There was a long pause, and I sat with my arms around my knees listening to the same woodland sounds my father would have heard: the chirruping of woodfinches, thrushes, jays; the little furtive rustlings in the winter-dry underbrush and light shifting of the leaves; the tick and creak of swaying branches.
“I was tending the pot when they returned,” Blaise said when he continued. “Taliesin was unusually quiet and his movements erratic; his speech was odd as well—as if he were creating the sound of the words anew as he spoke them. I remember feeling the same way the first time I tasted the Seeds of Wisdom. But in this, as in all else, Taliesin excelled.
“Hafgan told me that he feared Taliesin dead, so still did the boy lie when he found him. Cormach blamed himself for pressing the youngster too hard…” He broke off abruptly and regarded me strangely.
“Too hard to do what?” I asked, already knowing the answer he would make.
“To walk the paths of the Otherworld.”
“To see the future, you mean.”
Again that fierce appraisal, and the slow nod of admission. “They thought he might see something they could not see.”
“He was looking for me.”
Blaise did not look away this time. “He was, Mryddin Bach. We all were.”
The silence of the wood crept in once more, and we sat watching one another. Blaise sought guidance for what he was about to do, and I was content not to press him, but to trust his judgment. How long we sat there I do not know, but after a time he put his hand to the pouch at his belt and brought out three fire-browned hazelnuts. “Here they are, Myrddin, if you want them.”
I regarded them and would have reached for them, but something restrained me—a cautious thought: wait, the time for visions is not yet. “Thank you, Blaise,” I told him. “I know you would not have offered them if you thought I was not ready. But this is not my way.”
He nodded and put the hazlenuts back in his pouch. “Never from curiosity,” he said. “No doubt you have chosen wisely, Hawk. I commend you.” He rose. “Shall we go back to the caer now?”
We slept that night in the ruined caer and just before sunrise it rained, a soft pattering of falling drops, tears from a low, sorrow-laden sky. We saddled our horses and rode inland along the Dyvi River toward the druid grove at Garth Greggyn, where we meant to leave Hafgan for a few days to meet with his brother druids.
Along the way, we passed Gwyddno’s salmon weir, or what was left of it, for the nets were long gone. Several of the poles remained, however—blackened nubs in the water. We paused to see the place where all our lives had, in a sense, begun.
No one spoke; it was almost as if we stood before a holy shrine. For the infant Taliesin was fished from this very weir in a sealskin bag. The weir pool made a good ford, and as we crossed the river I could not help thinking of that now-distant morning when an unsuspecting Elphin, desperate for salmon—and a change of fortune—pulled a baby from the water instead.
We crossed the Dyvi and continued on into the rough hills and into an older, wilder land.
4
At Garth Greggyn we camped for two days, and on the third day the druids came. I half-expected the gathering to simply appear—like Otherworld sojoumers in elder times—even though I knew better. The warband waited in the glen below the sacred grove, and were happy to do so since, like most people, they regarded druids in number as a menace to be avoided.
That is a curious thing. Having a bard attached to his court was high prestige for a lord, and certainly every king who could find and keep one enjoyed enormous benefit. Also, the harper’s art was respected above all others, including the warrior’s and smith’s; sorry indeed was the celebration with no druid to sing, and winters were interminable, intolerable without a bard to tell the old tales.
Nevertheless, let three druids gather in a grove and men began to whisper behind their hands and make the sign against evil—as if the same bard that gave wings to their joy in celebration, eased the harsh winter’s passing, and gave authority to their kingmaking somehow became a being to be feared when he joined with his brothers.
But as I have said, men’s hearts remember long after their minds have forgotten. And I do not wonder that men’s hearts still quake to see the brotherhood gathered in the grove, remembering as they do an older time when the golden scythe claimed a life in blood sacrifice to Cernunnos, Forest Lord, or the Mother Goddess. Fear remembers long, I tell you, if not always wisely.
