Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

In Caer Dyvi the riders were greeted with the tight-lipped stares of the clansmen, none of whom appeared especially glad to see Elphin or were greatly cheered by the sight of two strange women with him or their meager flock of bleating sheep.

Nevertheless, by the time the riders reached the large dwelling in the center of the caer, they had attracted a sizable” following of curious kinsmen. Gwyddno emerged from the house with Medhir, who carried the babe Taliesin in her arms. “Greetings, Elphin!” called Gwyddno. “You have returned successful, I see.”

“More than successful, Father,” answered Elphin. “I went in search of a nurse and have returned with a wife.” He slid from the saddle and helped Rhonwyn dismount to the murmured surprise of the onlookers.

“A wife!” cried Medhir. “Is this so?”

“It is,” answered Eithne. Medhir saw her kinswoman climbing down from the red mare.

“Eithne!” Medhir, cradling the infant, ran to her cousin. “The sight of you warms my heart. Welcome!”

The two women embraced, and Eithne looked down at the sleeping child. “This must be the babe Elphin has found.”

“The same, to be sure.” Medhir lifted the infant’s wraps so Eithne could see.

“Oh, such a beautiful, beautiful child! Elphin said the little one was comely, but he did not say it was this fair. Why, if there is an equal I have never seen it.”

“The same might be said for your daughter,” replied Medhir, gazing with approval at the young woman beside her son. “Little Rhonwyn, it is this long since I have seen you. Ah, but the girl is a woman now-look at you, all grown, and a beauty.” She embraced the blushing Rhonwyn while Elphin stood beaming. “Welcome to you.”

Taliesin stirred and cried out. Medhir handed the infant to Rhonwyn, saying, “It is all one can do to keep the child fed. He is hungry all the time.”

Rhonwyn parted the coverlet and gazed at the infant. Surprised by the sunlight, the babe stopped crying and, seeing the face above him, gurgled softly and smiled. “Look at that!” said Gwyddno. “She has but to hold the babe and he quiets. That is a mother’s own touch.”

“He is beautiful,” said Rhonwyn, who had not taken her eyes from the child.

“But what of this marriage?” asked Gwyddno, regarding his son happily. “This is unexpected.”

Glancing at the gathered clansmen, Elphin replied, “Let us go inside and refresh ourselves and I will tell you all that has happened since I left.”

Gwyddno ordered two men to unload the horses and they all entered the house, leaving their audience agape but with fresh fodder for gossip. Once inside, Taliesin began crying again; so Rhonwyn took him to a corner pallet and, letting down the side of her runic, began to suckle him while the two older women bustled about preparing food. Elphin regarded the scene with favor and began to relate what had transpired on his trip to Diganhwy.

They ate while Elphin talked, and when he finished Gwyddno asked, “What was Lord Killydd’s disposition?”

“He was well disposed to the marriage. In fact, he agreed most heartily when I offered him Eithne’s house. He is getting old and wishes no trouble between our clans. He says there is enough trouble already from the Cruithni in the North.”

Gwyddno considered this. “Well said. I, too, am concerned. The Cruithni become bolder with each passing season. They wait only for an opportunity to strike in force.”

“That they dare not as long as the garrison remains in Caer Seiont.”

“Ah, there is an uneasy peace. Better to have them there than here, I say. It is a shame we have to have them at all.” He reflected for a moment and said, “Still, they are stout fighting men and never shrink from a battle. Was there any news?”

“Little enough. It was a quiet winter for them, as for us. He said the tribune came once to talk about sending men to help protect the Wall. Killydd declined, telling him that he needed his men for planting in the spring. He gave them horses instead.”

Gwyddno nodded. Save for his yearly taxes, which he al ways delivered in person so the magistrates would not forget for a moment who it was that paid, Gwyddno kept his direct dealings with the Romans to a minimum and considered him self fortunate. Although many lords, like Killydd, traded with them-and more than a few battlechiefs fought alongside them for silver-Gwyddno liked them best at a distance. Somehow, where the shrewd and swarthy Romans were concerned, one always came out the poorer for the bargain.

“Now then, about this wedding,” the king said, “I am well pleased.” He turned to look at Rhonwyn sitting beneath the window, her hair aflame in the afternoon light streaming in through the narrow opening. Oblivious to his stare she continued feeding the babe. “Ah, you have done well indeed.”

“When will the marriage take place?” wondered Medhir.

“As soon as possible. Tomorrow, if it can be arranged, or the day after,” replied Elphin.

“We will have a wedding feast!” exclaimed Gwyddno. “The biggest wedding feast anyone has seen.”

“Tomorrow?” began Medhir, looking to Eithne. “Brighid help us, it cannot be tomorrow-or even the day after.”

“And why not?” asked Gwyddno. “If that is Elphin’s choice, so be it.”

“Lord, you forget that Rhonwyn has just given birth. The marriage cannot be consummated until the end of the month at least.”

“It cannot be helped,” agreed Eithne. She glanced fearfully at Elphin and Gwyddno.

“A marriage unconsummated is no marriage at all,” added Medhir uncertainly.

“Well, many a marriage has been consummated well before the wedding,” observed Elphin. “We will do it the other way around.”

“See? You fret over nothing. We will have the wedding,” declared Gwyddno. “Rhonwyn and Elphin will stay here until they can sleep together in the house that I will build for them.”

Elphin thanked his father but said, “I wish to build the house myself.” He gazed at Rhonwyn proudly. “It will be my gift to my wife.”

Hasty plans were made and the wedding announced to the clan, who at once began preparing for the feast. Fire pits were dug and piled with kindling, caldrons scoured and filled with potatoes and turnips in fresh water, hunters dispatched to bring back wild pigs and deer, cattle slaughtered and dressed, fish hauled from the sea in nets, casks of mead and ale stacked on a long table made of split logs, bread baked in special wedding loaves, and torches lashed to long poles.

Immersed in the festive spirit, the clan soon forgot their differences with Elphin and began considering him in a more kindly light. After all, a king’s son was not married every day. And never was there a more generous lord in all Gwy-nedd than Gwyddno Garanhir; everyone was assured of a king’s portion and a celebration second to none.

By midmorning the following day, smoke from the cooking fires was ascending in thick clouds and the aroma of roasting meat permeated the village. The people, free from their work for the occasion, gathered in groups to talk and laugh as the preparations continued. By midday, riders who had been sent out at dawn’s first light to each of the six cantrefs to bid the noble houses and kinsmen to come to the feast began returning with the invited guests.

Each tribe brought with it a substantial contribution to the feast: smoked meat and fish, great white wheels of cheese carried on poles, mounds of sweet barley loaves, skins of honeyed mead and good dark beer, chickens and wild fowl, lambs and kids, eggs, butter and curded milk in crocks. One of Elphin’s kinsmen, an uncle from an eastern cantref who wore a thick gold chain on his chest, brought a wagoo full of skins containing wine obtained from the garrison at Caer Legionis.