply to this most unjust accusation when he was interrupted—indeed, almost knocked off his footing—by a new arrival.
"Artos, Artos! You are here! You are here at last!" Arthur caught her up, swinging her off the ground as she flung herself upon him, her blond braids flying. "Here's a graceless mannerless lass! No respect for your brother, I see, but greet Master-bard Taliesin now as a princess should." He kissed Morgan roundly on the cheek and set her down again, and she hung onto the sword-belt at his waist, so that he could not walk away.
"Oh, Talyn has been here for days, I have seen him often—"
I drew myself up with mock hauteur, and she giggled. "A little more reverence, if your Highness pleases," I said loftily, vainly trying to keep my own face straight and severe as hers lighted up with merriment. "Your Highness being an educated woman will doubtless be aware that an ollave may slay rats with an aer, does he so choose; and blotch the face of the discourteous. Think then what he might not do to an uncivil princess—turn her into the Queen of the Rats, I should not wonder…"
I made a feint toward her, teasing, a comic pretense of threat, and shrieking with delight she tore away again. Her sister Marguessan, who had watched all this byplay with her customary cool little smile, now came forward to greet her brother—and as afterthought, me—with a dutiful kiss, and then vanished after her twin, though at a more seemly pace.
"They are a proper pair, are they not?" Arthur looked after them with a wide happy grin, and I answered his smile. Gone were the days when Arthur fenced his heart against even the mention of his mother's daughters: Though I myself had not been so fortunate, Arthur had in the course of his duties been obliged to return often to Coldgates over the past seven years, and one of the things he had managed to do in those years had been to become besotted with his sisters; as any self-respecting elder brother ought, to be sure, and of the two girls Morgan was his especial pet—and well she knew it.
So, speaking of such small matters as dear friends will do who have been long parted—and my jealousy that I could not have been with him set for the moment aside—we continued on our way, first to his chambers that he might bathe and change, and greet our faithful old Luath who was by now too stiff to do more than stalk from hearth to cookplace, and then go to Uthyr and Ygrawn who so eagerly awaited him.
But in all his torrent of query—and never was there one like to Arthur for questions, even Morgan did not ask so many, nor skip wider from topic to topic than did he—there was one who went unasked after and unmentioned, and it was not until many hours later that her name at last did cross his lips.
"Gweniver?" I repeated artlessly. "Aye, she is here, right enough; and what is more, she is come back from Vannin a full Ban-draoi Domina. Even your mother, Arthur, is impressed with her; she carries herself well, not proud nor boastful, and neither power nor learning—both of which are by now considerable—has puffed her up."
Arthur's face showed every scrap of the skepticism he felt as to that, and across the room Merlynn shook his head.
"Well, scoff as you like, but you will see soon enough. Any road, the Princess may soon be more even than Domina, have you not heard?"
To judge by the hawk-look, it would seem he had not; but the others who were lounging with us in our old grianan—Tarian, Kei, Betwyr, Tryffin, Elen, Grehan, some new faces from among his Companions whom I had not yet come to know—looked either blandly blank or hotly guilty, as they tried in vain to dissemble knowledge they possessed and Arthur lacked; and their efforts were grimly noted.
"And if I have not, I must be the only one in Coldgates who is ignorant… Tell me, then, if you think I can endure the knowing."
Merlynn's eyebrows, already near to meeting his glib, went higher still at the snap his beloved pupil put into his words, but answered mildly enough.
''There has been some talk in the months past—talk only—among some of the King's counselors that perhaps it has come time for Uthyr to name Gweniver Tanista in formal ceremony."
"What do you mean?" I asked over the sudden chill that had frosted the chamber. "Surely she has been Tanista since Uthyr became High King?"
"And you call yourself master-bard! Well then, ollave, cast your mind back over those succession laws you and I once discussed not far from this chamber: No heir to the Copper Crown, apparent or presumptive, is lawfully Tanista—or Tanist—until so named by the reigning monarch."
I was about to speak, but Daronwy—one of the new Companions, daughter of Anwas, the lord of Endellion—spoke up instead, from her pile of pillows by the hearth.
"If that is so, then Arthur might still be named as is his right, to follow his father."
"The Prince Amris was never King," pointed out Grehan with some annoyance, and Daronwy flushed a little; but his annoyance covered concern for Arthur's feelings rather than scorn for her observation, and she took heart to speak again, addressing herself this time to Merlynn.
"Even so, Merlynn-athro, he was the eldest of the three brothers—might it not lie within Uthyr's choosing, who his heir shall be?"
"It might," said Merlynn presently. "But do not look for it to happen. What must be, may be."
Arthur laughed. "Leave it, Ronwyn," he said comfortingly to his discomfited friend. "I am very well pleased to be Prince of the Name, since never did I dream even to be of that Name at all."
Some duergar seemed to have perched on my shoulder and was now whispering in my ear.
"But if it were possible to be more?"
