The Endless Knot Stephen Lawhead

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Hear, 0 Son of Albion, the prophetic word:

Sorrow and be sad, deep grief is granted Albion in triple measure. The Golden King in his kingdom will strike his foot against the Rock of Contention. The Worm of fiery breath will claim the throne of Prydain; Llogres will be without a lord. But happy shall be Caledon; the Flight of Ravens will flock to her many-shadowed glens, and ravensong shall be her song.

When the Light of the Derwyddi is cut off, and the blood of bards demands justice, then let the Ravens spread their wings over the sacred wood and holy mound. Under Ravens' wings, a throne is established. Upon this throne, a king with a silver hand.

!n the Day of Strife, root and branch shall change places, and the newness of the thing shall pass for a wonder. Let the sun be dull as amber, let the moon hide her face: abomination stalks the land. Let the four winds contend with one another in dreadful blast; let the sound be heard among the stars. The Dust of the Ancients will rise on the clouds; the essence of Albion is scattered and torn among contending winds.

The seas will rise up with mighty voices. Nowhere is there safe harbor. Arianrhod sleeps in her sea-girt headland. Though many seek her, she will not be found. Though many cry out to her, she cannot hear their voices. Only the chaste kiss will restore her to her rightfulplace.

Then shall rage the Giant of Wickedness, and terrify all with the keen edge of his sword. His eyes will flash forth fire; his lips shall drip poison. With his great host he will despoil the island. All who oppose him will be swept away in the flood of wrongdoing

Dark Flames

A. fire rages in Albion. A strange, hidden fire, dark-flamed, invisible to the eye. Seething and churning, it burns, gathering flames of darkness into its hot black heart. Unseen and unknown, it burns.

These flames of darkness are insatiable; they grow, greedy in their spreading, consuming all, destroying all. Though the flames cannot be seen, the heat scorches and singes, searing flesh and bone alike; it saps the strength, and withers the will. It blisters virtue, corrodes courage; it turns love and honor to hard, dark embers.

The dark fire is an evil and ancient enemy, older than the Earth. II has no face, no body, limbs, or members to be engaged and fought, much less quenched and conquered. Only flames, insidious tongues, and hidden dark sparks that blow and scatter, blow and scatter on every fretful wind.

And nothing can endure the dark fire. Nothing can stand against the relentless, scathing corruption of the unseen flames. It will not be extinguished until all that exists in this worlds-realm is dead cold ash.

The oxhide at the door rippled as Tegid Tathal stepped into the hut. His quick eyes searched the darkness; he could see again. His blindness had been healed, or at least transmuted somehow into vision by the renewing waters of the lake. For he saw me sitting in

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the straw on the floor, and he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Thinking," I replied, flexing the fingers of my silver hand one by one. That hand! Beauty made tangible in fine, flawless silver. A treasure of value beyond imagining. A gift to me-a warrior's compensation, perhaps-from a deity with a most peculiar sense of humor. Most peculiar.

Tegid assures me that it is the gift of Dagda Samil4anac, the Swift Sure Hand himself. He says it is the fulfillment of a promise made by the lord of the grove. The Swift Sure Hand, by his messenger, granted Tegid his inner sight, and gave me my silver hand.

Tegid observed me curiously while my thoughts drifted. "And what are you thinking about?" he said at last.

"About this," I raised my metal hand. "And fire," I told him. "Dark fire."

He accepted this without question. "They are waiting for you outside. Your people want to see their king."

"I had to get away for a while. I had to think."

The sound of merrymaking was loud outside; the victory celebration would continue for days. The Great Hound Meldron was defeated and his followers brought to justice, the drought was broken, and the land restored. The happiness of the survivors knew no bounds.

I did not share their happiness, however. For the very thing that secured their safety and gave wings to their joy meant that my sojourn in Albion had come to an end. My task was finished and I must leave--though every nerve and sinew in me cried against leaving.

Tegid moved nearer and, so that he would not be speaking down to me, knelt. "What is wrong?"

Before I could answer, the oxhide lifted once again and Professor Nettleton entered. He acknowledged Tegid gravely, and turned to me. "It is time to go," he said simply.

When I made no reply, he continued, "Liew, we have discussed this. We agreed. It must be done-and the sooner the better. Waiting

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will only make it worse."

Tegid, regarding the small man closely, said, "He is our king. As Aird Rig/i of Albion it is his right-"

"Please, Tegid." Nettleton shook his head slowly, his mouth pressed into a firm line. He stepped nearer and stared down at me. "It is permitted no man to stay in the Otherworid. You know that. You came to find Simon and take him back, and you have done that. Your work is finished here. It is time to go home."

He was right; I knew it. Still, the thought of leaving cut me to the heart. I could not go. Back there I was nothing; I had no life. A mediocre foreign student, a graduate scholar woefully deficient in almost every human essential, lacking the companionship of men and the love of a woman; a perpetual academic with no purpose in life save to scrounge the next grant and hold off the day of reckoning, to elude life beyond the cocooning walls of Oxford's cloisters.

The only real life I had ever known was here in Albion. To leave would be to die, and I could not face that.

"But I have something more to do here," I countered, almost desperately. "I must have-otherwise, why give me this?" I lifted

my silver hand; the cold metal appendage gleamed dully in the darkness of the hut, the intricate tracery of its finely wrought surface glowing gold against the soft white of silver.

"Come," the professor said, reaching down to pull me up. "Do not make it more difficult than it already is. Let us go now, and quietly."

I rose to my feet and followed him out of the hut. Tegid followed, saying nothing. Before us the celebration fire blazed, the flames leaping high in the gathering dusk. All around the fire people rejoiced; snatches of song reached us amid the happy tumult. We had not taken two steps when we were met by Goewyn carrying a jar in one hand and a cup in the other. Behind her a maid carried a plate with bread and meat.

"I thought you might be hungry and thirsty," she explained quickly, and began pouring the ale into the cup. She handed the cup to me, saying, "I am sorry, but this is all I was able to save for you. It is the last."

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"Thank you," I said. As I took the cup, I allowed my fingers to linger upon her hand. Goewyn smiled and I knew I could not leave without telling her what was in my heart.

"Goewyn, I must tell you-" I began. But before I could finish, a pack of jubilant warriors swarmed in, clamoring for me to come and join them in the celebration. Goewyn and the maid were pushed aside.

"Llew! Liew!" the warriors cried. "Hail, Silver Hand!" One of them held a haunch of meat which he offered to me and would not desist until I had taken a healthy bite from it. Another saw my cup in my hand and poured ale from his own cup into mine. "~9iinte, Silver Hand!" they cried, and we drank.

The warriors seemed intent on carrying me away with them, but Tegid intervened, explaining that I wished to walk among the people to enjoy the festivity. He asked them to guard the king's peace by removing any who would disturb me, beginning with themselves.

As the warriors went their noisy way, Cynan appeared. "Llew!" he cried, clapping a big hand upon my shoulder. "At last! I have been looking for you, brother. Here! Drink with me!" He raised his bowl high. "We drink to your kingship. May your reign be long and glorious!"

With that he poured ale from his bowl into my already full cup.

"And may our cups always overflow!" I added, as mine was spilling over my hand at that moment. Cynan laughed. We drank, and before he could replenish my cup, I passed it quickly to Tegid.

"I thought we had long since run out of ale," I said. "I had no idea we had so much left."

"This is the last," Cynan remarked, peering into his bowl. "And when it is gone, we will have long to wait for fields to be tilled and grain to grow. But this day," he laughed again, "this day, we have everything we need!" Cynan, with his fiery red hair and blue eyes agleam with delight and the contents of his cup, was so full of life- and so happy to be that way after the terrible events of the last days-that I laughed out loud with him. I laughed, even though my heart felt like a stone in my chest.

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"Better than that, brother," I told him, "we are free men and alive!"

"So we are!" Cynan cried. He threw his arm around my neck and pulled me to him in a sweaty embrace. We clung to one another, and I breathed a silent, sad farewell to my swordbrother.

Bran and several Ravens came upon us then, saluted me and hailed me king, pledging their undying loyalty. And while they were about it, the two kings, Calbha and Cynfarch, approached. "I give you good greeting," said Calbha. "May your reign ever continue as it has begun."

"May you prosper through all things," Cynfarch added, "and may victory crown your every battle."

I thanked them and, as I excused myself from their presence, I glimpsed Goewyn moving off. Calbha saw my eyes straying after her, and said, "Go to her, Liew. She is waiting for you. Go."

I stepped quickly away. "Tegid, you and Nettles ready a boat. I will join you in a moment."

Professor Nettleton glanced at the darkening sky and said, "Go if you must, but hurry, LIew! The time-between-times will not wait."

I caught Goewyn as she passed between two houses. "Come with me," I said quickly. "I must talk to you."

She made no reply, but put down the jar and extended her hand. I took it and led her between the cluster of huts to the perimeter of the crannog. We slipped through the shadows along the timber wall of the fortress, and out through the untended gates.

Goewyn remained silent while I fumbled after the words I wanted to say. Now that I had her attention, I did not know where to begin. She watched me, her eyes large and dark in the fading light, her flaxen hair glimmering like spun silver, her skin pale as ivory. The slender torc shone like a circle of light at her throat. Truly, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever known.

"What is the matter?" she asked after a moment. "If there is anything that makes you unhappy, then change it. You are the king now. It is for you to say what will be."

"It seems to me," I told her sadly, "that there are some things

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even a king cannot change."

"What is the matter, Llew?" she asked again.

I hesitated. She leaned nearer, waiting for my answer. I looked at her, lovely in the fading light.

"I love you, Goewyn," I said.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "And it is this that makes you so unhappy?" she said lightly, and leaned closer, raising h€r arms and lacing her fingers behind my head. "I love you, too. There. Now we can be miserable together."

I felt her warm breath on my face. I wanted to take her in my arms ar.d kiss her. I burned with the urge. Instead, I turned my face aside.

"Goewyn, I would ask you to be my queen."

"And if you asked," she said, speaking softly and low, "I would agree-as I have agreed in my heart a thousand times already."

Her voice... I could live within that voice. I could exist on it alone, lose myself completely, content to know nothing but the beauty of that voice.

My mouth went dry and I fought to swallow the clot of sand that suidenly clogged my throat. "Goewyn... I-"

"Llew?" She had caught the despair in my tone.

"Goewyn, I cannot... I cannot be king. I cannot ask you to be my queen."

She straightened and pulled away. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I cannot stay in Albion. I must leave. I must go back to .~ny own world."

"I do not understand."

"I do not belong here," I began-badly, it is true, but once begun,

I was afraid to stop. "This is not my world, Goewyn. I am an intruder;

I have no right to be here. It is true. I only came here because of

Sinon. He-"

"Simon?" she asked, the name strange on her tongue.

"Siawn Hy," I explained. "His name in our world is Simon. He caine here and I came after him. I came to take him back-- and now that is done and I have to leave. Now, tonight. I will not see you any mcre after--"

SONG OF ALBION

Goewyn did not speak; but I could see that she did not understand a word I was saying. I drew a deep breath and blundered on. "All the trouble, everything that has happened here in Albion-all the death and destruction, the slaughter of the bards, the wars, Prydain's desolation... all the terrible things that have happened here-it is all Simon's fault."

"All these things are Siawn Hy's doing?" she wondered, incredulously.

"I am not explaining very well," I admitted. "But it is true. Ask Tegid; he will tell you the same. Siawn Hy brought ideas with him- ideas of such cunning and wickedness that he poisoned all Albion with them. Meldron believed in Siawn's ideas, and look what happened."

"I do not know about that. But I know that Albion was not destroyed. And it was not destroyed," Goewyn pointed out, "because you were here to stop it. But for you, Siawn Hy and Meldron would have reigned over Albion's destruction."

"Then you see why I cannot let it happen again."

"I see," she stated firmly, "that you must stay to prevent it from happening again."

She saw me hesitate and pressed her argument further. "Yes, stay. As king it is your right and duty." She paused and smiled. "Stay here and reign over Albion's healing."

She knew the words I wanted to hear most in all the world, and she said them. Yes, I could stay in Albion, I thought. I could be king and reign with Goewyn as my queen. Professor Nettleton was wrong, surely; and Goewyn was right: as king it was my duty to make certain that the healing of Albion continued as it had begun. I could stay!

Goewyn tilted her head to one side. "What say you, my love?"

"Goewyn, I will stay. If there is a way, I will stay for ever. Be my queen. Reign with me."

She came into my arms then in a rush, and her lips were on mine, warm and soft. The fragrance of her hair filled my lungs and made me light-headed. I held her tight and kissed her; I kissed her ivory

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throat, her silken eyelids, her warm moist lips that tasted of honey and wild flowers. And she kissed me.

I had dreamed of this moment countless times, yearned for it, longed for it. Truly, I wanted nothing more than to make love to Goewyn. I held the yielding warmth of her flesh against me and knew that I would stay--as if there had ever been any doubt.

"Wait for me," I said, breaking off the embrace and stepping quickly away.

"Where are you going?" she called after me.

"Nettles is leaving. He is waiting for me," I answered. "I must bid him farewell."

Darting along the timber wall, I hurried to join Tegid and Professor Nettleton in the boat. I gave the boat a push and jumped in; Tegid manned the oars and rowed out across the lake. The water was smooth as glass in the gathering twilight, reflecting the last light of the deep blue sky above.

We made our landing below Druim Vran, and quickly put our feet to the path leading to Tegid's sacred grove. With every step, I invented a new argument or excuse to justify my decision to stay. In truth, I had never wanted to leave anyway; it felt wrong to me. Goewyn's urging was only the last in a long list of reasons I had to dismiss Professor Nettleton's better judgment. He would just have to accept my decision.

The grove was silent, the light dim, as we stepped within the leafy sanctuary. Tegid wasted not a moment, but began marking out a circle on the ground with the end of his staff. He walked backwards in a sunwise circle, chanting in a voice solemn and low. I did not hear what he said-it was in the Dark Tongue of the Derwyddi, the Ta ran Tafod.

Standing next to Nettles, my mind teemed with accusation, guilt, and self-righteous indignation -I was the king! I had built this place! Who had the right to stay here if not me? ----I could not make myself

Three Demands

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say the word~s. I stood in seething silence and watched Tegid prepare our departurce.

Upon coimpleting the simple ceremony, the bard stepped from the circle he had inscribed and turned to us. "All is ready." He looked at me as he spo)ke. I saw sorrow in his gaze, but he spoke no word of farewell. The~ parting was too painful for him.

The proffessor took a step towards the circle, but I remained rooted to my~ place. When he sensed me lagging behind, Nettleton looked back over his shoulder. Seeing that I had made not the slightest movie to join him, he said, "Come, Lewis."

"I am nota going with you," I said dully. It was not what I had planned to say, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"Lewis!" he challenged, turning on me. "Think what you are doing."

"I cannott leave like this, Nettles. It is too soon."

He took rmy arm, gripping it tightly. "Lewis, listen to me. Listen very carefull1y. If you love Albion, then you must leave. If you stay, you can only' bring about the destruction of all you have saved. You must see thatt. I have told you: it is permitted no man-"

I cut himt off. "I will take that risk, Nettles."

"The riskc is not yours to take!" he charged, his voice explosive in the silence off the grove. Exasperated, he blinked his eyes behind his round glasse~s. "Think what you are doing, Lewis. You have achieved the impossibile. Your work here is finished. Do not negate all the good you have dome. I beg you, Lewis, to reconsider."

"It is the time-between-times," Tegid said softly.

"I am st2aying," I muttered bluntly. "If you are going, you had better leave mow."

