Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

They walked slowly through the hall to their places at the high table, greeting others as they passed. They came near to Avallach’s table and Avallach bowed courteously. “Welcome, King Avallach,” said Ceremon, inclining his head. “Queen Briseis, I am glad you chose to accompany your husband. We have not had the pleasure of your presence in the palace for some time. Welcome, all of you.”

The High King made to move on, when his gaze fell on Charis. He paused and turned to her. “And who is this? Avallach, I did not know you had a daughter.” He reached out a slender hand and raised her chin. “What is your name, bright one?”

“Charis, Sire,” she answered.

Ceremon smiled, his eyes bright and hard. “Charis… a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Welcome, Charis. I hope you find time to see our great city.”

Charis bowed, and when she looked up again the High King was gone. She saw him walking slowly away, erect, slender, cloak shimmering in the light, and thought that she had never seen anyone so regal, so commanding. “He is a very god,” she whispered to her mother.

Brriseis glanced at her daughter but did not reply. Charis became, embarrassed then and blushed crimson. The banquet proceeded-served by hundreds of servants bearing platters of food and drink, circulating continuously throughout the hall-but Charis did not taste a bite. She stared at the High King and his wife and imagined herself in the queen’s place, looking as serene and majestic as the High Queen herself.

There was entertainment after the meal: a swarming army of musicians performed traditional songs while a chorus sang. Charis was certain she had entered a dream. The resplendent hall, the dignified guests, the formal music welling up and up, and the imperial presence of the High King-all combined to give the banquet a dreamlike quality. So much so that Charis was surprised and distinctly disappointed when it came time to leave.

It seemed as if the evening had taken wings and fled in an instant. Dazzled and entranced by her experience, Charis all but floated back to her room. In a daze she readied herself for bed and slipped beneath the crisp linens and drifted off to sleep, the High King’s voice still falling in her ears: “Charis… a beautiful name for a beautiful girl…”

Elphin’s wedding feast continued the next day, and the next. On the fourth day the casks and skins began going dry, and by evening the food was running low as well. Many of the guests took their leave then; those who lived further distance stayed one more night but left early the next morning, so that by midday all the visiting guests had departed and the feast was over.

The following morning Elphin rose, dressed quickly, and strode from the house. He called the men whose labor his father had promised him and led them to the place he had chosen for his house. He paced off the dimensions of the structure, gave orders, and the men began digging-halfheartedly, for they disapproved of Elphin’s choice of plot for his house and begrudged the whole project, thinking it unnecessary and, most likely, unlucky.

Toward evening, when they had finished, they called Elphin to inspect the work. He took one look at what they had done and said, “This is not what I told you. It must be bigger!”

The next morning they went back to work and at midday called him again. When he saw the size of the hole, he frowned and shook his head. “It is still not big enough. Since you will not listen to me, I will show you. Look here” He took a wooden stake and drove it into the ground, and then another, enlarging the square to a huge rectangle. “This is how I want it.”

The men grumbled to themselves but went back to work. “What does he need with such a big house?” they muttered when he had gone. “There is only one lord in this caer, and it is not Elphin.”

“Perhaps he hopes to make himself lord by building a big house,” remarked one disgruntled worker.

“Ha! It’ll take more than a big house to make him lord,” replied his companion.

By evening they had nearly completed the excavation for the house. Elphin surveyed their efforts and approved. “Now, then, the firepit will be here,” he said, pointing to a spot in the center of the hole.

“Dig it yourself,” growled one of the workmen. “You want such a big house.” The man threw his shovel at Elphin’s feet.

“Very well,” replied Elphin, dropping into the hole. He retrieved the shovel and walked to the place he had indicated. There he scratched out the dimensions of the fireplace and dug the first shovelful, pushing the wooden blade into the dirt with his foot.

But the shovel hit on something hard and stopped. “An old root,” someone said with a snicker. “Better make the firepit somewhere else.”

“That is no root,” said Elphin, scraping away the dirt. “It is a stone.” The stone had an edge to it, and Elphin scraped around it to discover that it was a large, square piece of flat slate. When he had cleared the dirt away, he pried up the edge of the black stone and saw a scrap of coarse-woven cloth.

“What is this?” he said, stooping. The filthy rag fell apart as his hand closed on it, but under the rotten tatters he saw a glimmer of yellow. The others watched curiously as Elphin dropped to his knees and began scraping at the dirt with his hands.

“Look at him,” they laughed. “He thinks he is a dog.”

Elphin ignored them and took up the shovel again, thrust it into the soil, and withdrew it. And there, dangling from the end of the wooden blade, was a golden tore.

The workmen ceased laughing. Elphin took the tore and held it in his hands, brushing away the clinging soil. It was as thick as three braided chains, and on the ends were the carved heads of animals: a bull on the right, and a bear on the left. “See what I have found!” he cried. “A golden tore, a king’s tore!”

Elphin raised his voice in a shout, and soon almost everyone in the village-including Gwyddno and Hafgan-had gathered around the excavation. “See what I have found,” said Elphin in a loud voice, holding the tore high in the air for all to see. “A tore of gold-buried right where I have set my hearth.”

There were murmurs of amazement through the throng. “Let me see it, if you will,” said Hafgan, elbowing his way forward.

Elphin placed the tore in the druid’s hand and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Hafgan studied it carefully, turning it this way and that. He took the edge of his robe and rubbed the tore until it shone with a bright luster. “Did all of you see this take place?” he asked.

“We saw it,” the workmen admitted reluctantly.

“Does anyone doubt?”

They shook their heads. “Elphin found it as he said,” one of the men replied, and explained how they had refused to dig the firepit and challenged Elphin to dig for himself. “He took up the shovel and struck the stone; the tore was under it.”

Gwyddno clapped his hands. “This is a fortuitous sign!”

“Indeed,” Hafgan replied. “Most fortuitous. There is little doubt that this tore once adorned the neck of a king. It was found in Elphin’s home, beneath an ancient hearthstone.”

“What does it mean?” asked one of the workmen.

Hafgan hefted the tore in his hand. “The meaning is clear: where is the king’s hearth?”

“Why, in the king’s house,” the man answered.

“And who lives in the king’s house?”

“The king himself,” answered Gwyddno grinning broadly.

“It is so,” said Hafgan. He held out the ornament to El-phie saying, “Do you claim the tore, Elphin ap Gwyddno?”

“I do claim it,” replied Elphin.

“Then wear it,” said Hafgan. At this the people murmured in surprise, for by this the druid indicated Elphin’s worthiness to succeed his father.