After breaking fast on the third day, Hafgan rose and stood looking at the hilltop grove, then turned to Charis saying, “Lady, will you come with me now?”
I stared; another time Blaise might have questioned the Chief Druid’s invitation, but this seemed to be a time for unprecedented events. He held his peace, and the four of us began the long climb up the slope to the sacred grove.
The grove was a dense stand of ancient oak with a scattering of walnut, ash and holly. The oak and walnut were by far the oldest trees: they had been sturdy, deep-rooted youngsters before the Romans came—planted, some said, by Mathonwy, first bard in the Island of the Mighty.
Deep-shadowed and dark, with an air of imponderable mystery emanating from the thick-corded trunks and twisting limbs, and even the soil itself, the sacred druid grove seemed a world unto itself.
In the center of the grove stood a small stone circle. The moment I set foot in the ring of stones I could feel ancient power, flowing like an invisible river around the hilltop, which was an eddy in the ever-streaming current. The feeling of being surrounded by swirling forces, of being picked up and carried off on the relentless waves of this unseen river, nearly took my breath; I labored to walk upright against it, my flesh tingling with every step.
The others did not feel it in the same way, or if they did gave no indication and said nothing about it. This, of course, was why the hill was chosen in the first place, but still I wondered that Hafgan and Blaise did not appear to notice the power flowing around and over them.
Hafgan took his place on the seat in the center of the circle—nothing more than a slab of stone supported by two other, smaller slabs—there to wait until the others arrived. Blaise inscribed a series of marks on the ground and then stuck a stick upright over them. The sunshadow had not passed another mark on the ground before the first druids appeared. They greeted Hafgan and Blaise, and regarded my mother and me politely but coolly, while exchanging news with the two druids.
By midday all had arrived in the grove and Hafgan, cracking his rowan staff three times against the center stone, declared the gathering assembled. The bards, thirty in all, joined him in the ring, and younger filidh and ovates began making their way around the ring with washing bowls and cups of heather water and pouches of hazelnuts.
I was included in the circle. Charis stood looking on a short distance outside the ring, her face grave and intense, and it came into my mind that perhaps she knew what was about to take place. Had Hafgan told her? Was that why she had been asked to accompany us?
“My brothers,” said Hafgan with staff upraised, “I greet you in the name of the Great Light, whose coming was foretold of old within this sacred ring.” Some of the brotherhood shifted uneasily at these words. Their movement did not go unnoticed, for Hafgan lowered his staff and asked, “You resent my greeting—why?”
No one spoke. “Tell me, for I would know,” said the Chief Druid. His words were a challenge—quiet, gentle, but spoken with an authority that could not be ignored. “Hen Dallpen?”
The man singled out made a slight movement with his hands, as if to show himself blameless. “It seemed to me a strange thing to invoke a foreign god in our most sacred place.” He looked to the others near him for support. “Perhaps there are others among us who think the same way,”
“If so,” said Hafgan flatly, “let them speak now.”
Several others voiced agreement with Hen Dallpen, and more nodded silently, but every man there felt the strain of Hafgan’s challenge. What was he doing?
“How long have we waited for this day, brothers? How long?” His gray eyes swept the faces of those gathered around him. “Too long, it appears, for you have forgotten why we come here at all.”
“Why no, brother, we have not forgotten. We know why we assemble here. But why do you castigate us so unfairly?” It was Hen Dallpen speaking out, more boldly now.
“How so unfairly? Is it not the Chief Druid’s right to instruct those below him?”
“Instruct us then, Wise Brother. We would hear you.” The voice was that of a druid standing beside Blaise.
Hafgan raised his staff and turned his face heavenward, making a low moaning noise in his throat. The strange sound drifted off into the silence of the grove, and Hafgan looked at those around him. “From ancient days we have sought knowledge so that we might learn the truth of all things. Is this not so?”
“It is so,” intoned the assembled druids.
“How should we be slow to grasp the truth when it is proclaimed before us now?”