Seeing th~at he could not move me, he turned away in frustration and stepped (quickly into the circle. At once, his body seemed to fade and grow snnaller, as if he were entering a long tunnel. "Say your farewells, Lewis," he urged desperately, "and come as soon as you can. I will wait for you."

"Farewelil, my friend!" called Tegid.

SONG OF ALBION

"Please, for the sake of all you hold dear, do not put it off too long!" Nettleton called, his voice already dwindling away. His image rippled as if he were standing behind a sheet of water. The rims of his glasses glinted as he turned away, and then he vanished, his words hanging in the still air as a quickly-fading warning.

Tegid came to stand beside me. "Well, brother," I said, "it would seem you must endure my presence a little longer."

The bard gazed into the now-empty circle. He seemed to be peering into the emptiness of the nether realm, his features dark and his eyes remote. I thought he would not speak, but then he lifted his staff. "Before Albion is One," he said, his voice hard with certainty, "the Hero Feat must be performed and Silver Hand must reign."

The words were from the Banfdith's prophecy, and, as he reminded me from time to time, they had yet to prove false. Having delivered himself of this pronouncement, he turned to me. "The choice is made."

"What if I made the wrong choice?"

"I can always send you back," he replied, and I could sense his relief. Tegid had not wanted to see me leave any more than I had wanted to go.

"True," I said, my heart lightening a little. Of course, I could return any time I chose to, and I would go-when the work I had begun was completed. I would go one day. But not now; not yet.

I forced that prospect from my mind, soothing my squirming conscience with sweet self~justification: after all I had endured, I well deserved my small portion of happiness. Who could deny it? Besides, there was still a great deal to be done. I would stay to see Albion restored.

Yes, and I would marry Goewyn.

Word of our betrothal spread through Dinas Dwr swifter than a shout. Tegid and I arrived at the hall, and walked into the ongoing celebration which, with the coming of darkness, had taken on a fresh, almost giddy, euphoria. The great room seemed filled with light and sound: the hearthfire roared and the timber walls were lined with

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torches; men and women lined the benches and thronged in noisy clusters around the pillar-posts.

Only the head of the hail, the west end, remained quiet and empty, for here the Chief Bard had established the Singing Stones in their wooden chest supported by a massive iron stand-safe under perpetual guard: three warriors to watch over Albion's chief treasure at all times. The guards were replaced at intervals by other warriors, so that the duty was shared out among the entire warband. But at no time, day or night, were the miraculous stones unprotected.

The din increased as we entered the hail, and I quickly discovered the reason.

"The king! The king is here!" shouted Bran, rallying the Ravens with his call. He held a cup high and cried, "I drink to the king's wedding!"

"To the king's wedding!" Cynan shouted, and the next thing I knew I was surrounded, seized, and lifted bodily from the ground. I was swept back across the threshold and hoisted onto the shoulders of warriors to be borne along the paths of Dinas Dwr, the crowd increasing as we went. They marched along a circuitous route so that the whole caer would see what was happening and join us.

In a blaze of torchlight and clamor of laughter, we arrived finally at the hut which Goewyn and her mother had made their home. There the company halted, and Cynan, taking the matter in hand, called out that the king had come to claim his bride.

Scatha emerged to address the crowd. "My daughter is here," she said, indicating Goewyn who stepped from the hut behind her. "Where is the man who claims her?" Scatha made a pretence of scanning the crowd, as if searching for the fool who dared to claim her daughter.

"He is here!" everyone shouted at once. And it suddenly occurred to me, in my place high above the pressing crowds, that this was the preamble to a form of Celtic wedding I had never witnessed before. This in itself was not surprising; the people of Albion know no fewer than nine different types of marriage and I had seen but few.

"Let the man who would take my daughter to wife declare

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himself," she said, folding her arms over her breast.

"I am here, Scatha," I answered. At this the warriors lowered me to the ground and the crowd opened a way before me. I saw Goewyn waiting, as if at the end of a guarded path. "It is Llew Silver Hand who stands before you. I have come to claim your daughter for my wife."

Goewyn smiled, but made no move to join me; and as I drew near, Scatha stepped forward and planted herself between us. She presented a fierce, forbidding aspect and examined me head to heel-as if inspecting a length of moth-eaten cloth. The palm of my flesh hand grew damp as I stood under her scrutiny. The surrounding crowd joined in, calling Scatha's attention to various desirable qualities-real or imagined-which I might possess.

In the end, she declared herself satisfied with the suitor, and raised her hand. "I find no fault in you, Llew Silver Hand. But you can hardly expect me to give up such a daughter as Goewyn without a bride price worthy of her."

I knew the correct response. "You must think me a low person indeed to deprive you of so fine a daughter without the offer of suitable compensation. Ask what you will, I will give whatever you deem acceptable."

"And you must think me slow of wit to imagine that I can assess such value on the instant. This is a matter which will require long and careful deliberation," Scatha replied haughtily. And even though I accepted her reply as part of the ritual game we were playing, I found myself growing irritated with her for standing in my way.

"Far be it from me to deny you the thought you require. Take what time you will," I offered. "I will return tomorrow at dawn to hear your demands."

This was considered a proper reply and all acclaimed my answer. Scatha inclined her head and, as if allowing herself to be swayed by the response of the people, nodded slowly. "So be it. Come to this Place at dawn and we will determine what kind of man you are."

"Let it be so," I replied.

At this, the people cheered and I was swept away once more on a tideflood of acclaim. We returned to the hall where, amidst much

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laughter and ribald advice, Tegid instructed me on what to expect in the morning. "Scatha will make her demands, and you must fulfill them with all skill and cunning. Do not think it will be easy," Tegid warned. "Rare treasure is worth great difficulty in the getting."

"But you will be there to help me," I suggested.

He shook his head. "No, Llew; as Chief Bard I cannot take one part over against the other. This is between you and Scatha alone. But, as she has Goewyn to assist her, you may choose one from among your men to aid you."

I looked around me. Bran stood grinning nearby-no doubt he would be a good choice to see me through this ordeal. "Bran?" I asked. "Would you serve me in this?"

But the Raven Chief shook his head. "Lord, if it is a strong hand on the hilt of a sword that you require, I am your man. But this is a matter beyond me. I think Alun Tringad would serve you better than I."

"Drustwn!" cried Alun when he heard this. "He is the man for you, lord." He pointed across the ring of faces gathered around me, and I saw Drustwn ducking out of sight. "Ah, now where has Drustwn gone?"

"Choose Lord Calbha!" someone shouted.

Before I could ask him, someone else replied, "It is a wife for silver Hand, not a horse!"

Calbha answered, "It is true! I know nothing of brides; but if it is a horse you require, Llew, call on me."

I turned next to Cynan, who stood beside his father, Lord ynfarch. "Cynan! Will you stand with me, brother?"

Cynan, assuming a grave and important air, inclined his head in assent. "Though all men desert you, Silver Hand, I will yet stand with you. Through all things-fire and sword and the wiles of bards and women-I am your man."

Everyone laughed at this, and even Cynan smiled as he said it. E3ut his blue eyes were earnest, and his voice was firm. He was giving me a pledge greater than I had asked, and every word was From the heart.

I spent a restless, sleepless night in my hut, and rose well before

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dawn, before anyone else was stirring. I took myself to the lakeside for a swim and a bath; I shaved and washed my moustache, even. It was growing light in the east by the time I returned to the hut, where I spent a long time laying out my clothing. I wanted to look my best for Goewyn.

In the end, I chose a bright red siarc and a pair of yellow-and-green checked breecs. Also, I wore Meldryn Mawr's magnificent belt of gold discs and his gold torc, and carried his gold knife-all of which had been retrieved for me from among Meldron's belongings. "As the rightful successor, they are yours," Tegid had told me. "Meidron had no right to them. Wear them with pride, LIew. For by wearing them you will reclaim their honor."

So I wore them, and tried to forget that the Great Hound Meldron had so recently strutted and preened in them.

Cynan came to me as I was pulling on my buskins. He had also bathed and changed, and his red curls were combed and oiled. "You look a king attired for his wedding day," he said in approval.

"And you make a fine second," I replied. "Goewyn might well choose you instead."

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. "But I do not think I could eat a bite. How do I look?"

He grinned. "I have already told you. And it is not seemly for a king to strain after praise. Come," he put his large hand on my shoulder, "it is dawn."

"Tegid should be close by," I said, "let us go and find him." We left my hut and moved towards the hail. The sun was rising and the sky was clear-not a cloud to be seen. My wedding day would be bright and sunny, as all good wedding days should be. My wedding day! The words seemed so strange: wedding.. . marriage.., wife.

Tegid was awake and waiting. "I was coming to rouse you," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

"No," I replied. "I could not seem to keep my eyes closed."

He nodded. "No doubt you will sleep better tonight."

"What happens now?"

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"Eat something if you like," the bard replied. "For although it is a feast day, I doubt you will have much time for eating."

Passing between the pillar-posts we found a place at an empty table and sat down. Bran and the Ravens roused themselves and joined us at the board. Although it was still too early for anything fresh from the ovens, there was some barley bread left over from last night's meal, so the others tucked in. The Ravens broke their loaves hungrily, stuffmg their mouths and, between bites, urging me to eat to keep up my strength. "It is a long day that stretches before you," Bran remarked.

"And an even longer night!" quipped Alun.

"It grows no shorter for lingering here," 1 said, rising at once.

"Are you ready?" asked Tegid.

"Ready? I feel I have waited for this day all my life. Lead on, Wise Bard!"

With a wild, exuberant whoop warriors tumbled from the hail in a rowdy crush. There was no way to keep any sort of order or decorum, nor any quiet. The high spirits of the troop alerted the whole crannog and signalled the beginning of the festivities. We reached Scatha's hut with the entire population of Dinas Dwr crowding in our wake.

"Summon her," Tegid directed, as we came near the door.

"Scatha, Pen-y-Cat of Ynys Sci," I called, "it is Llew Silver Hand. I have come to hear and answer your demands."

A moment later, Scatha emerged from her hut, beautiful to behold in a scarlet mantle with a cream robe over it. Behind her stepped Goewyn, and my heart missed a beat: she was radiant in white and gold. Her long hair had been brushed until it gleamed, then plaited with threads of gold and bound in a long, thick braid. Gold armbands glimmered on her slender arms. Her mantle was white; she wore a white cloak of thin material, gathered loosely at her bare shoulders and held by two large gold brooches. Two wide bands of golden threadwork -elegant swans with long necks and wings fantastically intertwined-graced the borders of her cloak and the hem of her robe. Her girdle was narrow and white with gold laces tied

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and braided in a shimmering fall from her slim waist. She wore earrings of gold, and rings of red gold on her slender, tapering fingers.

The sight of her stole my breath away. It was like gazing into the brightness of the sun-though my eyes were burned and blinded, I could not look away. I had never seen her so beautiful, never seen any woman so beautiful. Indeed, I had forgotten such beauty could exist.

Scatha greeted me with frank disapproval, however, and said, "Are you ready to hear my demands?"

"I am ready," I said, sobered by her brusqueness.

"Three things I require," she declared curtly. "When I have received all that I ask, you shall have my daughter for your wife."

"Ask what you will, and you shall receive it."

She nodded slowly-was that a smile lurking behind her studied severity? "The first demand is this: give me the sea in full foam with a strand of silver."

The people were silent, waiting for my answer. I put a brave face on it and replied, "That is easily accomplished, though you may think otherwise."

I turned to Cynan. "Well, brother? We are days from the sea, and-"

Cynan shook his head. "No. She does not want the sea. It is something else. This is the impossible task. It is meant to demonstrate your ability to overcome the most formidable obstacle."

"Oh, you mean we have to think symbolically. I see."

"The sea in full foam-" Cynan said, and paused. "What could it be?"

"Scatha laid particular stress on the foam. That may be important. 'The sea in full foam-" I paused, my brain spinning. "A strand of silver'... Wait! I have it!"

"Yes?" Cynan leaned over eagerly.

"It is beer in a silver bowl!" I replied. "Beer foams like the sea and the bowl encircles it like a strand."

"Hah!" Cynan struck his fist into his palm. "That will answer!"

I turned to the crowd behind me. "Bran!" I called aloud. The

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Raven Chief stepped forward quickly. "Bran, fetch me some fresh beer in a silver bowl. And hurry!"

He darted away at once, and I turned to face Scatha and wait for Bran to return with the bowl of beer. "What if we guessed wrong?" I whispered to Cynan.

He shook his head gravely. "What if he can find no beer? I fear we have drunk it all."

I had not thought of that. But Bran was resourceful; he would not let me down.

We waited. The crowd buzzed happily, talking among themselves. Goewyn stood cool and quiet as a statue; she would not look at me, so I could get no idea of what she was thinking.

Bran returned on the run, and the beer sloshing over the silver rim did look like sea waves foaming on the shore. He delivered the bowl into my hands, saying, "The last of the beer. All I could find- and it is mostly water."

"It will have to do," I said and, with a last hopeful look at Tegid --whose expression gave nothing away-I offered the gift to Scatha.

"You have asked for a boon and I give it: the sea in full foam surrounded by a strand of silver." So saying, I placed the bowl in her outstretched hands.

Scatha took the bowl and raised it for all to see. Then she said, "I accept your gift. But though you have succeeded in the first task, do not think you will easily obtain my second demand. Better men than you have tried and failed."

Knowing this to be part of the rote response, I still began vaguely to resent these other, better men. I swallowed my pride and answered, "Nevertheless, I will hear your demand. It may be that I will succeed where others have failed."

Scatha nodded regally. "My second demand is this: give me the one thing which will replace that which you seek to take from me."

I turned at once to Cynan. "This one is going to be tough," I said. "Goewyn means the world to her mother----how do we symbolize that?"

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He rubbed his chin and frowned, but I could tell he was relishing his role. "This is most difficult-to replace that which you take from her."

"Maybe," I suggested, "we have only to identify one feature which Scatha will accept as representing her daughter. Like honey for sweetness-something like that."

Cynan cupped an elbow in his hand and rested his chin in his palm. "Sweet as honey... sweet as mead.. ." he murmured, thinking.

"Sweet and savory . . ." I suggested, "sweetness and light... sweet as a nut-"

"What did you say?"

"Sweet as a nut. But I do not think-"

"No, before the nut. What did you say before that?"

"Urn... sweetness and light, I think."

"Light-- yes!" Cynan nodded enthusiastically. "You see it? Goewyn is the light of her life. You are taking the light from her and you must replace it."

"How?" I wondered. "With a lamp?"

"Or a candle," Cynan prompted.

"A candle--a fragrant beeswax candle!"

Cynan grinned happily. "Sweetness and light! That would answer."

"Alun!" I called, turning to the Ravens once more. "Find me a beeswax candle, and bring it at once."

Alun Tringad disappeared, pushing through the close-packed crowd. He must have raided the nearest house, for he returned only a moment later, holding out a new candle, which I took from him and offered to Scatha, saying, "You have asked for a boon, and I give it:

this candle will replace the light that I remove when I take your daughter from you. It will banish the shadows and fill the darkness with fragrance and warmth."

Scatha took the candle. "I accept your gift," she said, raising the candle so that all might see it. "But though you have succeeded in the second task, do not think you will easily obtain my third demand.

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Better men than you have tried and failed."

I smiled confidently and repeated the expected response. "Nevertheless, I will hear your demand. It may be that I will succeed where others have failed."

"Hear then, if you will, my last demand: give me the thing this house lacks, the gift beyond price."

I turned to Cynan. "What is it this time? The impossible task again?" I wondered. "It sounds impossible to me."

"It could be," he allowed, "but I think not. We have done that one. It is something else."

"But what does her house lack? It could be anything."

