Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

The king raised himself on an elbow and looked with interest at his two guests. They saw a handsome man who despite the deathly pallor of his skin appeared in full possession of his faculties. A rich black mane of hair curled to his shoulders, his beard spread over his chest in perfumed coils. He was dressed in a spotless white tunic over white trousers, with a wide leather Belt of silver scales, each the size of a plate and inlaid with costly lapis lazuli. His vest was emerald green, embroidered with gold thread in the most amazing designs.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and full, like the voice of a god from the sea. “Welcome, friends, whoever you may be.”

Both men bowed humbly. Collen’s mouth hung slightly open.

Dafyd gathered his wits and replied, “Greetings to you in the name of our Lord and Master.”

“Who might your master be?” asked Avallach.

“He is Jesu, called the Christ.”

“Remember me to your Christ when you come again into his realm.”

“His realm is large, lord,” replied Dafyd. “Those who know him call him King of kings.”

Avallach nodded, his brow lowering in a frown. Charis spoke up. “This Jesu is a god, Father. And these men are his priests.”

“Priests!” Avallach laughed. “Welcome, priests. I trust your god does not begrudge you meat and drink?”

“No, lord,” replied Dafyd. “He does not.”

“Then allow my seneschal to find chambers for you where you may wash and renew yourselves. Join rne at my table when you are refreshed.” He raised a hand and a servant appeared. The two men bowed and fell into step behind their guide and were ushered from the room.

“Where did you find them?” Avallach asked as the doors closed on the hall once more.

“They found me, Father,” replied Charis, “at the ruin I sometimes visit. These men came looking for it, saying it is a shrine to their god. They thought me a goddess.” She laughed.

“Ah, that is very good.” Avallach lifted his dark eyebrows. “I am in need of cheering.”

“Are you in pain?” Charis bent near, placing her hand to his side.

He patted her hand. “It is not beyond bearing,” he said. “No, I am feeling better. I will be back on my feet again in a day or two. Now send word to the kitchen that we have guests. It would not do to slight two such important emissaries.”

Winter had been hard, the spring cold and rainy. Summer saw little improvement; crops did poorly, although the grazing was good and the cattle grew sleek and fat. As autumn drew near the winds grew bitter, heralding another bad winter hard on the heels of the last, for in the bleak north a storm was gathering which few in the southlands foresaw.

Elphin returned early from riding the Wall, anxious and ill-at-ease. Taliesin had not ridden with him this year. Instead, he had spent the summer with Blaise, helping Hafgan instruct a small but lively crowd of noblemen’s sons from around the region. When the warband, now grown to nearly three hundred of the best fighting men in all Gwynedd, came clattering into Caer Dyvi, Taliesin and his charges stood out on the road before the gates with the rest of the village to greet them.

He took one look at his father’s tight smile and the way he sat tense in the saddle and knew that something was wrong- although with the usual celebration of the warriors’ return, it was some time before Taliesin could discover what bothered the king.

“What is it?” he asked when he finally got Elphin aside for a private word. He lifted the jar and poured two drinking horns full with sweet mead and handed one to his father.

Elphin smiled thinly. “Am I as glass to one and all, then?”

“Not to one and all perhaps, but certainly to me.” Taliesin raised his cup. “Health to you, Father.” They drank deeply and wiped their mustaches with the back of their hands. “What happened up there this summer?” Taliesin asked.

“Little enough. We saw only three wandering bands all summer.” The king shrugged and peered into his drink again.

“And yet?”

Laughter pattered through the open doorway of the hall across the way where the feast was just beginning. “And yet there is a heaviness of heart that the wise counsel of my advisors can neither reason away nor lighten.”

“What troubles you?”

The king raised a hand and pressed the palm over his heart. “My own wise counselor tells me that there is dire wickedness afoot. Oh, it is quiet north of the Wall; there was no trouble. But I think it is because they are waiting, and avoiding us while they wait.”

“Have you spoken to Maximus about it?”

“I tried. We passed by Caer Seiont on our return, but he had gone oflf to Londinium again. Romans! If only they would fight the Picti and Attacotti as eagerly as they kill each other.” Elphin sighed. “Not that it matters. There are few enough legionaries left-five hundred at Luguvallium, not many more at Eboracum and Deva. Fullofaudes commands the Wall now, and he is vigilant, I give him that. But he trusts his scouts too much. Scouts, did I say? The cutthroats are little better than the vermin they are hired out to keep an eye on.”

“You could go to Londinium,” suggested Taliesin. “I would go with you, and some of your chiefs. We could speak to the legate.”

“I would climb back in that accursed saddle at once if I thought it would do any good. The legate believes that the southeast is more vulnerable. What men he has are put to work building forts along the southern coast, all to defend against a few fishing boats full of Saecsens-and this after the massacre in the north.”

“That was seven years ago, Father,” offered Taliesin gently.

Elphin considered this. He smiled slowly and shook his head. “So it was. But the same’ will happen again, maybe worse. It is beginning, Taliesin-the Dark Time. It seems I have been waiting half my life, but I swear I have never seen a darker time than this. I think Maximus realizes it as well and that is why he has gone to Londinium-to try to make them listen. They cannot bleed us dry up here and expect protection in the south.”

“What will you do?”

“What is there to do but look to our own defense?”

Taliesin remained silent. He had rarely seen his father so profoundly disturbed-angry yes, foaming with rage at the shortsighted stupidity of the emperor and governors and legion commanders, especially following the dreadful massacre of seven summers ago. But now Elphin, staunchest and most loyal of subjects, had all but abandoned the Roman leaders; this was new, and this concerned Taliesin.

Bit by bit he had seen it coming as each passing year increased the distance between the Cymry and their Roman protectors. The people were gradually returning to the old ways, the ways of their Briton ancestors.

“The Celt will live again,” said Taliesin.

“Eh?”

“It is just something Hafgan said. A prophecy which I fear is coming true.”

“Aye, too true. I wish Gwyddno were here,” said Elphin gloomily. “I miss him.” He raised his horn. “To strong arms, sharp iron, and fleet horses!” He downed the mead in a gulp. “Now let us join the merrymaking. We both know this could well be the last we see for a long, long time. And bring your harp, son. I have missed your singing these last months.”

Rhonwyn entered the house then and met them as they rose from the board. “Your people are asking for you, husband.”

“Let them go on asking,” Elphin said, wrapping his wife in a fierce bear hug. “I mean to have you first.”

“Go on with you, man!” exclaimed Rhonwyn, struggling in his embrace. But not, Taliesin noticed, struggling enough to free herself. “There will be time enough for making love.”