A String in the Harp

by Bond, Nancy

  From the wave crests sometimes, to the east, the dark line of shore was visible, out of reach, but within sight. Maelgwn’s men had taken him far from Llanfair, out along the great peninsula that pointed west like a finger toward the Kingdom of the Irish. They took him to Trwyn y Gwyddol, and set him in the coracle and launched him on the sea. No blood was shed, no one died on the soil of Gwynedd, and indeed the King himself did not know what had become of the bard Taliesin, though his guess might be a good one.

  For two days and nights Taliesin and Hu shared the little boat, and they were driven down along the wild rim of Cymru, out of Gwynedd. As the third day broke, the wind rose and the sea roiled in fury. Rain came slashing out of the low gray clouds. Thunder rolled about the hills, crashing against its own echoes, and lightning cracked the sky. In the midst of chaos the coracle was thrown violently at the shore, in amongst the rocks where it smashed on the ruined walls of Cantrev y Gwaelod, at Sarn Cynfelin. Man and dog were flung into the waves and left to swim as best they could to the edge of shingle under the cliffs.

  Here Peter stopped, his eyes far away, his face taut.

  At last Jen asked, “Were they—did they—drown?”

  “It was like a nightmare you can’t wake up from. It was real!”

  “But what happened to them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It couldn’t just stop there. You must have seen.”

  “No.” Peter held the Key cupped in his two hands, like water. “I saw them in the water, trying to stay up. I lost sight of Hu—I’m not sure what became of him. Then it was all gone. I was back in my room and the Key was dead. It doesn’t even feel the same anymore. I’ve read the story, Jen. I know he didn’t drown. He came back here to live, but that doesn’t help. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do!” He sounded desperate. Jen ached for him. She knew how hard it was not to know the answers.

  “But if it’s dead,” she said carefully, “couldn’t you give it to Dr. Owen? It wouldn’t really matter, would it?”

  “But it does! It still belongs to Taliesin and he must have it back. He lost it there in the sea and I’ve found it thousands of years later, but it connects the two of us somehow. If I give it to Dr. Owen, then the whole thing might just as well never have happened.”

  Jen saw again the rows of neatly labeled brooches and coins and the beautiful silver bowl and knew in her heart Peter was right. “But how can you give it back to someone who’s been dead for centuries? Unless . . .” Bedd Taliesin, a pile of stones on a bare hillside, a grave, a burial cairn.

  Peter knew what she was thinking. He shook his head. “That’s not the right place. It’s not really his grave. I’d have known if it was, and besides Gwilym said it’s much too old to be.”

  “So you’re stuck.”

  “I feel awful. Sort of used up.”

  “You ought to be in bed,” said Jen. “It won’t help at all if you get sicker. Do you want some cocoa or toast or something? You’re probably hungry.”

  Peter was about to refuse when he changed his mind. “Maybe cocoa.” He got up and went to his bedroom door.

  “Peter?”

  He stopped with his back to Jen. “What?”

  She felt awkward. “I’ll bring your cocoa.”

  He nodded.

  Then quickly before she could stop herself, “I’m not sure I can ever believe in the Key. But—but I believe you.”

  The tension went out of him, and unbelievably, he smiled at her. “Thanks,” he said simply.

  17

  * * *

  Gannwyl Gorph

  AFTER THE INITIAL SHOCK of loss had worn off, Peter accepted the end of the singing and of Taliesin with remarkable calm. As he had told Jen, he knew it would end eventually, and he was still sure the story wasn’t finished. Jen, of course, knew what had happened, and it didn’t take Becky long to guess. She was, as usual, sensitive to all changes in her family. It was hard to tell what David noticed for he said nothing more about Peter’s “object.”

  Peter’s cold settled in to run a normal, irritating course. He was quite content to spend a week quietly convalescing at Bryn Celyn. He had a great deal to think about now that he was no longer caught up in the Key. For the first time since he’d found it, he could step back from it and consider the whole picture it had shown him.