"Not anything," Cynan replied slowly. "The one thing: the gift beyond price."

"She seemed to stress that," I agreed lamely. "The gift beyond price.., what is the gift beyond price? Love? Happiness?"

"A child," suggested Cynan thoughtfully.

"Scatha wants me to give her a child? That cannot be right."

Cynan frowned. "Maybe it is you she wants."

I pounced on the idea at once. "That is it! That is the answer!"

"What?"

"Me!" I cried. "Think about it. The thing this house lacks is a man, a son-in-law. The gift beyond price is life."

Cynan's grin was wide and his blue eyes danced. "Yes, and by joining your life to Goewyn's you create a wealth of life," he winked and added, "especially if you make a few babies into the bargain. It is you she is asking for, Llew."

"Let us hope we are right," I said. I took a deep breath and turned to Scatha, who stood watching me, enjoying the way she was making me squirm.

"You have asked for a gift beyond price and a thing which you lack," I said. "It seems to me that your house lacks a man, and no one can place a value on life." So saying, I dropped down on one knee before her. "Therefore, Pen-y-Cat, I give you the gift of myself."

Scatha beamed her good pleasure, placing her hands on my

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shoulders, bent and kissed my cheek. Raising me to my feet, she said, "I accept your gift, Llew Silver Hand." She lifted her voice for the benefit of those looking on. "Let it be known that there is no better man than you for my daughter, for you indeed have succeeded where other men have failed."

She turned, summoned Goewyn to her and, taking her daughter's left hand, put it in mine, and then clasped both of ours in her own. "I am satisfied," she declared to Tegid. "Let the marriage take place."

The bard stepped forward at once. He thumped the earth three times with his ashwood staff. "The Chief Bard of Albion speaks," he called loudly. "Hear me! From times past remembering the Derwyddi have joined life to life for the continuance of our race." Regarding us, he said, "Is it your desire to join your lives in marriage?"

"That is our desire," we answered together.

At this, Scatha produced the bowl which I had given her and passed it to Tegid. He raised it and said, "I hold between my hands the sea encircled by a silver strand. The sea is life; the silver is the all-encircling boundary of this worlds-realm. If you would be wed, then you must seize this worlds-realm and share its life between you.,,

So saying, he placed the silver bowl in our hands. Holding it between us, I offered the bowl to Goewyn and she drank, then offered the bowl to me. I also took a few swallows of very watery beer and raised my head.

"Drink!" Tegid urged. "It is life you are holding between you, my friends. Life! Drink deep and drain it to the last."

It was a very large bowl Bran had brought. I took a deep breath and raised the bowl once more. When I could not hold another drop, I passed the silver bowl to Goewyn, who took it, raised it, and drank- so long and deep and greedily I thought she would never come up for air. When she lowered the vessel once more, her eyes were shining bright. She licked her lips and, handing the bowl to Tegid, cast a sidelong glance at me.

Putting the bowl aside, Tegid said, "Goewyn, do you bring a gift?"

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Goewyn said, "Neither gold nor silver do I bring, nor anything which can be bought or sold, lost or stolen. But I bring this day my ove and my life, and these I do give you freely."

"Will you accept the gifts that have been offered?" Tegid asked.

"With all my heart, I do accept them. And I will cherish them always as my highest treasure, and I will protect this treasure to the last breath in my body."

Tegid inclined his head. "What token do you offer for your acceptance?"

Token? No one had told me about that; I had no token to offer. ynan's voice sounded in my ear. "Give her your belt," he suggested ~elpfully.

I had no better idea, so I removed the belt and draped the heavy ~old band across Tegid's outspread hands. "I offer this belt of fine gold," I said and, on a sudden inspiration, added, "Let its excellence rnd value be but a small token of the high esteem in which I hold my beloved, and let it encircle her fair form in shining splendor like my love which does encompass her for ever-true, without end, and incorruptible."

Tegid nodded sagely and, turning, offered the belt to Goewyn, who lowered her head as it was placed in her hands. She gathered the belt and clutched it to her breast. Were those tears in her eyes?

To Goewyn, Tegid said, "By this token your gift has been accepted. If you will receive the gift you have been given will you also offer a token of acceptance?"

Without a word, Goewyn slipped her arm around my neck and pressed her lips to mine. She kissed me full and free and with such fervor that it brought cheers from the onlookers gathered close about. She released me, breathless, almost gasping. The ardor in her clear brown eyes made me blush.

Tegid, smiling broadly, thumped the earth once more with his staff, three times, sharply. Then he raised the staff and held it horizontally over our heads. "The gifts of love and life have been exchanged and accepted. By this let all men know that Llew Silver I-land and Goewyn are wed."

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And that was that. The people wrlahned the wedding loudly and with great enthisiasa We were instantly caught up in a whirlwind of well-wishhig~ The wedding was over, let the celebration

The Wedding Feast

Swept away on a floodtide of high exuberance, Goewyn and I were propelled through the crannog. I lost sight of Tegid, Scatha and Cynan; I could not see Bran or Calbha. At the landing we were bundled into a boat and rowed across to the lakeside where Scatha's field was quickly prepared for games.

Feast days and festivals are often accompanied by contests of skill and chance. Wrestling and horse racing are by far the favorites, with mock combat and gaines of hurley. An earthen mound was raised facing the field, with two chairs placed upon it. One of the chairs was made from stag antler, and adorned with a white oxhide-this was to be mine. And from this vantagepoint, Goewyn and I were to watch the proceedings and dispense prizes.

The sport would come first, the food and drink later - giving the cooks time to see everything properly prepared, and the competitors and spectators opportunity to build an ample appetite. Better to wrestle on an empty stomach, after all, than with a bellyful of roast pork. And after a few bowls of strong wedding mead, who would be able to sit a horse, let alone race one?

When the hastily erected mound was finished, Goewyn and I ascended to our chairs and waited for the company to assemble. Already, many had made their way across the lake from the

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crannog, and more were arriving. I was happy to wait. I was a happy man-perhaps for the first time in my life, truly happy.

All I bad ever known of joy and life, and now love, had been found here, in the Otherworld, in Albion. The thought touched a guilty nerve in my conscience, and I squirmed. But surely, Professor Nettleton was wrong. He was wrong, and I would not destroy the thing I loved; he was wrong, and I could stay. I would sooner give up my life than leave Albion now.

I looked at Goewyn, and smothered my guilt with the sight of her gleaming hair. She sensed me watching her, and turned to me. "I love you, my soul," she whispered, smiling. And I felt like a man who, living his entire life in a cave, that instant steps out into the dazzling light of day.

Tegid arrived shortly, attended by his Mabinogi, led by the harpbearer, Gwion Bach. Another carried his staff. "I have given Calbha charge of the prizes," Tegid told us. "He is gathering them now."

"Prizes? Ah, yes, for the games."

"I knew you would not think of it," he explained cheerfully.

Calbha carried out his charge in style. He came leading a host of bearers, each carrying an armload of valuable objects-and some in twos lugging heavy wicker baskets between them. They piled their offerings around our chairs. Soon the mound was knee-deep in glittering, gleaming booty: new-made spears with decorated heads and shafts, fine swords inset with gems, shields with rims of silver and bronze, bone-handled knives... Wherever I looked there were cups and bowls-bowls of copper, bronze, silver, and gold; wooden bowls cunningly carved; cups of horn with silver rims, small cups and large cups; cups of stone even. There were fine new cloaks and piles of fluffy white fleeces. Armbands of bronze and silver and gold gleamed like links in a precious chain, and scattered among them were brooches, bracelets and rings. As if this were not enough, there were three good horses which Calbha could not resist adding.

I gaped at the glittering array. "Where did you get all this?"

"It is yours, lord," he replied happily. "But do not worry, I have

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chosen only the finest for such a celebration as this."

"I thank you, Calbha," I replied, eyeing the treasure trove. "You have served me well. Indeed, I did not know I was so wealthy."

There was so much, and all so lavish, that I wondered aloud to Tegid, "Can I afford this?"

The bard only laughed and indicated the shimmering mound with a sweep of his hand. "The greater the generosity, the greater the king."

"If that is the way of it, then give it all away-and more! Let men say that never in Albion was such a wedding celebration as this. And let all who hear of it in later days sicken with envy that they were not here!"

Cynan, arriving with some of his men just then, looked upon the treasure and declared himself well ready to win his share. Bran and the Ravens came behind him, calling loudly for the games to begin. Alun challenged Cynan then and there to chose whatever game of skill or chance he preferred-and he should be bested at it.

"You are a wonder, Alun Tringad," Cynan crowed. "Can it be you have forgotten the defeat I gave you when last you tried your skill against me?"

"Defeat?" Alun cried. "Am I to believe what I am hearing? The victory was mine, as you well know."

"Man, Alun-I am surprised your teeth keep company with your tongue, such lies you tell. Still, for the sake of this festive day," Cynan declared, "I will not hold your impudence against you."

"It was your voice, Cynan Machae, cried mercy as I recall," Alun replied amiably. "Yet, like you, I am willing to forget what is past for the sake of the day."

They fell to arguing then about the size of the wager-pledging prizes not yet won-and quickly drew a crowd of onlookers eager to back one or the other of the champions and so reap a share of the rewards.

They were still settling the terms when Goewyn leaned close. "If you do not begin the games soon, husband, we will be forced to listen to their boasting all day."

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"Very well," I agreed, and rose from my chair to address the crowd. Tegid called for silence and, when the people saw that I would speak, they quieted themselves to listen. "Let us enjoy the day given to us!" I said. "Let us strive with skill and accept with good grace all that chances our way, that when the games are done we may retire to the feasting-hall better friends than when the day began."

'Well said, lord," Tegid declared. "So be it!"

Wrestling was first, followed by various races, including a spectacular horse race which had everyone exhausted by the time the winner-a young man from Calbha's clan-crossed the fmish line. I awarded him a horse and, much to the crowd's amusement, he promptly retired from the games lest he lose his prize in a foolish wager.

I tried at first to match each award to its winner, but I soon gave up and I lost track and took whatever came to hand. Indeed, as the games proceeded I called on Goewyn to help, so that sometimes I awarded the prizes and sometimes the winners received their trophies from Goewyn-which I suspected most preferred. I noticed that many who came to the mound to marvel at the prizes, stayed to feast their eyes on Goewyn. Time and again I found myself stealing glances at her-like a beggar who has found a jewel of immense value, and must continually reassure himself that it is not a dream, that it does exist and, yes, that it belongs to him.

One young boy came to the mound and found a copper cup which, once he had picked up the thing, he could not bring himself to put down. "You like that cup," I said, and he blushed, for he did not know he was observed. "Tell me, how would you win it?"

He thought for a moment. "I would wrestle Bran Bresal himself," he answered boldly.

"Bran might be reluctant to risk his great renown by engaging one so young," I answered. "Perhaps you would be persuaded to pit your strength against someone more your own size?"

The boy accepted my suggestion and a match was agreed. It ended well and I was pleased to award him his prize. Thus began a succession of children's games and races, no less hotly contested than the trials of their elders.

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The contests progressed and, little by little, the treasure mound was reduced. Tegid disappeared at some point in the proceedings and I was so caught up my role as gift-giver that some long time passed before I missed him. Turning to Goewyn, I said, "I wonder where Tegid has gone. Do you see him anywhere?"

Before she could reply, there came a rush at the mound behind us. I heard the swift approach and saw a confused motion out of the corner of my eye. Even as my head swivelled towards the sound and movement, I saw hands reaching for Goewyn. In the same instant that I leapt to my feet, she was pulled from her chair. "Llew!" she cried, and was borne roughly away.

I hurled myself after her, but there were too many people, too much confusion. I could hardly move. Head down, I drove forward into the mass of bodies. Hands seized me. I was pressed back into my chair. Goewyn cried out again, but her voice was farther away and the cry was cut off.

I kicked free of the chair and made to leap from the mound. Even as I gained my feet, I was hauled down from behind, thrown to the ground, and pinned there. Voices strange and loud gabbled in my ears. I fought against those holding me down. "Let me go!" I shouted. "Release me!" But the hands held firm, and the chaos of voices resolved itself into laughter. They were laughing at me!

Angry now, I struggled all the more. "Tegid!" I bellowed. "Tegid!"

"I am here, Llew," Tegid's voice replied calmly.

I looked around furiously, and saw Tegid's face appear above me. "Release him," the bard instructed.

The weight of hands fell away; the circle of faces drew back. I jumped to my feet. "They've taken Goewyn," I told him. "We were sitting here, and they-"

There were smiles and a spattering of laughter. I halted. Tegid, his fingers laced around his staff, appeared unconcerned. "What is happening?" I demanded. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you, Llew," the bard replied simply.

His lack of concern appalled me. I opened my mouth to protest,

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and again heard the laughter. Gazing at those gathered around us, I saw their faces alight with mischief and mirth. It was only then I realized that I was the object of a prank. "Well, Tegid, what is it? What have you done?"

"It is not for me to say, lord," he answered.

It came to me then that this was another of those peculiar Celtic marriage customs. The trick required me to work the thing out for myself. Well, prank or custom, I was not amused. Turning away, I called, "Bran! Cynan! Follow me!"

I strode down from the mound, a path opening before me as I hastened away. "Bran! Cynan!" I called again, and when they did not join me, I turned to see them standing motionless. "Follow me!" I shouted. "I need you."

Cynan, grinning, moved a step forward, then stopped, shaking his head slightly.

"I go alone," I remarked.

"That is the way of it," Bran said.

"So be it!" Exasperation turning to anger, I whirled away across the field in the direction I had last seen Goewyn. It was a stupid jest, and I resented it.

The trail led to the lakeside where I lost it on the stony shore. They might have gone in either direction-one way led along the lake towards Dinas Dwr, the other rose to the heights and the ridge of Druim Vran above. Looking towards the crannog, I saw no sign of flight, so I pivoted the opposite way and strode towards the heights and Tegid's grove.

I reached the path and began the climb. The crowd followed behind, streaming along the lake in a happy hubbub. The trees gradually closed around me, muffling the sound of the following throng. It was cool among the silent trees, and the sun-dappled shadows seemed undisturbed. But I heard the creak of a bough ahead and knew my instincts were true. I quickened my pace, pushing recklessly ahead: ducking low-hanging branches, dodging trunks and shrubs.

Tegid's sacred grove lay directly ahead, and I made straight for

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it. Putting on a final burst of speed, I ascended the final leg of the trail and gained the grove. I entered with a rush to find a bower of birch branches had been erected in the center of the grove. And before the bower stood seven warriors, armed and ready.

"Put down your weapons," I commanded, but they did not move. I knew these men; they had followed me into battle and stood with me against Meidron. Now they stood against me. Though I knew it to be part of the ritual, the ache of betrayal that knifed momentarily through me was real enough. There was no help for me. I stood alone against them.

Steeling myself, I moved closer. The warriors advanced menacingly towards me. I stopped and they stopped, staring grimly at me. The smiles and laughter were gone. What, I wondered as I stood staring at them, was I supposed to do now?

The first of the onlookers reached the grove. I turned to see Bran, Cynan and Tegid entering behind me and, rank upon rank, my people surrounding the sacred circle. No one spoke, but the eagerness in their eyes urged me on.

If this was a mock abduction, it seemed I would have to undertake a mock battle to win my queen. I had no weapon, but, turning to the task before me, I stepped boldly forth and met the first warrior as he swung the head of the spear level. Moving quickly under the swinging shaft, I caught it with my silver hand and pulled hard.

To my surprise, the warrior released the spear and fell at my feet as if dead. Taking the shaft, I turned to meet the next warrior, who raised his spear to throw. I struck the man's shield with the tip of the spearblade: he dropped his weapon and fell. The third warrior crumpled at the touch of my spear against his shoulder-the fourth and fifth, likewise. The two remaining warriors attacked me together.

