With formal words of welcome they stepped forward and presented each guest with a gift. Charis was dismayed to see that, except for a few infants in the arms of their nurses, Seithenin's offspring appeared much older than she, and most of them were boys. She frowned and looked to her mother. "There is no one for me!" she whispered tersely.
Her mother smiled as she accepted a gift from a woman wearing a dazzling orange tunic with a long vest of bright red and a necklace of red coral. "Be patient," Briseis said, and turned her attention to the gift and its bearer.
Charis lowered her eyes and shuffled her feet. She was kicking at the flagstones when she noticed a pair of small brown feet encased in blue leather sandals. A small girl half her age stood before her, arms outstretched, holding a tiny gift wrapped awkwardly in a scrap of wrinkled yellow silk.
Charis accepted the gift politely but without enthusiasm. The girl smiled, revealing a gap where she had lost a tooth. "I'm Liban," she said. "What's your name?"
"Charis."
"Open your gift, Charith," the girl lisped, nodding toward the parcel in Charis' hands.
Charis untied the silk and out tumbled a bracelet made of bits of angular polished jade inexpertly strung on colored thread. "Thank you," said Charis glumly, turning the thing over in her hand. She looked around at the extravagant gifts the others were receiving, boots and sandals of fine leather, silver rings and armbands, a gold dagger with a winking sapphire in its handle for Avallach, horn bows and quivers of arrows for the princes, an amphora of olives in oil for Annubi, a lacquer box inset with pearls and containing three crystal vials of expensive perfume for Briseis.
She looked once more at her own gift, a cheap jade bracelet of the kind one could find among any street vendor's wares. Her obvious disappointment went unnoticed by her benefactress, however. "I made it mythelf," said Liban proudly, "ethpethially for you."
"I am pleased to accept it," replied Charis. "How did you know I would be coming?"
"My mother told me. Go ahead, put it on." Liban stepped close and took the bracelet. Charis extended her hand, and the girl slipped it onto her wrist. "Ith a little big," Liban observed, "but you will grow. What number are you?"
"Number?"
"Which printheth, I mean. I am number five. I have four sisthers, but they are older—ten brothers. Three are juth babies, though."
Charis smiled; despite their differences in age, she found herself liking Liban. "I suppose I am number one then, because I am the only princess."
"The only one?" Liban shook her head in wonder. "That muth be very lonely."
"Yes, sometimes," Charis admitted.
"Do you want to thee my room?"
"Well—" began Charis uncertainly, looking around. The room was filled with people, but no one seemed to be interested in her except Liban. "All right, I would like to see it."
"You can thtay with me if you want to," said Liban as they started off. "We can have a bed moved in. There ith plenty of room."
They left the reception, striking off down a wide corridor of polished green marble. Liban chattered happily, tugging Charis along as if she was afraid of losing her. Charis fingered her clumsy bracelet and it occurred to her that no one had ever made her a gift before—that is, a gift made especially for her and no one else.
* * *
After his guests had rested and refreshed themselves, Seithenin sent seneschals to invite Avallach's company to join him on the meadow. Avallach accepted and all were conducted to a pavilioned plain within the outer walls, a meadow now festooned with banners and lanterns strung from pole to pole. Huge iron braziers filled with hot coals were situated in the center of the meadow, and over these whole oxen and hogs turned slowly on spits while master cooks basted the meat with swabs of herbed butter from a wooden tub.
In the center of the inner circle of tents stood a riser with several dozen seats overlooking a roped-off field. As the carriages rolled to a stop at the edge of the meadow, a group of young people wearing garlands and colored ribbons came running to meet them. They were led by Liban and carried armfuls of flowers which they bestowed upon the passengers in the royal carriages. Charis accepted a large bouquet from the smiling girl, and then the young people raced off to begin forming circles on the field.
Liban tugged on Charis' hand, but Charis pulled back.
"Oh, go with them," the queen said, nudging her daughter and taking the bouquet. "You have done nothing but ride in a carriage for days."
Charis accepted Liban's hand and together they joined the dancers. A boy removed his crown of ribbons and placed it on the princess' head; hand drums beat time, flutes and lyre broke into a lively melody and they all began to dance.
