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.
It seemed to Charis as she listened that all Taliesin had ever thought or said about his imaginary realm was coming together in his song, ideas coalescing into solid sounds, words taking shape with utterance, flesh gathering onto the bones of philosophy.
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."
Gathering their things, they followed him along the pier to the ship riding low in the water. "Get you aboard," called the ship's owner, standing at the rail. "We are losing the weather!"
While the horses were secured to a line in the center of the deck, Charis found a place for herself and the child beneath a canvas canopy at the stern of the ship just below the steersman's platform. She gathered her fur-lined cloak around her and held the baby close. Rhuna sat facing her, sheltering both Charis and the baby from the wind with her body. A few moments later the ship swayed away from the pier and nosed out into the current.
Not long after the ship reached open water, a freshening wind swept in, driving a low, murky fog before it. Soon the boat was bound in a heavy, wet mist that beaded up on their cloaks and hair, seeping slowly into the folds of their clothing. The ship's owner, bellowing oaths to a dozen different gods and cursing the steersman in the same breath, ran from one side of the deck to the other, peering helplessly into the soup-thick mess, vainly trying to see a few inches further into the gloom.
The crossing was damp but uneventful, and they were put to shore at a small wharf downriver from the settlement of Abonae on the Aquae Sulis road. This was far north of the place they had hoped to land, but the owner could not be persuaded to take them further south, claiming that low tide would make another landing impossible. No sooner had the travelers stepped onto the wharf than the ship was being poled back out again.
"Perhaps it is just as well," said Eiddon as they remounted. "This way we have the road, and with a little luck we might reach Aquae Sulis before nightfall."
"I would welcome a dry bed tonight," said Taliesin, helping Charis into her saddle. He noted her vacant expression. "Are you well, my love?"
Charis started and came to herself. "I have been dreaming," she replied, shaking her head. "It is the fog and mist."
"We could rest a while," put in Eiddon.
"No," she said, forcing a smile. "I am only a little sleepy. It is nothing. It will pass."
"I will take the baby, my lady, if you please," offered Rhuna. Charis handed her the child and they continued on, falling into single file. Although Charis fought to remain alert, she soon drifted into the same heavy, drowsy reverie—a waking sleep wherein her mind drifted lazily like a full-laden boat in a sullen, turgid stream. Her eyes closed even as the dull, gray mist closed around her.
It seemed like only a moment passed, but when she opened her eyes once more the mist had darkened and deepened. The road was wet and silent, the only sound heavy drops falling from the branches of trees and the thicket hedge that formed an impenetrable wall along the roadside. The instant she raised her head, Charis sensed danger.
The silence felt unnatural. She looked around quickly. Rhuna rode just behind her, followed by Taliesin. A little way ahead Eiddon, shoulders straight and head cocked to one side, listened, his hand on the sword at his belt. Ahead of Eiddon, Salach, spear in hand, was just barely discernible as a gray and ghostly shape in the mist.
"What is it?" she asked. Her voice was instantly muffled and lost in the dead still air.
Up ahead she saw Salach stop and stretch tall in the saddle. Eiddon rode to him and the two put their heads together. Then Eiddon wheeled his horse around and came toward her. She saw his face taut in the gloom. His sword was in his hand.
Merlin! Where was her baby? She whirled in the saddle to look behind.
In the same instant she heard a strange and frightening sound, like the whirring buzz of an angry wasp or the thin feathered shriek of an eagle's pinions slicing the air. It was cut off by a dull, thudding chunk.
Eiddon's horse swept past her as Rhuna came alongside. "Give Merlin to me!" she whispered tersely.
As the girl unwrapped the child from the warmth of her cloak, Taliesin's horse came apace. Charis turned to ask what was happening but the words stuck in her throat.
She reached out to him.
Then she saw it—the arrow buried deep in his chest.
His head was toward her, but his eyes were fixed on something far in the distance, his face alight with the vision: the Kingdom of Summer. It was only the briefest of moments and then the light flickered and died. Taliesin slumped forward, the reins still in his hands.
The scream that tore the deep-wooded silence was her own. The motions around her were confused; shapes tumbled from the fog and somehow she was on the ground, bending over Taliesin's body, the arrow in her hands. She was whimpering and trying to drag the evil thing from her husband's heart.
She felt hands close over hers as Eiddon knelt beside her. Taliesin gazed upward, his eyes dark and empty, the warmth of life slowly seeping from his body.
