Taliesin

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Lady, we can stay here no longer.” the hollow voice was Eiddon’s and his hand was under her elbow. “They may return at any moment.”

Charis looked up and saw the grim, ashen face of her friend. Nearby, the baby cried softly in Rhuna’s arms. The light was dim, the day fading rapidly toward twilight. The mist had dissolved into a mournful drizzle, making the rough-cobbled road wet where Taliesin lay. She glanced down at her hands and at the red stains there where she had gripped the arrow, and it seemed as if she had dwelt a lifetime in this place in the road.

“Charis,” said Eiddon softly, “will you come?”

She nodded silently and tried to stand, but her legs would not bear her weight. Instead, she fell forward across Taliesin’s body. She clung to him, pushing his wet hair from his face with her hands, then lay her cheek against his still chest.

“Sleep well, my love.” She kissed his cool lips and Eiddon helped her to her feet.

Salach knelt a few paces away, arms hanging limp at his side, silent tears streaming down his face and neck. Charis went to him and put her hand on his head. He raised hopeless eyes to her and cried. “Forgive me, my lady,” he wailed. “If I had been sooner with the warning… if I had only heard them… I might have… Oh, please, if I had heard them he would still be alive…” His head dropped and his heart broke anew.

“There is nothing you could do,” Charis told him. “There is nothing anyone could have done. There is no fault to forgive. How could you know?” She put a hand out to him. “Get up now, Salach, I need your strength. We all have a long way to go.”

The young man dragged his sleeve across his face and struggled to his feet. Charis put her arms around him and hugged him, then led him to where Taliesin lay. “You must help Eiddon put Taliesin on his horse. I will not leave him here.”

Salach hesitated, but Eiddon nodded and the two set about lifting Taliesin’s body into the saddle.

It had been dark a long time when they finally reached the tiny settlement at the ford of the Byd River. There were only a handful of round earth-and-timber houses surrounded by an earthen dike topped with a wooden palisade. The gate was closed, but there was a bonfire in the center of the cluster of houses.

Eiddon rode to the edge of the ditch and shouted at the group of figures standing near the fire. The people instantly darted from the fire, their silhouettes vanishing into the shadows. Eiddon called again, loudly and clearly in Briton so there would be no mistaking them for raiders. A few moments later a torch appeared over the gate.

“These gates are closed for the night. We open them to no one,” an unseen voice called.

“We have been attacked on the road. We need help,” Eiddon told the man.

There was a long silence. “We have silver to pay for lodging,” Eiddon added.

Almost at once the timber gates opened and a crude plank bridge was produced. The horses walked over the planking and into the protective circle of the palisade where the people of Byd ford gathered silently around the body slumped over the horse.

The old man of the settlement approached Eiddon warily. “Looks like your man is hurt,” he said cautiously, eyeing Eiddon’s gold shoulder brooch and the silver tore on his neck.

“He is my friend and he is dead,” replied Eiddon softly. “We are taking him home.”

The old man nodded and squinted at the travelers in the firelight. “You was attacked then.” The people murmured behind him. “You will be hungry, I expect.”

“Food would be welcome,” Eiddon replied. He turned to Charis and led her to a place by the bonfire, spread his cloak, and helped her sit down. Then he and Salach led Taliesin’s horse away into the darkness where, with utmost tenderness, they lifted Taliesin’s body from the saddle and lay it down. Salach spread his cloak over the body and left it for the night.

The travelers warmed themselves by the fire and ate a few mouthfuls of food which they did not taste and then stretched out to sleep. Without fuss or show, the old man posted a guard at the gate for the rest of the night saying, “You will sleep the better for a sharp eye.” One of the women of the hamlet approached Charis and said, “It is cold for the little ‘un, lady. Come inside the both of you, and your girl.”

Charis rose and went into a nearby hut; Rhuna followed with Merlin and they were given the only bed-a straw pallet spread with fleeces in a dry corner. Exhausted, Charis closed her eyes as soon as her head touched the pallet and was asleep.

