To Carry the Horn

by Karen Myers

  “First time in one of these? You’ll get used to it, my boy, I promise you. Wash your hair and rinse off over there, then come on in.”

  George found soap and a straight razor. Careful, he told himself, try not to cut your throat. He bent over a basin, washed his hair in tepid water, and managed a quick shave, not without a few nicks, while peering into a small mirror. He looked around for a way to empty the basin, and the fellow from the pool called out, “Just toss it down that drain over there,” pointing to the corner. George did so and refilled it. This time he took a wet cloth, dabbed it in soap, and used it to wipe off as much of his body as he could reach. Emptying the basin again, he filled it one more time so that he could rinse off the soap.

  At last, he walked to the edge of the bathing pool and stepped in. It took him a moment to get used to the steaming hot water but once he sat down on the built-in bench along the side, it felt wonderful. The soreness from his fall at the jump began to ease.

  “Not bad, eh? Gwyn thinks I come here for the hunting, but it’s really the baths. I’m Eurig ap Gruffudd, from up the valley. Are you that fellow who brought back the pack?”

  “Yes. I’m George Talbot Traherne.”

  “I can’t understand it. Human, aren’t you?”

  “So I thought, but apparently Gwyn has a… connection to my family.”

  “Ah, took on one of the locals, did he? That boy has always been fond of the ladies. Ever since we arrived he’s been improving the native stock, so to speak.”

  George was startled to hear Gwyn referred to as “that boy” but then Eurig did look significantly older.

  “Can you tell me about this place? What’s its name?”

  “You mean the manor here, Gwyn’s court?”

  “Yes, and the village.”

  Eurig stroked his mustaches. “Why, this is Greenway Court or, in the old tongue, Llys y Lon Las.”

  “But that’s the name of a local spot in my world, Thomas, Lord Fairfax’s wilderness hunting lodge.”

  “Is it now? I remember Thomas Fairfax well. Gwyn brought him here once for a visit, oh, must be a couple of hundred years ago now or maybe a bit more. I suppose he liked the name. He stayed a few weeks, hunting every chance he got. He was very pleased with the great hunt, as I recall. Shook Gwyn’s hand stoutly afterward, he did.”

  He pursed his lips in reflection. “There was this one lass, what was her name? Dilys, that’s it. She caught his eye, and no wonder, with her black hair, and dark eyes. She’s gone now, but not before giving him a son. You may have met him, Thomas Kethin?”

  George shrugged. He couldn’t keep track of the names yet.

  “The village is Pantglas, or Greenhollow.”

  Appropriate enough, George thought. Maybe he could find out more.

  He said, “I never thought of, well, the otherworld as part of America. Can you tell me how your kind got here?”

  Eurig settled a bit deeper in the water, like a walrus, clearly pleased to be asked.

  “Certainly I can. Let’s see, where to start… Our own histories go back to the advancing and the passing of the ice, several times; before that we know little. We had the lands mostly to ourselves, for a long time, we and the various small folk, and the old humans, the hunters, and then the new humans moved in alongside our world, following the herds and then planting their crops. The small folk were fascinated and, I’ll admit, so were we, for a while.”

  George was mesmerized. The end of the last ice age, from a fae’s point of view.

  “There are some who hold that the old humans, the ones suited to winter, never truly died out, that they took our blood from the children we gave them and became the new men of today. Others find that a shameful notion and give it no countenance, but I’ve noticed there are sports among the humans that seem like throwbacks to one of my kind.

  “We settled down into territories on the newly freed land as the waters rose and the rivers shifted, and we carved out domains. My folk stayed mostly in the west. Not many are still alive from those foundation times, and most of our kind were born much later, but I myself have met Beli Mawr, Beli the Great, and he saw it all.