The first one struck at me, drawing a wide, lazy arc with his sword. I crouched as the blade passed over my head, and then drove into them, holding my spear sideways. At the lightest contact, the two warriors toppled, fell, and lay still.

Suddenly, the grove shook to a tremendous shout of triumph as I

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stepped to the bower's entrance. "Come out, Goewyn," I called. "All is well."

There was a movement from within the bower, and Goewyn stepped forward. She was as I had seen her only a few moments before, and yet she was not. She had changed. For, as she stepped from the deep green shadow of the birch-leaf bower, the sunlight struck her hair and gown and she became a creature of light, a bright spirit formed of air and fire: her hair golden flame, her gown shimmering sea-foam white.

The crowd, so noisily jubilant before, gasped and fell silent.

Dazzling, radiant, glowing with beauty, she appeared before me and I could but stand and stare. I heard a movement beside me. "Truly, she is a goddess," Cynan whispered. "Go to her, man! Claim your bride-or I will."

I stepped forward and extended my silver hand to her. As she took my hand, the sunlight caught the metal and flared. And it seemed that a blaze sprang up between us at the union of our hands. Though it was only a game, it was with genuine relief that I clasped her to my heart. "Never leave me, Goewyn," I breathed.

"I never will," she promised.

The sun had begun its westward plunge by the time we returned to the crannog. Tables had been set up outside the hail to accommodate the increased numbers the king would entertain this night. I would have preferred to remain outside-after the brilliant day, the night would be warm and bright-but the interior of the hall had been festooned with rushlights and birch branches to resemble the leafy bower in the grove. With all this preparation specially for us, it would have been unkind not to acknowledge the honor and enjoy it.

Famished with hunger and aflame with thirst, the warriors called loudly for food and drink as soon as they crossed the threshold. The tables inside the hall had been arranged to form a large hollow square so that we could all see one another. As the first were finding their places at the board, the platters appeared-- borne on the

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shoulders of the servers-huge trenchers piled high with choice cuts of roast beef, pork, and mutton; these were followed by enormous platters of cooked cabbages, turnips, leeks and fennel. A fair-sized vat had been set up at the end of each table so that no one would have to go far to refill cup or bowl. Alas, there was no ale left, so tonight the vats had been filled with water flavored with honey and bullace. Along the center of each table were piled small loaves of honey-glazed banys bara, or wedding bread-fresh-baked and warm from the ovens.

As the platters were passed, each diner, man or woman, was offered the most succulent portions. Within moments the clamor sank to a muffled din as hungry mouths were filled with good food. The privilege of eating first carried with it the obligation of serving; those who served now would be guests later. Thus, order and right were admirably maintained. The guards watching over the Singing Stones were the only exceptions. They neither served nor ate, but stood aloof from the celebration, as watchful and wary as if they were alone in a hostile land.

Looking out across the crowded hall, my heart swelled with joy to see my people so happy and content. It came to me why it was that the mark of a king was linked to his benevolence: his people lived on it, looking to the king for their sustenance and support; through him they lived, or died. I filled my bowl with the savory morsels served me, and began to eat with a ready appetite.

When everyone had been served, a loud thumping drum resounded through the hall, and into the hollow square advanced eight maidens at a slow and solemn pace. Each maiden gathered her loose-hanging hair and wound it into a knot at the nape of her neck. They then drew up the hems of their mantles so that their legs were bare, and loosened the strings of their bodices. Each maiden then approached a warrior at table and begged the use of his sword.

The warriors-eager accomplices-gave up their swords willingly, and the maidens returned to the center of the square where they formed a circle, each placing her sword on the ground at her feet so that the swordpoints touched. Tegid, harp at his shoulder,

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appeared and began to play. The harpstrings sang, each note plucked with definite accent; and the maidens began to dance, each step deliberate and slow.

Around the sunburst of swords they danced, treading their way slowly over the hilts and blades, eyes level, fixed on a point in the distance. Around and around, they went, adding an extra step with each pass. By the sixth pass the harpsong began to quicken and the footwork grew more complicated. By the twelfth pass, the harp was humming and the dance had become fantastic. Yet, the maidens danced with the same solemn attitude, eyes fixed, expressions grave.

The music reached a crescendo and the maidens, spinning swiftly, performed an intricate maneuver with their arms. Then, quick as a blink, they stopped, spun around, stooped, and each seized her sword by the hilt and lofted its point to the rooftrees above, shedding the tops of their mantles in the same motion.

The music began again, slowly. Lowering the swords, the maidens began the dance once more, their steps measured and precise. The swords flashed and gleamed, creating dazzling arcs around the twirling lissome shapes. The tempo increased, and those looking on began beating time with their hands on the tables, shouting encouragement to the dancers. The young women's skill at handling the swords was dazzling handwork and footwork elaborate, cunning, and deft: hands weaving enigmatic patterns, feet tracing complex figures as the keen-edged swords shimmered and shone.

Torchlight and rushlight glimmered on the sweat-glistening flesh of slender arms, rounded shoulders and breasts. The harpsong swelled; the sword-dance whirled to its climax. With a shriek and a shout, the maidens leaped, striking their blades together in simulated battleclash. Once, twice, three times, the weapons sang. They froze for an instant, and then fell back, each maiden clutching the naked blade to her breast. They knelt and lay back until their heads touched the ground and the swords lay flat along their taut chests and stomachs.

Slowly raising the swords by the hilts, they rose to their knees once more, brandishing the blades high. Suddenly, the harp struck a

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resounding chord. The swords plunged. The maidens collapsel with a cry.

There was a moment's silence as we all sat gazing raptly at tl~ swaying blades standing in the packed earth floor. And then cheeis filled the hall, loudly lauding the dancers' feat. The maidens gatherel their clothes and retreated from the square.

I looked at Goewyn, and then at the bowl in my hands. Al thought of food vanished from my mind-instantly replaced by ~ hunger of an entirely different, though no less urgent, variety. SI~ sensed me looking at her and smiled. "Is something wrong with tl~ food?" she asked, indicating my half-filled bowl.

I shook my head. "It is just that I think I have discoverel something more to my liking."

Goewyn leaned close, put her hand to my face and kissed me. "]f you find that to your liking," she whispered, "then join me when yoi have finished." Rising from her chair, she let her fingers drift alon~ my jaw. Her touch sent a delicious shiver along my ribs.

I watched her go. She paused at the door and cast a backwarl glance at me before disappearing. It seemed to me that the closcrowded hail, so festive only moments before, grew suddenly loul and the crush of people oppressive.

Cynan noticed that I was not eating. "Eat!" he urged. "This mgFt above all others you will need what little strength you possess."

Bran, sitting next to him, said, "Brother, can you not see it is fool and drink of a different kind that he craves?"

Others offered their own opinions on how best to maintaii strength and vigor in such circumstances. I forced down a few bit6 and swallowed some ale, but my friends thought my efforts lackel conviction, and redoubled their exhortations. Caibba filled my cw from his own and insisted I drain it in a single draught. I sippel politely and laughed at their jests, though my heart was not in it

The feasting and dancing would continue through the night, bit

I could not tolerate another moment. Rising from the table, I tried b

make an unobtrusive exit, which proved impossible. I was forced b

endure much good-natured, bibulous advice on how to conduct

SONG OF ALBION

myself on my wedding night

As I moved past Tegid, he slipped a skin of mead into my hands

so that my wedding night should lack neither sweetness or warmth.

"In mead is found the flavor of the marriage bed. Twice blessed are

lovers who share it on this night."

The more garrulous seemed anxious to accompany me to the hut where Goewyn waited. But Tegid came to my rescue, urging them to sit down and celebrate the new-wedded couple's happiness in song. He took up his harp and made a great show of tuning it. "Away with you," he murmured under his breath, "I will keep order here."

Cradling the mead in the crook of my arm, I hurried across the yard to the nearby hut which had been prepared for us. The house, like the hall, had been transformed into a forest bower with fragrant pine and birch branches adorning walls and ceiling, and rushlights glowing like ruddy stars, creating a dimly pleasant rose-hued light.

Goewyn was waiting, greeted me with a kiss, and drew me inside, taking the meadskin. "I have waited long for this night, my soul," she whispered as she wrapped her arms tightly around me.

Our first embrace ended in a long, passionate kiss. And as the sleeping-place was prepared-fleeces piled deep and spread with cloaks-we tumbled into it. I closed my eyes, filling my lungs with the warm scent of her skin as our caresses grew more urgent, taking fire.

Thus occupied, I do not know whether it was the shout or the smoke that first called me from the bed. I sat up abruptly. Goewyn reached for me, tugging me gently back down. "Llew..

"Wait-"

"What is it?" she whispered.

The shout came again, quick and urgent. And with it the sharp scent of smoke.

"Fire!" I said, leaping to my feet. "The crannog is on fire!"

A Fine Night's Work

"The fire is on the western side," Goewyn said, watching the rusty stain seeping into the night sky. "The wind will send it towards us."

"Not if we hurry," I said. "Go to the hall. Alert Tegid and Bran. I will return as soon I can."

Even as I spoke, I heard another cry of alarm: "Hurry, Llew!" I kissed her cheek and darted away.

The smoke thickened as I raced towards the fire, filling my nostrils with the parched and musty sharpness of scorched grain:

the grain stores! Unless the fire was extinguished quickly, it would be

a lean, hungry winter.

As I raced through the crannog along the central byway joining the various islets of our floating city, I saw the yellow-tipped flames, like clustered leaves, darting above the rooftops. I heard the fire's angry roar, and I heard voices: men shouting, women calling, children shrieking and crying. And behind me, from the direction of the hall, came the battleblast of the carynx, sounding the alarm.

The flames leapt high and ever higher, red-orange and angry against the black sky. Dinas Dwr, our beautiful city on the lake, was garishly silhouetted in the hideous glow. I felt sick with dread.

Closer, I saw people running here and there, darting through the rolling smoke, faces set, grimly earnest. Some carried leather buckets,

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others had wooden or metal bowls and cauldrons, but most wielded only their cloaks which they had stripped off, soaked in water, and now used as flails upon the sprouting flames.

I whipped off my own cloak and sped to join them. My heart sank like a stone. The houses, so close together, their dry roof-thatches nearly touching, kindled like tinder at the first lick of flame. I beat out the flame5 in one place only to have them reappear elsewhere. If help did not come at once, we would lose all.

I heard a shout behind me.

"Tegid! Here!" I cried, turning as the bard reached me. King Calbha, with fifty or more warriors and women came with him, and they all began beating at the flames with their cloaks. "Where are Bran and Cynan?"

"I have sent Cynan and Cynfarch to the south side," Tegid explained. "The Ravens are on the north. I told them I would send you to them."

"Go, Liew," instructed Calbha, wading into battle. "We will see to matters here."

I left them to the fight, and ran to aid the Ravens, passing between huts whose roofs were already smoldering from the sparks raining down upon them. The smoke thickened, acrid and black with soot. I came to a knot of men working furiously. "Bran!" I shouted.

"Here. lord!" came the answer, and a torso materialized out of the smoke. Bran carried a hayfork in one hand and his cloak in the other.

Naked to the waist, his skin was black from the smoke; his eyes and teeth showed white, like chips of moonstone. Sweat poured off him, washing pale rivulets through the grime.

"Tegil thought you might need help," I explained. "How is it here?"

"We ~re trying to keep the fire from spreading further eastward. Fortunately, the wind is with us," he said, then added, "but Cynan and Cynfarch will have the worst of it."

"Then I will go to them," I told him, and hurried away again. I rounded a turn and crossed a bridge, meeting three women, each

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carrying two or three babes and shepherding a bedraggled flock of young children, all of them frightened and wailing. One of the women

stumbled in her haste and trod on a child; she fell to her knees, almost

dropping the infants she clutched so tightly. The child sprawled

headlong onto the bridge timbers and lay screaming.

I scooped up the child-so quickly that the youngster stopped yowling, fright swallowed by surprise. Goewyn appeared beside me in an instant, bending to raise the woman to her feet and shouldering an infant all in one swift motion. "I will see them safe!" she called to

me, already leading them away. "You go ahead."

I raced on. Cynfarch stood as if in the midst of a riot, commanding the effort. I ran to him, shedding my cloak. "I am here, Cynfarch," I said. "What is to be done?"

"We will not save these houses, but-" he broke off to shout orders to a group of men pulling at burning thatch with wooden rakes and long iron hooks. A portion of the roof collapsed inward with a shower of sparks, and the men scurried to the next hut. "These houses are ruined," he continued, "but if the wind holds steady we may keep it from spreading."

"Where is Cynan?"

"He was there," the king glanced over his shoulder. "I do not see him now."

/ I ran to the place Cynfarch indicated, passing between burning buildings into a valley of fire. Flames leapt all around me. The heat gushed and blasted on the breeze. Everything-the houses to the right and left, the wall ahead, the black sky above-shimmered in the heat-flash.

I heard a horse's wild scream, and directly in front of me a man burst through a bank of smoke holding tight to the reins of a rearing horse. The man had thrown his cloak over the terrified animal's head, and was leading it away from the fire. Immediately behind him came four more men with bucking, neighing, panicky horses, each with their heads bound in the men's cloaks. Only a few horses and kine were kept on the crannog; all the rest ranged the meadow below the ridgewall. But those we stabled in Dinas Dwr we could least afford to lose.

SONG OF ALBION

I helped the men lead the horses through the narrow, fireshattered path between the burning wrecks of houses and sheds.

Once on the wider path, I retraced my steps and hurried on. Smoke

billowed all around, obscuring sight. Covering my nose and mouth with the lower part of my siarc, I plunged ahead and came all at once into a clear place swarming with people. Fire danced in a hazy shimmer all around. I felt as if I had been thrust into an oven.

Cynan, with a score of warriors and men with axes, chopped furiously at the timber wall. They were trying to cut away a section as a fire-break to keep the flames from destroying the entire palisade.

Threescore men with sopping cloaks beat at the wooden surfaces and the ground, keeping the surrounding flames at bay, while more men with buckets doused the smoldering embers of the ruins they had reclaimed. Black curls of soot and grey flakes of ash fell from the sky like filthy snow.

"Cynan!" I called, running to him.

At the sound of my voice he turned, though the axe completed its stroke. "Liew! A fine wedding night for you," he said, shaking his head as he chopped again.

I scanned the ragged, fire-ravaged walL "Will your fire-break hold?"

"Oh, aye," he said, stepping back from the wall to look at his labor. "It will hold." He raised his voice to shout the order. "Pull it down! Pull it down, men!"

Ropes stretched taut. The wall section wobbled and swayed, but would not fall.

'Pull!" shouted Cynan, leaping to the nearest rope.

I joined him, lending my weight to the effort. We heaved on the ropes and the timbers groaned. "Pull!" Cynan cried. "Everyone! All together! Pull!"

The timbers sighed and then gave way with a shuddering crash.

We stood gazing through a clear gap at the lake beyond. "Those

houses next!" Cynan ordered, stooping for his axe.

Two heartbeats later, a score of axes shivered the roof-trees of three houses as yet untouched by the relentlessly encroaching flames.

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Seizing one of the rakes, I began attacking the smoldering thatch of a nearby roof, throwing the rake as high up the slope as I could reach and pulling, pulling, pulling down with all my might, scattering the bundled thatch, and then beating out the glowing reeds as they lay at my feet.

When I finished one roof, I rushed to another, and then another. My arms ached and my eyes watered. I choked on smoke. Live embers caught in the cloth of my siarc, so I stripped it off and braved the burns of falling thatch. The heat singed my hair it felt as if my skin was blistering. But I worked on, sometimes with help, more often alone. Everyone was doing whatever could be done.