The night was a blessed void and Charis awoke at first light. Merlin stirred beside her and cried for food. She suckled him and lay thinking about the long, lonely day ahead; then she thought of months and years to come. Where will I find the strength to go on? she wondered and decided that it was impossible to think that far ahead. She would instead think only of the present moment and not the one to come. In this way, moment by moment, she could do what had to be done.

When they had all risen and were making ready to leave, the old man of the hamlet came to Eiddon and said, “It is not meet to make a man ride to his grave.” He turned and gestured to two of the men standing nearby, who began pushing up a creaky two-wheeled cart. “Your friend will go with more ease in this. Take it.”

“If he knew the kindness you had done him,” said Eiddon, “he would reward you most generously.” The prince reached into the pouch at his Belt and withdrew a handful of silver coins which he pressed into the old man’s hand.

The old man tested the weight of the clutch of coins. “Is he a king then?”

“He is,” Eiddon said.

They hitched the cart to the packhorse and carefully laid Taliesin in the box. They left the settlement and crossed the river at the ford, found the road on the other side, and continued on toward Aquae Sulis, reaching the hectic streets of the city by midmorning. They broke fast and, hoping to reach Ynys Witrin by nightfall, moved on, turning southward at the crossroads, leaving the columned porticoes and towering tiled roofs of the noisy, brick-built town behind.

Almost at once Charis felt they had entered familiar lands again. She seemed to recognize each hill and valley, though she knew she could never have seen them before. This recognition comforted her, false though it was.

From time to time Charis turned in the saddle to look behind, expecting to see Taliesin there, a smile on his lips, eyes clear and bright, a hand raised in greeting.

But there was only the rude cart swaying along as its wheels turned slowly around and around.

The hours passed one after another as the sun made its slow way through the dull, cloud-draped sky. Charis remembered nothing about the rest of the journey, except the deepest, deadliest pain she had ever known and the darkest, emptiest silence that received her heart’s anguished cries. She moved as in a dream, achingly slow, burdened with the most enormous weight of mind-numbing grief.

By late afternoon they came to the Briw River and turned off the road, following the track which led to the Isle of Glass. As the sun spread into an orange-red glow on the horizon, Charis lifted her head and saw Avallach’s palace on its hollow hill floating above the reed-fringed lake.

The sight brought her no joy, no lightness of spirit or gladness of heart. Instead, she reflected ruefully on the reunion and welcome that should have been but now would never be.

Soon the horse’s hooves struck the causeway across the marshy wasteland to the island. The winding track led them to the palace. The gates stood open and waiting, for they had been seen coming a long way oif. As soon as the cart bearing Taliesin’s body rolled to a halt, Avallach appeared in the courtyard and Lile with him.

He spread his arms in welcome while Eiddon helped Charis dismount, but his smile died when he saw his daughter’s face. “Charis?” he asked, noting the retinue of strangers, “where is Taliesin?”

Charis indicated the rude bier but could not make herself say the words. Eiddon approached and stood beside her. Inclining his head in deference to Avallach, he said, “Taliesin is dead, Lord Avallach-struck down on the road by a Cruithne arrow.”

Avallach’s great shoulders sagged and he put out a hand and drew Charis to him, folding her into his strong embrace. Lile, standing quietly nearby, went to the cart and pulled back the cloak that covered the body. She stared into the once bright visage for a moment and then lightly touched the cruel arrow still protruding from Taliesin’s chest. She replaced the cloak and walked quickly toward the stables and then returned. A few moments later a horse and rider clattered across the courtyard from the stables and rode away.

“His people must be told,” she said to Salach, who stood watching silently. “I have sent word for them to come at once.”

Salach nodded glumly and lowered his eyes again.

At length Avallach lifted his head and beckoned Rhuna to him. She presented the infant, peeling away the woolen wrap so that he could see the baby. “Ah, the child!” he said, “the child… so fair…”

Charis stirred. “His name is Merlin,” she said and placed him in her father’s hands.

“Welcome, little Merlin,” said Avallach, drawing his forefinger across the baby’s forehead and cheek. “And welcome, daughter.” He paused and looked toward the funeral cart. “Forgive me, Charis. I will bear his death upon my heart to my own grave. Let God judge me harshly for the wrong I have done you.”

“Forgive you, Father?”