EIGHTEEN
"LADY, WE CAN STAY HERE NO LONGER." THE HOLLOW VOICE was Eiddon's and his hand was under her elbow. "They may return at any moment."
Charis looked up and saw the grim, ashen face of her friend. Nearby, the baby cried softly in Rhuna's arms. The light was dim, the day fading rapidly toward twilight. The mist had dissolved into a mournful drizzle, making th
e rough-cobbled road wet where Taliesin lay. She glanced down at her hands and at the red stains there where she had gripped the arrow, and it seemed as if she had dwelt a lifetime in this place in the road.
"Charis," said Eiddon softly, "will you come?"
She nodded silently and tried to stand, but her legs would not bear her weight. Instead, she fell forward across Taliesin's body. She clung to him, pushing his wet hair from his face with her hands, then lay her cheek against his still chest.
"Sleep well, my love." She kissed his cool lips and Eiddon helped her to her feet.
Salach knelt a few paces away, arms hanging limp at his side, silent tears streaming down his face and neck. Charis went to him and put her hand on his head. He raised hopeless eyes to her and cried. "Forgive me, my lady," he wailed. "If I had been sooner with the warning…if I had only heard them…I might have…Oh, please, if I had heard them he would still be alive…" His head dropped and his heart broke anew.
"There is nothing you could do," Charis told him. "There is nothing anyone could have done. There is no fault to forgive. How could you know?" She put a hand out to him. "Get up now, Salach, I need your strength. We all have a long way to go."
The young man dragged his sleeve across his face and struggled to his feet. Charis put her arms around him and hugged him, then led him to where Taliesin lay. "You must help Eiddon put Taliesin on his horse. I will not leave him here."
Salach hesitated, but Eiddon nodded and the two set about lifting Taliesin's body into the saddle.
* * *
It had been dark a long time when they finally reached the tiny settlement at the ford of the Byd River. There were only a handful of round earth-and-timber houses surrounded by an earthen dike topped with a wooden palisade. The gate was closed, but there was a bonfire in the center of the cluster of houses.
Eiddon rode to the edge of the ditch and shouted at the group of figures standing near the fire. The people instantly darted from the fire, their silhouettes vanishing into the shadows. Eiddon called again, loudly and clearly in Briton so there would be no mistaking them for raiders. A few moments later a torch appeared over the gate.
"These gates are closed for the night. We open them to no one," an unseen voice called.
"We have been attacked on the road. We need help," Eiddon told the man.
There was a long silence. "We have silver to pay for lodging," Eiddon added.
Almost at once the timber gates opened and a crude plank bridge was produced. The horses walked over the planking and into the protective circle of the palisade where the people of Byd ford gathered silently around the body slumped over the horse.
The old man of the settlement approached Eiddon warily. "Looks like your man is hurt," he said cautiously, eyeing Eiddon's gold shoulder brooch and the silver torc on his neck.
"He is my friend and he is dead," replied Eiddon softly. "We are taking him home."
The old man nodded and squinted at the travelers in the firelight. "You was attacked then." The people murmured behind him. "You will be hungry, I expect."
"Food would be welcome," Eiddon replied. He turned to Charis and led her to a place by the bonfire, spread his cloak, and helped her sit down. Then he and Salach led Taliesin's horse away into the darkness where, with utmost tenderness, they lifted Taliesin's body from the saddle and lay it down. Salach spread his cloak over the body and left it for the night.
The travelers warmed themselves by the fire and ate a few mouthfuls of food which they did not taste and then stretched out to sleep. Without fuss or show, the old man posted a guard at the gate for the rest of the night saying, "You will sleep the better for a sharp eye." One of the women of the hamlet approached Charis and said, "It is cold for the little 'un, lady. Come inside the both of you, and your girl."
Charis rose and went into a nearby hut; Rhuna followed with Merlin and they were given the only bed—a straw pallet spread with fleeces in a dry corner. Exhausted, Charis closed her eyes as soon as her head touched the pallet and was asleep.
The night was a blessed void and Charis awoke at first light. Merlin stirred beside her and cried for food. She suckled him and lay thinking about the long, lonely day ahead; then she thought of months and years to come. Where will I find the strength to go on? she wondered and decided that it was impossible to think that far ahead. She would instead think only of the present moment and not the one to come. In this way, moment by moment, she could do what had to be done.