  “The more we came to know of humans, the more we withdrew beyond their notice and avoided visiting their world. Gwyn always believed there was something to be learned from them, and he’s visited often. Many think him eccentric, but I, for one, am happy with plumbing, oil lamps, and all the rest. I remember what it was like before, well enough. Besides, we can’t really escape the connection between our worlds entirely. Most of the pleasant little novelties in our fashions come from you, and even our names take on the coloring of the human languages surrounding us as time passes. There are just so many more of you, and you’re so very, very busy all the time,” he said with a snort.

  “We came here, to your new world, not long after Gwyn’s father created him Prince of Annwn. We knew there were lands in the far west but no way-finder had ventured the journey and made it possible before. It was restful here, for a time, like a return to our distant past. Different tribes of your kind were here already, in the human world, and we kept out of each other’s way.”

  He smiled in reminiscence, then pulled himself a bit more upright in the bath.

  “But it didn’t last. Our original local humans had their inevitable little wars, and then your colonists arrived with theirs, and it all became very lively as they sorted it out. We kept mostly to ourselves in our world, peaceably enough.”

  “This killing of Iolo changes everything,” he concluded, subsiding into a brooding silence.

  “What will happen?” George asked.

  “The vultures will descend to see if Gwyn will lose his kingdom. We have many enemies. None of us likes the idea of change.”

  The two of them sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, George pondering the deep history of these people and how shallow his life seemed in comparison.

  “Well, my boy, we’ll not solve this tonight. I must be dressing.” Eurig stepped out of the bath. “I’ll see you again soon.”

  George was shocked by the many scars he carried, like a battered veteran warrior. After Eurig left, he toweled off vigorously, donned his robe, and followed.

  Back to his room, George discovered that it had been invaded in his absence through the open door. Myfanwy had managed to jump to the bed and was lying proudly on the blanket at the foot of it, wagging her stump of a tail. “You little devil. Well, I’m pleased to see you and glad of your company.”

  He closed the door behind him and surveyed his fine borrowed clothing on the wardrobe hangers. He poked through a chest of drawers and found stockings, shirts, neckerchiefs, and gloves. The breeches had a drawstring at the waist, making the fit easy. The stockings came above his knee, and he tied his breeches below the knee, to act as garters. He saw with some surprise as he pulled them on that his boots had been brushed while he was out of the room, restoring much of their gleam. The breeches bloused out over the top of the boots in a most piratical manner.

  He stood up and took down the tunic, slipping it on over the breeches. It fit well enough, coming to mid thigh, with slits up either side almost to the waist for ease of movement. The heavy satin felt smooth over his chest. The tunic had no pockets, but the breeches did, and the slits in the tunic made it easy to reach them.

  He looked around for the sash and saw it on the bed. He reached for it, but Myfanwy, intent on his movements, anticipated him and pounced first. “None of that, my dear,” he admonished, but was enticed into playing tug-of-war with her for a few moments anyway. Then he took the sash and thought about how to arrange it—wrapped all the way around without ends showing, or ends dropping down? He ended up wrapping it around his waist twice, with both ends dangling down for a foot on his right leg.

  Now for the kaftan itself. He lifted the robe off the hanger and slipped it around him, settling it across his shoulders. Everything fit well, with the bottom of the kaftan coming to mid-calf. He strode about the chamber
experimentally to see how it moved and discovered that it flowed back properly as he walked rather than just hanging on him. It was wide enough to meet across his chest though there was no way to fasten it.

  He glanced around the room for a mirror and spotted a small one mounted on a swiveling frame sitting on the chest of drawers, with a comb and a clothes brush next to it. Thank heavens, he thought, and combed his hair which was nearly dry. Then he took the brush to the end of the sash that Myfanwy had beaten him to and removed as much of the evidence as possible. He took a look in the mirror and thought, it’s not half bad. He tilted the mirror in its frame down to catch a glimpse of the rest of him. It’ll do, he thought, always assuming everyone else isn’t in black tie or its equivalent.

  He took his pocket watch from the drawer and ran his thumb across the dragon engraving, then unhooked the compass from the other end of the chain. In lieu of an actual watch pocket or vest buttonhole, he fastened the chain around the drawstring of the breeches and slipped it into his right pocket. The knife Rhys had found him was on top of the chest. He slipped it into his sash on the left, under the top wrap and over the bottom one so that the end of the sheath was visible.