  At teatime Wednesday, Gwilym arrived—he had a happy facility for choosing teatime for his visits, Jen noticed—with an old wooden chess board under his arm and a macintosh pocket full of chessmen. “I thought you might like to play,” he said rather tentatively to Peter. “Have you before?”

  Peter shook his head and Jen looked skeptical. “You won’t get to first base trying to teach him that, Gwilym, it isn’t his sort of game.”

  “First base?” Gwilym repeated, puzzled.

  “Baseball,” said Peter helpfully. “My poor sister can’t tell the difference between baseball and chess—she’s quite hopeless that way. Show me what you do.”

  And to Jen’s surprise, he and Gwilym spent the next two hours hunched over the board in fierce concentration, arguing amicably over legal and illegal moves and pawns and rooks.

  It was after six when Jen reminded them it was dinnertime, the table needed to be set, and Mrs. Davies would soon be breathing fire if Gwilym didn’t get home for his meal. The chessboard was retired to the top of the fridge.

  “Chess?” said David, when he saw it there. “Who’s been playing?”

  “Gwilym’s teaching Peter,” explained Becky.

  “I used to play chess in college. Haven’t played in years, but I used to enjoy it.”

  “It’s a pretty good game,” said Peter noncommitally.

  The supper dishes were dried and put away, but David seemed reluctant to leave the kitchen. He glanced at the chess board, then at Peter. “You wouldn’t be interested in another game, would you?” he asked finally.

  “Well,” said Peter, “I wouldn’t mind.”

  So they set up again, and Jen shook her head in quiet wonder. It was a pleasant, domestic, incongruous picture somehow. At nine she had to drag Becky out of the kitchen and push her toward bed. David and Peter played on.

  In a few minutes Becky returned in pajamas and bathrobe.

  “Becky—” Jen began warningly.

  “I just came to say good-night,” said Becky innocently.

  David set down a knight he’d just claimed from Peter and smiled at her. “High time, too! Good lord, I’ve got a quiz to think up for my Lit. class tomorrow—I had no idea it was so late! Sorry, Peter, but I have got to go do some work. What do you say to a return match this weekend sometime? I’ll play with you until you start winning!”

  “It’s Gwilym’s set,” said Peter, packing the men away in an empty biscuit tin. He didn’t look at his father. “If he’ll let me borrow it, all right.”

  “Good.” David got up to leave, then stopped. “I’ve got to warn you,” he said reluctantly. “We’re almost sure to have a visitor this weekend.”

  “Who?” asked Becky. Jen and Peter looked at each other, already certain they knew.

  “Dr. Owen.”

  Becky made a face.

  “He’s in Aber and he’s talked to Gwyn Rhys about seeing us. Gwyn says he’ll probably get hold of me tomorrow, and if he wants to come, I thought I’d invite him to tea to get this over with. No good scowling at me, Becky, I’m no more anxious to have Dr. Owen come than you are, but we do owe him the courtesy to hear him at least.”

  “The enemy in our camp,” said Jen.

  “We only ever met the poor man once, you know,” protested David mildly. “He may not be as bad as he seemed in Cardiff. Everybody has off days.”

  “He’ll be as bad,” Becky predicted glumly. “You think so, too.”

  “Then I don’t set you a very good example, do I?” David sighed. “Beth would be very annoyed with me. Still, the four of us ought to be able to manage being polite to one Welshman for a couple of hours over tea.”
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br />   Peter was silent.

  Dr. Owen did indeed want to see the Morgans. The next evening, David announced that he had invited Dr. Owen to tea at three-thirty on Saturday because the man had expressed a special interest in talking to all of David’s children. There was no escape.

  “Not only is he someone I’d rather not see,” mourned Jen to Becky after supper, “but he’ll ruin a whole day of the weekend. If it weren’t for Dr. Owen, we could be up at the farm or on the beach somewhere instead.”

  “I know.” Becky nodded soberly. “But we can use him as an excuse to buy all kinds of special stuff for tea—cream buns and tarts and rock cakes—and we can buy enough for a picnic Sunday.”

