Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

“Hail Elphin!” the others cried. And Elphin was borne back to the caer on the shoulders of men who chanted victory songs in his honor for hours into the night.

“Have you ever seen anything so…” Charis searched for just the right word, “… so magnificent?”

Guistan peered at her and sniffed, “Of course, the High King lives well. Why not? It is his right.” The boy tossed another grape into his mouth. “He is a god, after all.”

“Not a real god.”

“He is too,” insisted Guistan. He put a grape under his thumb and squashed it. “Ask Annubi. When a king becomes High King, he also becomes a god. Would you have a god live in a pigsty?”

“I said the palace is magnificent,” she insisted. “I think the High King is magnificent, too; I do not care whether he is a god or not.”

“Huh!” snorted Guistan, getting to his feet. He squashed another grape and then picked up the pulpy mass and threw it at Charis.

She ducked and grabbed an orange from the fruitbowl and threw it at his quickly-retreating back. “I hate you!” she yelled after him. The orange splattered on the marble floor and rolled, spilling juice as it went. Charis turned away in disgust.

“Was this welcome meant for me?”

Charis spun back to see a dark-haired woman in a flowing tunic and mantle standing in the doorway, the ruined orange at her feet. “Aunt Elaine!” she cried, and flew across the room to hug her aunt.

“Here,” said Elaine taking Charis’ hand, “put your hand just there.” She held the girl’s hand flat against the side of her protruding stomach. “Do you feel anything?”

“Mmm, no,” replied Charis. Elaine moved her hand to a different place and almost at once Charis felt a quiver and then a bump beneath her hand. She pulled her hand away at once.

“Was that the baby?”

Her aunt nodded. “That was a foot or an elbow. He squirms around an awful lot these days, poor thing. He is cramped in there and wants to be free.”

“Have you seen the garden?” asked Charis suddenly, taking Elaine’s hand and leading her to the balcony.

“Only from my window.”

“I have explored almost the whole garden; let me show you.”

“Very well, but first let us find your mother. I have not yet greeted her.”

“She will come with us and you can talk while I show you the garden. “Charis dashed to the doorway. “I will bring her.”

Charis found her mother in conversation with Ilean as the maidservant arranged the queen’s hair. ‘ ‘Mother, Aunt Elaine is here-we are going for a walk and she wants you to come too.”

“Thank you, Ilean.” Briseis dismissed the servant and followed her daughter into the next room where they found Elaine where Charis had left her, standing in the sunlight on the balcony. Elaine turned and held out her arms. “Briseis!”

Briseis’ step faltered. A shadow swept across her face and she stopped.

“Briseis? What is it?”

“Mother?” asked Charis.

The queen came to herself again and the moment passed. “Oh, it was just-it is nothing.” Briseis stepped close and kissed the other woman on the cheek. “Elaine, how are you? Any change?”

“Not to speak of. The baby is due any day, they say-they have been saying it for months, it seems. I have my doubts.”

“Let us walk,” offered Charis. “I want to show you the garden.”

“Yes, I desperately need some fresh air.”

Charis led them out and down the stone staircase to the garden Below. She struck off along the first path she came to and the women followed behind. For a while Charis darted back and forth, urging them to hurry. But gradually she got further and further ahead and when she looked back to see them stop to sit down on a stone bench beside the path, she despaired. “We will never get to see any of the garden this way,” she thought.

She started toward them, dragging her heels. Her mother saw her and waved her on. “You go ahead, Charis!” she called. “We will come along soon.”

Glad for the freedom, she dashed away and soon lost herself in the winding pathways of the High King’s lush and elaborate garden. She flitted along a neatly-trimmed hedge, over a quaint wooden bridge, and into a lemon grove. The trees were still in flower and the scent of the blossoms slowed her; she walked along, humming to herself, wandering in the sweet, heady fragrance.

Further into the grove she came to a shaded pool fed from a stone fountain in its center: a great green, marble fish with a gaping mouth. Sparkling water spouted from the fish’s mouth to fill the quiet pool. Charis knelt and held her hands in the flowing water and then patted her forehead and neck. The cool water felt good on her skin.

She lay back on the grassy slope and watched the clouds floating across the sky, then closed her eyes. The sound of singing drifted in her ears-a clear liquid melody, like drops of water falling in the pool. She listened for a moment; the words were strange and curiously uttered, as if the singer were speaking an unknown tongue.

Charis rose and made her way toward the sound, walking around the rim of the pool, ducking under the drooping branches of a katsura tree growing at the water’s edge. She came to a wall of cinnamon ferns, pushed her way through the pungent green fronds, and stepped cautiously into a sunlit glade.

There, on a tall three-legged stool, sat a woman with hair of flaming gold, wearing a shimmering tunic of deep emerald green. She held a silver embroidery hoop in her hand, but there was no cloth on it, and no needles or thread nearby that Charis could see. As soon as Charis stepped from the shadows, the song ended. The woman turned her head and regarded Charis openly, her lips curved in a welcoming smile.

“I wondered who was listening to me,” the woman said. “Come closer, girl.”

Charis took a slow, cautious step.

The woman laughed lightly; it was the sound of dew falling on the leaves. “I Believe you fear me.”

Charis moved more quickly and carne to stand beside the woman. “How did you know I was listening?” she asked.

“What a pretty girl you are, Charis.”

“Do you know me?”

“If I did not know you, how should I know your name?”

“Who are you?” Charis asked, and then blanched at the impertinence of the question.

“Why be afraid?” the woman asked. “I consider a forthright question a kindness. So much can be hidden behind false courtesy.”

Charis just stared. There was something very familiar about the woman, and yet…

“Oh, you do not recognize me, do you?” said the woman. “Perhaps if I were to wear my silk and circlet you would remember.”

The woman made a sweeping motion with her hands and her image shifted in the air and rippled, as if it were a reflection in the water. And Charis saw before her the figure of the High Queen, dressed in bright red silk, with a long cloak and a narrow band of gold on her brow, her braided hair bound in golden rings.

Charis bowed and raised her hands in the sun sign.

The queen laughed. “So you do recognize me after all. I am glad. How tedious it would be if we were to go on speaking and neither one of us knowing who she addressed.”

When Charis looked again the image faded and the High Queen assumed her proper appearance. Charis blinked her eyes in amazement; her jaw dropped.

“Why surprised, Charis? It is a simple enough illusion.”

“My queen,” replied Charis a little breathlessly. “I have never seen such a thing.”

“Oh, there are many such things one could do-and many greater things as well-if one knew how. But you may call me Danea, for I think we are going to be friends.” The High Queen held up the silver hoop. “Do you know what this is, Charis?”