When they had all risen and were making ready to leave, the old man of the hamlet came to Eiddon and said, "It is not meet to make a man ride to his grave." He turned and gestured to two of the men standing nearby, who began pushing up a creaky two-wheeled cart. "Your friend will go with more ease in this. Take it."
"If he knew the kindness you had done him," said Eiddon, "he would reward you most generously." The prince reached into the pouch at his belt and withdrew a handful of silver coins which he pressed into the old man's hand.
The old man tested the weight of the clutch of coins. "Is he a king then?"
"He is," Eiddon said.
They hitched the cart to the packhorse and carefully laid Taliesin in the box. They left the settlement and crossed the river at the ford, found the road on the other side, and continued on toward Aquae Sulis, reaching the hectic streets of the city by midmorning. They broke fast and, hoping to reach Ynys Witrin by nightfall, moved on, turning southward at the crossroads, leaving the columned porticoes and towering tiled roofs of the noisy, brick-built town behind.
Almost at once Charis felt they had entered familiar lands again. She seemed to recognize each hill and valley, though she knew she could never have seen them before. This recognition comforted her, false though it was.
From time to time Charis turned in the saddle to look behind, expecting to see Taliesin there, a smile on his lips, eyes clear and bright, a hand raised in greeting.
But there was only the rude cart swaying along as its wheels turned slowly around and around.
The hours passed one after another as the sun made its slow way through the dull, cloud-draped sky. Charis remembered nothing about the rest of the journey, except the deepest, deadliest pain she had ever known and the darkest, emptiest silence that received her heart's anguished cries. She moved as in a dream, achingly slow, burdened with the most enormous weight of mind-numbing grief.
By late afternoon they came to the Briw River and turned off the road, following the track which led to the Isle of Glass. As the sun spread into an orange-red glow on the horizon, Charis lifted her head and saw Avallach's palace on its hollow hill floating above the reed-fringed lake.
The sight brought her no joy, no lightness of spirit or gladness of heart. Instead, she reflected ruefully on the reunion and welcome that should have been but now would never be.
Soon the horse's hooves struck the causeway across the marshy wasteland to the island. The winding track led them to the palace. The gates stood open and waiting, for they had been seen coming a long way off. As soon as the cart bearing Taliesin's body rolled to a halt, Avallach appeared in the courtyard and Lile with him.
He spread his arms in welcome while Eiddon helped Charis dismount, but his smile died when he saw his daughter's face. "Charis?" he asked, noting the retinue of strangers, "where is Taliesin?"
Charis indicated the rude bier but could not make herself say the words. Eiddon approached and stood beside her. Inclining his head in deference to Avallach, he said, "Taliesin is dead, Lord Avallach—struck down on the road by a Cruithne arrow."
Avallach's great shoulders sagged and he put out a hand and drew Charis to him, folding her into his strong embrace. Lile, standing quietly nearby, went to the cart and pulled back the cloak that covered the body. She stared into the once- bright visage for a moment and then lightly touched the cruel arrow still protruding from Taliesin's chest. She replaced the cloak and walked quickly toward the stables and then returned. A few moments later a horse and rider clatter
ed across the courtyard from the stables and rode away.
"His people must be told," she said to Salach, who stood watching silently. "I have sent word for them to come at once."
Salach nodded glumly and lowered his eyes again.
At length Avallach lifted his head and beckoned Rhuna to him. She presented the infant, peeling away the woolen wrap so that he could see the baby. "Ah, the child!" he said, "the child…so fair…"
Charis stirred. "His name is Merlin," she said and placed him in her father's hands.
"Welcome, little Merlin," said Avallach, drawing his forefinger across the baby's forehead and cheek. "And welcome, daughter." He paused and looked toward the funeral cart. "Forgive me, Charis. I will bear his death upon my heart to my own grave. Let God judge me harshly for the wrong I have done you."
"Forgive you, Father?"
"I drove you away and thereby brought about this tragedy. "
Charis shook her head firmly. "Did you bend the bow, Father? Did you notch the arrow to the string and loose it blindly in the mist? No, there is nothing to forgive."
Lile stepped close and said, "Take Charis inside. I will see to the body." Avallach gave the babe back to Rhuna and led Charis into the palace, Rhuna following behind.
When Charis and the baby had been conducted to her rooms, Avallach returned to the courtyard. "I do not know you," said Avallach to Eiddon, "but I perceive you have done me good service by bringing my daughter home safely, and I thank you for that."
Eiddon shook his head sadly. "You owe me no thanks, for I would gladly take his place even now."
"You were his friend?"