Pendragon Cycle - Taliesin Part 2

"The salmon weir shall be Elphin's test. If he brings back a great catch, the curse is broken."

"If not?" demanded one of the clansmen.

"If he fails, you may begin searching for an heir. I will not remain king beyond Sarnhain. It is time to choose a new leader."

This last and more important news was received in respectful silence. Elphin's luck was one matter, choosing a king was another. "Return to your work. That is all I have to say," said Gwyddno, and thought: "There, it is done. Let them chew on that."

As the tribe dispersed, Hafgan, the clan's bard, came forward, wrapped in his long blue robe although it was a bright spring day.

"Cold, Hafgan?" said Gwyddno.

The druid twisted his face and cast an eye toward the sun, now standing at midday. "I feel the chill of a snow that will be."

"Snow? Now?" Gwyddno looked up at the high clouds floating across the sun-washed sky. "But it is nearly Beltane-winter snows are past."

Hafgan grunted and pulled his robe around him. "I will not argue about the weather. You did not consult me about this matter of the salmon weir. Why?"

Gwyddno turned his eyes away. He disliked entrusting too much to a druid-one who neither fought, nor married, nor devoted himself to anything normal men might do.

"Your answer is slow in coming," observed Hafgan. "A lie often sticks in the throat."

"I will not lie to you, Hafgan. I did not consult you because I did not think it wise."

"How so?"

"Elphin is my only son. A man must do for his true sons what he can to advance their fortunes. I made up my mind that Elphin should have the take of the weir this year. I did not want you to gainsay the plan."

"You Believed I would interfere?"

Gwyddno looked at the ground.

"There was your mistake, Gwyddno Garanhir. Your plan showed wisdom, but the weather will go against you. I could have told you."

Gwyddno's head snapped up. "The snow!"

The bard nodded. "A storm is coming. Wind and snow from the sea. The salmon will be late and the weir empty."

Gwyddno shook his head sadly. "You must not tell Elphin. There may still be something for him."

The druid huffed and made to turn away. "The Great Mother is ever generous."

"I will make an offering at once. Perhaps it will help."

"Do not think you will turn aside the storm," called Hafgan over his shoulder.

Gwyddno hurried away to his many-roomed house. "If she will not change his bad luck, perhaps the G.o.ddess will ease it a little."

On the morning of the eve of Beltane, dark clouds obscured the sky and icy blasts struck the land, bringing sleet and snow from over the sea. Nevertheless, Elphin rose early in his father's house, donned furs against the cold and went out to join the weir wardens, two of his father's kinsmen who had charge of the salmon weir.

The men muttered to themselves and made the sign against evil as they threw extra furs on the horses, mounted, and rode upriver. Elphin ignored his clansmen's rudeness and gnawed a bit of hard black bread as he rode, wrapped in his hunting cloak and thoughts of what the day might bring.

Elphin was a st.u.r.dy young man with a broad, good-natured face and soft brown eyes; his hair was mouse brown, as was his drooping mustache. He liked to eat and, even more, to drink, and his voice was often raised in song. If his hands were never overbusy, neither were they ever too full to help another. In all, his manner was as open and guileless as his countenance.

Unlike those around him, Elphin seemed not to mind his bad luck, appearing almost oblivious to it. He could not understand why people made so much of it. Anyway, there was nothing to be gained worrying about it, for all matters of fortune were in the hands of the G.o.ds who gave or withheld as they pleased. In his experience, matters tended to turn as they would and nothing he did or did not do made any difference.

True, the weather might have been better. Wet snow and wind were not the best conditions for talcing a fortune of salmon from the river. But what of that? Could he shut up snow in the sky or stop the wind from blowing?

The trail from the caer wound along the Dyvi's clear waters, now gray and cold, mirroring iron-dark heavens. Snow clung to the trees, weighing down their new-leafed branches. The shrill wind burned exposed flesh and the men hunched their shoulders against the chill; their horses, winter coats partly shed, bent their heads and plodded on.

