Stephen Lawhead - Taliesin

Elphin grinned. “That is where you are wrong, woman. There is never enough time for lovemaking. We must take it when we can.” He planted a great kiss on her lips, which she returned with passion.

“Ah, Taliesin lad, find yourself a lusty wife and you will be happy all your life.”

“Words to live by, Father,” laughed Taliesin.

“Just love her as much as you can,” said Rhonwyn, pulling Elphin toward the door, his arm still around her waist, “and you will never want for a happy home.”

They joined the celebration, which lasted two days. In this Elphin proved himself something of a prophet, for it was the last feast that year and for several years to corne. And for far too many, the last they were ever to see.

The golden days of autumn fell away one by one and the land prepared for its winter rest. Hafgan, upright and erect as ever, gray eyes still sharp as a hawk’s-although his long hair now showed more silver than brown-sat before his hut, watching a long, thin wisp of smoke float into a cool azure sky. He studied for a long time as the smoke braided and curled and flattened on the upper wind. At last he gathered his blue robe about him and hurried to Elphin’s hall.

“Fetch your lord,” he told a young warrior lolling before the door.

The young man pulled on his mustache, so Hafgan drew back and gave him a quick kick on the shin. The warrior nearly toppled to the ground. “Be quick with you,” the druid said.

A moment later Elphin was standing before his chief counselor blinking in the light and saying, “A bit early for kicking the hirelings, is it not, Hafgan?”

“Too late, more like.”

“What is it, then? What have you seen?”

“They are coming.”

“Picti?”

“From today we will no longer speak of Irish, Picti or Saecsen but of barbarian.”

“Do you mean to say they are all coming?”

“Why look so surprised? Have you not yourself often spoken of the coming darkness?”

“I had hoped for a few more years,” Elphin confessed.

“One year or another, one season more or less, what difference? Take the day as it comes, Elphin.”

“Do you see victory for us?”

“Better to ask your son. He sees these things much clearer than I.”

“I have not seen Taliesin for three days! Where is he when we need him?”

“He will be where he is needed most.”

A little while later, as the warband prepared to ride out again, they heard the iron ring out from the council oak.

Elphin and his closest advisors-Cuall, Redynvar, and Her-idd-hurried to the tree, where Taliesin waited, the iron striker in his hand. “I would have come to you, but there is no time to lose,” the young man explained. “Irish ships have been sighted looking for landfall Below M6n. Raiding parties have pushed as far south as Dubr Duiu. Diganhwy is under seige.”

Taliesin half-expected his father to react in the way of Celtic battielords of old-with quick anger and white-hot rage. Instead, the king was cool and decisive. “How many ships?” he asked.

“Thirty at least. Maybe more. Those that have landed were painted the color of the sea-hull, sails, and masts-to better hide among the waves. It was difficult to count them.”

“That is easily a thousand men!” exclaimed Heridd.

Cuall, already buckling on his leather breastplate, observed dryly, “Their thousand to our three hundred-why, they only want two thousand more to make it a fair fight!”

“Do we take them on the shore or let them come to us?” wondered Redynvar.

“If they mean to have this land, let them come and take it from us,” replied Heridd.

“No,” replied Elphin firmly. “That may do for us, but there are many small holdings and settlements that look to us for protection. We will meet them where they come ashore. We ride at once.” He had no need to say more. So well schooled were his men in the ways of war, their commander’s word silenced all discussion.

Hafgan arrived as the commanders dashed away to their various chores. Elphin lingered with the bards. “Do you see victory for us, son?”

Taliesin frowned. “I see much death and pain on both sides. Victory? Father, I tell you the truth, the man is not alive who will see this fight ended, let alone won.”

Elphin tightened his Belt. “Then it is best to begin it rightly and give those who come after an example they will never forget. Will you ride with us?”

“I would ride with you even if you had not asked me,” said Taliesin.

“But I will not,” remarked Hafgan. “I am too old. Let me rather support my lord in imprecations against the enemy.”

“Do that,” said Elphin, flashing a malicious grin. “And let the whole stinking pack save themselves if they can!”

There were hurried farewells throughout the caer and the warband rode out. They galloped north in three columns along the coast searching for ships on the horizon, or already beached. They saw none until late in the afternoon when the sun was already sinking toward twilight. One of Elphin’s scouts returned to the lead column with the news: “Boats, lord, twenty by count. Still far out. They do not appear to be coming in.”

“It is late. No doubt they are waiting to slip in under cover of darkness,” said Cuall.

“Where is the likeliest landing?” asked Elphin.

“A sandy cove lies not two miles north of here. I think they might make for that,” the scout answered.

“I know the place. We wait for them there, then. Take two men with you and ride to Caer Seiont. Tell the tribune we will engage the enemy here and join the legion as soon as possible.”

The scout acknowledged his orders with a Roman salute, and a moment later three men rode off. The three columns moved off to establish themselves in strategic positions around the cove and to wait for nightfall and the landing of the enemy.

The early hours of the night passed uneventfully. Elphin’s warband watched and waited quietly. They ate cold rations and slept in their armor, their weapons at hand. On the sea there was no movement, although the late-rising moon revealed that the raiders were there, sitting off the coast.

“What are they waiting for?” wondered Cuall. He and Elphin were huddled together on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea, well above the beach. It had just passed midnight and still the boats had not moved.

“Look to the northern sky,” said a voice behind them.

“Ah, Taliesin, you join us,” said Cuall. “To the north, you say? What is to the north? I see nothing.”

“That bank of cloud-you can see the lower edge as a thin line in the moonlight. Just there above the water. They are waiting for complete darkness.”

“And they will get it,” snorted Elphin. “By Lieu, they show a canny streak! When did they get so smart?”

“You have taught them, Father. You and the Romans. They know that word of the raid has spread by now and that they will likely be met. So they wait and nurse their strength.”

“Let them do what they can,” humphed Cuall.

“We might as well sleep,” Taliesin suggested. “The clouds are moving slowly; the ships will not come to shore.”

Elphin posted a watch at the outcrop and slept, to be awakened while it was still dark by a harsh whisper in his ear. “A light, Lord Elphin. I think it was a signal. The ships might be moving.”

The king was already on his feet before the message was fully delivered. “Alert the commanders. Tell them to meet me here.”

They met: Cuall, Heridd, Toringad, Redynvar, Nerth, Ma-bon-all of Elphin’s commanders, each with charge of a contingent of fifty men, a system they had adopted from the Romans. “The boats are coming in,” he told them. “It will be difficult to see at first, but let the raiders come ashore and move a little inland. Then burn the boats. There is to be no escape. I will not have them run from this fight only to land somewhere else with the dawn.” He glanced around at his men, each one a battle-seasoned champion, proven many times over. “Lieu make your blade quick and your spear true,” he said.