Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

“They came upon us from both sides at once,” said Avallach. “There was no warning. We were asleep beside the road. There were four of them to every one of us. Swords and bows. They shot from horseback and then rode over us, hacking with their blades at anything that moved. It was over in an instant and they scattered.

“Ahh!” Avallach grimaced with pain.

“Be careful, you clumsy half-wit!” Seithenin shouted at the Mage, who apologized benignly and continued with his work.

Avallach gulped and continued, ‘ ‘I rallied a handful of men and we rode after them. They left the road and we lost them in the forest soon after.”

The Mage finished and withdrew silently. Seithenin produced a robe and draped it over Avallach’s shoulders, then handed him a bowl of unmixed wine. “Drink this… it will calm you.”

Avallach raised the bowl to his lips, saying “Dragging Nestor through the streets behind my chariot and nailing his headless carcass to my gate would calm me more.”

“It was Nestor? You are certain?”

Avallach gave Seithenin a sharp look. “Who else?”

“Did you see him?”

“No!” Avallach started from his stool. “But by the gods I know who it was.”

“Sit, sit.” Seithenin motioned him back down. “Drink your wine. I only wondered if he dared show himself.”

“Would you?”

Seithenin shook his head. “No, I would not.” He paused, looked at Avallach sadly, and said, “That this hateful thing has happened on my land fills me with anger and remorse. My men are yours to command, Avallach, if you wish to send them out”

Avallach shook his head wearily. “I would do so if I thought there was even the narrowest hope of catching him. No, he has run too far to catch him now.”

“What will you do?”

“I will go home and bury my wife,” Avallach replied dully. He sipped the wine, and his features relaxed as some of the tension left his muscles.

“And then?”

“I cannot say.”

Seithenin rose abruptly. “Of course. There is no need to think about it tonight. I will leave so you can rest. We will talk tomorrow.” He moved toward the door where he paused and turned back. “I am sorry for the death of the queen, Avallach. I grieve with you. Briseis was a remarkable woman. You have my sympathy.” He bade Avallach good night and left, closing the door gently behind him.

Charis sat on the edge of the bed and stared at a wall painting of a smiling brown boy on a blue dolphin amidst a sea boiling with creatures of all descriptions. She heard the door to her room creak as it swung open and then hesitant footsteps as someone entered.

“Charith?” said a soft voice. “Oh, Charith, I am thorry.”

The princess looked around slowly. It was Liban, wearing a thin nightshift, an expression of deepest sorrow on her round face. “I heard about your” She could not make herself say the words but came to her friend and put her arms around her. “Oh, Charith… I heard.”

“It was terrible,” said Charis. “Terrible, Liban. She was all chopped up… I saw her die…”

“Do not thay it.” She took Charis’ hands and sank down beside her on the bed. They sat for a long time in silence; there were no words for what they were feeling.

The moon rose and poured pale light into the room. Liban stirred, taking Charis by the hand. “Here, lie down and try to thleep. I will come back in the morning.” Charis lay down, and Liban pulled a cover over her and tiptoed out. “It was my fault,” murmured Charis, dry-eyed in the darkness. “I am to blame.”

The next morning Charis awakened early, alone in her room. When Liban came for her she found Charis sitting on the bed, her hair pulled back and tied, her clothes rumpled in the night. Together they went to the kitchen to eat breakfast with some of Seithenin’s younger children. Eoinn and Guistan were among them, subdued but apparently unscathed by the attack. They acknowledged her presence as she passed and continued their conversation with three of Seithenin’s sons.

“… a thousand,” Eionn was saying. “No, ten thousand!” put in Guistan. “And all with long swords,” said Eoinn. “And arrows a span long!” added Guistan. “Their horses were fast,” said Eoinn. “Kian said they ran so fast they disappeared!” replied Guistan.

“Vultures!” Liban snapped, stamping her foot.

“Aw, Liban,” whined one of the older boys, “we just want to hear what happened.”

“I will tell you what happened! People were killed-that ith what happened.” Her glance lit on Eoinn and Guistan. “Your own mother wath killed. Do you even care?”

She whirled away and led Charis to a far corner of the room where there was a small table near the hearth. One of the cooks brought them a plate of wheat cakes and fruit. They ate quietly and in a few minutes the boys trooped out.

“They are not really my brotherth,” Liban lisped.

This brought a brief smile to Charis’ lips, but her eyes remained dull. “My own brothers are just as bad.”

“Thumtimeth I think the midwife thtole the royal children and put their own brath in the cradle inthtead.”

“Not likely is it?” Charis brightened somewhat.

“Maybe not, but it would exthplain much.”

Charis laughed. “Sometimes I like to think that my brothers are foundlings and that I am the only true child of Aval-lach and Bris” Her voice faltered.

“Come,” suggested Liban, “we will go to my room and you can tell me all about the royal city. I have never been to Potheidonith.”

“It will take days to tell,” warned Charis, following Liban out.

“Well, you had all the fun; now it is time to mare.”

The girls struck off toward Liban’s room, crossing a huge vaulted vestibule.

“Charis!”

The harshness of the voice stopped them in midstep and turned them around. King Avallach stood with his hands on his hips, frowning down at them from a stairway. “Father?” Charis’ voice echoed in the vastness of the chamber.

“We are leaving at once. Go out into the forecourt and wait there for the carriages.”

Charis opened her mouth to reply, but Avallach turned and was gone. She stood looking after him.

“I will wait with you,” said Liban.

They waited together, neither one speaking very much, until it was time to leave. “Farewell, Charith,” called Liban as Charis climbed into the queen’s coach. This time her mother’s body was neatly wrapped in a scented linen shroud, prepared for burial. Again Annubi tried to intercede for her, but Avallach insisted she ride with her mother’s corpse alone.

An escort of Seithenin’s men rode with them all the way to Sarras, but the countryside remained peaceful and secure, and although they stopped to question farmers and merchants along the way, no one had seen a force of men such as Aval-lach described. Thus, news of Briseis’ death raced before them so that by the time they reached the Royal Way leading to Avallach’s palace, the road was lined with mourners, each waving a solitary olive branch.

Two days later Briseis’ body, dressed all in green and gold with a golden tiara on her brow, was carried in an open carriage beneath a canopy of green silk from the palace to the royal tomb.

The white marble tomb sat on top of a grassy hill and was reached by a long, switchback flight of stairs from the valley Below. The bier was drawn by a team of black horses and was led by three chariots, each pulled by a matched team of blacks with long black plumes affixed to their harnesses. Avallach, Kian, and Maildun each drove one of the chariots and Eoinn, Guistan, and Charis rode with them.

The route from the palace descended through the apple groves and passed through a wood before reaching the hillside stairway. Charis stood beside Maildun, grim and silent, while the chariot made its way down from the palace, through the streets of Kellios to the hilltop tomb. When the funeral procession reached the wooded valley, she turned to see the throng of mourners stretching back all the way along the road to Kellios.