“We know many truths, Master. Which truth is proclaimed this day?” asked Hen Dallpen.
“The Final Truth, Hen Dallpen,” replied Hafgan gently. “And it is this: the Great Light of the world has ascended his high throne and calls all men to worship in spirit and deed.”
“This Great Light you speak of, Wise Brother, do we know him?”
“We do. It is Jesu, him the Romans call Christus.” There were murmurs. Hafgan’s eyes swept the assembly; many looked away uncomfortably. “Why does his name frighten you?”
“Frighten us?” asked Hen Dallpen. “Surely you are mistaken, Wise Leader. We are not afraid of this foreign man-god. But, neither do we see good reason to worship him here.”
“Or worship him at all!” declared another. “Especially since the priests of this Christus declaim against us, mocking us before our own people, belittling our craft and authority even as they seek to extinguish the Learned Brotherhood.”
“They do not understand, Drem,” offered Blaise gently. “They are ignorant, but that does not change the truth. It is as Hafgan says—the Great Light has come and is being proclaimed among us.”
“Is that why he is here?” The one called Drem turned angrily to me. I saw other dark looks, and understood the reason for the coolness of our reception.
“It is his right to be here,” said Hafgan. “He is the son of the greatest bard to draw breath.”
“Taliesin turned against us! He left the brotherhood to follow this Jesu, and now it seems you would have the rest of us do the same. Are we to abandon old ways to chase after a foreign god simply because Taliesin did so?”
“Not because Taliesin did this, brother,” replied Blaise, restraining his anger, “but because it is right! He who was foremost among us knew the truth of a thing when he saw it. That alone argues for the rightness of it.”
“Well said, Blaise.” Hafgan motioned me to join him in the center of the ring. Blaise nodded encouragement, and I stepped forward hesitantly. Hafgan placed a hand on my shoulder and raised his staff in the air. “Before you stands the one whose coming we have long awaited, the Champion who will lead the warhost against the Darkness. I, Hafgan, Archdruid of the Cor of Garth Greggyn, declare it!”
Silence greeted this pronouncement. Even I questioned the wisdom of such a proclamation, for clearly many of the Learned Brotherhood were unhappily nursing wounds they had received at the hands of the Christian priests, and others were openly skeptical. But the words were out and could not be taken back. I stood there, quaking inside, not from anxiety only, but from the implications of the Archdruid’s words: the Champion…leading the warhost…Darkness…
“He is but a boy,” scoffed Hen Dallpen.
“Would you have him sprung full-grown into life, like Mannawyddan?” demanded the druid beside Blaise. There were a few allies among the Learned Brotherhood at least.
“How do we know he is Taliesin’s son? Who can attest to his birth?” wondered one of the skeptics. “Were you there, Indeg? Were you, Blaise? And you, Wise Leader; were you there? Well?”
“I was.” The voice took everyone by surprise, for by this time they had forgotten my mother stood looking on. “I was there,” she said again, stepping forward. Yes, this was why she had come, not only to see her son proclaimed among the Learned Brotherhood, but to help if things went awry, which, as Hafgan had anticipated, they had.
From now on, Hafgan had said, men will begin to recognize you. That sly fox meant to give it a fair beginning.
“I bore him and watched him born.” My mother stepped into the sacred ring and came to stand beside me. So there I was, Hafgan on one side, my mother on the other, surrounded by unhappy druids, feeling the strange power of the grove flowing around me. It is not surprising, then, that I should be taken out of myself to perform an act I was scarcely aware of, and remember now only in amazement.
The druids stood looking on, unconvinced. “…a child born without breath or life. Taliesin sang life into his still body…,” Charis was saying.
I felt the air shudder around me, pulsing with the power of the grove. The stones in the sacred circle appeared to change from grey to blue as around us thickened a wall of shimmering glass, spun from the intense, charged air; the enmity of the druids toward me, together with my presence, had awakened the sleeping force of the omphalos, the center of power on which the hill had been constructed.