"Llew!" I heard someone shout my name. I turned just in time to see a pair of long horns swing out of the smoke haze. I dodged to one side as the curved horn cut a swathe through the air where I stood. An ox had broken free from its tether and, frightened out of its dim wits, was intent on returning to its pen. The stupid beast was running among burning huts looking for its shed. Snatching up my siarc, I waved and shouted, turning the animal away. It rumbled off the way it had come, but no one gave chase. We had enough to do trying to stay ahead of the flames.

Everywhere I turned, there was a new emergency. We flew to each fresh crisis swiftly, but with a little less energy than the one before. Strength began to flag-and then to fail. My arms grew

/ heavy and numb. My hand was raw from the rake handle, and from

burns. I could not catch my breath; my lungs heaved and the air wheezed in my throat. Still, I doggedly planted one foot in front of the other and labored on.

And when I began to think that we must abandon our work to the flames, Bran and the Ravens appeared with several score men and warriors. With a shout they swooped to the task. Within moments of their arrival, or so it seemed to me, we were working harder than ever before. Raking thatch, beating flames, smothering sparks-raking, beating, smothering, over and over and over again and again.

Time passed as in a dream. Heat licked my skin; smoke stung my nose and my eyes ran. But I toiled on. Gradually, the fire's glare

SONG OF ALBION

dimmed. I felt cooler air on my scorched skin and I stopped.

A hundred men or more stood around me, clutching tools, vessels, and cloaks in unfeeling hands. We stood, heads bowed, our arms limp at our sides, or kneeling, leaning on our rakes for support.

And all around us the quiet hiss of hot embers slowly dying...

"A fine night's work," growled Cynan in a voice ragged as the remains of his burnt tatters of clothing.

I raised my head and turned raw eyes to a sky showing grey in the east. In the pale, spectral light Dinas Dwr appeared as a vast heap of charred timber and smoking ash.

"I want to see what is left," I told Cynan. "We should look for the injured."

"I will look after the men here," Bran said. He swayed on his feet with fatigue, but I knew he would not rest until all the others were settled. So I charged him to do what he deemed best, and left him to it.

In the grim grey dawn, Cynan and I stumbled slowly through the devastation of the caer. The damage was severe and thorough. The western side of the stronghold had been decimated; precious little remained standing, and that little had been ravaged by flame and smoke.

Calbha met us as we pursued our inspection; he had been arranging temporary storage for salvaged food stocks and supplies, and holding-pens for horses and cattle until they could be conveyed to pasturage on the meadows.

"Was anyone hurt here?" I asked him.

Calbha gave a quick shake of his head. "A few with burns and such," he answered, "but no one seriously hurt. We were fortunate."

We left him to his work and continued on, picking our way through smoking rubble. In the center of a small yard formed by the charred remains of three houses, we found Tegid and several women working with the injured. The bard, nearly black with smoke and soot, knelt over a thrashing body, applying unguent from a clay pot. Lying on the ground around him were a dozen more bodies: some gasping and moaning, or struggling to rise; others unnaturally still, and wrapped head to foot in cloaks. Several of these cloak-covered

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corpses were no bigger than a bundle of kindling.

The full weight of sadness descended upon me then, and I

staggered beneath it. Cynan caught my arm and bore me up.

Scatha moved among the living, bearing the marks of one who

had walked through flames-as indeed she had. For when the alarm

sounded, she had organized a search of each house on the western side. Nearly everyone was at the wedding feast, but a few- especially mothers of small children-had retired to sleep. Scatha had roused them and conducted them through smoke and flames to safety, returning again and again, until the fire grew too hot and she could do no more.

"How many?" She glanced up quickly at the sound of my voice, and then proceeded with her work of bandaging a young man's burned upper arm.

"If there had been time," she replied, "these might have been saved. But the fire spread so swiftly... and these young ones were asleep." She lifted a hand to the tiny bundles. "They never woke, and now they never will."

"Tell me, Scatha," I said, my voice husky with fatigue and remorse. "How many?"

"Three fives and three," she replied, then added softly, "Two or three more will join that number before nightfalL"

Tegid finished and joined us. "It is a wicked loss," he muttered.

"Smoke took them while they slept. It was a merciful death, at least."

"But for the feast," Cynan put in, "it would have been much worse. Almost everyone was in the hail when it started."

"And if almost everyone had not been in the hail, it would never have started in the first place," Scatha suggested.

I was in no mood for riddles. "Are you saying that this was not an accident?" I demanded bluntly.

"It was no accident kindled the flame." Cynan was adamant.

Tegid agreed. "Flames arising in three places at once-the wall, the houses, the ox pens-is not negligence or mishap. That is willful and malicious."

Lord Calbha, coming upon us just then, heard Tegid's

SONG OF ALBION

pronouncement. "Someone set the fires on purpose-is that what you

are saying?" charged Calbha, unwilling to believe such a thing could

happen in Dinas Dwr. "What man among us would do such a thing?"

"Man or men," Cynan replied, his voice raw from smoke and shouting. "There was maybe more than one." He regarded the

smoldering ruins narrowly. "Whoever it was knew their work, and

did it well. If the wind had changed we would have lost the caer- and many more lives besides."

The sweat on my back turned cold. I turned to those around me, silently scanning their faces. If there was a killer among us, I could not imagine who it might be. A call from one of the women took Tegid away. "Speak of this to no one," I charged the others, "until we have had time to learn more?'

Scatha returned to her work, and Cynan, Calbha and I went back to where Bran and the Ravens were sifting the rubble of a storehouse.

Closer, I saw that they were slowly, carefully lifting a collapsed

roolbeam from a body which was trapped beneath it.

Cynan and I hastened to add our strength to the task. Grasping the blackened timber, we heaved it up, shifting it just enough for the broken body beneath to be withdrawn. The man was pulled free of the debris and carried from the ruin where they laid him gently down and rolled him onto his back.

Bran's head came up slowly, his expression grave. He glanced from me to Cynan. "I am sorry, Cynan..

"Cynfarch!" exclaimed Cynan. Falling to his knees, he raised his father's body in his arms. The movement brought a faint whimper of a moan. The Galanae king coughed and a thin trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.

Calbha stifled an oath; I put my hand on the man nearest me. "Fetch Tegid," I ordered. "Hurry, man!"

Tegid came on the run, took one look at the body on the ground, and ordered everyone back. Bending over Cynfarch's side, the bard began to examine the stricken king. He gently probed the body for wounds, and turned the head to the side. Beneath the filthy coating of ash, Cynfarch's flesh was pale and waxy.

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Cynan, his broad shoulders hunched, clasped his father's hand in his and stared hard at the slack features, as if willing vigor to reappear. 'Will he live?" he asked as Tegid finished his scrutiny.

"He is hurt inside," the bard replied. "I cannot say."

These words were scarcely fallen from his lips when another call claimed our attention. "Penderuydd! Liew! Help! Come quickly!"

We turned to see a warrior running towards us. "What is it, Pebin?" I called to him. "What has happened?"

"Lord," Pebin replied, "I went to the hall to take up my watch -. ." he paused, glancing around quickly. "You had better come at once."

Good Counsel

"I will look after my father," Cynan said. "Leave me."

"Take Cynfarch to my hut," the bard ordered. "Sioned will tend him there."

Then Tegid, Pebin and I threaded our way back towards the center of the crannog, passing knots of people hurrying to the site of the fire. The embers were still smoking and ash still hot, but the clean-up was commencing. Those who had taken refuge on the shore were returning to begin the restoration.

Crossing the bridge on the main pathway we came to the cluster of low round houses that sheltered in the shadow of the great hail.

Except for the smell of smoke, which penneated everything in the fortress, the houses and hall were untouched by the fire. All appeared safe and secure.

We moved quickly among the huts and across the yard separating them from the hall. "Stay here, Pebin," I instructed the warrior. "Do not let anyone in." Passing between the massive doorposts, I followed Tegid inside. Even in the dim light I could see that the iron stand had been overturned. The wooden chest bearing the Singing Stones was gone. Closer, I saw two figures huddled against the far west wall, and a third sprawled face down on the bare earth floor. They did not stir as we entered.

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Approaching the nearest man, I stooped and shook him by the shoulder. When my jostling awoke no response, I rolled the man towards me. His head flopped loosely on his chest, and I knew he was dead.

"One of the warband," I said. I had seen the man before, but did not know his name.

"It is Cradawc," Tegid informed me, leaning near to see the man's face.

I lowered the body gently to the floor, cradling his neck in my hand so that his head would not strike the ground. My hand came away sticky and wet. A sick feeling spread through my gut as I looked at the dark substance on my hand. "The back of his head has been crushed," I murmured.

Tegid moved to the second man, and pressed his fingertips against the man's throat.

"1)ead?" I asked.

He answered me with a nod, and turned at once to the third

warrior.

"This one as well?"

"No," Tegid answered. "This one still lives."

"Who is it?"

Just then the man groaned and coughed.

"It is Gorew. Help me get him outside."

Carefully, Tegid and I carried the body from the ball and laid it gently on the ground outside. Stretching his long fingers over the fallen warrior, Tegid turned Gorew's head to the side. It was then I saw the hideous blue~black bruise bulging like an egg on the side of his temple above the right eye.

The movement brought another moan. "Gorew," Tegid said loudly, firmly.

At the sound of his name, the warrior's eyes fluttered open. "Ahhh. - ." The groan was a whisper.

"Rest and be easy," Tegid told him. 'We are here to help you?'

"They are... gone," Gorew said, his voice a faint rattle in his throat.

SONG OF ALBION

"Who is gone?" Tegid asked, holding Gorew with his voice.

"The stones.. ." the warrior answered. "Gone.., stolen.. ."

"We know, Gorew," I replied. The injured warrior's eyes fluttered. "Who did this to you?" I asked. "Who attacked you?"

"I, ahh... saw someone... I thought. . ." Gorew sighed, and closed his eyes.

"The name, Gorew. Give us the name. Who did this?" But it was no use; Gorew had lost consciousness once more.

"We will learn nothing more for the moment," Tegid said. "Let us carry him to my hut."

Pebin, staring down at Gorew, made no move, so I took his arm and directed him to help lift the wounded warrior. We carried Gorew to Tegid's hut where Cynan and Bran were now waiting. Inside, Sioned, a woman much skilled in healing, was watching over the more badly injured. Sioned spread a cloak for him over a mat of straw, and we laid Gorew down beside Cynfarch. "I will tend him now," she said.

"Who would do this?" Pebin asked as we stepped from the hut.

Who indeed, I wondered? Twenty dead so far-with more likely to follow-half the caer ruined, and the Singing Stones stolen. The damage was severe as it was brutal. I determined to lay hands to the thieves before the sun set on this day.

Summoning Bran and Cynan to me, I informed them of the theft.

"The thieves set fire to the caer and used the resulting confusion to steal the Singing Stones. Gorew and the other guards were attacked and overpowered."

"Fhe Treasure of Albion stolen?" Bran wondered. "And the guards?"

"Two were killed outright; Gorew still lives. He may yet tell us something."

Cynan's blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "He is a dead man who did this."

"Until we raise the trail, we do not know how many are involved."

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"One man or a hundred," Cynan muttered, "it is all the same to me."

"Bran," I said, moving towards the hail, "raise the warband. We will begin the search at once."

The Chief Raven sped away, and Cynan and I began walking back towards the hail. As we came into the yard, the booming battlehorn sounded, and a few moments later the Ravens began flocking to the call: Garanaw, Drustwn, Niall, Emyr, Alun. Scatha arrived too, and a few moments later Bran entered with a score of warriors. All gathered around the cold hearth.

"We have been attacked by enemies," I explained, and told them about the assault during the fire. "So far, twenty are dead, and others are badly injured-Cynfarch and Gorew among them. The Singing Stones are stolen." This revelation brought an instant outcry. "We will catch the men who did this," I pledged, and my vow was echoed by a dozen more. "The search will begin at once."

I turned to Bran Bresal, my battlechief~ leader of the Raven Flight. "Make ready to leave. We will ride as soon as horses are saddled."

He hesitated, glancing quickly at Scatha; a look I could not read passed between them.

"Well?" I demanded.

"It will be done as you say, lord," Bran replied, touching the back of his hand to his forehead. Calling the warband to follow him, they hurried from the hail to attend to their various tasks, leaving Cynan and Scatha alone with me.

"I am sorry, Cyrian," Scatha said, touching the brawny warrior on the arm.

"The blood debt will be paid, Pen-y-Cat," he replied quietly. "Never doubt it." The pain bled raw in his voice.

Turning to me, Scatha said, "I would serve you in this, lord. Allow me to lead the warband and capture the thieves."

"I thank you, Pen-y-Cat," I declined, "but it is my place. You will serve better here. Tegid will need your help."

"Your place is here as well, Llew," she persisted. "It is time for

SONG OF ALBION

you to think beyond yourself to those who depend on you. You need rest," Scatha suggested, pressing her point. "Stay here and rule your people."

Her words meant nothing to me. Rage flowed hot and potent through my veins, and I was in no mood for unravelling riddles. I saw but one thing clearly: the men who had practised this outrage on me would be caught and judged. "A bath is all I need," I grumbied. "The cold water will revive me."

Aching in every joint, I dragged myself back to my hut intent on bathing and changing clothes before departing. I reeked of stale sweat and smoke; my hair was singed in a dozen places, and my breecs and buskins looked as if they had been attacked by flaming moths. Inside the hut, I paused only long enough to retrieve a change of clothes, a chunk of the heavy tallow soap, and the strip of linen I used for a washcloth. I had started across the yard when Tegid emerged from his hut. I went to him.

"Gorew may recover," the bard said. "I will know more when he awakes."

"And Cynfarch?" I asked.

"Death is strong, but Cynfarch may yet prove stronger," the bard replied. "The battle will be decided before this day is done."

"Either way, I mean to have the thieves caught and the stones returned before this time tomorrow," I said.

"And are you thinking of going after them yourself?" he asked pointedly.

"Of course! I am the king. It is my duty."

The bard bristled at this, and opened his mouth to object. I did not want to hear it, so I cut him off. "Save your breath, Tegid. I am leading the warband, and that is that."

Turning on my heel, I stalked away across the yard, through the gate, and out to the boat landing. At one end of the landing, the rock base of the crannog formed a shallow area many used as a bathingplace. But there was no one else about.

I stripped off my clothes and slipped into the water; the icy sting on my scorched hide felt like a balm. Sinking gratefully into the

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water, I floated submerged except for forehead and nose.

The sun rose higher, burning through the thin grey mist while I busied myself with the soap. I washed my hair and scrubbed my skin raw with the cloth. When I lowered myself into the water to rinse, I felt like a snake sloughing off its old dead skin.

I was shaking water from my hair when Goewyn arrived.

"Scatha has told me what has happened," she said. She stood on the landing above me with her arms crossed. Her face was smudged with soot, and her hair was tangled and powdered with ash. Her once-white mantle was leopard-spotted with black and brown bummarks.

I almost salmon-leaped from the water for, until the moment I saw her again, I had completely forgotten that I was a married man now and had a wife waiting for me.

"Goewyn, I am so sorry, I forgot that-"

"She says you are planning to ride out," she continued coldly. "If you care anything for your people, or what has happened here this night, you will not go."

"But I must go," I insisted. "I am the king; it is my duty."

"If you are a king," she said, flinging each word separately for emphasis, "stay here and act like a king. Rule your people. Rebuild your stronghold."

"What of the Singing Stones? What of the thieves?"