“I drove you away and thereby brought about this tragedy. “

Charis shook her head firmly. “Did you bend the bow, Father? Did you notch the arrow to the string and loose it blindly in the mist? No, there is nothing to forgive.”

Lile stepped close and said, “Take Charis inside. I will see to the body.” Avallach gave the babe back to Rhuna and led Charis into the palace, Rhuna following behind.

When Charis and the baby had been conducted to her rooms, Avallach returned to the courtyard. “I do not know you,” said Avallach to Eiddon, “but I perceive you have done me good service by bringing my daughter home safely, and I thank you for that.”

Eiddon shook his head sadly. “You owe me no thanks, for I would gladly take his place even now.”

“You were his friend?”

“I am still,” Eiddon said. “My name…”He hesitated. “My name is Maelwys, and I greet you in the name of my father, Pendaran Gleddyvrudd, Lord of Dyfed.”

“Ah, yes, the druid who brought word told me about your father. You and your brother are welcome in my house.”

They went to the cart and Avallach gazed long and sorrowfully upon the body. Lile returned with men bearing a litter, and as they made to carry the body inside, Dafyd and Collen arrived, running breathless into the courtyard, faces set and grim, their mantles flowing behind them in their hurry.

Dafyd approached the body and stood for a moment as if perplexed; then, withdrawing a vial from a fold in his mantle, he dipped a finger in the oil and drew the sign of the cross on Taliesin’s cold forehead.

When they had finished, Lile took charge of the body; Dafyd rose and came to Avallach. “Your man found us on the road and told us what had happened. We came directly. Where is Charis?”

“She has been taken to her rooms. They have traveled far today.”

“Yet, I will go in to her,” replied Dafyd, “if only for a moment.”

The priests went into the palace and foun’d the women gathered in an upper room; Charis stood when she saw Dafyd enter and met him. The priest embraced her, took her hand, and led her back to the bed where they sat without speaking. After a time Lile came to say that the body had been laid in the hall. “Have you seen the… seen Taliesin?” Charis asked Dafyd.

“I brought oil and anointed him.”

“What good will that do now, priest?” demanded Lile. Her voice was low but sharp.

Dafyd ignored the taunt. “How can I help you, Charis?”

“Leave her alone. You and your god have done enough for her already,” Lile snarled.

“Please, Lile,” Charis said softly, “I would speak with my friend. Go and find a basket for Merlin.”

Lile withdrew, throwing a scalding look at Dafyd as she passed by. Rhuna, cradling the baby on her lap, sat in a chair beside the bed, her face drawn and pale, yet her eyes glinting bright in the falling light.

Charis, still holding the priest’s hand, looked out the open window at the crimson stain of the sky. “There was no warning,” sighed Charis heavily. “We were riding in thick mist. It was wet and dark. I heard a strange sound and looked back and Taliesin was struck. He made no sound, no cry, no word. He was… was just dead.” She turned to Dafyd, shaking her head wearily. “I loved him so much and now he is gone.”

Dafyd sat with her while twilight bled into the sky. There were no words he could say to heal the hurt or take away grief’s dull, consuming ache.

At length Charis stood and walked to the window. “It hurts… and I hate it,” she said. “What am I going to do?”

“I cannot tell you,” he said softly, moving to the window to be near her. “Nor can I take the pain away, Charis.”

She turned to him, her eyes fierce. “Do not speak to me of what cannot be,” she said bitterly. “I know that well enough. Taliesin Believed in your God-he called him the Great Light and the God of Love. Where is the love and light now, Dafyd? I need it sorely now!”

The priest only shook his head.

They stood together as dusk descended slowly, drawing night’s veil across the sky and gathering gloom in the chamber as the shadows deepened and spread. Merlin stirred in Rhuna’s lap and began to cry. The baby’s voice cracked the silence with its full-blooded insistence.

“He is hungry,” she said, motioning to Rhuna. “I will feed him now.”

“And I will go down to the hall,” the priest said. “Collen and I will stay in the palace tonight and wait with Taliesin’s body. We will be close by if you need us.”

