Gwenllian stood to one side in the shadows. She acknowledged me with a raised eyebrow when I glanced her way, but said nothing. I approached our beautiful Pen-y-Cat, touching the back of my hand to my forehead in the sign of reverence and respect.
«Why do you come here?» Scatha asked simply, beginning the ritual I had come to know well;
I replied, «I come here to request a boon, War Leader.»
She nodded. «What boon would you have, son of mine?»
«I would have the boon of your blessing to go from your hearth.» The words clawed and nearly stuck in my throat.
«Where would you go, my son?» she asked gently, as a true mother might when looking upon her son for the last time.
«I would return to the hearth of my king, War Leader. For I am bound to serve him and swear fealty to him who succors me.»
«If you would live as a warrior in a king's hall and bind your life to a king, you must first bind your heart to those who will serve you.»
«Tell me who they are,» I replied, «and I will do what may be done to bind heart and life to them that serve me.»
At this, Scatha lifted a hand to Gwenllian, who stepped quickly to her side. I saw that she carried a sword in her left hand and a spear in her right. She placed the sword across Scatha's outstretched palms. Turning, Scatha held the sword out to me, saying, «Here is a Son of Earth, whose spirit was kindled in the heat of fire. Do take him, my son, and keep him always at your side.»
With my right hand I reached out and gripped the naked blade and clasped it to my breast, the hilt over my heart. «I do take this one to serve me, Pen-y-Cat.»
The War Leader inclined her head, turned to receive the spear from Gwenllian's band, and said, «Here is a Son of Air, whose spirit was awakened in the darkness of the grove. Do take him, my son, and keep him always at your side.»
With my left hand I reached out and gripped the ashwood ihaft and held it close against me, saying, «I do take this one to serve me, Pen-y-Cat.»
Scatha raised her hands, palms outward, as if in benediction. «Go your way, son of mine. You have the blessing you seek.»
The ceremony was concluded with these words, but I felt the lack of something-I wanted something more. I knelt down and placed my weapons at her bare feet. «Yet I would have one thing more, War Leader.»
At this, Scatha arched an eyebrow in surprise. «Ask what is in your heart, my son.»
«The world is wide, Pen-y-Cat, and those who go from this ~1 place come not again. Yet I ask the boon of your blessing to return to your hearth as to that of a kinsman. For if I have any life after this day, it is because you have given it to me.»
Our wise War Leader smiled at these words. «The world is wide indeed, son of mine. And it is true that those who go from this place come not here again. Yet my hearth is warm and there is room in my hall.» She raised her arms and held them out to me. «Come to me, my son.»
I bent forward and placed my head against her breast. She cradled me in her arms, caressing my cheek, and running her fingers through my hair. «You are my son,» she said softly. «Use the life I have given you wisely, and see that you acquit yourself with honor through all things. If nothing prevents you, return here when you will. You are welcome beneath my roof, my son.» Scatha placed her hands on my shoulders, kissed me and released me.
I took up my weapons and went out. I was Scatha's son now-one of her innumerable brood-with leave to come and go as I would. This pleased me, though I could have wished I did not have to go away at all.
I saw Goewyn again before going out to the ship. The day had turned chill and low gray clouds blew in from the east across the bay. The tide was already flowing, and some of the younger boys were waiting on the shore, eager to sail. They had been throwing shells at the gulls, who shrieked indignantly overhead. Goewyn walked with me upon the strand, clasping my hand tightly. I told her I would return, but made no vow of it-we both knew better than to pledge vows we could not keep.
When the time came, I waded out to the ship, climbed aboard, and took my place at the bow to gaze my last upon Ynys Sci. Goewyn stood in the water, her yellow mantle bunched in her fists while the restless surf surged around the hem of her heather-hued cloak. The lowering sun flared briefly above the ridge, flooding the strand with red-gold light. The seawash turned all green and gold and seething, like molten bronze, its scattered radiance reflected in the shadowed hollGws of Goewyn's face.