"Send your battlechief and warriors to bring them back. That is what a true king would do."

"It is my place," I replied, moving towards her.

"You are wrong. Your place is here with your people. You should not be seen chasing these-these cynrhon!" She used a word seldom used of another in Albion; I had never seen her so angry. "Are you above them?"

"Of course, Goewyn, but I-"

"Then show it!" she snapped. "Are these thieves kings that it takes a king to capture them?"

"No, but--" I began, and was quickly cut off.

"Hear me, Liew Silver Hand: if you allow your enemy to prevent

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you from ruling, he is more powerful than you-and the whole of Albion will know it."

"Goewyn, please. You do not understand."

"Do I not?" she demanded, and did not wait for my answer. "Will not Bran serve you with the last breath of his body? Will not Cynan move mountains at your word? Will not the Ravens seize the sun and stars to please you?"

"Listen-if I am a king at all, it is because the Singing Stones have made me so."

"You are not just another king. You are the Aird Righ! You are Albion. That is why you cannot go."

"Goewyn, please. Be reasonable." I must have presented a forlorn spectacle standing up to my navel in cold water, shivering and dripping, for she softened somewhat.

"Do not behave as a man without rank and power," she said, and I began to see the shape of her logic. "If you are a king, my love, then be a king. Demonstrate your authority and might. Demonstrate your wisdom: send Bran and the Raven Flight. Yes. Send Cynan. Send Calbha and Scatha and a hundred warriors. Send everyone! But do not go yourself. Do not become the thing you seek to destroy."

"You sound just like Tegid," I replied, attempting-clumsily-to lighten the mood. It seemed absurd for both of us to be angry.

"Then you should listen to your wise bard," she replied imperiously. "He is giving you good counsel."

Goewyn stood with her arms crossed over her breast, regarding me with implacable eyes, waiting for my reply. I was beaten and I knew it. She was right: a true king would never risk the honor of his sovereignty by chasing criminals across the kingdom.

"Lady, I stand rebuked," I said, spreading my hands. "Also I stand shivering and cold. I will do as you say, only let me come out of the water before I freeze."

"Far be it from me to prevent you," she said, her lips curving ever so slightly at the corners.

"So be it." I took another step towards her, climbing from the

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water. She stooped and shook out the cloak, holding it out for me to step into.

1 turned my back to her and she draped the cloak over my shoulders. Her hands travelled slowly down my back, and then her arms encircled my waist. I turned in her embrace, put my arms around her and held her close. "You will get wet," I told her.

"I need a bath," she replied, then, realizing the truth of what she had said, at once pushed me away and held me at arm's length.

"I have washed," I protested.

"But I have not." She withdrew a quick step.

"Wait-"

"Come home, husband," she called, "but not until you have told Tegid that you are staying in Dinas Dwr, and not until you have sent the Raven Flight to work your will."

"Goewyn, wait, I will go with you-"

"I will be waiting, husband," she called, disappearing through the gate.

I pulled on my breecs, stuffed my arms into the sleeves of the siarc, snatched up my buskins, and hurried back to Tegid's hut to inform him of my change of plan.

Cynan Two-Torcs

I calkd Tegid from his hut. He emerged looking hunched and old; his dark hair was grey with ash, and his face seemed just as colorless. His eyes vere bloodshot from smoke and exhaustion. He must have been dead on his feet. I instantly felt guilty for taking a bath, leaving everyone else to do the work.

"Wise Bard," I said, "I have changed my mind. I am staying in Dina~ Dwr. I will send Bran and the Raven Flight to capture the thieves and bring back the Singing Stones."

".~ prudent decision, lord," Tegid said, nodding with narrow satisfaction.

"Yes, so I am told."

Emyr Lydaw hailed me just then and came running to say that the '~arband was ready. "Assemble at the landing," I commanded. "Tegd and I will join you there."

"Come," I told Tegid, taking him by the arm and leading him towaids the hail, "we will eat something before we join them. The king md his bard must not be seen to swoon with hunger."

'Tegid declared himself well satisfied with this sentiment-it showed I was beginning to think like a king. We stopped long enough for a loaf and a drink of the sweetened water left over from the wedding feast. Thus refreshed, we made our way to the landing.

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The Ravens, singed and bedraggled from the night's ordeal, were loading the last of their provisions into the boats. Cynan stood a few paces apart, a spear in each hand, staring at the water. Alun and Drustwn greeted me as we approached. Bran turned from the task to say, "All is ready, lord. We await your command."

"I am needed here-I will not accompany you. And you do not require my help to capture these low criminals," I explained. "I charge you to do this work swiftly and return with all haste."

Bran, somewhat relieved by my change of plan, replied, "I hear and will obey, lord."

Cynan, his jaw hard and his brow set in a lethal scowl, said nothing, but stared away across the lake to the strand where Niall and Garanaw waited with the horses. "Good hunting, brother," I told him.

He nodded curtly and climbed into one of the boats. The others joined him, and the boats pushed away from the landing. We bade them farewell then, and the boats withdrew. The oarsmen had not pulled three strokes, however, when the woman Sioned appeared at the gate.

"Penderwydd!" she called, and came running when she saw him.

"What is it, Sioned?" Tegid turned to meet her, grey eyes quick with concern.

"He is dead," she said hastily. "King CynfarCh has died, Penderwydd. Eleri is with him. He just stopped breathing and-that was all."

Tegid made to hurry away; he took two quick steps, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder towards the departing boats. He opened his mouth to speak, but I spoke first. "Go," I told him. "I will tell Cynan."

While the Chief Bard hastened towards the gate, I called the boats back. "Cynan," I said when he was close enough to hear, "it is your father."

He saw the figures of Tegid and the woman hurrying away, and he guessed the worst. "Is my father dead?"

"Yes, brother. I am sorry."

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At my words, Cynan stood upright in the boat, rising so suddenly that he almost tipped it over. As soon as the oarsman brought the vessel near the landing, Cynan leaped from the boat and started towards the gate.

I caught him as he passed. "Cynan, I am sending the Raven Flight without you."

His face darkened and he started to protest, but I held firm. "I know how you feel, brother, but you will be needed here. Your people are without a king now. Your place is with them."

He glanced away, the conflict hot within. "Let them go, Cyrian," I urged. "It is for Bran to serve me in this. It is for us to stay."

Cynan's eyes flicked from mine to the boat and back again. Without a word he turned and hurried away.

From the boat Bran called, "Would you have us wait for him, lord?"

"No, Bran," I replied, sending the Raven Chief away. "Cynan will not accompany you now."

I watched as the boats landed on the opposite shore and the pack animals were quickly loaded. The Ravens mounted; Bran lofted a spear and the warriors moved off along the lakeshore. I raised my silver hand in salute to them, and held the salute until they were well away. Then I turned and began walking back to the hail. In truth, I was secretly glad not to be riding with them. Weary to the bone, I longed for nothing more than sleep.

Instead, I returned to Tegid's hut where Cynan had taken up vigil beside his father's body. "There is nothing to be done here," Tegid told me. "You need rest, Llew. Go now while you may; I will summon you if you are needed."

Unwilling to leave, I hesitated, but the bard placed his hand firmly on my shoulder, turned me, and sent me away. I started across the small yard to my hut, and then remembered I had a different home now. I turned aside and went instead to the hut prepared for Goewyn and me. It seemed an age since our wedding night.

Goewyn was waiting for me inside. She had bathed and put on a

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new white robe. Her hair was hanging down, still wet from washing.

She was sitting on the bed, combing out the tangles with a wide. toothed wooden comb. She smiled as I came in, rose, and welconieri me with a kiss. Then, taking my silver hand in both of hers, she led me to the bed, removed my cloak and pushed me gently down onto the deep.piled fleece. She stretched herself beside me. I put my arms around her, and promptly fell asleep.

I came awake with a start. The hut was dark, and the caer was quiet. Pale moonlight showed beneath the oxhide at the door. My movement woke Goewyn, and she put her warm hand on the back of my neck.

"It is night," she whispered. "Lie down and go back to sleep."

"But I am not tired any more," I told her, lowering myself onto my elbow.

"Neither am I," she said. "Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous."

"There is a little wedding bread. And we have mead."

"Wonderful."

She rose and went to the small hearth in the center of the room. I watched her, graceful as a ghost in the pale moonlight, kneeling to her work. In a few moments, a yellow petal of flame licked out and a fire blossomed on the hearth. Instantly, the interior of our bower was bathed in shimmering golden light. Goewyn retrieved the meadskin and cup, and two small loaves of banys bara.

She settled herself beside me on the bed once more, broke the bread and fed me the first bite. Whereupon, I broke off a piece and fed her. We finished the first loaf, and the second, then pulled the stopper from the meadskin and lay back to savor its sweetness and warmth, sharing the golden nectar between us in a string of kisses, each more ardent than the last.

I could wait no longer. Laying aside the meadskin, I reached up and gathered her to me. She came into my arms, all softness and warmth, and we abandoned ourselves to the heady delight of our b,odies.

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Conscious that my metal hand would be cold, I did my best to keeP it from touching her-no easy task, for I desired nothing more tiian to stroke her hair and caress her skin. But Goewyn put me at my ease.

Kneeling beside me, she opened her robe and took my silver hand in both of hers. "it is part of you now," she said, her voice soft and low, "so it shall be no less part of me." Raising my metal hand she pressed it between her exquisite breasts.

The tenderness of this act filled me with awe. I lost myself then in passion. Goewyn was all my universe and she was enough.

Later, we poured mead into a golden cup and drank it in bed. Our wedding night, although untimely interrupted, was all we could have hoped it would be.

"It seems as if! have never lived until now," I told her.

Lips curling deliciously, Goewyn raised the cup to her lips. "Do not think this night is finished yet," she said.

And so we made love again, with passion, to be sure, but without the haste of our previous coupling we could afford to take our pleasure more slowly this time. Some time towards dawn we fell asleep in one another's arms. But I do not recall the closing of my eyes. I remember only Goewyn, her breath sweet on my skin, and the warmth of her body next to mine.

That night was but a moment's respite from the cares and concerns of the days that followed. Yet, I rose next morning invincible, more than a match for whatever the future held in store. There was work to be done, and I was eager to begin.

I found Tegid and a somber Cynan in the hail, sitting at bread, discussing Cynfarch's funeral. It had been decided that Cynan would return with his people to Dun Cruach for the burial. They must leave at once.

"I would it were otherwise," Cynan told me. His eyes were red and his voice a rasp. "I had wished to stay and help rebuild the caer."

"I know, brother; I know," I answered. "But we have hands enough to serve I wish I could go with you."

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Our talk turned to provisioning his people for the journey. Because of the fire and the long drought before it, our supplies were not what they might have been. Still, I wanted to send him back with enough not only for the journey but for a fair time beyond it.

Lord Calbha, who would be returning to his own lands one day soon, oversaw the loading of the Galanae wagons. After a while, Calbha entered the hail to announce that all was ready; we rose reluctantly, and followed him out. "I will send word when we have caught the thieves," I promised as we stepped out into the yard.

"Until that day," Cynan replied gravely, "I will drink neither ale nor mead, and no fire shall burn in the hearth in the king's hall. Dun Cruach will remain in darkness."

Some of the Galanae warriors standing near heard Cynan's vow and approached. "We would have a king to lead us home," they said. "It is not right that we should enter our realm without a king to go before us."

Tegid, hearing their request, placed a fold of his cloak over his head and said, "Your request is honorable. Have you a man of nobility worthy to be king?"

The Galanae answered, "We have, Penderwydd."

"Name this man, and bring him before me."

"He is standing beside you now, Penderwydd," they said. "It is Cynan Machae and no other."

Tegid turned and placed his hand on Cynan's shoulder. "Is there anything to prevent you from assuming your father's throne?" Tegid asked him.

Cynan ran his hand through his wiry red hair, and thought for a moment. "Nothing that I know," he replied at last.

"Your people have chosen you," Tegid said, "and I do not think a better choice could be made. As Chief Bard of Albion, I will confer the kingship at once if you will accept it."

"I will accept it gladly," he replied.

"It would be well to establish your reign with the proper ceremony," Tegid explained. "But the journey will not wait, therefore we will hold the kingmaking now."

SONG OF ALBION

Cynan's kingmaking was accomplished with the least possible ceremony. Scatha and Goewyn stood with me, Calbha watching, and the Galanae gathered close about as Tegid said the words. It was simply done and quickly over-the only interruption in the swift affair came when Tegid made to remove Cynan's torc and replace it with the one Cynfarch had worn.

"The gold torc is the symbol of your sovereignty," Tegid told him. "By it all men will know that you are king and deserving of respect and honor."

Cynan agreed, but would not surrender his silver torc. "Give me the gold torc if you will, but I am not giving up the torc my father gave me."

"Wear it always-and this as well." So saying, the bard slipped the gold torc around Cynan's neck and, raising his hands over him, shouted, "King of the Galanae in Caledon, I do proclaim you. Hail, Cynan Two-Torcs!"

Everyone laughed at this--including Cynan, who from that moment wore his new name as proudly as he wore his two torcs.

I embraced him-Scatha and Goewyn likewise-and in the next breath we were bidding him farewell. Cynan was anxious to return to the south to bury his father and begin his reign. We crossed to the plain and accompanied him on horseback as far as Druim Vran, where we waited on the ridgetop as the Galanae passed. When the last wagon had crested the ridge and begun its long, slow way down the other side, Cynan turned to me and said, "Here I am, sorry to be gone and I have not yet left. The burden of a king is weighty indeed." He sighed heavily.

"Yet, I think you will survive."

"It is well for you," he replied, "but I have no beautiful woman to marry me and I must shoulder the weight alone."

"I would marry you, Cynan," Goewyn offered amiably, "but I have already wed Liew. Still, I think you will not long suffer the lack of a bride. Certainly a king with two torcs will be a most desirable husband."

Cynan rolled his eyes. "Och! I am nDt king so much as a single

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day and already wily females are scheming to separate me from my treasur&'

"Brother," I said, "think yourself fortunate if you find a woman willing to marry you at any price. Ten torcs would be not one torc too many to give for a wife."

"No doubt you are right," Cynan admitted. "But until I find a woman as worthy as the one you have found I will keep my treasure."

Goewyn leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. We then waved him on his way, watching until he reached the valley below and took his place at the head of his people. Goewyn was quiet beside me as we rode back to the lake.

I turned to her and said, "Marry me, Goewyn."

She laughed. "But I have already married you, best beloved."

"I wanted to hear you say it again."

"Then hear me, Liew Silver Hand," she said. She straightened in the saddle, holding her head erect and proud. "I marry you this day, and tomorrow, and each tomorrow until tomorrows cease."

The Ravens' Return

Work on the restoration of Dinas Dwr proceeded at once with brisk efficiency. The people seemed especially eager to eliminate all traces of the fire. The people, my people-my patchwork cloak of a clan, made up of various tribes and kin, warriors, farmers, artisans, families, widows, orphans, refugees each and every one-labored tirelessly to repair the damage to the crannog and put everything right once more. As I toiled beside them, I came to understand that Dinas Dwr was more to them than a refuge; it had become home. Former bonds and attachments were either broken or breaking down, and a new kinship was being forged: in the sweat of our striving together, we were becoming a singular people, a clan as distinct as any tribe in Albion.

Life in the crannog, so cruelly assaulted by fire and the Great Hound's desolations, soon began to assume its former rhythm. Tegid summoned his Mabinogi and reinstated their daily lessons in bardic lore. Scatha likewise mustered her pupils and the practice yard rang to the shouts of the young warriors and the clatter of wooden swords on leather shields once more. The farmers returned to their sun.ravaged crops, hopeful of saving some part of the harvest now that the drought had broken. The cowherds and shepherds devoted themselves to replenishing their

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stocks as the meadows began greening once more.