Lucky for me I was his fostern, so that I got but a very straight look where any other would have gotten a clout…
"As Merlynn says, if it is to be, then it will be; if not, then not. Any road, if memory serves, no heir may formally be named to the Tanistry of Keltia before final majority is reached, and Gweniver—as do I—lacks two years of it. As for me, I have quite enough else on my hands just now—Llwynarth, and Owein, and about fifty thousand Ravens on Gwynedd alone—to fret over aught else."
Not for nothing was I bard: I knew a cue when I heard one, and I sat up full ready to put forth another claim on what I had come to believe was my gods-given right…
He saw it and sighed, and got in first. "And before you try once more to plead your case, Talyn, the answer is nay and nay again. So do you not even think to ask."
I closed my mouth that had been open with what I was sure would be unanswerable dazzlements of logic, certain to win me my cause and place with him, and instead sat back, crushed. Why could I not be with him? Here were some of his daily comrades—most of whom were old friends of mine as well—and yet I could not be among them.
Over the past seven years—three if his learning years with the Fianna were taken from the sum—Arthur had formed friends and fellow students and strangers alike into a kind of train-band, a swift and silent striking force of a kind—and effectiveness—that had not been seen in Keltia since the days of Athyn Cahanagh. As she had done on Erinna, he too had established a secret camp—Llwynarth, they had called it, naming it after him: the Bear's Grove, deep in the Arvon mountains; as she too had done, he called those who joined him there his Companions.
And I was not to be one of them… Art
hur saw the black scowl on my face, relented enough to explain a little more his reasons for refusing my martial services.
"Talynno, you are my brother, and I love you well; all here know you and your worth to our cause"—instant warm agreement from the rest, even those such as Daronwy who knew me only through him—"Also you are the inventor of the Hanes, and as I have said once today, that may prove to be of greater weight in the end than aught I or any other shall achieve by the sword. I honor you for it, and stand deep in your debt and reverence of it, and tell you plain that you would never have come to it had you been skulking in the hills with me."
"I might," I said sulkily, and caught his amused exasperation at my evil little mood.
"Well enough then, you might have! Not likely, let us say, but possible? Listen now: You are not the lad for what we do. It is as I have said, simple butchery, mere Raven-slaughter. I do not much like it, but I will keep it up until by it I have attracted Owein Rheged's grudging attention. And then we shall meet in battle for Gwynedd, Owein and I, and it will not be I to come off that field the loser.''
He spoke simply and confidently, and looking round I could see that confidence reflected on the faces of his Companions.
"Besides," continued Arthur, in that tone of fine-reasoned persuasiveness I knew well from of old, "you are of ten thousand times more use to me as bard. As anruth, able to move openly through Gwynedd as none of us is able"—his arm indicated the room's occupants—"and after that, when you take up your petty place, it is to be hoped in the household of one close to Owein—you will be ten thousand times more use even than that. When I need your sword, be very sure I shall ask for it! Until then—"
"—until then just slinge round Gwynedd like a common tramp," I said, knowing full well that I was being sweet-talked and knowing just as well that he was right. "You make it very hard, Artos."
But I saw it as clearly as he had ever seen it: At Llwynarth I could do little save hang at his cloak-tail and make songs of his deeds. As a functioning bard, either travelling the planet collecting intelligence or sitting like a spider in some Theocracy vassal's court, where such information would fall into my webs, I could serve Arthur as few others could.
He saw that I had capitulated, with however bad a grace, and he smiled; and much against my inclination I smiled back.
"Do you always get your own way, Arthur Penarvon, or is it just that I am always around to see whenever you chance to get it?—Nay, do not trouble to answer; you have won yet again, far from me to cheapen your triumph."
"One thing that might make you more kindly disposed, Talyn, to your banning for the time being from Llwynarth."
The cool, amused voice was Tarian Douglas's, and I turned to her in surprise: In my self-pitying sulk I had clean forgot there were others present in the chamber who had been witness to my petulance. But, I consoled myself, we were all friends here, and had seen far worse pass between us, and would not mind. And for those new to our friendship, well, better they learned swiftly how we did amongst ourselves; and it was still well.
"Perhaps a summer spent training as a Fian would not come amiss," continued Tarian thoughtfully, glancing side-wise at Arthur and Merlynn as if for approval. "If you are to go round the planet doing spycraft it would be well to be as tuned to perils as your harp will be to music—and for you to be as fit to meet it."
"I am no warrior, Tari," I said honestly, though with real—and surprising—reluctance, for the idea mightily appealed to me. "Scathach and Berain will speak for that, from our days at Daars."
"As to that," said Arthur, and I heard for the first time the authority in his voice, saw for the first time how they took his least word as ironbound command, "let those whose business is war be judges. You and Fianship did not suit each other, that is true enough; but you are quick-handed and swift-footed, and any road, a summer with the sword can never be ill spent."
* * *
Chapter Twenty
So all my jealousies vanished like Samhain taish, fith-faths born of my own insecurities, and I spent a surprisingly pleasant summer being instructed in combat by Fian masters. My chief tutors were Daronwy and a new Companion I had not previously met, Ferdia mac Kenver, a cheerful sandy-bearded Erinnach. In the process of my re-education, the three of us became—in addition to respectful admirers of each other's particular craft—good and close friends; which, knowing my fostern's way, was doubtless exactly what he had had in mind from the first.
