Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

Supper over, the table was removed and they placed the chair and stools beside the hearth. “Perhaps our guest will sleep better with a song in his ears,” suggested Eithne.

Rhonwyn gave her mother a cross look, but Elphin encouraged, “Please, I would enjoy a song. Do you play?”

“Does she play?” answered her mother. “Her music is as sweet as Rhiannon’s birds, to hear people talk. Fetch your harp, girl, and play for young Elphin here.”

Rhonwyn did as she was told and went to the back of the house to a nook where she brought forth a small harp in a leather wrap. She took her place by the fire and tuned the harp, then began to play. Elphin settled back in his chair.

Her voice was pure and melodious, like clear spring water ringing in a sun-filled glade, her fingers deft on the strings of the harp. Elphin closed his eyes and let the music fill his heart with gladness. “Such a woman,” he thought; “a rare treasure to be sure…”

He awoke some time later to find himself still sitting in his chair, but wrapped in a woolen blanket, the fire burning low on the hearth. Rhonwyn and her mother lay asleep on a thick bed of rushes in a corner of the house. He stirred, and Rhonwyn awoke and came to him.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly, so as not to disturb Eithne, for he wished to speak with Rhonwyn privately. “I must have fallen asleep while you played.”

“You were tired from your journey,” she said. “But you must not sleep in that chair all night or you will be stiff as a root in the morning. Let me prepare you a place by the fire.”

“Please, do not trouble yourself further.”

“It is no trouble, and I do it gladly, for it is that long since my mother has smiled. I know nothing of your errand here in Diganhwy, but at least you have made my mother happy.”

“What would make you happy, Rhonwyn?” he asked.

She looked at him a little sadly. “I was never meant for happiness, it seems.”

“I will not Believe that. Surely, there is something that would make you happy.”

Rhonwyn did not answer but busied herself arranging a bed of rushes before the hearth and brought a calfskin and placed it on the bed. “Good night to you,” she said and returned to her bed.

“Rest well,” whispered Elphin, and he lay down before the fire to sleep.

When Elphin awakened the next morning, he heard Rhonwyn singing, and so lay quietly just to hear her voice once more. When he finally rose, he saw that she had prepared a breakfast for him. Eithne was nowhere to be seen.

“My mother has gone to tend the sheep,” Rhonwyn said, following his eyes. She wore a simple white tunic and a wide woolen girdle with shells woven in spiral designs, and Elphin noticed her body still bore witness to her recent pregnancy. “I know nothing of your business, but it may go better with a meal under your Belt.”

“First a song and now a meal,” remarked Elphin happily. “I am twice blessed this day already and the sun is not yet up.”

Rhonwyn blushed and lowered her head. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“I am glad you did, for now we can talk. I have something to ask you.”

“Shall we sit?” she asked, indicating the table. Elphin helped her move it to the center of the room and sat. Rhonwyn served him and then seated herself. He put a chunk of cheese in his mouth and gazed thoughtfully at the young woman beside him. A fresh wind off the sea whispered in the thatch of the roof and carried the bleating of sheep on the hill.

Rhonwyn lifted a piece of bread to her mouth, lowered it again, and looked at Elphin, her glance direct and unafraid. “Why do you look at me so, lord?”

“Why do you call me that?” he asked.

“Why? Your father is a lord and you are his son. You will be a lord yourself one day.”

“It is not always so.”

“No, not always,” Rhonwyn agreed amiably. “But often enough these days. My mother tells me your father is a renowned battlechief with many heads won by his hand. Your kinsmen must look favorably on your succession.”

Elphin placed his hands on the table. “Would you think less of me if I were never to be lord?”

Rhonwyn considered this. “The ambitions of men are of little interest to me.”

The directness of her answers surprised Elphin. Here was a woman who spoke her mind; this intrigued him. Rhonwyn studied him for a moment and said, “You wished to ask me something?”

Elphin nodded. “As you are a woman who appreciates simple speech, I will speak simply. Three days ago on the eve of Beltane, I found a babe in my father’s salmon weir. I came thinking to ask you to be nurse to the child. That was my intention.”

“Was? Have you changed your mind then?”

“I have.”

Rhonwyn bent her head and put her face in her hands. “What people say about me… I do not deny it; indeed, I cannot-it is true.”

This response mystified Elphin. “I know nothing of what men say about you, and care less. But I know what I have seen with my own eyes.”

Rhonwyn kept her eyes downcast but lowered her hands to her lap. “You need not explain.”

“Yet, I will explain. You are speaking to one who has suffered long because my kinsmen Believed me accursed. Evil fortune has followed me all the days of my life until now.”

Rhonwyn sniffed and raised her head. “I will not Believe it. Your kinsmen must be the dullest men in the world.”

Elphin smiled. He liked her way of putting things squarely.

“My own misfortune cannot be denied,” she continued. “My womb is poisoned and no man will have me.”

“Rhonwyn,” said Elphin softly, enjoying the soft sound of her name, “it does not matter. I am a man without a wife who has a child without a mother. I came seeking a wet nurse, and instead I am pleased to find a wife.”

The young woman’s eyes grew round. “What are you saying?”

“Let me ask it plain.” He stretched his hand toward her. “Rhonwyn, will you be my wife?”

It took a moment for his words to have their effect. She smiled through tears of happiness. “I will,” she said, taking his hand. “And I will serve you gladly as long as I have breath in my body.”

Elphin smiled broadly and his heart swelled. He rose and pulled her to her feet and kissed her. She put her head against his chest and he held her. “I will be a wife such as will make other men envy my husband,” she whispered.

“Then truly I will be a lord,” replied Elphin.

Leaving Rhonwyn to gather her Belongings, Elphin left in search of Eithne. He found her sitting on a rock, gazing out over the hillside and the sea beyond. A small flock of sheep nibbled the new grass at her feet. She turned as he approached and smiled wistfully.

“It is cold up here when the wind is off the sea.” She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “And lonely. Lonelier still for a woman without a man.”

Elphin heard the sadness in her voice and said, “I have asked Rhonwyn to be my wife and she has agreed.”

Eithne nodded slowly and turned her eyes back toward the sea. “She will make a good wife, but I have nothing to give you, save my blessing.”

“Give that then and do not worry about a dowry.”

“I would not have people speak ill of me for lack of property wherewith to benefit the marriage.”

“Your daughter herself is dower enough, and I will accept nothing more.”

Eithne was pleased with this answer, although she was saddened to be losing Rhonwyn. “I like you, Elphin. But if you will not accept goods or property, perhaps you will accept an old woman’s service in your house.”

“You have a house here.”

“A house but no life when Rhonwyn leaves me.”

“Then come with us. My mother will rejoice to have a kinswoman near. And as I intend to have a big house of my own now, you will be welcome.”