The pale crescent moon rode high above a broken roof of low-lying clouds as the Cymry rode clattering into the palace forecourt sixty strong. Torches burned in the sconces beside the gates which, though guarded, had been left open for them. As he had earlier in the day, Avallach met travelers in the courtyard. Sorrow lined his features, and the pain in his side bent him nearly double as he made his way down the stone steps to receive his guests.

Elphin swung from the saddle, helped Rhonwyn down, and then turned to meet Avallach’s embrace. “I am sorry,” Avallach told him. “I am deeply sorry…”

“Where is he?” asked Rhonwyn.

“I have laid his body in the great hall. You will find him there and the priests with him.”

“We w.ill go to him at once,” replied Elphin. His voice was raw.

The Cymry followed their lord into the palace and to the great hall where they found a board on trestles standing in the center of the huge room, torches on poles at each comer, and the two priests kneeling beside the bier. Dafyd and Collen stood as the Cymry came in and withdrew silently to a corner of the room.

Elphin gave out a great cry of anguish and rushed to the bier and threw himself across the body of his son. Rhonwyn advanced more slowly, tears streaming from her eyes. She took one of Taliesin’s hands in hers and sank to her knees. The Cymry gathered around their king and queen and lifted their voices in the death lament, wailing loudly, abandoning themselves to their grief.

Hafgan entered behind the others and stood for a moment with his eyes closed, listening to the dirge of voices. Opening his eyes again, he approached the bier to stand above the lifeless form of the one he had loved like a son. “Farewell, Shining Brow,” he whispered to himself. “Farewell, my Golden One.”

Gathering his mantle into his fists, he pulled mightily and the garment ripped. “Ahhhgh!” he cried loudly, his voice rising above the others. “Behold, my people!” He extended his hands over Taliesin’s body. “The son of our delight lies cold in death’s strong grip! Weep and cry out loudly! Wail, Cymry! Let Lieu of the Long Hand hear our lament! Let the Good God know our grief! Our bard, our son, our Golden One has been struck down! Let all men bow their heads low and weep! Weep a river of tears to bear his soul away! Weep, my people, for his like will not be seen among us again… never again…”

The Cymry wept and cried out, their voices rising and falling like the wash of a sorrowful sea. When one voice faded, another would take up the cry so that the grief chant was spun like a thread from a spindle, blended, strong, and unbroken.

In her high room Charis awakened to the wailing and crept down to the hall. She saw Rhonwyn kneeling at her son’s side, clasping his cold hand to her cheek, rocking back and forth in her misery. Charis felt the urge to go to her and join her. She moved a pace toward the bier, hesitated, and turned away uncertainly, unable to make herself take the steps.

In turning, she caught a glimpse of Hafgan from the corner of her eye. The druid had seen her and was holding out a hand to her. Charis stopped, confused. Hafgan, hand still extended, walked to her and stood before her. She stood hesitant, torn, looking at the grieving Cymry. When he did not withdraw the hand, she lifted her hand to his and he led her to the bier.

Charis felt a burning sensation in her throat and chest and the bitter taste of bile in her mouth. Hafgan pulled her into the circle surrounding the bier and the Cymry made way for her.

Rhonwyn glanced up as Charis came to stand over her. Charis saw Rhonwyn’s tear-streaked face and sank to her knees beside Taliesin’s mother. Rhonwyn put her head against Charis’ breast and wept, and Charis wept too, at last, feeling the stone-hard walls of her heart crumble and melt in the sudden surge of grief.

She clung to Rhonwyn, sharing the deep and nameless torment of mourning women. Charis gave herself to her tears and felt her sorrow flow from her wounded heart like a flood across the parched, barren landscape of her soul. She wept for the hardness of life, for the cruelty of death, for loss and pity, for empty, aching loneliness and heartbreaking care, for Briseis alone in her lost tomb and for herself- for all the times she had denied her tears, hardening herself and despising the hardness that would not let her feel the pain. She wept for the child who would never know the sound of his father’s voice soaring in song or the sure touch of his strong hand. She wept for her dead brothers and for all Atlantis’ fair children now sleeping beneath Oceanus’ restless waves. And it seemed that she would weep forever.