But improving my martial skills was also a goal of his, and he came by whenever he might, to put in his crossic's worth; we even fought a few touches ourselves, as we had done of old in Daars. But if Arthur had been my better then, he was now so far beyond me as to seem Fionn himself, or Malen Sword-queen, and our bouts were prolonged beyond three-stroke exchanges solely by his indulgence.
Even so, by grace of his holding back I learned much, and learned more from Ferdia and Daronwy and the other Companions who were pleased to add a hand now and again to my training. By Fionnasa, when the weather changed in earnest, the winds backing round to north and west, blowing gales of red and yellow leaves down through the passes onto the plain, I saluted my instructors for the final time, all of us most satisfied with the summer's result. I would never make a Fian, and I would ever be first to admit it, but I knew too that at least I might now hold my own against most Ravens that might cross my path; and that had been Arthur's objective.
At least with regard to me; he had other, and far graver, objectives that year, and it was those that took up his time and thought and energy. Uthyr had been ill during the spring past—desperately ill, as it happened, though I had not known it until my return to Coldgates. The news had not been kept from me a-purpose; it was only that Tinnavardan had been on the move, as usual, and since none had known just where a message might safely find me, it had been thought wiser not to send one.
Though the King was by now recovered, he was still worn and gaunt and tired, and Ygrawn, solicitous as a mother wolf caring for the litter weakling, was herself near as wearied as he. The strain told on her most of all, and there seemed little any could do to ease it: It was as if she had now three children to tend to, not the twins only.
But when I wondered, with a certain sharpness, why did not the Tanista Gweniver—the Domina Gweniver, returned this past year from her prenticeship in a hidden convent of her order—turn a hand, and more than a hand, to her uncle's healing, Ygrawn more sharply still bade me hold my tongue and my peace alike, and you may well believe I did so.
That did not stop me wondering, all the same, and I went to seek an end to wondering in the place I had sought such for years…
"There has been some—let us call it discomfortableness," said Merlynn, "between the Princess and your foster-mother the Queen. It is all to do with Uthyr, who knows naught of it, by the way, so see that you let nothing slip while you are with him. I know you go every afternoon to play to him."
"It is all I can do," I said defensively. "I am a bard, not a healer."
"And you do perhaps more for him thereby than any healer has so far managed," said Merlynn soothingly. "I meant no criticism."
"Well," I continued, slightly mollified, "why then is there constraint between Gweniver and my methryn?" If I sounded puzzled it was because I was: Uthyr and Ygrawn had been wed near twelve years now, time was long past when Uthyr's wife and Uthyr's heir should not be friends.
"They are friends," Merlynn assured me, having divined my thought. "At least for the most part; and since Gweniver became Domina they have been better friends than ever.''
"What then?"
"Time comes soon when Uthyr must name his Tanista—or Tanist—in formal ceremony." He tapped his fingertips together in the old gesture. "And there still remains that tiny detail of who shall indeed be named."
"That again," I said, annoyed that it should still be a cause of dissension and ill feeling.
"That again, and no nearer a solution than before."
"But why sh
ould it cause disharmony between Gweniver and Ygrawn?"
"And just who is the Queen's son by her first lord? A lord who I need not remind you had precedence over his younger brother?"
I was silent for a while. "What does Arthur say?" Merlynn gave a small shrug, more in his face than in his shoulders. "What can he say? He attends to those matters Uthyr asks him to attend to, as does Gweniver. Otherwise he is too busy with the Companions and the beginning of the campaign against Owein to let it fret him, and too well-trained to let it be known openly how he might feel in truth. And all the more so, now he has begun to win ground in his fight."
I sat up a little straighter. "You mean folk might take his success in the field as a threat! To think he might think to lift sword against the King and take the crown by force?"
"It is not unknown, for power to be seized so."
"Well, never in ten thousand lifetimes will it be seized so by him!" I was momentarily blind with fury. Gods but folk could be stupid… I added presently, "Even did he not love Uthyr as his own—"
I stopped short, caught by the terrible irony: I had been of course going to say 'as his own father,' but Arthur had never known his own father to love him, though it was only through Amris that Arthur was a prince at all. And the man he had loved as a father had been, in the end, kin only through Arthur's love…
"That is plain to all," said Merlynn, and again his voice was pitched to soothe me. "And I promise you, Talyn, no one here thinks Uthyr in the least smallest peril from Arthur's hand… It is only that the matter daily grows more urgent and the King gives no clue. In little more than one year's time, both Arthur and Gweniver will be of age to be named heir in full law—though not just yet to rule—and Uthyr has been of late not always in health."
"Just how unwell is he?" I found the thought of Uthyr's death sharply affecting, sought the answer within and knew it almost at once: Uthyr gone would be my third father lost… Merlynn shook his head. "No fear, he will be with us a good few years yet. Look how he was never as strong as either of his brothers—well, not in strength of the body—and here has he outlived them both. None of which diminishes, however, the need for him to declare his heir—or heirs."
The Hawk's Gray Feather Page 22