After breaking fast with a little bread and water, we all dressed ourselves in feast-day clothes and assembled in the hall, eager for the festivities to begin. Torches fluttered from scores of holders, banishing shadows from every dark corner. On this day the torches would burn brightly from dawn to dawn in observance of Alban Ardduan.
Cynan appeared first, resplendent in red-and-orange-checked breecs and yellow siarc. He wore a blue-and-white striped cloak and his father’s great gold brooch. He had brushed his long red beard and fanned it out across his broad chest, and he had allowed his wiry red hair to be gathered and tied at the back of his head. His gold and burnished silver torcs gleamed like mirrors. He fretted and preened, patting his belt and adjusting his cloak.
“A more regal groom has never been seen in Caledon,” I told him. “Stand still, now. Do you want her to think she is marrying a twitch?”
“What can be keeping them?” he asked, glancing nervously around the hall for the third time in as many moments.
“Be at ease,” I told him. “You have endured your solitary ways a long time; you can endure yet a little longer.”
“What if she has changed her mind?”
“Goewyn is with her,” I reassured him. “She will not change her mind.”
“What can be keeping them?” He craned his neck around, inspecting the hall yet once more. “Here they come!” he said, darting forward.
“Relax—it is Tegid.”
“Oh, it is only Tegid.” He began patting himself again, as if he were searching for something he had lost somewhere about his person. “How do I look?”
“Handsome enough for any two men. Now stand still, you are wearing a hole in the floor.”
“Only Tegid?” wondered the bard.
“Ignore him,” I told Tegid. “Cynan is not himself today.”
“My throat is on fire,” Cynan complained. “I need a drink.”
“Later—after the wedding.”
“Just one cup.”
“Not a drop. We do not want the king of the Galanae falling down during his own wedding ceremony.”
“I tell you I am dying!”
“Then do it quietly.”
Tegid broke in, saying, “Here they are.” At that instant, a ripple of voices sounded from the far end of the hall. Cynan and I turned to see Goewyn and Tángwen approaching.
Cynan’s bride was a vision—a blaze of fiery beauty: two long braids bound in bands of gold swept back from her temples and lost themselves in the luxurious fall of flaming curls that spilled over her shoulders. She wore a crimson cloak and a robe of apricot yellow over a salmon-colored shift. Her feet were bare, and on each ankle was a bracelet of thick gold so that each step glittered. On her breast was a splendid silver brooch set with glowing red gems around the ring; the pin was joined to the ring by a tiny silver chain, and the head shone with a blazing blue jewel. No doubt the eye-catching object was her father’s chief treasure.
Cynan could restrain himself no longer. He strode to meet her, gathered her in his arms, and all but carried her to where we stood by the wide, central hearth. “To be surrounded by battle-tried friends in a shining hall,” he crowed, “with his arms around a beautiful woman— this is the greatest joy a man can know!” He turned to Tángwen, kissed her, and declared, “This is the happiest day of my life!”
At this, Tángwen put a hand to his ruddy face and turned his lips to hers, kissing him ardently and long. “Come, Tegid,” Cynan said, “the bride is here, the hall is filled, and the feast is waiting. Perform the rite and let us begin the celebration!”
With raised staff and a loud voice, Tegid called the assembly to witness the marriage of Cynan and Tángwen. Everyone crowded close and the ceremony began. Cynan’s wedding was very like my own. Gifts and tokens were exchanged and, as the bowl was shared, I felt Goewyn’s hand slip into mine. She put her lips to my ear and whispered her love to me, nipping my earlobe as she withdrew.
Three sharp raps of the Chief Bard’s staff and the wedding was over. Cynan whooped loudly and lifted his bride from her feet. He carried her to the table and set her upon it. “Kinsmen and friends!” he called. “Here is my wife, Tángwen. Hail her everyone, Queen of the Galanae!”
The room resounded with the chorused cries as the Galanae welcomed their queen. Tángwen, her face flushed with happiness, smiling, radiant, stood on the board, receiving the adulation of the people. The expression on her face, at first charmed, took on an aspect of triumph— as if she had won a close-fought campaign.
Cynan reached up to her, and Tángwen tumbled into his arms. They embraced to the loud acclaim of everyone. And then Cynan ordered ale to be brought so that we could all drink to the health of the happy couple. The brewer and his men brought forth the first vat and placed it beside the hearth. Cups and bowls were plunged deep and brought out frothing. We raised our bowls and our voices. “Sláinte! Sláinte môr!” We drank to life and health and happiness. We drank to the prosperity of Cynan’s reign.
Outside it began snowing. Cold wind streamed over the hills, lashing the snow that fell from a blanched sky. Inside the hall, the feast began: steaming joints of venison and pork were carried in on their spits; huge rounds of pale yellow cheese, and mounds of crisp apples. We ate and drank and talked, and ate and drank some more, passing the dark day in the light-filled hall surrounded by fellowship and plenty. And when at last we sat back, stuffed and satisfied, a call went up for a story. Taking up his harp, Tegid came before us, standing at the hearth in the center of the hall, the fire bright around him.