Avallach dismounted and handed Briseis down from her carriage to be formally greeted by an official delegation of Coranian nobles. Annubi and others of rank in the Sarrasan procession were included, and all moved off to the nearest pavilion where sweetened wine was poured into golden rhytons from amphorae sunk deep all day in a spring-fed pool.
The four princes, still sitting in their saddles, saw nothing to pique their interest until some of Seithenin's older sons appeared with bows and targets. The princes clambered down from their mounts to join their new friends, all of them eager to demonstrate their skill at archery.
As Bel's red-gold disk sank toward the rim of the western horizon, the travelers and their hosts took their places in the stands. Musicians with pipe and tabor, lyre and horn began to play, while Coranians dressed in colorful costumes presented tableaux of early history: Atlas wrestling with the demiurge Calyps for the new-made land; Poseidon carving the trident into the slopes of the sacred mountain while his wife, Gaia, slays Set, the dragon who has invaded the nursery to devour the infant, Antaeus; Deucalion and Pyrrha emerging from the waterlogged chest after the deluge and raising an altar to Bel.
Charis thought each one better than the last and would have watched the whole night if it had not grown too dark to see. With the coming of night the lanterns were lit, transforming the field into a green velvet sea awash in the soft glow of three hundred golden moonlike orbs. The guests were conducted to the tables which had been prepared and when all were seated the food was brought forth. The long tables sagged beneath the weight of steaming platters piled high with food: great joints of roast meat sliced into slabs, whole nets of fish, each one wrapped in grape leaves and steamed with lemon slices, mounds of fresh-baked breads, baskets of sweet fruit from the far southwest, stewed vegetables in bubbling caldrons, tart-resinated wine.
Avallach and his family were given seats of honor, surrounded by Coranian nobles and worthies. After a very long series of ritual toasts, the meal began. Charis sat between Guistan, the youngest of Avallach's line, and a tall, gawky boy who was the son of a Coranian patriarch. The boy leaned over her constantly in order to talk to Guistan about hound racing, which apparently was the only diversion available to the youth of Corania.
"I have four hounds myself," said the boy, whose name Charis promptly forgot. "Someday I will race them and they will win. They are very fast."
"If they are really fast, you must race them at the Royal Oval in Poseidonis. Only the fastest may race there."
"They are fast," insisted the boy, "faster than any in the Nine Kingdoms. One day I will race them in Poseidonis."
"I prefer horse racing," sniffed Guistan importantly.
Not to be outdone, the youngster said, "My uncle races horses. He was won wreaths and chains at every important race."
"What is his name?" inquired Guistan around a mouthful of food.
"Caister; he is very famous."
"I have never heard of him," replied Guistan.
The boy huffed and turned away. Charis felt sorry for him, having been baited and bested by Guistan. She gave her brother a jab in the ribs with her elbow. "Ow!" he cried. "What was that for?"
"He was only trying to be friendly. You could be polite," she whispered.
"I was being polite!" Guistan hissed ang
rily. "Did I laugh in his face?"
The feast continued, Guistan's bad manners notwithstanding, and the night stretched on with more eating and laughter and dancing. Charis ate until she could not hold another morsel, and then joined the dance with some other young people. They assembled beneath the lanterns and formed a serpentine to weave among the lantern poles and pavilions.
The dancers chanted as they wound through the feast site, lifting their voices as the serpentine moved faster and faster, until they could no longer hold on and tumbled over one another to fall sprawling to the grass. Charis laughed as she lay on the ground, lanterns and stars spinning dizzily above her.
She closed her eyes and panted to regain her breath. The laughter in the air died. She sat up. Others were standing motionless nearby, staring into the darkness. Charis climbed to her feet.
A looming, dark shape waited just beyond the periphery of the light. As Charis watched, the shape moved, advanced slowly toward them. The silent dancers backed away. The mysterious shape drew closer to the light and the mass of darkness resolved itself into the arms and legs, head and torso of a man.
He did not advance further but stood just at the edge of the light, looking at them. From a place just a little above his shoulder Charis saw a cold glimmer of yellow light, a frozen shimmer, like the wink of a cat's eye in the dark.
