The druids contemplated this and one of them asked, “How is a man fortunate to live in darkness, brother?”
“Why do you wonder?” asked Blaise. “For only he who has lived in darkness truly knows and values the light.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When the feast celebrating merlin’s birth was over, the lords and chiefs departed, taking the news of the infant king’s birth with them back to the remote hills and valleys of Dyfed. Blaise and the other druids lingered a day longer, making ready to return to the southlands where Hafgan waited for the news they would bring.
On the morning they were to leave, Charis came to Blaise and said, “Please, if it is no trouble to you, would you bear a message to my father, King Avallach, at Ynys Witrin?”
“It is the least thing I can do,” replied Blaise. “What would you have me tell him?”
“Tell my father that I have born him an heir. Tell him that I-that we-wish to come home and that we remain here awaiting a sign of his blessing.”
“Lady, I will tell him,” promised Blaise.
Taliesin joined them and they walked out into the courtyard where the others were waiting. “Farewell, Blaise, my brother,” Taliesin said, embracing him warmly. “Greet my father and mother for me. Tell them their grandson thrives and will soon be coming home.”
Charis considered her husband’s words. What did he know?
“You will see your father again,” Taliesin told Charis as the druids departed. “And you will know the pleasure of giving your child into the arms of the one who held you as a child.”
The weeks passed and spring seeped into the land. The soft rains came and the hills grew green again; plants quickened and put out shoots, branches budded, streams swelled and filled their banks to overflowing. Charis gave herself to the nurture of her child and to restoring her own health. She and Taliesin spent long hours together talking, and though she longed to ask him the meaning of what had taken place in Pendaran’s hall the night of the celebration, something prevented her-something about the words he had spoken and the way he had presented their child, like an offering, a sacrifice…
Through gray days of wind and rain, through days of blue skies and sunlight like thick pale butter, Charis waited for word from her father and grew restless waiting. But Taliesin seemed content to wait forever; he continued to sing for Lord Pendaran and in the town as well, so that many of the common folk heard him. And it was whispered about that the Lord of the Red Sword entertained a king and queen of the Fair Folk in his house, and these beings had promised great riches to all in Maridunum and beyond.
Spring hastened toward summer, and Charis ever and again turned her eyes to the road that ran down the hill from the villa, hoping to see a messenger from her father. One day as she was walking Merlin in the courtyard, Henwas came to her. “Lady,” he said, “a man has come looking for you.”
She turned quickly. “From my father?”
Henwas shrugged. “He did not say.”
She hurried from the courtyard to the hall where she met a man wrapped head to foot in a cloak. His back was to her as he stood just inside the door. “I am told you are looking for me,” she said. “You have found me.”
The man turned and her heart sank, for she thought she would know the man, but the messenger was a stranger. “You are called Charis?” he asked.
“I am.”
“I bring this for you.” He reached inside his cloak to a leather pouch and withdrew a black feather.
Staring at the feather, Charis said, “This is all? Nothing more?”
“Nothing else was given me,” replied the man, extending the feather to her.
“King Avallach gave this to you himself?” Charis took the feather.
“The king himself,” confirmed the messenger.
“Who are you?” asked Charis. “I do not know you.”
“There is no reason why you should know me,” said the man. “I come from the east, from Logres, but have traveled much of late. I was two nights at Ynys Witrin and when the king learned that I was traveling north he gave me the feather, saying ‘Give this to my daughter, Charis, who is in Mari-dunum.’ “ He shrugged casually. “I have had business at Caer Gwent and Caer Legionis or I would have come sooner.”
“How was the king when you saw him?”
“I was not with him long, but he received me courteously-although his wound pained him and he was made to lie down the while.”
Charis nodded and spun the feather between her fingers. “Thank you,” she said. “I am grateful for your service and would repay you in some way.”
“I have been paid already,” replied the messenger, inclining his head. “If there is nothing more, I will leave you now.” With that he turned and was quickly gone.
Charis could not understand the meaning of the black feather. When Taliesin returned from riding with Lord Pen-daran and his sons, she told him about the messenger and the token he had given her. “Here it is,” she said, handing the feather to him. “Just as he gave it to me.”
Taliesin grimaced when he saw it and when he raised his eyes, his smile was forced and tight. “You see? Here is the sign you asked for.”
“A black feather?”
“A raven’s feather. It is said among my people that a man knows he must die when he hears a raven croak outside his house on a night without a moon. The raven’s feather is a symbol of mourning.”
Charis shuddered. “How can you say that I asked for this?”
“It may be that Avallach is telling you that he is in mourning. He misses you and mourns your absence. Time and brother Dafyd have done their work; Avallach is reconciled to our marriage. He is sorry and wants you to come back.”
“If that is so, why did he send it with a stranger? Why not with one of our own people?”
“That we will have to ask him when we see him,” replied Taliesin. “A day which is not far off.”
Charis had been so distracted by the feather, the meaning of Taliesin’s words were just reaching her. “Then we can go home?”
“Indeed, we will leave as soon as provisions can be made ready.”
“Tomorrow then!” exclaimed Charis, “We leave tomorrow!” She squeezed his hand and called for Rhuna, and the two began making preparations.