As the last passengers clambered over the low side and the ship moved slowly into deeper water, Goewyn raised her hand in farewell. I waved back, whereupon she turned and hurried across the strand to the path leading up to the caer. I watched her as she climbed the hill path; and, as she reached the top, I thought I saw her pause and cast a last look over her shoulder.
Chapter 20
The Gorsedd of Bards
Mist and darkness stole Scatha's island from my view. Then, and only then, did Tegid reveal to me the reason for his coming to claim me a season early. He came to me where I stood alone at the prow. Our horses were tethered to the center picket behind us, and the other passengers and baggage were behind the horses around the mast. They had lit a fire on the ship's open grate and were cooking fish and talking loudly; no one was paying any heed to us. We could speak openly without fear of being overheard.
He began by apologizing. «I am sorry, my friend. If I had my way in the matter, I would have granted you a year and a day to take leave of your beloved island.»
I could not tell if he were mocking me or not. «I do not blame you, Tegid,» I said. «It was not to be. We will speak of it no more.»
«Yet I would not have come without good reason.» He turned from me to gaze out at the darkling sea, as if into a pit of despair.
I waited for him to say, more, but a gloomy silence stretched between us. Finally, I said, «Well, am Ito know this reason? Or are you to go on muttering in veiled hints all the way to Sycharth.»
Without taking his eyes from the sea, he confided, «We do not go to Sycharth.»
«No? Where then?» It was all the same to me; I would be miserable wherever I was.
«The Day of Strife is at hand,» he replied by way of answer. «We go to see what may be done.»
This sounded far more doleful and mysterious than I was prepared to accept. I tried to make light of it. «What? Do not tell me that King Meldryn Mawr's mead vats have run dry!» I gasped in feigned horror.
«Well,» he allowed, cheering slightly, «it is not as bad as that, perhaps.»
«What then, brother? Speak plainly or I must think the worst.»
«In three days' time this ship will pass Ynys Ocr and we will be put ashore,» he told me, speaking quietly, earnestly. «We will ride across the island to the western side and take a boat across the strait to Ynys Bаinail, where we will join the gorsedd of bards. Ollathir has summoned the Derwyddi of Albion to a gathering on the Isle of the White Rock.»
«This gathering of bards,» I said, «am Ito know the reason for it?»
«I have told you all that was given me. I cannot say more.»
«I do not understand, Tegid. I am no bard. Why am Ito be included?»
«You are to be included because Meidryn Mawr and Ollathir wish it to be so. I can tell you nothing more,» Tegid replied. But he said it in a way that gave me to understand that he did indeed know more, but that if I wanted to hear more it was my duty to pull it out of him. I had occasionally encountered this same reluctance in others. It seemed that the more delicate the situation, the less straightforward the talk. The purpose, as far as I could tell, was to protect the speaker from the blame of speaking out of turn. Also, being a bard, Tegid was no doubt under some kind of prohibition or taboo against revealing privileged information about affairs at court. But he clearly wanted me to try.
«How is Meldryn Mawr?» I asked. «Is he well?»
«The king is well,» replied Tegid. «He is eager to see what manner of warrior you have become.»
«If I remember c
orrectly, Meidryn Mawr has no lack of warriors. Certainly, he can have no thought for me.»
«Oh, but you are wrong. A king can never have too many warriors-just as a man can never have too many friends.»
I knew how this game of cat-and-mouse was played, and it could go on for days. But I did not mind; we had a long sea journey ahead of us, and I had nothing better to do than unravel Tegid's riddle.
«A friendless man is worse than a homeless dog,» I observed, quoting a local expression. «But Meidryn Mawr is a very great king, I am told. Were the stars in the sky twice as many, the friends of Meidryn Mawr would still outnumber them.»
«Once, that could be said,» sighed Tegid in exaggerated unhappiness. «Not now.»