I saw Otherworld beings moving among the circled stones. One of them—tall and fair, his face and clothing shining with a gleaming radiance that danced like sunbeams on water—came toward me and pointed to the Druid Seat where Hafgan had been sitting. I had never seen an Ancient One befor but part of me expected to see him and so I was not surprised. No one else noticed, of course; nor did I give any indication of the wonder taking place around us.
The being pointed to the stone slab which rested at the vortex of the hill’s power. I turned to see the stone—blue now, like the rest of them, and shining faintly. I stepped up onto the stone and heard the druids gasp behind me, for only the Chief Druid may touch the stone—and never with his feet!
But I stood on the stone and it rose up. So highly charged had the vortex become that it lifted the stone, with me on it, straight into the air. From this lofty vantage I began to speak; rather, the Ancient One spoke through me if that is how it was, for the words were not my own.
“Servants of the Truth, stop your whining and listen to me! Indeed you are fortunate among men, for today you witness the fulfillment many have lived and died longing to see.
“Why do you wonder that the wisest among you should greet you in the name of Jesu, who called himself the Way and the Truth? How is it that you, who seek truth in all ways, should be blind to it now?
“Do you believe because you see a floating stone?” I saw that they did not believe, though many were awed and amazed. “Perhaps you will believe if all the stones danced.”
At that moment I actually believed that I could do such a thing, that I had only to clap my hands or shout or make some sign and the stones would shake themselves from the ground to swing in whirling dance through the glistening air.
I believed, and so I clapped my hands and gave a loud shout—it did not sound like my own voice at all, for the shout resounded over the land, echoing in the glens and valleys round about, trembling the stones of the magic ring in the earth.
Then, one after another, the standing stones began to rise.
One by one they pulled themselves from their sockets, like teeth twisting themselves from the jaw that holds them, and they rose trailing dirt to stand in the air. And then, when all were together in the air, those ancient stones began to turn.
Around and around, slowly, slowly at first, but then a little faster, each stone began turning around its own axis as it whirled in the air.
The druids looked on in horror and wonder; some cried out in fright. I thought to myself that it was a handsome sight—those heavy blue stones spinning and wh
irling in the shining air, as in a dream.
Perhaps it was a dream after all. If so, it was a dream we all shared with eyes wide and staring, mouths open in disbelief.
Once, twice, and again the stones whirled through their course. From my place on the Druid Seat, I heard my own voice ringing, high and strange, voicing a song, or laughter—I know not which—to the stones dancing in the air.
I clapped my hands again, and the great stones plummeted instantly to earth. The ground shook beneath them, and the dust rose in a cloud. When it cleared, we saw that some of the stones had fallen back into their socket holes; most, however, simply lay where they dropped. One or another had cracked and shattered, and the ring was broken.
The stone on which I stood had settled back onto its place, and I stepped off. Blaise, his face alight with the wonder of what he had seen, rushed toward me and would have taken hold of me, but Hafgan restrained him, saying, “Do not touch him until the awen has passed.”
Blaise made to step back, caught sight of the Druid Seat, and thrust his finger toward it. “For any inclined to doubt what we have witnessed this day, let this be a sign of the truth of what we have seen.”
I looked where he was pointing and saw the prints of my feet etched deep into the stone of the Druid Seat.
* * *
So the Great Light was proclaimed among the Learned Brotherhood that day. Some believed. Others did not. And although none could deny the power of what they had seen, some chose to attribute the miracle to a different source.
“It is Lleu-sun!” some said. “Mathonwy!” said others; “who else has such power?”
In the end, Hafgan lost his temper. “You call me Wise Leader,” he said bitterly, “but refuse to follow where I lead. Very well, from this day let each man follow who he will. I will not remain Chief of such small-minded and ignorant men!”
With that, he raised his staff in both hands and broke it over his knee, then turned his back and strode from the assembly. The Learned Brotherhood was dissolved.
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