Lord Pendaran appeared sorrowful when Taliesin told him about the message from King Avallach. His smile sagged at the corners and the light dimmed in his eyes. “I have long known this day was coming,” he said, nodding slowly. “But that does not make it easier to bear. I arn sorry to see you go, my friend, though I know you must.”
“That was not your attitude on our first meeting,” Taliesin reminded him.
Pendaran’s smile became grim and he waved the comment aside with his hand. “That was a different Gleddyvrudd, I tell you, than the one you see before you now.”
“I know,” replied Taliesin, clapping a hand to Pendaran’s shoulder, “but it is good to be reminded of the past from time to time lest we become arrogant.”
“Ah, you see? You are my better self, Taliesin, my soul’s true guide.”
“The Light,” said Taliesin. “Look to the Light and serve Him, Lord Pendaran, and He will be to you a better guide than any mortal man.”
Pendaran shook his head sadly. “It is with a heavy heart that I see you go.”
“We are not gone yet.”
“No, but soon enough. Still, I will not let you go until I have your promise that you will come back to stay once more beneath this roof.”
“Let it be so,” agreed Taliesin.
The rest of the day, while Rhuna and Heilyn gathered provisions for the journey, Charis packed their few Belongings. She went about her preparations with a lightness of heart that she had not felt for many months, saying over and over to herself, “I am going home… Home…” And it seemed that the word had suddenly begun to live for her again, after being so long dead.
Now and again she would find herself standing beside the wicker cradle whe
re little Merlin lay. “We are going home, Merlin,” she told him, ruffling his downy-soft hair as he slept, his tiny hand pressed against his cheek, fingers curled tight in a baby fist.
Thoughts of home brought thoughts of her mother, and Charis wished that Briseis would be there to see her child. There was so much she wanted to ask her mother, to share with her, but it could not be. She picked up the sleeping infant and held him close, murmuring softly and thinking about a time long ago when Briseis was still alive and the sun shone fair over lost Atlantis.
Eiddon came to her then and announced that he would go with them. “So you will not lack for company on the way,” he told her, although privately he thought that a second sword and spear would be no bad thing.
By evening they were ready. Charis dined in the hall, sitting next to the king, while Taliesin sang for Pendaran’s household one last time. Early the next morning as they came out into the foreyard to leave they found Eiddon and the youngest of the icing’s sons, Salach, who was leading the packhorse on which had been fixed the hawk’s perch. Three other horses stood ready, and Lord Pendaran was talking to his sons; he turned as Taliesin and Charis, with Merlin wrapped warmly in soft wool and rabbit skins, approached.
“It will be a good day for a journey,” Pendaran said. “You will make a fair distance before nightfall.”
Taliesin saw the empty saddles and said, “We are taking half your stable by the look of it.”
“Nonsense,” said the king. “I would go with you also if I could be spared my duties here. But I send my sons in my stead; and Rhuna has begged the boon of attending her lady and the babe on the journey. I have gladly consented.”
Charis embraced the lord warmly. “Thank you, Lord Pendaran. I would not be my father’s daughter if I did not extend the hospitality of Avallach’s house to you and yours. If ever you come to Ynys Witrin, know that the gates are open to you and a place of honor assured,”
“I have done little enough to warrant it,” Pendaran replied. “But if it means we will see each other again, I accept with gratitude.”
“Farewell, Red Sword,” said Taliesin, gripping Pendaran by the hands. “I will not forget my promise, but I will hold the day of our reunion in my heart.”
The king pulled Taliesin into a rough embrace, pounding him on the back, saying, “Go now, so that day will come all the sooner.”
Henwas and Heilyn appeared with Rhuna and said their good-byes. Rhuna climbed into the saddle, Eiddon called farewell to his father, and they turned the horses and started down the hill toward Maridunum, still dark in the valley beneath a pall of blue-white smoke haze. As they rode through the stone-paved streets people poked their heads out and watched in silence as the riders passed by or murmured knowingly to one another as they stared at the beautiful woman carrying the infant: “The Queen of the Fair Folk! See? And there is the infant king!”
They rode south toward the great Mor Hafren on the Roman road that followed the shoreline to Caer Legionis and Caer Gwent before it turned east to Glevum and the Roman towns of the south all the way to Londiniurn and beyond. Skirting the high heath hills to the north, they passed through the ruins of old Lencarum-once a tight little port town on a sheltered bay, now a gray stone shambles sliding into oblivion-reaching the City of the Legion by sunset of the third day. The tribune there knew Eiddon well and welcomed the travelers to his house which, like many of the officers, he kept in the city outside the walls of the fort.
“There is nothing to worry about,” Tribune Valens told Eiddon confidentially. They were sitting in the small kitchen at a wooden table, a jar of beer between them. “There have been no raiders sighted in the region this spring. And Count Theodosius’ campaign in the north and east has been strikingly successful. Most of the dogs that moved in during the conspiracy have been overrun and sent limping back to their mongrel dens with their tails between their legs.”
Eiddon pulled his chin. “Vigilance could not hurt.”