They reached the weir by midmorning, and although the clouds remained as solid and grave as ever, and snow still fell steadily, the wind had lessened. The weir wardens dismounted and stood looking at the net-strung poles across the shallows. Snow topped the poles, and the nets themselves were traced in white where they showed above the black water. Across the river a stand of larches stood like a group of white-mantled druids gathered to watch the proceedings.

"There's the weir," said one of the wardens, a bull-necked young man named Cuall. "Get on with it."

Elphin nodded. With an amiable shrug, he began to strip off his clothes. Naked, he made his way down to the water, lowering himself carefully over the wet rocks. He entered the water, clamping his arms around his chest to stop the shivering, and waded toward the first net.

The net came heavily from the dark water and Elphin pulled with spirit. But the net was empty.

He cast a look sh.o.r.eward, where his kinsmen stood un-moving, their faces creased in scowls, shrugged, and made his way slowly to the next pole, his flesh p.r.i.c.kling with cold. The next net was empty, as was the one following and, save for a snagged stick, so was the one after that.

"An evil day," grumbled Cuall. The man's voice carried over the water. Elphin heard him but pretended otherwise and continued with his task. "No reason we should freeze," replied Ermid, the second warden. "Let us have a fire."

The two set about gathering dry kindling and the next time Elphin looked back he saw a merry blaze in a clearing on the bank. He turned and rejoined the others who sat hunkered over the flames.

The young man knelt before the fire and sighed with relief as the flames began to thaw his frozen limbs. "Had enough of salmon already?" asked Cuall. Ermid laughed sharply.

Elphin stretched his hands to the warmth and said through chattering teeth, "I w-would say the salmon have h-had enough of me."

This answer angered Cuall. He jumped to his feet and shook his fist in Elphin's face. "All your ill luck aforetime was nothing compared to this! You have destroyed the virtues of the weir!"

Elphin bristled at the accusation but replied calmly, "I have not yet finished what I came to do."

"What is the use of it?" bawled Cuall. "Any man can see you'll be getting nothing for your trouble!"

Once more, the young man braved the icy water and made his way among the poles and nets, working his way slowly across the river. Cuall watched him and then said to Ermid, "Come on, we have seen enough. Let us go back."

They scooped snow with their hands and tossed it onto the fire until it sizzled and died, then climbed back into their saddles. They had just turned their horses, however, when they heard Elphin's shout. Cuall rode on, but Ermid paused and looked back. He saw Elphin striding through the thigh-deep water toward the bank, pulling a black bundle behind him.

"Cuall, wait!" Ermid shouted. "Elphin has something!"

Cuall reined up and squinted over his shoulder. "It is nothing," he snorted. "A drowned carca.s.s."

Elphin shouted again, and Ermid dismounted. Cuall watched the two of them with impatience and swore under his breath, then urged his mount back along the trail. He arrived just in time to see Elphin and Ermid haul a large leather bag from the water.

"Look what Elphin's found," said Ermid.

Cuall remained unimpressed. "A watersogged skin that's not worth spit."

Ermid took out his knife and began hacking at the bag. "Careful!" warned Elphin. "You will damage my fortune."

"Your fortune!" Cuall barked, climbing down from his horse. "Aye, your fortune right enough. Every year to this, the weir yields the value of a hundred in silver, and all you get is a castoff bag."

"Who knows? There may yet be the value of a hundred silver inside," said Elphin, and he took the knife and began carefully slitting the leather skin. Then he and Ermid opened the bag and pulled out a bundle wrapped in in thick, gray seal fur and tied with leather thongs. The thongs and the fur were dry. thick, gray seal fur and tied with leather thongs. The thongs and the fur were dry.

"See here!" cried Ermid. "The water has not come inside."

Elphin lay the bundle on the ground and, with trembling hands-shaking as much from excitement as from cold-began untying the carefully knotted thongs. When the last knot was freed, he lifted his hand to unwrap the bundle, but hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" growled Cuall. "Show us this fortune of yours so we can tell the clan."