  He thought about his conversation of a few minutes ago. That Eurig fellow seems to be a vassal of Gwyn, part of the local aristocracy. Most of the others I’ll meet tonight will probably be the same, and they’re not all likely to be friendly. I imagine there’ll be both political and social rivalries here tonight, and I’m not going to have a clue about the factions.

  It’ll be like an Edwardian country house party where I’m the only stranger, the only one who doesn’t know the history and the alliances, and that’s going to be damned awkward. Well, it may only go back to the Norman Conquest instead of the last ice age, but my Talbot blood can make itself useful and stiffen my spine for me, if nothing else.

  It’s only for one evening. I can uphold the honor of mere humans for that long.

  CHAPTER 5

  Myfanwy’s yip announced the presence of visitors. George opened his door to a quiet knock and let in both Rhys and Rhian. Rhian wore a simple green gown with a modest bodice and low shoes. She had twisted up her blond hair and teased out a couple of curls. Rhys was dignified by a very dark green frock coat with an ivory waistcoat and loose white breeches. Instead of boots he wore white silk stockings and shoes suitable for dancing.

  Rhian exclaimed over George’s attire and had him walk back and forth to check the effect. “It really needs a turban, don’t you think, Rhys?”

  “Not happening,” George told her. “I don’t see any horsehair wig on Rhys.”

  Rhys shuddered. “That’s one style we didn’t pick up from your examples.”

  He bent over Myfanwy. “I see you’ve adopted our guest.” Looking up at George, “This is very high approval, you know.”

  “I am conscious of the honor she does me,” George said, smiling. “Come along, pup, you don’t want to be trapped here all evening.”

  George bade her out the door and waited for the others, then followed and shut the door behind him. This time Rhys turned right and led him to the front stairs. George sighed: so it was to be a grand entrance.

  He heard the buzz of conversation long before they reached the staircase. They descended and found small groups in the front hall catching up on gossip and politics. George was relieved to see several other men in robes, and noted with satisfaction that his attire was rather more somber than the peacock displays of some of the others. Some of the women were also in oriental-style dress, where the wrapped robes emphasized willowy forms.

  As soon as the crowd caught sight of George the noise diminished, then recovered almost immediately with a polite resumption of conversation. A stately middle-aged woman with dark hair in a yellow silk gown came up to them. Rhian curtsied lightly, and Rhys bowed. “You’re looking well, my lady. Allow me to present to you our kinsman, George Talbot Traherne. George, this is Creiddylad, my foster-father’s sister.”

  George remembered the name from the back stairs conversation earlier. He bowed.

  She greeted him with a token smile on an unreadable face. “Welcome. We’ve been discussing today’s events, as you might imagine, and many are anxious to meet you.” To look me over, you mean, thought George, keeping his face smooth. This was his aunt, three generations ago. It was difficult to balance a terminology that implied distant ancestor with a living, breathing person not much older in appearance than himself.

  As he looked over the crowd it struck him that all of his first impressions of people were going to be unreliable. He was no doubt younger than almost everyone in the room except his two young friends, younger by centuries in most cases, surely. They can probably see right through me. It’ll be hard to keep secrets here.

  As Rhys began to introduce him around, George muttered, “You realize I won’t be able to remember them all.”

  “They won’t expect you to.”

  Gwyn swept up from the left, conversing with Idris Powell as he strode along. He nodded as he passed by and entered the great hall. The crowd turned and began to follow in small groups.

  As George came through the archway in turn he saw that trestle tables and benches had been set up along the two long sides leaving a wide empty space in the middle. Many tables were still stacked unused along the left hand wall beneath the minstrel gallery; clearly this space could accommodate a much larger crowd than tonight’s guests.

  To his right, people began to take their seats at the long table on the raised dais at right angles to the two rows of tables on the hall floor. Rhys and Rhian walked up the steps, bringing George with them.