As I surveyed the work of restoration, it seemed to me that everyone had determined to put the recent horror behind them as quickly as possible and sought release from the hateful memories by striving to make of Dinas Dwr a paradise in the north. But the wounds went deep and, despite the ardent industry of the people, it would be a very long time before Albion was healed. This, I told myself, was why I must stay: to see the land revived and the people redeemed. Yes, the healing had begun; for the first time in years men and women could face the future with something other than deepest dread and despair.

Thus, when the Raven Flight reappeared with their prisoner a scant few days after riding out, we all deemed it a favourable sign. "You see!" men said to one another. "No one can stand against Silver Hand! All his enemies are conquered at last."

We greeted the Ravens' return warmly, and acclaimed the obvious success of their undertaking: riding with them was a sullen, doleful, solitary prisoner-made to sit backwards in the saddle, with hands bound behind his back and his cloak wound over his head and shoulders.

"Hail, Raven Flight, and greetings!" I called as the boat touched shore. A number of us had rowed from the crannog to meet them; we scrambled ashore as the Ravens dismounted. "I see you enjoyed a successful hunt."

"Swift the hunt, great the prize," Bran agreed tersely. "But not without sacrifice, as Niall will soon tell you."

"How so?" I asked and, turning, saw the blood-soaked bandage beneath Niall's cloak.

The injured Raven dismissed my alarm with a wave of his hand-though even that slight movement made him wince. "Zeal made me careless, lord," he replied, speaking through clenched teeth. "It will not happen again, I assure you. Yet, I was fortunate; the swordstroke caught me as I fell. It might have been worse."

"His head might have parted company with his neck," Alun Tringad informed me. "Though whether that be for the worse, or for

SONG OF ALBION

the better, we cannot decide."

This brought a laugh from the small crowd that had gathered to hail the Ravens' success and learn the identity of the malefactor they had captured.

"A most disagreeable prisoner, this one," Bran affirmed. "He chose death and was determined to have us accompany him."

"We caine upon him by surprise," Drustwn offered, "or he would surely have taken two or more of us down with him."

It was then I saw that both Drustwn and Emyr were also wounded: Drustwn held his arm close to his body, and Emyr's leg was wrapped in a thick bandage just above the knee. When I inquired about their injuries, Drustwn assured me that they would heal far faster than the pride of their prisoner, which he reckoned had suffered harm beyond recovery.

"The worse for us, if he had not slipped on the wet grass and fallen on his head," Garanaw added; he made a motion with his hand, indicating how it happened, and everyone laughed again. It was a far from happy sound, however; they laughed out of relief mostly, and also to humiliate the captive further. Not for a moment had anyone forgotten the outrage done to us.

"I am glad none of you were more seriously hurt," I told them. "Your sacrifice will not be overlooked. All of you," I said, raising my silver hand to them, "have earned a fine reward and the increased esteem of your king."

Bran declared himself satisfied with the latter, but Alun avowed that for his part the former would not be unwelcome. The prisoner, who had maintained a seething silence up to then, came to life once more. Twisting in the saddle, the man strained around to yell defiantly: "Loose me, sons of bitches! Then we will see how well you fare in an even fight!"

At these words, a chill touched my heart- not for what he said, but for the voice itself. I knew this man.

"Get him down," I instructed. "And take away the cloak. I want to see his face."

The Ravens hauled the captive roughly from the saddle and

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forced him to his knees before me. Bran seized a corner of the cloak, untied it, and pulled the cloak away to reveal a face I recognized and did not care to see again.

Paladyr had not changed much since last I saw him: the night he had put a knife through Meidryn Mawr's heart. True, I had glimpsed him momentarily on the clifftop at Ynys Sci when he had hurled Gwenllian to her death, but I had not had a good look at him then.

Seeing him now, I was amazed again at his immense size-every limb enormous, thick-muscled shoulders above a torso that might have been hewn from the trunk of an oak tree. Even men like Bran, Drustwn and Alun Tringad seemed slight next to Prydain's one-time champion.

He had not given up without a fight, however, and the Ravens had not been over-gentle with him. An ugly purple bruise bulged at one temple, his nose was swollen, and his lower lip was split. But his arrogance was as staggering as ever, and his fiery defiance undimmed.

"Bring Tegid," I said to the man nearest me, unwilling to turn my back on Paladyr. "Tell him to come at once."

"The Chief Bard is here, lord," the man replied. "He is coming now."

I turned to see Tegid and Calbha hastening to join us. The sight of Paladyr knee~ng before us halted both men in their steps.

Tegid regarded the defiant captive with grim satisfaction. Upon seeing the Chief Bard of Albion, Paladyr clamped his mouth shut, malice burning from his baleful eyes. After a moment, Tegid turned to Bran, "Had he the Singing Stones with him?"

"That he had, Penderwydd," replied Bran. He gestured to Drustwn, who produced a leather bag from behind his saddle, and brought it to us.

"We caught him with them," Garanaw explained. "And we are pleased to restore them to their rightful place in Dinas Dwr." He opened the chest briefly to show that the pale stones were indeed still within; then he passed the chest to Tegid's keeping.

"Was he alone? Did you find anyone with him?" Lord Calbha

SONG OF ALBION

asked. I watched Paladyr's expression carefully, but he remained stony-faced, without the slightest flicker of a sign that what I said

concerned him.

"No, lord," the Raven Chief answered. "We searched the region,

and watched well the trail behind us. We saw no sign of anyone with him."

Turning to some of the men who had gathered with us, I said,

"Make ready a storehouse here on the shore to receive our prisoner, for I will not allow him to set foot on the crannog again."

To Lord Calbha, I said, "Send your swiftest rider to Dun Cruach.

Tell Cynan we have captured the man responsible for his father's death, and we await his return so that justice can be satisfied."

"It will be done, Silver Hand," the king of the Cruin replied. "He is not so many days away-we may overtake him before reaching Dun Cruach." Calbha then summoned one of his clansmen and the two

moved at once.

"What will you do with the Stones of Song?" asked Tegid, holding the bag.

"I have in mind a place for them," I answered, tapping the bag with a finger. "They will not be so easily stolen again."

Leaving our prisoner in the care of a score of warriors, Tegid, Calbha and the Ravens returned with me to the hail where I pointed to the firepit in the center of the great room. "Raise the hearthstone," I said, "and bury the Singing Stones beneath it. No one will be able to take them without alerting the whole crannog."

"Well said, lord," Bran agreed. Tools were brought and, after a great deal of effort, the massive hearthstone in the center of the hail was raised and held in place while a small hole was dug beneath it. The oak chest was put in the hole and the hearthstone lowered into

place once more.

"All men bear witness!" declared Tegid, raising his hands in declamation. "Now is Dinas Dwr established on an unshakable

foundation."

I dismissed the Ravens to their well-earned rest, and then summoned Scatha and Goewyn to the hail where I informed them

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that the thief responsible for killing Cynfarch, stealing the stones, and setting fire to the caer had been captured. "It is Paladyr," I said.

Goewyn allowed a small gasp to escape her lips; Scatha's face hardened and her manner grew brittle. "Where is he?"

"He had the Singing Stones with him. There is no doubt he is

guilty."

"Where is he?" she asked again, each word a shard of frozen hate.

"We have locked him in a storehouse on the shore," I answered.

"He will be guarded day and night until we have decided what is to

be done with him."

She turned at once. "Scatha, wait!" I called after her, but she would not be deterred.

When I caught up with her again, Scatha was standing outside the storehouse, railing at the guards to open the door and let her go in. They were relieved to see me approach.

"Come away, Pen-y-Cat," I said. "You can do nothing here."

She turned on me. "He killed my daughters! The blood debt must be paid!" She meant to collect that debt then and there.

"He will not escape again," I soothed. "Let it be this way for now, Pen-y-Cat. I have sent word to Cynan, and we will hold court as soon as he returns."

"I want to see the animal who killed my daughters," she insisted. "I want to see his face."

"You shall see him," I promised. "Soon- -wait but a little. Please, Scatha, listen to me. We can do nothing until Cynan returns."

"I will see him." The pleading in her voice was more forceful than

my own misgivings.

"Very well." I gestured to the guards to open the door. "Bring him out."

Paladyr shambled into the light. His hands were bound and chains had been placed on his feet. He appeared slightly less insolent than before, and gazed at us warily.

Quick as the flick of a cat's tail, Scatha's knife was out and at Paladyr's throat. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to gut you like a pig," she said, drawing the knife across the skin of his

SONG OF ALBION

throat. A tiny red line appeared behind the moving knifepoint.

Paladyr stiffened, but uttered no sound.

"Scatha! No!" I said, pulling her away. "You have seen him, now let it be."

Paladyr's mouth twitched into a faintly mocking smile. Scatha saw the smirk on his face, drew herself up and spat full in his face.

Anger flared instantly, and I thought he would strike her, but the

one-time champion caught himself. Trembling with rage, he

swallowed hard and glared murderously at her.

"Take him away," I ordered the guards and, turning back to Scatha, I watched her walk away, head high, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Upon Cynan's return a few days later, I convened the first ilys of my reign; to judge the murderer. Meting out judgment was the main work of a king's iiys, and if anyone stood in need of judgment it was Paladyr. The verdict was a forgone conclusion: death.

My chair was established at the head, or west end, of the hall.

Wearing Meidryn Mawr's torc and the Great King's oak-leaf crown, I stepped to the chair and sat down: Goewyn and Tegid took their places-my queen standing beside me, her hand resting on my left shoulder, and my Chief Bard at my right hand.

When everyone had assembled, the carynx sounded and the Penderwydd of Albion stepped forward. Placing a fold of his cloak over his head, he raised his staff and held it lengthwise above him.

"People of Dinas Dwr," he said boldly, "heed the voice of wisdom! This day your king sits in judgment. His word is law, and his law is justice. Hear me now: there is no other justice but the word of the king."

With three resounding cracks of his staff on the stone at my feet, Tegid returned to his place beside me. "Bring the prisoner!" he called.

The crowd parted and six warriors led Paladyr forward. But if his captivity had cowed him even in the slightest, he did not show it.

Prydain's one-time champion appeared as haughty as ever, smiling

smugly to himself, his head high and his eye unflinching. Clearly, he had lost none of his insolence in captivity. He stalked to the foot of my throne and stood there with his feet apart, and a smirk on his face.

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When Bran saw how brazenly his prisoner regarded me, the Raven Chief forced Paladyr to kneel, dealing him several sharp blows behind the knees with the butt of his spear. Not that this altered the prisoner's demeanor appreciably; he still regarded me with a strange disdainful expression-the condemned man's way of displaying courage, I thought

The hall was deathly silent. Every man and woman present knew what Paladyr had done, and more than a few burned to see the blood-debt settled. Tegid regarded the prisoner coolly, gripping his staff as a warrior would a spear. "This is the court of Liew Silver Hand, Aird Righ of Albion," he said, his voice a lash of authority. "This day you will receive the justice you have long eluded."

At Tegid's mention of the High Kingship, Paladyr's eyes flicked from Tegid to me. He seemed somewhat taken aback by that, and it produced the first hint of anything approaching fear I had ever seen in Prydain's former champion. Or was it something else?

The Chief Bard, acting as my voice, continued, grave and stern. "Who brings grievance against this man?"

Several women-the mothers of suffocated infants-cried out at once, and others-the wives of the dead warriors-added their voices to the chorus. "Murderer!" they screamed. "I accuse him! He killed my child!" some said, and others, "He killed my husband!"

Tegid allowed the outcry to continue for a time, and then called for silence. "We have heard your accusation," he said. "Who else brings grievance against this man?"

Scatha, cold and sharp as the blade at her side, stepped forward. "For the murder of my daughter, Gwenllian, Banfáith of Ynys Sci, I do accuse him. And for his part in the murder of my daughter, Govan, Gwyddon of Ynys Sci, I do accuse him." These words were spoken with icy clarity and great dignity; I realized she had rehearsed them countless times in anticipation of this day.

Bran Bresal spoke next, taking his place beside Scatha. "For stealing the Treasure of Albion, and killing the men who guarded that treasure, I do accuse him."

Stepping forward, Cynan shouted, "For starting the fire that took

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my father's life and the lives of innocent men, women, and children, I

do accuse him."

His voice cut like a swordstroke through an atmosphere grown

dense with pent-up rage, and his words brought another outburst, which Tegid patiently allowed to play itself out. Then he asked for silence again. "We have heard your accusations. For the third and last time, who brings grievance against this man?"

When no one else made bold to answer, I stood. I did not know if

it was proper for me to speak in this way, nor did I care. I had a grievance that went back further than any of the others and I wanted it heard. "I also bring grievance against this man," I said, pointing my finger in Paladyr's face. "It is my belief that you, with the help of others now dead, sought out and murdered the Phantarch, thereby bringing about the destruction of Prydain."

This revelation sent a dark murmur coursing through the tight-

pressed crowd. "However," I continued, "as I possess no proof of your part in this unthinkable crime, I cannot bring accusation against you." Raising my silver hand, I pointed my finger directly at him. "But with my own eyes I saw you murder Meldryn Mawr, who held the kingship before me. While pretending repentance you took the Great King's life. For this act of treachery and murder, I do accuse you."

I sat down. Tegid raised and lowered his staff three times slowly.

"We have heard grievous accusations against you, Paladyr. We have heard how by your hand you murdered your king, Meidryn Mawr.

We have heard how by your hand you murdered Gwenllian, Banfáith of Ynys Sci, and violated the ancient geas of protection which was the right of all who sheltered in that realm.

"You contrived to steal the Treasure of Albion, using flames to conceal your crime-flames which took the lives of a score of men, women, and infant children. In order to obtain the treasure, you did strike down the warriors pledged to guard it, and by stealth did you remove the treasure from Dinas Dwr."

The Chief Bard continued, slashing like a whip, his voice ringing in the rooftrees. "Ever and again you have betrayed your people and repaid loyalty with treachery; you have practised treason against the

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one you were sworn to protect with your life. You sought gain

through deception in the service of a false king; you sold your honor

for promises of wealth and rank, and squandered your strength in evil. By reason of these acts your name has become a curse in the

mouths of men."

No one moved; not a sound was heard when he had finished. The

people stood as if stunned into silence by the enormity of Paladyr's

crimes. For his part, however, the prisoner seemed vaguely contrite but not overly concerned by his predicament. He merely stared with

downcast eyes-as if contemplating the patch of floor between him

and my throne. I imagine he had long ago come to terms with the

risks of his wrongdoing.

"For these crimes, no less than for the crimes you pursued in the service of the Great Hound Meldron, you are condemned," Tegid declared. "Do you have anything to say before you hear the judgment of your king?"

Paladyr remained unmoved, and I thought he would not speak.

But he slowly raised his head and looked Tegid square in the eye. Arrogant to the end, he said, "I have heard your words, bard. You condemn me and that is your right. I do not deny it."

His eyes flicked to me then, and I felt my stomach tighten in apprehension. Looking directly at me, Paladyr said, "But now you tell me that I am in the presence of the High King of Albion. If that is so, let us prove the kingship he boasts. Hear me now: I make the claim of naud."

The words hung in the silence of the hall for a moment. Tegid's face went white. Everyone else stared at the kneeling Paladyr in mute and somewhat dazed astonishment. Unwilling to believe what we had all heard quite plainly, Tegid said, "You claim naud?"

Emboldened by the effect of his claim, Paladyr rose to his feet. "I stand condemned before the king. Therefore, I do make the claim of naud for my crimes. Grant it if you will."