  “Good idea,” said Jen. “We’ll have an orgy. The thing I can’t understand, though,” she added frowning, “is why Dr. Rhys likes him.”

  Jen, Peter, and Becky were all sitting around the kitchen table doing homework. Peter had been very quiet; he was writing an essay he’d missed during the week, but now he set down his pen deliberately.

  “Dr. Owen doesn’t think the way we do,” he said slowly. “He puts things in a different order—what’s at the top of my list is at the bottom of his. Reasons and facts are much more important to him than feelings. I think he and Dr. Rhys connect because they’re both involved in the same kind of work: history and Wales and Welsh language. But you can like a person without agreeing with him.”

  “You sound as if you’re making excuses for Dr. Owen,” Becky accused. “You haven’t gotten soft about him, have you?”

  “Not really. I just think Dr. Rhys was right when he said Dr. Owen has good intentions. I don’t believe he puts all those objects in the museum for himself; he does it for the country.”

  “That sounds suspiciously charitable coming from you,” said Jen. “After all this fuss, you aren’t simply going to hand him the Key, are you?”

  “I thought you wanted me to.”

  “Not any more,” said Jen firmly. “We’ve all gone too far to give it up now.”

  Becky grinned delightedly. “Hooray!” she said softly. Then, “You can’t give it to him now that it’s all four of us together, Peter!”

  “I don’t intend to.” Peter’s serious face suddenly brightened. “I think it’s going to be pretty awful tomorrow, you know!”

  Peter was right—it was awful all day. The tension in Bryn Celyn Saturday morning was electric—everyone was nervous and irritable. Jen flung herself feverishly into house-cleaning, giving Becky and Peter orders until they rebelled and went down to Borth to get out from under her. David stayed shut in his study, presumably hard at work on his paper.

  Dr. Owen was punctual; at exactly three-thirty he rang the front doorbell and David went to let him in. Jen, Peter, and Becky were all in the kitchen, getting tea ready and putting off until the last possible moment the time when they had to go join the two men. Jen suppressed a suggestion that they all join hands in prayer before going down the hall.

  And then Peter disappeared. One minute he was beside Becky, pinching crumbs off a cream bun, the next he had vanished.

  “Where is he?” demanded Jen, looking around.

  Becky shook her head, equally astonished. Out of the corner of her eye, Jen saw the outside doorknob move, but by the time she’d wrenched the door open, Peter had gone.

  “How could he?” she exclaimed indignantly. “How could he run out like that? It’s because of him we’re in this mess!”

  “It isn’t really,” Becky reminded her. “It’s because of you Dr. Owen’s here at all. You told him and Dr. Rhys.”

  “Did you know he was going to sneak out?”

  “No, he didn’t tell me, but I think it might be better without him.”

  David called them just then, and Jen snapped her mouth shut. Her thoughts were black, as she took the tray to the lounge. She felt betrayed and furious with Peter for ducking out on an afternoon they had known from the start none of them would enjoy. And she felt guilty, too, because Becky was right. It was her fault.

  “Ah, yes,” said Dr. Owen getting to his feet as they entered. “Jennifer and—”

  “Becky,” supplied David. His face told the two girls nothing important had been said yet. “Where’s Peter?”

  “Gone out for a minute,” said Becky evasively.

  David looked hard from Becky to Jen. “I thought I just heard him in the kitchen with you.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be right back.” Becky’s voice expressed a conviction Jen did not share, nor was she sure Becky actually believed her own statement. But David appeared to accept it.

  Jen sat behind the teapot. If Becky could be calm, so could she. “Dr. Owen, would you like milk or lemon in your tea? And sugar?”

  For the next few minutes Dr. Owen allowed the conversation to wander in a politely aimless fashion from the weather to Aberystwyth, the University, life in Borth. But didn’t the Morgans miss living near a city? This did seem a bit primitive. David chuckled and said that, after a few weeks in Borth, Aberystwyth looked like a city to them. Dr. Owen smiled in agreement, but all the while Jen felt he was watching her, and they were all waiting for the real conversation to begin.