“I tell you it is like the old days,” insisted Valens. “They are restoring the northern forts, and the southern shore is getting a line of watchtowers so that we cannot be taken by surprise again. The wars in Gaul are going well, and I would not be at all surprised to see troops returning soon. Mark my words, Eiddon Vawr, the legions will be back to full strength in a few years, and I will retire to my farm in the hills and grow fat on my own beef and cheese.”
“May it be as you say,” replied Eiddon, unconvinced.
“But tell me, who are these friends of yours? May Nodens take my eyes if I have ever seen a more beautiful woman.” He leaned forward, grinning. “With her along, I cannot see what you are worried about. Any Saecsen prince worth his salt would pay good gold for a beauty like that, eh?”
Eiddon stiffened.
“You take offense?” asked the tribune innocently.
“Out of friendship, I will not hold that remark against you. If you knew who it was that sheltered under your roof this night, you would never have said such a stupid thing.”
“Enlighten me then, O Soul of Wisdom and Honor. Who sleeps under my roof tonight?”
“Have you never heard of the bard Taliesin?”
“Should I have?”
“He is surely the greatest bard who has ever lived. And Charis is his wife, a princess from Llyonesse, I am told, although she will not speak of it herself. Her father is King Avallach of Ynys Witrin.”
The soldier’s eyes widened. “Indeed! Him I have heard of. How is it that you come to be traveling in such exalted company?”
“They have lived with us at Maridunum this past year and are returning home now.”
“I know nothing of poets and storytellers,” mused Valens, “but if a song and rhyme can capture creatures half so fair as that princess, I will get me a harp and strum it for all I am worth.”
Eiddon laughed. “And drive the cattle from the very hills with your braying!” He shook his head, “I tell you, I have never heard anyone sing as this man sings. With but a word he drove that vile priest from our midst and lifted the curse that had beset my father these many years.”
“How is Red Sword?”
“A changed man. To see him you would not recognize him-and it is Taliesin’s doing.”
“A wonder-worker, is he?”
“I will tell you a wonder,” said Eiddon seriously. “He shamed a hall full of kings to their faces and not one of them lifted a finger against him.”
“I am impressed,” said Valens. “Would he sing for me, do you think?”
“It is late, my friend and we have been traveling all day. I would not care to ask him.”
But even as Eiddon spoke, the first notes from the harp sounded from the next room. They rose and went in quietly to see Taliesin sitting on one side of the fire and Charis opposite him, nursing the baby. Salach, Eiddon’s younger brother, lay wrapped in his cloak at the singer’s feet, and Rhuna sat on the floor beside Charis. Valens’ slave, a young Thracian woman who kept the tribune’s house, was in the corner, her dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. Taliesin glanced at the men as they entered. The two drew up camp chairs of the kind officers used in the field, settling themselves near the hearth to listen.
Taliesin’s voice filled the room with its golden flow, like a rare honeyed nectar from a source rich and deep. In his hands the harp became a magical instrument-the loom of the gods weaving intricate beauty incomprehensible to mortal eyes but singing harmony to the ears. This night he sang about the land of his vision, the realm of peace and light, the Kingdom of Summer. His words called it forth in splendor, and the notes of his song made it live in the minds of his listeners.
Charis had heard him speak of his vision many times before, but now he sang about it and for the first time described the king who would dwell in this most holy realm: a king born to rule not for might or kinship, but for love of justice and the right; a king born to serve truth and honor, to lead his people in humility, and to uphold his land in the name of the Savior God.
The Kingdom of Summer is born tonight, she thought, even as the babe in my arms took flesh and was born. The two are made each for the other; they are one.
She looked down at the babe suckling at her breast. “Do you hear, Merlin?” she whispered softly. “Your destiny calls to you across the years. Listen, my son. This is the night your father sang the world into a new shape. Hear and remember.”
They left early the next morning, turning south toward the great sea inlet along the River Usk. The harbor in the river mouth was crowded with cargo vessels and smaller fishing boats; Eiddon searched among the larger boats for one to ferry them across. “We must wait,” he said when he returned. “There is but one boat that can take us, and it is waiting for cargo to come from Caer Gwent. The steersman will come for us when they are ready to sail. I fear it will be late when we make our landing.”
“Then let us eat something while we wait,” suggested Taliesin, “and rest the horses.”
They dismounted and spread their cloaks on the mounded bank above the timber pier and settled to wait. Salach rode the short distance upriver to the settlement, returning a little while later with wine to add to the bread and cheese they had brought with them, and a fresh-roasted chicken wrapped in a scrap of cloth. “I smelled the chicken,” he explained, slicing it into pieces with his dagger, “and asked the widow to sell it. She was glad of the silver.”
“Well done, Salach!” said Taliesin. “A resourceful companion is welcome on a journey. Ride with me anytime, friend.”
The youth colored under this praise and turned his face, hiding his shy smile. They ate and waited. The sun rose higher in the sky, and low clouds came sliding in from the sea like gray fingers reaching across the land. Soon the sun was gone and a chill wind rippled the water at the shoreline. It was then the steersman appeared. “If you want to come with us, come now,” he called. “We are putting off at once.”
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