  All the seats were on one side, with their backs to the wall. Looking out into the room he saw that the seats on the main tables were also on the outer sides. As servants began to bear in platters of food and pitchers of drink, he understood why—they left the inner side free for delivering the food. Serving tables along the outer walls held additional pitchers and trays. Gaps between the long table rows gave them passage space. He leaned toward Rhys quietly and asked, “What happens when there’s a big crowd? Do they occupy both sides of the tables and fill the floors?”

  “Yes, and very awkward it is. Noisier, too.”

  George estimated the dinner party at about fifty guests and noticed that the hum of conversation was indeed relatively quiet and decorous. Centuries of practicing their manners, he thought. I wonder if they have loud party drunks? Perhaps those are weeded out young. People who live together for hundreds of years must have cultivated the art of good manners for friend and foe, else feuds would surely become too deadly. If you can’t get away from your enemies altogether over the years, better to cleverly insult them than to come to blows on every occasion.

  The sound of soft music made him lift his eyes to the minstrel gallery all the way across the hall. It was hard to make out the instruments from here, especially since he could only see the upper bodies of the musicians over the parapet, but he thought he heard viols and soft winds—oboes, perhaps?

  By now, most of the guests had found a seat. George’s eye was caught by Eurig with his drooping mustaches at the head of one of the tables on the main floor. Eurig smiled at him encouragingly. Next to him was a matronly figure who must be his wife. George smiled back.

  About a dozen people sat along the table on the dais. Gwyn held the middle with his sister Creiddylad seated on his left, another woman and man beyond her, and an older woman on the far end. Idris Powell was at his right hand. He’s more important than I realized, George thought, maybe an adviser, or a second-in-command. Gwyn has no wife? Perhaps she’s just absent, or maybe there isn’t one at the moment.

  Rhys was seated next to Idris, then George and Rhian. He turned to his right where Rhian sat silently and smiled at her. “Have I taken your seat?”

  “Oh, no, you’re our guest.”

  “But I’m sorry to be your only dinner companion this evening.”

  “It doesn’t matter.
I like to watch.”

  He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Then do you mind if I ask you all sorts of questions? I want to know more about this place.”

  “I’d be pleased to help.”

  “To start with, who are all these people? Do they live here or are they guests?”

  “Most of the year we’re about a dozen in residence and dine informally with our senior staff. Of course there are often visitors, and when we hunt many of the local families join us. Since most of them live at a little distance, it’s not unusual for them to spend a few days here. Some have small permanent guest lodges on the grounds, and others stay here in the manor. As the harvest is completed, more and more join us for the end of the year.”

  “The year starts in two weeks, yes?”

  “That’s right, on the night of the first day of winter. Some of these here tonight from far away have come for that. In a few days, we’ll be full up to the rafters and some will have overflowed into the village.”

  “Do they come for a new year celebration or for the hunt?”

  “Both, of course. No one misses the hunt, unless they can’t ride at all. I don’t know what will happen now that Iolo’s gone.”

  George glanced down the table. “Does Creiddylad make her home here, like you do?”

  Rhys overheard him and leaned in with alarm on his face, murmuring, “Hssht! That’s a topic for another place and time.”

  My first screwup, George thought.

  Servants appeared and laid out plates and silverware before them. George picked his up to examine it more closely. It looked like ceramic and the material was thin rather than heavy, but it felt like no plate he had ever seen before, and rang almost like metal when he tapped it with a fingernail. The surface was subtly textured, decorated with a horned stag inside a green-leafed border. The only marking on the back was an imprint of an oak leaf.

  It came to him suddenly that his behavior was ill-mannered and he hastily put the plate down, but Gwyn caught his eye and seemed pleased with his obvious admiration. Rhys’s plate was decorated with two crossed swords inside the same border, and Rhian’s had a group of daffodils, but they were clearly all part of the same set. “These are the work of one of our own,” Rhys told him, proudly. “Maybe you’ll have a chance to meet her.”