  Dr. Owen didn’t waste much time coming to the point. He had business to transact and wouldn’t permit himself to be sidetracked.

  “Well,” he began, sitting back in his chair, his hands folded. Three pairs of eyes were on him at once. “I don’t know if Gwyn told you the purpose of my visit, did he? I do have a reason for asking to come.”

  “I think we know it,” said David quietly.

  “That should make this all very much easier then,” Dr. Owen said pleasantly. “I’ve thought about you a good deal since your visit to Cardiff. I was very interested in the questions —ah—Jennifer asked me. She seemed to have something rather specific on her mind, and when I spoke to Gwyn last month he confirmed this. As I believe I mentioned at the Museum, objects do turn up in strange places and we can hardly afford not to chase them. So, since I was coming to Aberystwyth, I thought we might just continue our conversation.”

  “I’m sorry?” Jen struggled to sound as if she’d forgotten it.

  “Oh, come. You were far too interested not to remember what you were asking about,” said Dr. Owen. “It rather sounded to me as if you’d found something that you thought might be of value. Of course, no one can tell until it’s been examined, but I’m right, am I not?”

  “Actually,” Jen hedged truthfully, “I haven’t found anything.”

  “Perhaps not. It was your sister or your brother then? You did mention your brother.” Dr. Owen regarded her shrewdly. “You asked specifically about harp keys as I recall.” He turned to David. “I told you then how important the discovery of one would be, didn’t I? Yes, I was sure I had. It would be most unwise to withhold an object of that nature, but I’m sure I needn’t tell you that, David. Your background must certainly make you aware of it.”

  “Yes,” said David and looked at Jen.

  “Suppose I had found something,” said Jen carefully, “and it turned out not to be old. What would happen to it then?”

  “Well, if it weren’t of interest to the Museum you could keep it, of course. And you can be sure we’d be perfectly honest with you, Jennifer. No question there. If it were an important find, on the other hand, you’d have the satisfaction of knowing you’d contributed to the history of the country. Not everyone can do that.”

  Behind Dr. Owen’s calm, pleasant little smile, Jen sensed a very sharp edge. She had to go with extreme caution; he would see through any deception. “No,” she said finally.

  “Good. I see we’re beginning to understand one another. Why don’t you just show me this object, hmm? There’s every chance I shan’t even have to take it back to Cardiff with me. These things frequently turn out to be more quaint and curious than valuable, you know, David.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jen shook her head. “I don’t have it.”

  The smile slipped for an instant, an
d Jen saw irritation. But only for an instant. “Why don’t you get it then while we wait?”

  “I don’t know where it is.” What a relief to be able to tell him the truth!

  Dr. Owen frowned slightly. “Have you lost it? That would be dreadfully careless. Perhaps you could think hard for a minute?”

  “It won’t help. I don’t know where it is,” Jen said again.

  “But there is such an object?” Dr. Owen had scored one point anyway.

  Jen could see no virtue in flatly denying it and fumbling for a cover-up. Dr. Owen was far too clever to accept that, so she said nothing. Instead David interrupted, speaking mildly. He evidently thought Dr. Owen had gone far enough without interference. “I believe Jen understands the importance of what you’re saying, Dr. Owen.”

  “I would hope so, David, but I’m not quite sure. There seems to be no doubt that one of your children has found something, and Gwyn seemed to feel it might be of special interest. I’ve great regard for his judgment.”

  “So have I,” agreed David. “He also feels that my children are capable of taking responsibility for such an object, whatever it is. He has said so to all of us. I can’t allow him to have more confidence in them than I do!”

  “Up to a point, David, surely, but they are children, after all. They can scarcely be expected to judge the value of an object that might just possibly be thousands of years old. I know you’re their father, but you are also a scholar and you must understand my point.”

  “Has Gwyn actually seen this object?”