So, Good King Meldryn was unhappy because he had fallen out with some of his friends. Because of this, somehow, he bad sent Tegid to fetch me a season or two early. Very well. I decided to leave that trail for the moment and try another. «Great is my distress to hear it,» I said. «Still, it will be good to see the king again-and Ollathir. I have often thought of him.» It was a slight overstatement, seeing that I'd never exchanged a word with the man.
«Oh, yes,» allowed Tegid. «The Chief Bard remembers you with particular fondness.» Even in the dusk I could see the corners of his mouth twitching. He was enjoying the way I played the game. «Of course, I would not expect too rich a welcome. Like the king, he has much to trouble him of late.»
What could be troubling the king and his chief bard? I took a wild guess. «At least,» I ventured, «Prince Meldron is an able leader. A man's Sons can be a comfort to him in times of trouble.»
Tegid nodded slowly, as if willing me to understand. «This is true. Would that Meidryn Mawr had more sons.»
«Does he not?» I admitted surprise.
«Alas, no. Queen Merian was a most noble woman-a match for Meidryn Mawr in every way. It was joy itself to see them riding out in the morning. The queen loved to ride, so the king kept the finest horses. He obtained one for her from Tir Aflan across the sea-a magnificent animal, which he gave to his wife as a gift. The day she first rode that horse, that was the day of her death. The spirited beast threw her on stony ground. Queen Merian struck her head and died.» He concluded his unhappy account: «The king vowed never to take another queen.»
This only deepened the mystery, I thought. Sad though it undoubtedly was, what did it have to do with me? The answer seemed to dance around the person of Prince Meidron, though I could not imagine how.
«That is a very grave tragedy indeed,» I remarked. «But at least the king was not without a son.»
«That is so.» Tegid's terse agreement was more condemning than an outright rejection.
So, there was trouble in Meidryn Mawr's court and Prince Meldron was somehow mixed up in it. Now what? I thought for a moment, but nothing more came to mind. «We are fortunate,» I observed, slogging on. «The concerns of court are no concern of ours. I would not want to be king.»
«Perhaps we are not so fortunate as you believe,» Tegid said, ominously. «Soon the concerns of kings will be the concern of all.» So saying, the moody Brehon slipped once more into his gray despondence. He moved away into the shadows, and I was left to puzzle over his parting words. But I was no longer interested in his puzzles. The implied foreboding had soured me to the intrigue. I tired of the game. If he wanted to tell me something outright, well and good. If not, I was willing to put it out of my mind.
Two days of mist and rain made the voyage miserable, but on the morning of the third day, as the ship passed through the narrows between the mainland and Ynys Ocr of the barren, looming hills, the clouds parted and the sun dazzled our eyes. Tegid and I disembarked on a rockbound strand. We led our horses to the inland track before mounting them. When I looked back, the ship was already putting out to sea once more.
The Isle of Ocr is dominated by high black crags and deep-seamed glens with fast-running streams. It is a place of wild sheep and eagles, red deer, heather, gorse, and little else. The few hardy folk who live there shelter in the steep-sided glens, or on the flat land above one of the innumerable coves on the eastern side of the island.
The day stayed fair, so we made good speed, reaching the furthest western shore as the sun disappeared below the sea rim. In a sheltered cove of rock and sand we found many horses picketed outside a white stone hut, and several Mabinogi tending their masters' mounts. The boat Tegid expected was gone. Although, if we had been so inclined, we might easily have swum across to the small island which was our destination: Bаinail-the name means White Rock, and it was well-named. Except for the sparse green sea grass along the shore, the island seemed little more than a heap of chalky white stone tossed up from the seabed.
Why the bards should choose this place above all others for their gathering was a mystery to me. I could see nothing to recommend it, and much against it. But then, I was no bard. I asked him, as we stood looking across the narrow strait to the island, and Tegid explained it this way-simply, if obscurely: «Ynys Bвinail is the sacred center of Albion.»
That the small rock of an island was in no way central-and was not even properly attached-to Albion apparently made little difference.
«Shall I see if I can find a boat?» I asked, looking around the rock-tumbled cove.
«We have come too late. The crossing must be made by daylight,» Tegid explained.