"Go on," said Ermid and reached to pull away the fur wrapping.

Elphin caught his hand. "Why so eager to share this bad luck, cousin?" he asked. "Allow me."

With that Elphin took the corner of the sealskin and pulled it back. There on the ground before them lay the body of an infant.

"Scrawny thing's dead," observed Cuall, rising.

The child lay still, its fair skin ghostly pale, its cold, tiny lips and fingers blue. Elphin stared at the infant, a man-child, exquisitely formed. Hair as fine as spider's silk and the color of gold in the firelight fell lightly across a high forehead. The closed eyes were perfect half moons, the ears delicate sh.e.l.ls. There was not a flaw or blemish on the tiny body anywhere.

"A beautiful child," whispered Elphin.

"Who'd be throwing a babe like that in the river?" wondered Ermid. "He looks fit enough to me."

Cuall, holding the horses, sneered. "The child is bewitched, like as not. Accursed he is. Throw him back and be done with it."

"Throw away my fortune?" scoffed Elphin. "I never will."

"The babe is dead," said Ermid, not unkindly. "Throw it back lest the curse cling to you for finding him."

"What of that? As I am cursed already, it will not matter." Elphin gathered up the babe in its bundle and cradled it to his naked body.

"Do what you like," growled Cuall and swung himself up into the saddle. "Are you coming, Ermid?"

Ermid rose and fetched a fur from his horse, draped it over Elphin's shoulders, and remounted.

Elphin held the child for a long moment and felt the tiny body warm against his skin. Snow swirled down through the overarching branches, casting a pal! of silence over the surrounding forest-a silence that was broken by a small, m.u.f.fled cry.

Lowering the bundle, Elphin watched in wonder as the child in his arms drew a deep, shuddering breath and cried again, stretching out its tiny hands. The infant's voice seemed to fill fill the world with its cry. the world with its cry.

"By the Mother G.o.ddess!" exclaimed Ermid. "The babe lives!"

Cuall just stared, his fingers instinctively making the sign against evil.

"Here," said Elphin getting up and holding the child out. "Hold him while I dress myself. We must get him to the caer quickly."

Ermid sat frozen in the saddle. "Hurry!" commanded Elphin. "I mean to take him back alive, that all may see my fortune." At this Ermid dismounted and took the babe gingerly in his hands.

Elphin quickly pulled on his trousers and Belted his tunic over them, stuffed his feet into his boots, then fastened his cloak. He took up his reins and leaped up into the saddle, pulling furs over him, then held out his hands for the child, which had ceased crying and now snuggled quietly asleep in its fur bed. Ermid pa.s.sed it up to him and quickly regained his own mount, and the three started back down the trail to the caer. Elphin was careful to let his horse amble gently along, lest he disturb the sleeping child.

By the time Elphin and his companions reached the caer, the snow had stopped and the clouds had thinned so that the sun could be seen as a ghostly white disk floating behind a gauzy gray curtain. A few clan members saw them return and ran to call others to see how Elphin had fared at the weir. Since there were no sacks of salmon hanging from the cantles of their saddles, most of those who followed the horses to Gwyddno's house a.s.sumed that Elphin's luck had held true, which is to say that he failed.

The seal fur bundle that Elphin cradled in his arms intrigued them, however. "What have you there, Elphin?" they called as he rode among the squat houses of the caer.

"You will see soon enough," he answered and kept riding.

"I see no salmon," they whispered to one another. "His evil luck has done for him again."

Elphin heard their whispers but did not acknowledge them. He pa.s.sed through the inner palisade of wooden stakes and came to his father's house. Gwyddno and Medhir, Elphin's mother, came out to watch their son's approach. The two weir wardens dismounted and stood a little way off, subdued. Haf-gan, the druid, leaned on his staff, head c.o.c.ked to the side, one eye asquint- as if trying to ascertain a fine alteration in Elphin's appearance.