The Cymry pressed around her, their voices mingling like the tears that streamed from their eyes, their faces beautiful in sorrow. And Charis loved them all – loved them for the fervent intensity of their emotion, for the simple honesty of their souls. Generous in grief as in joy, selfless in the outpouring of their hearts, the Cymry, exalted in their lamentation by the prideless nobility of their spirits, gathered around Charis and their tears fell down upon her in a gentle, healing rain.

At dawn the death song ceased. The torches were extinguished and while the Cymry rolled themselves in their cloaks for a few hours sleep, Hafgan, Elphin, Rhonwyn, and Charis stood together beside the bier. “He must be buried today,” said Hafgan, hoarse from mourning. “It is the third day since his death and his body must begin its journey back from where it came.”

“Wherever that may be,” added Elphin quietly. He gazed with red-rimmed eyes upon the one he had called his son. “I have thought about it many times.”

Charis looked at him in shocked surprise. “Why do you speak this way?” She turned to Rhonwyn. “Was he not your son?”

“I raised him as my son,” Rhonwyn told her. “Elphin found him in the weir”

“Found him?” Charis shook her head slowly. “I do not understand. He told me everything and yet told me nothing of this.”

“He would not have spoken of it,” replied Hafgan.

“I was his wife!”

“Yes, yes,” Hafgan soothed. “But it was the deepest mystery of his life and it troubled him. Taliesin knew he was not like other men: his gifts were greater, the demands of his skill higher, his knowledge more complete. In an older time we would have said that, like Gwion Bach, he had tasted of Ceridwen’s caldron and become a god.”

“Gwyddno had given me the take of the weir,” Elphin offered, “and I rode out on the eve of Beltane to find my fortune.” He smiled, remembering. “Not one salmon did I get that day, though Lieu himself knows never did a man need a fish more. It had snowed the day before and the salmon were late and there was neither fin nor scale to be seen.

“Though I knew I would get nothing, I looked in all the nets and from the last one fetched a sealskin bag-which I carried to the shore and opened. Inside was a child, a beautiful child.”

Never had Charis heard such a tale. “A sealskin bag?”

“We thought him dead,” replied Elphin with a nod to Rhonwyn, “but he lived and I soon had need of a wet nurse.”

“Elphin found me in my mother’s house in Diganhwy. My own babe was stillborn days before, and I was disgraced. Elphin took me to wife. I nursed Taliesin as my own, looked upon him as my own, raised him as my own, loved him as my own.” She nodded to Elphin. “We both did. But he was not ours.”

They told her many other things about Taliesin then, and when they had finished Charis turned to the body of her husband. “He was born of the sea,” she said, gazing at the man she knew but now seemed not to know at all, “and he must return to the sea.”

Hafgan raised his hands, palms outward, and proclaimed, “So it is said, so it must be done.”

The funeral procession reached the Briw estuary at sunset. Led by Dafyd and Hafgan walking side by side, the small boat was lashed to poles and borne on the shoulders of the Cymry. Inside the boat lay Taliesin’s body, having been washed and prepared for its final journey, his clothing changed and hair combed and bound. Charis, Avallach, Elphin and Rhonwyn, Rhuna and Merlin rode behind, with Maelwys and Salach and the rest of the Cymry following. The scattered gray clouds were gilt-edged in the red-gold light and larksong filled the sky.

Upon reaching the river mouth the boat was lowered into shallow water, and one by one Taliesin’s Belongings and grave gifts were placed in the boat around him: across his chest Rhonwyn lay the sealskin bag in which he had been found; at his feet Elphin placed Taliesin’s saddle, in memory of the boy who had longed to ride the Wall with his father; Hafgan took the bard’s staff of oak and placed it under his left hand; Dafyd brought out a carven wooden cross which he and Col-len placed under Taliesin’s right hand; Maelwys and Salach put the prince’s silver tore around his neck; Avallach spread Taliesin’s cloak over him and then covered it with a blanket of fine fur; producing a new-made spear with a head of bright iron and a shaft of ash, Cuall stepped to the boat and lashed the spear to the bow.

Lastly, Charis placed Taliesin’s harp beside him so that the wind might play upon its strings. She bent to kiss him farewell, and then the boat was turned toward Mor Hafren. Four Cymry on each side pushed the vessel further out into the estuary where it could be taken by the outgoing tide. Charis called for Rhuna, who brought Merlin and placed him in his mother’s arms.

