Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

He shook his head lightly. “Nestor wanted the ship ready because he knew he might need it.”

Briseis stepped close and gathered her husband into her arms. “I know this is mean-hearted, but I cannot help feeling glad that I am not the one to sleep alone tonight. I do not think I could bear it.”

“Nor could I,” Avallach whispered, holding her close. “I am not that strong.”

Two days after tribune avitus’ visit, elphin set off ON his journey to raise a warband. Cuall rode beside him, the first warrior in the future lord’s warband. At Machynlleth, a hamlet of wattle-and-daub dwellings at a ford in the heat of the Dyvi valley, they were received with some enthusiasm. The clan chief, a red-bearded giant named Gweir Paladyr, greeted Elphin warmly, clapping him on the back until the young man’s spine rattled.

“Och! Prince Elphin! Look at you! Marriage agrees with you lad, does it? Aye, it does. Come, lift ajar with me.” He turned to some onlooking clansmen. “Here, lads! Fetch the horses water and a mouthful of fodder.”

The three entered Gweir’s round house where a plump woman greeted them and threw herself into a fit of industry, bustling to and fro, scattering earthenware jars and plates before her unexpected guests. “Steady on, Osla, just bring us the beer,” Gweir told her.

She placed a good-sized crock before Gweir, who poured the jars full to overflowing and then lifted his high, saying, “Long life to our lord… May his spear fly true!”

They drank and the jars were refilled. “Well now, Elphin lad, what news? I heard about the attack.”

“Raiders, yes” he began.

“Lord Elphin here slew two with a single throw,” put in

Cuall. “Saw it myself. Two on one spear-with the battle frenzy on him.”

“So I hear,” replied Gweir, nodding his approval. “So I hear.”

“It was a small band,” explained Elphin, “and poorly organized. They were after cattle, not a fight.”

“He routed them single-handed,” Cuall boasted proudly. “Saw it myself.”

“They were scared and hungry. I rattled my shield at them and they dropped their weapons and ran.”

“He had no shield!” crowed Cuall. “And the spear-the spear he snatched out of the air as it streaked toward his own heart!”

Gweir chuckled into his beard. “That ought to give the rascals something to think about. Did you recognize them?”

Elphin shrugged. “They were a bit small for Cruithne, and some had painted themselves.”

“Picti!” cried Gweir, slamming his hand down, “The same thieving swine that’s been troubling the Wall for the last two summers.”

“They are far south then,” observed Elphin.

“Och, aye. And now they have seen the land hereabouts they will be back-you can count on that.”

“That is why I have come,” Elphin said. “I am raising a warband.”

Gweir raised shaggy red eyebrows in surprise. “A war-band, eh?” He looked from one to the other of his guests, a smile slowly spreading on his lips. “A warband, aye! How long has it been?”

“I will need a hundred men.”

“A hundred!”

“And horses for all.”

Gweir leaned on his elbows, hunching his heavy shoulders. “That is a few men, Elphin. A fair few indeed.”

“We will not be discouraging cattle thieves, Gweir. We will be protecting our lands and people. My warband will be trained Roman cavalry.”

“Roman trained?” The smile faded on the big chieftain’s face; the magnitude of the plan was beginning to daunt him.

“I have struck a bargain with the tribune at Caer Seiont. We supply the men and horses for his use over the summer, and he returns them to us trained and battle-ready.”

Gweir hesitated. “A hundred men and horses,” he muttered.

“We will raise them,” said Elphin confidently, “if we all do our part. I intend riding with them to learn command. Tribune Avitus says that besides the Cruithne, there are At-tacotti and Scotti from Ireland pushing south beyond the Wall-and some called Saecsen as well. We can expect raids this harvest if not before.”

“Can the garrison not hold ‘em then?”

“No.” Elphin shook his head firmly. “Not anymore. None of the garrisons are fully manned.”

“I know I pay enough taxes,” snorted Gweir Paladyr.

“Taxes aside, there are not enough men. And even if there were, the savages become bolder. If we stand by, if we wait, we can expect to see the heads of our children hanging from their Belts.”

“Is it as bad as all that?” wondered Gweir.

“Believe it,” said Cuall.

“It is. And it is going to get worse.” Elphin lay his hands flat on the table. “A strong warband is our best hope.”

“And the Lord Gywddno? What says he?”

“He agrees. It is field a warband or sit by and watch our villages burned and looted, our cattle and women carried off.”

Gweir ran a hand through his grizzled hair. “I had no idea.”

“Then you will support us?”

“Och, aye! You can count on Gweir Paladyr to do his part. Machynlleth will stand men and horses.”

Elphin beamed. “Good!” He raised his cup. “Long life to you, Gweir.”

“Aye, long life and health to our enemies’ enemies!”

They drank, wiping foam from their mustaches with the backs of their hands, and busy Osla brought a steaming pot to the table. While she ladled stew into wooden bowls, Elphin asked, “Now then, how many can we count on?”

Osla gave her husband a cautionary look. Gweir pursed his lips and, ignoring his wife’s silent warning, said, “Fifteen. No, make that twenty!”

Osla banged the iron pot down on the table and stalked off.

“Say ten,” replied Elphin. “It is enough; we do not want to bleed the strength of the village. You will need men to work the fields and harvest.”

“Ten then,” said Gweir, smiling expansively. “By Lleu’s lightning!-it will be a handsome warband, will it not?”

So it went. At Nethbo, Ysgubor-y-Coed, Talybont, Nev-enhyr, Dinodig, Arllechwedd, Plas Gogerddan, Brevi Vawr, Aberystwyth, and the other settlements of Lord Gwyddno’s realm, Elphin was received courteously and made his request for men and horses. Where confidence and clear-headed logic failed, Elphin coaxed, wheedled, challenged, flattered, and provoked. One by one he persuaded them all to his cause.

He returned to Caer Dyvi five days later with pledges amounting to one hundred and twenty-five men. Gwyddno Garanhir was pleased at his son’s success. “When will they come?” he asked.

“Three nights before full moon. They are to bring food enough for themselves and the horses for the journey. We are pledged to supply meat, drink, and provender after that.”

“As agreed. I hope Tribune Avitus appreciates our generosity,” Gwyddno added grudgingly.

Elphin fixed him with a fierce glare. “Hear me, it is not for Avitus or anyone else that we do this. It is for ourselves. You heard Centurion Maximus; we protect our own. It is important that we all understand this.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” his father said impatiently. “It is just that-why pay my taxes if not for soldiers to protect my people?”

“Gweir, Tegyr, Ebrei, and the rest-they all feel the same and said so,” replied Elphin. “But it does not change the fact that Rome’s power is limited. And even if it were not, a legion cannot be everywhere at once.

“Listen, we need this for ourselves and it costs us little- a portion of the season’s tribute. It is a foolish lord who would risk everything to save so little.”

Gwyddno agreed lamely. “There was a time when having a garrison nearby meant something.”

Elphin smiled broadly. “There it is, you see? By summer’s end we will have our own garrison.”