Charis felt an icy sensation of recognition. She knew who stood there watching them. The stranger made no further move toward them, but Charis could feel his unseen stare. Then he turned and walked away as silently as he had come.
Some of the older boys snickered and called after him— rude taunts and insults—but the man had vanished in the darkness. The others quickly formed another serpentine, but Charis did not feel like dancing anymore and returned to her place at the table, where she sat for the remainder of the evening despite Liban's repeated urging to join in the fun.
* * *
The moon had long ago risen and now rode a balmy night breeze, spilling its silver light over the land. When the guests had had enough of food and celebration, the carriages were summoned and people began making their way back to the palace.
Charis, half-asleep, was bundled into the royal carriage where she curled into a corner and closed her eyes.
"Look!"
The voice was sharp in her ears; Charis stirred.
"There…another!" someone else said.
Charis opened her eyes and raised her head. All around her people were peering into the heavens; so Charis too raised her eyes to the night-dark sky. The heavens glimmered with the light of so many stars that it seemed as if a tremendous celestial fire burned in the firmament of the gods, shining through myriads of tiny chips in the skybowl.
As she watched, keen-eyed in the darkness, a star slashed across the heavens to plunge into the sea beyond the palace. Instantly another fell, and another. She turned to her mother and was about to speak when she saw a light flash on her mother's face and all cried out at once.
Charis glanced back and saw the sky flamed in a brilliant blaze, hundreds of stars plummeting to earth, arcing through the night like a glittering fall of fire from on high. Down and down they came, striking through the night like burning brands thrown into dark Oceanus.
"Will it ever stop?" wondered Charis, her eyes bright with the light of falling stars. "Oh, look at them, Mother! All the stars of heaven must be falling! It is a sign."
"A sign," murmured Briseis. "Yes, a very great sign."
As suddenly as it began, the starshower was over. An unnatural stillness settled over the land—as if the whole world waited to see what would happen next. But nothing did happen. Mute spectators turned to one another as if to say, Did you see it too? Did it really happen or did I imagine it?
Slowly the nightsounds crept into the air again, and the people started back to the palace once more. But the queen stood gazing at the sky for a long time before taking her place in the carriage with others in the party. Charis shivered and rubbed her arms with her hands, feeling the breath of a chill touch her bones.
The carriages rolled over the starlit meadow to Seithenin's palace. When they arrived, guests alighted and filed slowly into the hall, many talking in hushed but animated tones about what they had seen. Briseis turned to see Annubi standing alone, gazing into the sky. "I will join you in a moment," she told the others and returned to where he stood. "What did you see, Annubi?" she asked when they were alone together.
The seer lowered his eyes to look at her and she saw sadness veil his vision like a mist in his eyes. "I saw stars fall from the sky on a cloudless night. I saw fire rake the furrows of Oceanus' waves."
"Do not speak to me in Mage's riddles," said Briseis softly. "Tell me plainly, what did you see?"
"My queen," replied Annubi, "I am no Mage or I would see more plainly. As it is, I see only what is permitted me, no more."
"Annubi," Briseis chided gently, "I know better. Tell me what you saw."
He turned to stare at the sky once more. "I saw the light of life extinguished in the deep."
The queen thought about this for a moment and then asked, "Whose life?"
"Whose indeed?" He gazed into the star-filled night. "I cannot say."
"But surely—"
"You asked what I saw," Annubi snapped, "and I have told you." He turned brusquely and started away. "More I cannot say."
Briseis watched him go and then rejoined the others inside.
Annubi walked the terraced gardens alone, lost to the world of the senses as his feet wandered the shadowy pathways of the future which had been so fleetingly revealed in the glittering light of the starfall.
EIGHT
ELPHIN AND HIS COMPANIONS FORDED THE RIVER AND FOLlowed the wooded track along the southern bank, until they came at last to the gently sloping headland which overlooked the Aberdyvi, and upon whose flat crown lay the hillfort of Elphin's father. They passed pens with ruddy pigs and dun-colored cattle that lifted their heads to watch them as they climbed the rock-strewn track past thatch-and-twig outbuildings to the ditch-encircled caer.