"Well, Elphin, how have you fared?" asked Gwyddno. He peered sadly at the horses and at the empty sacks behind their saddles. "Was the spirit of the weir against you, son?"

"Come close and see how I have fared." Elphin spoke in a loud voice so that all those gathered around could hear.

He extended his arms and showed his bundle. Gwyddno reached for it, but Elphin did not hand it to him. Instead, he lifted the edge of the sealskin and pulled it back so everyone could see. As he did so the sun burst through the thin cloud cover. Bright white light showered down upon him, illuminating the infant in his hands.

"Behold! Taliesin of the radiant brow!" cried Hafgan, for the infant's face shone with a bright light as it caught the rays of the sun.

Medhir rushed forward to take the babe; Elphin handed it to her gently and dismounted. "Yes, I have fetched a child from the weir!" he said. "Let him be called Taliesin."

The people were silent. At first they merely stared in wonder at the fair child with the shining face. Then someone muttered from the crowd, "Woe, woe! Who has heard of such a thing? Surely it bodes ill for the clan."

Everyone heard what was said, and soon all were decrying Elphin's catch and making the sign against evil behind their backs. Elphin heard their rnutterings and shouted angrily, "It makes no difference what I do! Whether I had brought back three salmon or three hundred you would find some fault and say I was cursed!" He took the child from his mother and held it aloft. "In the day of trouble this child shall be of more service to me than three hundred salmon!"

The child awakened and began crying hungrily. Elphin looked at it helplessly. Medhir came close and took the infant, cradling it against her breast. "Anyone can see this child is no water spirit," she said. "He cried as l.u.s.tily as any babe might who needs his mother's milk."

Elphin turned away sadly. He had no wife, and surely none of the women in the clan would agree to raise the child. Without a mother, Taliesin would die. What they say is true, he thought, I am am unlucky. He remembered all the times he had ignored the talk of his kinsmen against him, pretending that it did not matter, and he hung his head. unlucky. He remembered all the times he had ignored the talk of his kinsmen against him, pretending that it did not matter, and he hung his head.

"Elphin, cease your lament," said a voice behind him. He turned to see Hafgan watching him. "Never in Gwyddno's weir was there such good fortune as this day." The druid came to stand before the babe and raised his oaken staff high in the air. "Though small you are, Taliesin, and weak in your leather coracle, yet there is virtue in your tongue. A bard you will be, a maker with words, renowned as no other from the beginning of the world."

The people looked to one another in amazement. Hafgan turned and lowered his staff and tapped it three times on the ground. He stretched out his hand and pointed at those gathered there. "You have heard my words; now keep them in your hearts and remember. Henceforth, let no one say that Elphin is unlucky, for he shall become the most fortunate of men."

Medhir took the babe into Gwyddno's house and prepared some goat milk. She warmed the milk in a clay bowl by the fire, then fed the child by dipping the tip of a soft cloth in the milk and giving it to the baby to suck. Gwyddno and Elphin watched and when the infant Taliesin was satisfied, he fell asleep again. Medhir wrapped him in his gray seal fur and lay him down on a bed of clean straw.

"He will sleep now," said Medhir, "but goat's milk will not keep him for long. It is a mother's milk he will be needing, and that soon."

Elphin held out his hands helplessly. "If I knew the woman, I would bring her here in an instant."

Gwyddno rubbed his hand over his chin. "Mother or wet nurse, I think it matters little to the babe."

Medhir brightened at the thought. "I have a kinswoman at Diganhwy, named Eithne-the babe has me bewitted or I would have remembered before now. It is her daughter, I am thinking, whose own dear babe came stillborn this forenight past. We could send for her to nurse the child."

"What of her husband?" wondered Elphin.

"She has none. That is, she was barter wife to a man named Nuin for the child to be his heir. They were never married, and as the child was born dead there was the end of it. Nuin paid her mother as he had promised so there would be no words between them."

"I will send for the girl," declared Gwyddno. "Perhaps she will come."

"Let me go myself," replied Elphin, looking at the sleeping child. "And I will leave at once."