He strummed the harp, waiting for everyone to find a place and for quiet to claim the crowd. Gradually, the hall fell hushed. Lifting his voice, the bard declared, “It is right to celebrate the union of man and woman with weddings and feasts and songs—more so than the victories of warriors and the conquests of kings. It is right to pay heed to the stories of our people, for that is how we learn who we are and what is required of us in this life and the life beyond.
“On this day above all others, when the light of Alban Ardduan burns in the high places, it is right to give ourselves to revelry, it is right to draw near the hearthfire to hear the songs of our race. Gather then and listen, all who would hear a true tale—listen with your ears, Children of Albion, and listen with your hearts.”
So saying, he bowed his head and fell silent. Then, fingers stirring on the strings of the harp, he conjured a melody from the air, drew breath, and began to sing.
10
THE GREAT KING’S SON
The sweet-sounding notes of the harp spilled like glittering coins from Tegid’s fingers; or like bright sparks sprung from the lusty fire, swirling up on rising draughts to the dark-shadowed rooftrees. The Chief Bard’s voice rose to join the melody of the harp, and the two twined about one another in matchless harmony as he began to sing the tale he had prepared for Alban Ardduan. And this is what he sang:
In the first days of men, when the dew of creation still glimmered upon the earth, there arose a great king who ruled many realms and held authority over diverse clans. The great king’s name was Cadwallon, and he ruled long and wisely, ever increasing the fortunes of those who sheltered beneath his shield. It was his custom in the evening to climb the council-mound beside his stronghold and gaze out upon his lands, to see for himself how matters stood with his people. And this is the way of it . . .
One twilight, as Cadwallon sat on his high mound, gazing out upon his lands, it came to him that his holdings had grown vast beyond reckoning. “I can no longer see from one end of my dominion to the other, nor can I count the number of my people—just to tell out the names of their tribes would take my bard three whole days.
“What shame,” thought he, “if trouble were to threaten and I did not hear of it in time to prevent harm from befalling my people. This could easily happen, for the kingdom has grown too great for one king to rule. Therefore, I must find someone to help me rule my realm and keep my people safe.”
As
it happened, there was no lack of would-be kings eager to help him rule. Sadly, not all of them cared as much for the welfare of the clans as Cadwallon, and it distressed the great king to think that a self-serving man should gain power at his command. So he took himself to his gorsedd mound to think the thing through, saying, “I will not come down until I have discovered a way out of this predicament.”
Through three sunrises and three sunsets, Cadwallon did not stir; and through three more, and yet three more, until at dusk on the ninth day he hit upon a way to determine which of his noblemen was most worthy to aid him. He rose and walked down to his stronghold in confidence.
The next day messengers rode to the four quarters of the kingdom bearing the message, and it was this: Noblemen all, the great king invites you to attend him for a season and take your ease in his hall where there will be feasting and gaming and where the circling of mead cups will not cease.
When the chieftains received this summons, they hastened to their lord. And when they saw the wealth of food and drink that had been prepared for them, they were well pleased and exclaimed that of all lords, Cadwallon must certainly be the most generous and benevolent ever known.
When they had taken their places at table according to their rank, the feast began. They ate as much as they cared to eat and drank as much as they cared to drink, and after the sharp edge of hunger and thirst had been dulled somewhat, they began to talk, as men will, about the various adventures that had befallen them. One after another spoke, and each told his best tale to delight the others.
The great king listened to the talk around him and stared somewhat unhappily into his cup. When they asked him why he frowned so, the great king replied, “We have heard some strange tales told among us, but none more strange than the one I shall tell. For of all adventures, mine is the strangest. On my life, I wish someone would tell me what it means.”
“Fortunate are you, O king, if that is all that troubles you,” the noblemen replied. “We are ready to do your bidding. You have but to tell us your story, and we will soon put your heart at ease.”
“Listen then,” the king said, “but do not imagine you will discover the meaning as easily as you think. For I am persuaded that this tale will cause you all no little dismay before the end.”
“Know you, Great King, that we fear nothing. Indeed, your words provoke our interest as nothing we have heard before. Speak how you will, you cannot dismay us.”
“No doubt you know what is best,” mused the king. So saying, Cadwallon began to relate his adventure.
“I was not always the king you see before you,” he told the chieftains. “In my youth I was very high-spirited and arrogant, supposing that no one could surpass me in any feat of weapons. Thinking I had mastered every feat known in this worlds-realm, I equipped myself and rode to the wild places far from the fields we know. To win glory and renown with my skill was my intent; to hear my name lauded in song was my desire.”
“What happened?” they asked. “What did you find?”
“I found the loveliest valley any man has ever seen. Trees of every kind grew in the woods, and a wide river flowed through the valley. I crossed the river and struck a path and rode until I came to a measureless plain blooming with every kind of flower. The path went before me, so I followed. Three days and nights I rode and at last came to a shining fortress beside a restless sea of blue.
“I approached that fortress and two boys met me—each with hair so dark it made me think of crows’ wings—and both dressed in princely garb with fine green cloaks and silvers torcs on their necks. Each lad carried a bow of horn with strings of deer sinew and shafts of walrus ivory with points of gold and eagle feathers. Their belts were silver and their knives were gold. And they were shooting their arrows at a shield covered with white oxhide.