In Caer Dyvi the riders were greeted with the tight-lipped stares of the clansmen, none of whom appeared especially glad to see Elphin or were greatly cheered by the sight of two strange women with him or their meager flock of bleating sheep.
Nevertheless, by the time the riders reached the large dwelling in the center of the caer, they had attracted a sizable following of curious kinsmen. Gwyddno emerged from the house with Medhir, who carried the babe Taliesin in her arms. "Greetings, Elphin!" called Gwyddno. "You have returned successful, I see."
"More than successful, Father," answered Elphin. "I went in search of a nurse and have returned with a wife." He slid from the saddle and helped Rhonwyn dismount to the murmured surprise of the onlookers.
"A wife!" cried Medhir. "Is this so?"
"It is," answered Eithne. Medhir saw her kinswoman climbing down from the red mare.
"Eithne!" Medhir, cradling the infant, ran to her cousin. "The sight of you warms my heart. Welcome!"
The two women embraced, and Eithne looked down at the sleeping child. "This must be the babe Elphin has found."
"The same, to be sure." Medhir lifted the infant's wraps so Eithne could see.
"Oh, such a beautiful, beautiful child! Elphin said the little one was comely, but he did not say it was this fair. Why, if there is an equal I have never seen it."
"The same might be said for your daughter," replied Medhir, gazing with approval at the young woman beside her son. "Little Rhonwyn, it is this long since I have seen you. Ah, but the girl is a woman now—look at you, all grown, and a beauty." She embraced the blushing Rhonwyn while Elphin stood beaming. "Welcome to you."
Taliesin stirred and cried out. Medhir handed the infant to Rhonwyn, saying, "It is all one can do to keep the child fed. He is hungry all the time."
Rhonwyn parted the coverlet and gazed at the infant. Surprised by the sunlight, the babe stopped crying and, seeing the
face above him, gurgled softly and smiled. "Look at that!" said Gwyddno. "She has but to hold the babe and he quiets. That is a mother's own touch."
"He is beautiful," said Rhonwyn, who had not taken her eyes from the child.
"But what of this marriage?" asked Gwyddno, regarding his son happily. "This is unexpected."
Glancing at the gathered clansmen, Elphin replied, "Let us go inside and refresh ourselves and I will tell you all that has happened since I left."
Gwyddno ordered two men to unload the horses and they all entered the house, leaving their audience agape but with fresh fodder for gossip. Once inside, Taliesin began crying again; so Rhonwyn took him to a corner pallet and, letting down the side of her tunic, began to suckle him while the two older women bustled about preparing food. Elphin regarded the scene with favor and began to relate what had transpired on his trip to Diganhwy.
They ate while Elphin talked, and when he finished Gwyddno asked, "What was Lord Killydd's disposition?"
"He was well disposed to the marriage. In fact, he agreed most heartily when I offered him Eithne's house. He is getting old and wishes no trouble between our clans. He says there is enough trouble already from the Cruithni in the North."
Gwyddno considered this. "Well said. I, too, am concerned. The Cruithni become bolder with each passing season. They wait only for an opportunity to strike in force."
"That they dare not as long as the garrison remains in Caer Seiont."
"Ah, there is an uneasy peace. Better to have them there than here, I say. It is a shame we have to have them at all." He reflected for a moment and said, "Still, they are stout fighting men and never shrink from a battle. Was there any news?"
"Little enough. It was a quiet winter for them, as for us. He said the tribune came once to talk about sending men to help protect the Wall. Killydd declined, telling him that he needed his men for planting in the spring. He gave them horses instead."
Gwyddno nodded. Save for his yearly taxes, which he always delivered in person so the magistrates would not forget for a moment who it was that paid, Gwyddno kept his direct dealings with the Romans to a minimum and considered himself fortunate. Although many lords, like Killydd, traded with them—and more than a few battlechiefs fought alongside them for silver—Gwyddno liked them best at a distance. Somehow, where the shrewd and swarthy Romans were concerned, one always came out the poorer for the bargain.
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