Standing in the water, bright with the blood-red fire of the setting sun, Charis held the child Merlin before her so he could see the boat ride the current out of the river mouth and into the deep channel beyond. The boat turned around once, found the seatide’s pull, and was drawn out into deeper water. The tideflow pulled the boat along the hillside cliffs and mudflats toward the western sea where it would be carried along by the waves to its unknown destination.

Dafyd walked to a rocky rise and stood with his hands raised in benediction and prayed aloud while the Cymry, some in the water and some standing on the hillside, sang a song of parting, in this way sending their kinsman and friend to his rest.

Thus, in the time between times, with the water bright like a glowing ember and Celtic song falling like melodic rain from a fireshot sky, Taliesin set off on his last journey.

We watched, the prayer and song continuing until the boat was lost on the horizon and it became too dark to see. Then we remounted the horses and started back, the new moon lighting our way. I paused on a high hilltop above the water to look over the great silver sweep of Mor Hafren, al) flecked and glimmering in the moonlight like a jewel -encrusted blade.

Farewell, Taliesin! Farewell, my soul.

When I turned my horse to the track, the Cymry began to sing again. And I heard Taliesin ‘s voice among them just the way it would have sounded, high and fine and strong. I sang too and my heart felt lighter.

That night, impossibly bright and clear, the night air soft as silk, the tall grasses ringing with cricket song and the trees soughing in the breeze, the stars wheeling through wide heaven and the moon swinging along its course, I rode, cradling my baby to my breast, aware- as I was aware of all else- of an enormous calming peace that enfolded and surrounded me, a love deep and undisturbed… and ever present.

It was there in the humble gift of jade from an unknown friend; it was there in the arena with me the day the Sun Bull should have taken my lite; and this love was there in the merlin, at once a parable and gentle reproof for my lack of trust.

This peace has always been with me had I but known it.

I knew it then, and my heart quickened within me. Love was truly awakened on that moonbright night as we returned to Ynys Witrin on wings of song.

It was several days later that I realized Morgian and Annubi were missing. I did not remember seeing them at all since my return, and when I asked my father he nodded and said,

“Yes, it is strange. But they left in the night-one day before you came home.”

“The night Taliesin was killed,” I said, and a chill touched my bones.

“So it must have been. It is very strange. They said nothing; there was no word of farewell.”

“Father,” I said, my voice shaking, “did you send the feather? The raven’s feather?”

“A raven’s feather? Why?”

“The man who brought it-the traveler-said it was from you. He gave me a black feather as your message to me. I thought it odd, but Taliesin said it was your way of telling me that you wished me home.”

Avallach shook his head gravely. “I sent word by one of our own the very day your message came. There was no traveler, Charis. And no feather.”

So Morgian is gone and Annubi with her. I wonder at the hate that conceived such a plan, and I wonder at the power behind it. And I wonder if the arrow that took Taliesin was meant for me.

Oh, Morgian, what have you done? Was your life such misery and love so elusive that you turned against both?

Hear me, Morgian: I have walked the path you have chosen. I have known the darkness and despair of living death, and I have known the joy of rebirth into light. I will not join you on that path, Morgian; I will not go down that way again.

Dafyd’s shrine is finished and he teaches there now. I go to listen and to pray. I always feel that Taliesin is nearer to me there than anywhere else.

And it is often that I remember him telling me, “I will never leave you, Charis,” and I know he never will. He is with me now and forever, and as long as I live I will love him and he will live in my love. What is more, I am certain we will be together again one day.

Until that time, I am content: I have a son to raise-a son who many, including Hafgan and Blaise, Believe will be greater than his father.

As to that, I know nothing. Rumors flourish like weeds when a great man dies. I do not deny Taliesin’s rarity among men-and many’s the night that I wonder who and what he was. But this I know as I know my own reflection: in him God found fuel for the spark he puts in all men. Taliesin was a man fully awake and alive; he burned with the vision of a world he meant to create.

That vision must not die.

I, Charis, Princess of Lost Atlantis, Lady of the Lake, will keep the vision alive.