Lloyd Alexander - The Black Cauldron

"Stay here and be slain," Ellidyr replied. "No, it must be done now, and done as I say or not at all."

He turned to Taran. "These are my conditions," he said. "The Crochan is mine, and you shall be under my command. It is I who found it, not you, pig-boy. It is I who fought for it and won it. So you shall say to Gwydion and the others. And you shall all swear the most binding oath."

"No, we shall not!" cried Eilonwy. "You ask us to lie so that you may steal the Crochan and steal our own efforts with it! You are mad, Ellidyr!"

"Not mad, scullery maid," said Ellidyr, his eyes blazing, "but weary to my death. Do you hear me? All my life have I been forced into the second rank. I have been put aside, slighted. Honor? It has been denied me at every turn. But this time I shall not let the prize slip from my fingers."

"Adaon saw a black beast on your shoulders," Taran said quietly. "And I, too, have seen it. I see it now, Ellidyr."

"I care nothing for your black beast!" shouted Ellidyr. "I care for my honor."

"Do you think," Taran said, "I care nothing for mine?"

"What is the honor of a pig-boy?" laughed Ellidyr, "compared to the honor of a prince?"

"I have paid for my honor," answered Taran, his voice rising, "more dearly than you would pay for yours. Do you ask me now to cast it away?"

"You, pig-boy, dared reproach me for seeking glory," said Ellidyr. "Yet you yourself cling to it with your dirty hands. I shall not tarry here. My terms or nothing. Make your choice."

Taran stood silent. Eilonwy seized Ellidyr by the jacket. "How dare you ask such a price?"

Ellidyr drew away. "Let the pig-boy decide. It is up to him whether he will pay it."

"If I swear this," Taran said, turning to the companions, "you must swear along with me. Once given, I will not break an oath, and it would be even more to my shame if I broke this one. Before I can decide, I must know whether you, too, will bind yourselves. On this we must all agree."

No one spoke. At length, Fflewddur murmured, "I put the decision in your hands and abide by what you do."

Gurgi nodded his head solemnly.

"I shall not lie!" Eilonwy cried, "not for this traitor and deserter."

"It is not for him," Taran said quietly, "but for the sake of our quest."

"It isn't right," Eilonwy began, tears starting in her eyes.

"We do not speak of rightness," Taran answered. "We speak of a task to be finished."

Eilonwy looked away. "Fflewddur has said the choice is yours," she murmured at last. "I must say the same."

For a long moment Taran did not speak. All the anguish he had felt when Adaon's brooch had left his hands returned to him. And he recalled Eilonwy's words in his blackest despair, the girl's voice telling him that nothing could take away what he had done. Yet this was the very price Ellidyr demanded.

Taran bowed his head. "The cauldron, Ellidyr, is yours," he said slowly. "We are at your command, and all things shall be as you say. Thus we swear."

Heavy-hearted and silent, the companions followed Ellidyr's orders and once again lashed ropes around the sunken Crochan. Ellidyr hitched the three horses side by side, then attached the lines to them. While Fflewddur held the bridles with his uninjured hand, the companions waded into the shallows.

Ellidyr, standing up to his knees in the rushing water, commanded Taran, Eilonwy, and Gurgi to post themselves on either side of the Crochan and keep it from slipping back against the boulders. He signaled an order to the waiting bard, then bent to his own task.

As he had done with Melynlas long before, Ellidyr thrust his shoulders as far below the cauldron as the rocks allowed. His body tensed; the veins rose to bursting on his streaming forehead. Still the cauldron did not yield. Beside him, Taran and Eilonwy heaved vainly at the sling.

Gasping for breath, Ellidyr turned once more to the Crochan. The sling creaked against the boulders; the ropes strained. Ellidyr's shoulders were cut and bleeding, his face deathly white. He choked out another command to the companions; his muscles trembled in a final effort.

With a cry, he pitched forward into the water, stumbling to gain his balance. Then he gave an exultant shout. The cauldron had lifted free.

Desperately the companions labored to bring the Crochan to shore. Ellidyr seized one end of the sling and thrust ahead. The cauldron skidded to dry, firm ground.

On the riverbank they quickly roped the sling between Melynlas and Lluagor. Ellidyr hitched up Islimach as the leading horse, to guide the others and bear a share of the weight.

Until then Ellidyr's eyes had burned with triumph, but now his face changed.

"My cauldron has been won back from the river," he said, with a curious glance at Taran. "But I think perhaps I was too hasty. You met my terms too quickly," he added. "Tell me, what is in your mind, pig-boy?" Rage filled him again. "I know well enough! Once more you would try to cheat me!"

"You have my oath." Taran began.

"What is the oath of a pig-boy?" Ellidyr said. "You gave it; you will break it!"

"Speak for yourself," Eilonwy said angrily. "That's what you would do, Prince of Pen-Llarcau. But we are not like you."

"The cauldron needed all of us to raise it," Ellidyr continued, lowering his voice. "But does it now need all of us to carry it? A few would serve," he added. "Yes, yes― only a few. Perhaps only one, if he were strong enough.

"Was my price too low?" he went on, spinning around to face Taran.

"Ellidyr," Taran cried, "you are truly mad."

"Yes!" laughed Ellidyr. "Mad to believe your word alone! The price must be silence, utter silence!" His hand moved to his sword. "Yes, pig-boy, I knew in time we should have to face one another."

He lunged forward, his sword out and raised. Before Taran could draw his own blade, Ellidyr swung viciously and pressed to the attack. Taran stumbled down the riverbank and leaped to a boulder, feverishly grasping for his weapon. Ellidyr strode into the water while the companions raced to stop him.

As Ellidyr swung his blade again, Taran lost his footing and toppled from the boulder. He tried to rise, but the stones slipped from under him and he stumbled backward. He threw up his hands. The current was clutching at him and he fell. The sharp edge of a rock loomed up, and he knew no more.

IT WAS NIGHTwhen Taran came to his senses. He found himself propped against a log, a cloak wrapped around him. His head throbbed; his body ached. Eilonwy was bending over him anxiously. Taran blinked his eyes and tried to sit up. For some moments his memory held only a mingling of sights and sounds, of rushing water, a stone, a shout; his head still whirled. A yellow light shone in his eyes. He realized, as his mind gradually cleared, that the girl had lit the golden sphere and had set it on the log. Beside him, a small fire blazed. Crouched next to it, the bard and Gurgi fed twigs to the flames.

"I'm glad you decided to wake up," Eilonwy said, trying to appear cheerful, as Fflewddur and Gurgi came to kneel beside Taran. "You swallowed so much of the river we were afraid we'd never be able to pump it out of you, and that rap on your head didn't help matters."

"The Crochan!" Taran gasped. "Ellidyr!" He looked around him. "This fire," he murmured, "we dare not show a light Arawn's warriors…"

"It was either build a fire or let you freeze to death," said the bard, "so of course we decided on the first. At this point," he added with a wry grin, "I doubt it can make too much difference. Since the cauldron is out of our hands, I don't believe Arawn will have quite the same interest in us. Happily, I might say."

"Where is the Crochan?" Taran asked. Despite his spinning head, he raised himself from the log.