“A little distance away stood a man with hair so light it made me think of swans’ wings. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed, and he wore a torc of gold on his neck. His cloak was blue and his belt and buskins were of fine brown leather.
“I rode to meet this man with a ready greeting on my lips, but he was so courteous as to greet me before I could speak. He bade me enter the fortress with him, which I was eager to do for it was a marvel to behold. I saw others inside the fortress and observed at once that they were a prosperous people, for the least one among them displayed the same wealth as the first man, nor did the greatest one among them display less than three times as much as the least.
“Five grooms took my horse and stabled it better than the best grooms I ever saw. And then the man led me to the hall, which had pillars of gold and a roof made of the feathers of speckled birds. Inside were handsome men and beautiful women—all of them pleasantly conversing, singing, playing games, and taking their ease. Twenty maidens were sewing by the window, and the least lovely maiden among them was more beautiful than any maiden in the Island of the Mighty. And as we entered the hall, these maidens rose to greet me and welcomed me most enjoyably.
“Five of them drew off my buskins and took my weapons, and five of them took from me my travel-worn clothes and dressed me in clean clothes—siarc and breecs and cloak of finest craft. Five maidens laid the board with good cloth, and five maidens brought food on five huge platters. And the five who had taken my buskins and weapons now brought new fleeces for me to sit upon, and the five who had dressed me led me to the table.
“I sat beside the man who had brought me, and others of that exalted company sat around us. There was not a single cup or bowl or platter on that table that was not gold or silver or horn. And the food—such food! I have never tasted anything so pleasing to the tongue and satisfying to the stomach as I tasted in that hall, surrounded by that bright company.
“We ate, but never a word was spoken to me from the first bite to the last. After a time, the man beside me, perceiving that I had finished my meal, turned to me and said, ‘I see that you would sooner talk than eat.’
‘Lord,’ I said, ‘it is high time I had someone to talk with. Even the best food is poor fare when it is shared in silence.’
‘Well,’ answered the man, ‘we did not like to disturb your meal. But if I had known how you felt about it, we would certainly have spoken sooner. But let us talk now if nothing prevents you.’ And he asked me what sort of man I was and what was the errand that had brought me to them.
‘Lord,’ said I, ‘you see before you a man of no small skill in weapon play. I am roaming the wild places of the world, hoping to find someone who might overcome me. For I tell you the truth, it is no sport to me to overcome men of lesser skill than mine, and it is long since any warrior in my own country could offer me the sport I crave.’
“The great lord smiled and said, ‘My friend, I would gladly guide you to your goal if I did not believe some harm would follow.’
“At his words my face fell in sad disappointment. Seeing this, the lord said, ‘However, since you desire evil rather than good, I will tell you. Prepare yourself.’
“To this I replied, ‘Lord, I am always prepared.’
“‘Then hear me, for I will say this but once. Spend the night here and rise tomorrow at dawn and take the path that brought you to this fortress until you reach a forest. A short distance into that forest, the path will split in two; take the left turning and follow on until you come to a clearing with a mound in the center. On that mound you will see a huge man. Ask this man where to go and, though he is often uncivil, it is my belief he will show you how to find that which you seek.’
“That night was endless. All the ages of the world end to end would not last longer than that night lasted. As often as I looked at the sky, morning was no closer than when I last looked. At last, however, I saw the sky graying in the east and knew that night was ending. I rose and put on my clothes and went out and mounted my horse and set off on my way. I found the forest, and found the divided path, followed the left turning, and found the clearing with the mound in the center, the very same which the great lor
d had described to me.
“There was a man sitting on the mound. My host had told me that the man was huge, but he was far bigger than I had imagined—and far uglier. He had but one eye in the middle of his forehead, and one foot; thick black hair covered his head and grew on his shoulders and arms. He carried an iron spear which would have been a burden for any four warriors, yet this man carried it easily in his hand. And around this man, both upon the mound and all around it, there grazed deer and pigs and sheep and forest animals of every kind—thousands of them!
“I greeted this Keeper of the Forest and received a harsh reply. But it was no less than I expected, so I asked him what power he possessed over the animals gathered so closely about him. Again he made a rude reply. ‘Little man,’ he scoffed, ‘you must be the dullest of your kind not to know this. Nevertheless, I will show you what power I possess.’
“The huge, hairy man took up his spear and aimed a blow at a nearby stag. He struck the animal with the butt of the spear, causing the stag to bell. And the belling of the stag shook the trees and trembled the very ground beneath my feet. Wild animals of every kind came running to the sound, gathering from the four quarters of the world. By the thousands and tens of thousands the animals came until there was hardly any room for my horse to stand among the wolves and bears and deer and otters and foxes and badgers and squirrels and mice and serpents and ants and all the rest.
“The animals gazed upon the huge Keeper as obedient men honor their lord, and he called to them and commanded them to graze, and at once they began to graze. ‘Well, little man,’ he said to me, ‘now you see the power I hold over these animals. But I am thinking you did not come here seeking assurance of my power, undoubtedly great though it is. What do you want?’