Flipping a hand to the sky, glowing orange and pink in the full flush of sunset, I protested, «But the sky is not yet dark. We can easily reach the other side.»
I might have saved my breath. «The boat will return for us in the morning. We will spend this night here on the shore.»
Probably, it was just as well. I was tired from a long day's ride and, with the approach of night, the air was growing chill. I wanted nothing more than to wrap myself in my cloak before the fire with a bowl of broth in my belly. Indeed, we fared better than that. The Mabinogi were well supplied with mutton, bread, ale, and apples. And they had been instructed to care for those who, like Tegid and myself, were making way to the gathering.
They banked the fire high. We enjoyed a good night's sleep. And at dawn, as Tegid had said, a boat came for us.
The sea-mist lay upon the still water, hiding the island I had seen the night before. The boat glided without sound or effort out of the fog, bearing a lone oarsman-a Gwyddon whom Tegid knew. They exchanged greetings while I settled myself in the center of the craft, my spear across my knees. The Gwyddon saw me and said, «No weapon is permitted on the sacred island. You must leave them here.»
I hesitated, remembering my warrior's promise to Scatha. Tegid mistook my reluctance and sought to reassure me. «Please, haveno fear,» he said. «Nothing evil will befall us there, and your presence is required.» He signalled to one of the young men staying behind, and I reluctantly gave over my sword and spear to the Mabinog's care. Tegid, his oaken staff in his hand, climbed in before me at the prow, and the oarsman took up his long oar at the stern. The Mabinog pushed us off the shingle, watched us away, and hastened back to the fire.
Once in deeper water, the Gwyddon turned the boat and propelled us across the water. The fog closed around us, cloudlike, thick as wool. It seemed to me that as the world passed from our sight it ceased to exist. I felt the uncanny sensation of traveling, not in distance, but through time-to another day, another age. With the slow dip and swish of the oar, the boat proceeded into a dim, mist-shrouded past, or a future veiled from view. The sensation made me dizzy, and I gripped the wooden sides of the boat with both hands.
Halfway across the narrow strait, the boat emerged from the sea-mist. I saw the Isle of the White Rock before us, and, turning my head to look behind, saw only the fog bank rising like a solid wall from the gray-green sea. Nothing of the former world remained.
The boat seemed to take speed, shedding the last wisps of fog. A short time later, the prow touched the fine white sand of Ynys Bвinail. Tegid leaped out of the boat, pulled it onto the sand, and beached it alongs
ide a few other vessels there. I climbed out of the boat to stand in water to my knees. To my surprise, the water was warm, palest blue, and crystal clear.
I splashed my way to where Tegid waited at the water's edge. I made to step ashore, but he stopped me. «This is a sacred place and you are not a bard. If it were not for Ollathir, you would not be allowed even this far. Do you understand?»
I nodded. Tegid, more solemn and serious than I had ever known him, took me by the arm and cautioned me tersely. «Do only what you see me do. Speak no word aloud while you are on this island.»
I nodded again, and Tegid jerked his chin down sharply, ending my instruction. Then he turned and fell into step behind our oarsman, who was striding up the beach. I stepped onto the strand, walked a few paces and almost fell flat on my face-overcome by the weird and fantastic sensation that I could not touch the ground. That, or the ground beneath my feet was not solid, but fluid, like water or cloud. Alongside this, I had the bizarre sensation of growing very rapidly, expanding, towering above the landscape; it felt as if my head scraped the sky. The hair on my scalp and arms tingled, and my skin turned to gooseflesh. I could not move for fear of falling, certain that I would not be able to stand on the infirm ground, that it would no longer support me.
Seeing that I had become stranded, Tegid turned and hastened back to me. He placed three fingers on my forehead and uttered a word I did not understand. Instantly, the immobilizing sensation left me and I crossed the beach without difficulty. We very quickly reached a sheep-trail above the beach and followed it into the interior of the small island, towards the huge rock-stack of a hill which dominated the center of the islet, and from which it derived its name.
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