"No!" someone shouted. I looked and saw Scatha, swaying on her feet as one wounded by the thrust of a spear. She shouted again, and Bran, beside her, put his arms around her-whether to comfort or to

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keep her from attacking Paladyr, I could not say. "No! It will not be!" she screamed, her face contorted with rage.

"No. . ." moaned Goewyn softly. Lips trembling, eyes blinking back tears, she turned her face away.

Cynan, fists clenched, fought forward, straining like a bull;

Drustwn, Niall and Garanaw threw their arms around him and kept him from the prisoner's neck. Behind them, the crowd surged forward dangerously, calling for Paladyr's death.

Stern and forbidding, Tegid shouted them down. "Silence!" he cried. "There will be silence before the throne!" The Ravens took it in hand to hold back the crowd, and in a moment the crisis passed. Having restored a semblance of order, the Chief Bard turned to me, visibly upset. He bent low in consultation.

"I will refuse him." I said.

"You cannot," he said; though stunned and heartsick, he was thinking more clearly than I.

"I do not care. I will not allow him to walk away from this."

"You must," he said simply. "You have no choice."

"But why?" I blurted in frustration. "I do not understand, Tegid.

There must be something we can do."

He shook his head gravely. "There is nothing to be done. Paladyr has made the claim of naud, and you must grant it," he explained, "or the Sovereignty of Albion will belong to a treasonous murderer."

What Tegid said was true, practically speaking. The claim of naud was partly an appeal for clemency-like throwing oneself on the mercy of the court. But there was more to it than that, for it went beyond justice, it transcended right and wrong and went straight to the heart of sovereignty itself.

In making the claim, the guilty man not only invoked the king's mercy, he effectively shifted responsibility for the crime to the king himself. The king had a choice, of course-he could grant it, or he could refuse. If he granted the claim, the crime was expunged: the punishment that justice demanded, justice itself would fulfill. Naturally, only the king could reconcile himself to himself.

If the king refused the claim, however, the guilty man would

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have to face the punishment justice decreed. A simple enough choice, one would think, but in refusing to grant naud, the king effectively declared himself inferior to the criminal. No king worthy of the name would lower himself in that way, nor allow his kingship to be so disgraced.

Viewed from the proper angle, this backwards logic becomes curiously lucid. In Albion, justice is not an abstract concept dealing with the punishment of crime. To the people of Albion, justice wears a human face. If the king's word is law to all who shelter beneath his protection, then the king himself becomes justice for his people. The king is justice incarnate.

This personal feature of justice means that the guilty man can make a claim on the king which he has no right to make: naud. And once having made the claim it is up to the king, in his role as justice, to demonstrate his integrity. Justice, then, is limited only by the king's character-that is, justice is limited only by the king's personal conception of himself as king.

Thus, the claim of naud swings on this question: how great is the king?

Paladyr had rightly divined the question, and had determined to put it to the test. If I refused his claim, it would be tantamount to admitting that my sovereignty was restricted in its breadth and power. What is more, all men would know the precise limits of my authority.

If, on the other hand, I granted Paladyr his claim of naud, I would show myself greater than his crimes. For if my sovereignty could extend beyond even Paladyr's offences, then I must be a very great king indeed. As Aird Righ, my kingly power and authority would be deemed well-nigh infinite.

Oh, but it was a very hard thing. In essence, I had been asked to absorb the crime into myself. lii did that, a guilty man would walk free.

Tegid was frowning, glaring into my face as if I were the cause of

his irritation. "Well, Silver Hand? What is your answer?"

I looked at Paladyr. His crimes screamed for punishment.

Certainly, no man ever deserved death more.

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"I will grant him naud," I said, feeling as if I had been kicked in

the gut. "But," I added quickly, "am I allowed to set conditions?"

"You may establish provisions for the protection of your people,"

my bard cautioned. "Nothing more."

"Very well, let us send him to some place where he cannot harm anyone again. Is there such a place?"

Tegid's grey eyes narrowed in sly approval. "Tir Aflan," he said.

"The Foul Land? Where is that?" In all my time in Albion, I had rarely heard mention of the place.

"In the east, across the sea," he explained. "To one born in Albion it is a joyless, desolate place." Tegid allowed himself a grim smile. "It may be that Paladyr will wish himself dead."

"So be it. That is my judgment: banish him to Tir Allan, and may he rot there in misery."

Tegid straightened and turned to address Paladyr. He raised his staff and brought it down with a crack. "Hear the judgment of the king," he intoned. "You have made the claim of naud and your claim is granted."

This declaration caused an instant sensation. Shouts filled the hall; some cried aloud at the decision, others wept silently. Tegid raised his staff and demanded for silence before continuing. "It is the king's judgment that, for the protection of Albion's people, you are banished from all lands under his authority."

Paladyr's expression hardened. Likely, he had not foreseen this development. I could see him working through the implications in his mind. He drew himself up and demanded, "If all lands lie under your authority, Great King," the words were mockery in his mouth, "where am Ito go?"

A good question, which showed Paladyr was paying attention. If I was the High King, all of Albion was under my authority. Clearly, there was no place on the Island of the Mighty, or any of its sister isles, where he could go. But Tegid was ready with the answer.

"To Tir Aflan you will go," he replied bluntly. "And wherever you find men to receive you, there you will abide. Know you this:

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from the day you set foot in Tir Aflan it is death to you to return to Albion."

Paladyr accepted his fate with icy dignity. He said nothing more, and was escorted from the hail by Bran and the Ravens. Tegid declared the llys concluded. And the people began filing grimly from the hall, shattered, their hearts broken.

The Cylchedd

At dawn the next morning, the Ravens and some of the warband left

Dinas Dwr to escort Paladyr to the eastern coast where he would be

shipped across Mór Glas and set free on the blasted shore of Tir Allan.

Cynan, bitter and angry, left a short while later to return to Dun

Cruach. In all, it was a miserable parting.

Over the next days, work on the fire-damaged caer progressed.

New timber was cut and hauled from the ridge forest to the lakeshore where it was trimmed and shaped to use for rooftrees and walls. Reeds for thatch were cut in quantity and spread on the rocks to dry.

The burnt timber was removed and the ground prepared for new dwellings and storehouses; quantities of ash were transported across

the lake and spread on the fields. I would have been happy to see this work to its completion-- -the sight of the fire-blackened rubble ached in me like a wound, and the sooner Dinas Dwr was restored, the sooner the pain would cease. But Tegid had other ideas.

At supper one night after the Ravens had returned from disposing of Paladyr, Tegid rose and stood before the hearth. Those looking on

assumed he meant to sing, and so began calling out the names of songs

they would hear. "The Children of Llyr!" clamored some. "Rhydderch's

Red Stallion!" shouted someone else, to general acclaim. "Gruagach's

Revenge!" another suggested, but was shouted down.

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Tegid simply shook his head and announced that he could not sing tonight or any other night.

"Why?" everyone wanted to know. "How is it that you cannot sing?"

The wily bard answered, "How can I think of singing when the Three Fair Realms of Albion stand apart one from another with no king to establish harmony between their separate tribes?"

Leaning close to Goewyn, I said, "I smell a ruse."

Turning to me, Tegid declared that as Aird Righ it must certainly be foremost among my thoughts to ride the circuit of my lands and establish my rule in the kingdom. -

"To be sure," I replied lightly, "my thoughts would have arrived there sooner or later." To Goewyn, I whispered, "Here it comes."

"And since you are High King," he announced, brandishing his staff with a flourish, "you will extend the glory of your reign to all who shelter beneath your Silver Hand. Therefore, the Cylchedd you contemplate will include all lands in the Three Fair Realms so that Caledon, Prydain and Llogres will be brought under your sovereign authority. For all must own you king, and you must receive the honor and tribute of the Island of the Mighty."

This speech was delivered to a largely unsuspecting throng and so took them by surprise. It took me somewhat unawares as well, but as he spoke I began to see the logic behind Tegid's highflown formality. Such an important undertaking demanded a certain ceremony. And the people of Dinas Dwr promptly understood the significance of Tegid's address.

It was not the first time the Chief Bard had used the title Aird

Righ, of course. However, it was one thing to speak the words here in

Dinas Dwr among my own people, but quite another actively to

proclaim this assertion in the world beyond the protecting ridge of

Druim Vran.

Whispers hissed through the crowd: "Aird Righ! Llew Silver Hand is the High King!" they said. "Did you hear? The Chief Bard has proclaimed him Aird Righ!"

There was a solid reason behind Tegid's proclamation: he was

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anxious to establish the Sovereignty of Albion beyond all doubt A worthy venture, it seemed to me. All the same, I wished he had warned me. Strictly speaking, I did not share Tegid's enthusiasm for the High Kingship-which is, no doubt, why he chose to announce the Cylchedd the way he did.

Whatever my misgivings, Bran and the Raven Flight, and the rest of the warband, supported Tegid and fairly thundered their endorsement. They banged their cups and slapped the board with their hands; they raised such an uproar that it was some time before Tegid could continue.

The Penderwydd stood there smiling a supremely self-satisfied smile, watching the commotion he had caused. I felt the touch of a cool hand on my neck and glanced up. Goewyn had come to stand beside me. "It is no less than your right," she said, her breath warm in my ear.

When the furore had subsided somewhat, Tegid continued, explaining that the circuit would begin in Dinas Dwr as I held court among my own people. And then, when all the proper preparations had been made, I would ride forth on a lengthy tour of Albion.

Tegid had a lot more to say, and said it well. Ilistened with half an ear, wondering if, as he claimed, the circuit would actually take a year and a day-an estimate I took to be more a poetic approximation than an actual calculation. Be that as it may, I knew it would not be accomplished quickly or easily, and I found myself working out the details even as Tegid spoke.

"Listen, bard," I said as soon as we were alone together, "I am all for riding the Cylchedd, but you might have told me you were going to announce it."

Tegid drew himself up. "Are you displeased?"

"Oh, sit down, Tegid. I am not angry. I just want to know. Why did you do it?"

He relaxed and sat down. We were together in my hut; since the wedding Goewyn and I preferred the privacy of the one~room hut to the busy bedlam of the hail.

"Your kingship must be declared before the people," he said

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simply. "When a new king takes the throne it is customary to make a Cylchedd of his lands. Also, as Aird Righ, it is necessary to obtain the fealty of other kings and their people in addition to that of your own chieftains and clansmen."

"I understand. How soon will we leave Dinas Dwr?"

"As soon as adequate preparation can be made."

"How long will that take? A couple of days? Three or four?"

"Not longer." He paused, regarding me eagerly. "It will be a wonderful thing, brother. We will establish the honor of your name and increase your renown throughout all Albion." -

"Has it occurred to you that some of Meldron's mongrel horde may yet ride free? They might disagree with you."

"All the more reason for the Cylchedd to be made at once. Any who still lack proper understanding must be convinced. We shall travel with a warband."

"And will it really take all year? I am newly married, Tegid, and I had hoped to stay close to home for a while."

"But Goewyn will accompany you," he said quickly, "and anyone

else you choose. Indeed, the larger the procession, the greater your

esteem in the eyes of the people."

I could see that Tegid considered the circuit a great show of pomp and power. "This is going to be a huge undertaking," I mused.

"Indeed!" he declared proudly. "It will be like nothing seen in Albion since the time of Deorthach Varvawc." I saw that this meant more to him than he let on. Well, I thought, let him have his way. After all he had been through with Meidron, he had earned it. Maybe we both had.

"Deorthach Varvawc," I remarked, "now who could forget a name like that?"

The preparations went forward with all haste. Four days later I was looking at a veritable train of wagons, chariots and horses. It appeared that the entire population of Dinas Dwr planned to make the journey with us. Enough would stay behind, I hoped, to look after the fields and proceed with the restoration of the crannog. All

SONG OF ALBION

well and good to go wandering all over Albion, but there were crops to be gathered and herds to be maintained, and someone had to do it.

In the end, it was agreed that Calbha would remain in Dinas Dwr while we were gone. Meidron had destroyed the Cruin king's stronghold at Blir Cadlys, so gathering enough supplies, tools and provisions to begin rebuilding would occupy Calbha a good while yet. Thus, he became the logical choice to stay behind. Much as he would have liked to accompany us, he agreed that time was best spent looking after the affairs of his people.

And, as there were young warriors to train, Scatha elected to stay behind with her school. Three Ravens would stay with her to aid the training of the young, and enough warriors to protect Dinas Dwr.

The day before we were due to set off, Tegid summoned the people to the hall. When all had gathered, I took the throne and, looking out upon the faces of all those gazing expectantly at me, I felt-not for the first time-the immense weight of duty settling upon me. This would have been daunting if I had not sensed an equally great strength of tradition helping to shoulder the burden. 1 could bear the weight, because others had borne it before me and their legacy lived on in the spirit of sovereignty itself.

It came to me as I sat there on my antlered throne that I could be a king, even a High King, not because I knew anything about being a king-much less because I was somehow more worthy than anyone else-but because the people believed in my kingship. That is to say, the people believed in sovereignty and were willing, for the sake of that belief, to extend their conviction to me.

It might be that the Chief Bard held the power to confer or withhold kingship, but that power derived from the people. "A king is a king," Tegid was fond of saying, "but a bard is the heart and soul of the people; he is their life in song, and the lamp which guides their steps along the paths of destiny. A bard is the essential spirit of the clan; he is the linking ring, the golden cord which unites the manifold ages of the clan, binding all that is past with all that is yet to come."

At last, I began to grasp the fundamental fact of Albion. I understood, too, Simon's deadly design: in attacking sovereignty, he had struck at the very heart of Albion. Had he succeeded in killing kingship at the root, Albion would have ceased to exist.

"Tomorrow," the Chief Bard announced, "Liew Silver Hand will leave Dinas Dwr to make Cylchedd of his lands and receive the homage of his brother kings and the tribes of the Three Fair Realms. Before he gains the esteem of others, however, it is fitting for his own people to pledge faith with him and honor him."

Tegid raised his staff and thumped it on the floor three times. He called for all chieftains-be they kings, noblemen, or warriors-to pay homage to me, and to swear oaths of fealty which he spoke to them. I had only to receive their pledges and grant them protection of my reign. As each chieftain finished reciting the oath, he knelt before me and placed his head against my chest in a gesture of submission and love.

One by one, beginning with Bran Bresal, they came before me:

Alun, Garanaw, Emyr, Drustwn, Niall, Calbha, Scatha, Cynan. These were followed by several of those who had come to Dinas Dwr during Meldron's depredations, and lastly by those who had surrendered at Meidron's defeat. To receive the honor of such men touched me deeply. Their oaths bound them to me and, no less securely, bound me to them.

When the ceremony was finished, I was more than ever a king- and more than eager to see Albion once more.

We crossed Druim Vran just as the sun was rising behind the encircling hills. As we started down the ridge trail, I paused to look back along the line to see that the last of the wagons had yet to leave the lakeside.

If, as Tegid suggested, the size of an entourage could increase a king's esteem, then mine was multiplied a hundredfold at least. Altogether there were sixteen wagons with supplies and provisions, including livestock-a larder on the hoof-and extra horses for the hundred or so men and women attending us as cooks, camp hands,

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SONG OF ALBION

warriors, messengers, hunters and stockmen. Leading the cavalcade were my Chief Raven, Bran Bresal, Emyr Lydaw bearing the great battle carynx, and Alun Tringad, astride high-stepping horses. Next came the Penderwydd of Albion attended by his Mabinogi and, behind them, Goewyfl, on a pale yellow horse, and myself on a roan. Following US were the warband, and behind them the wagons in a long, long rolling file.

The valley below flooded with light, glowing like an emerald, and my heart soared at the prospect of travelling through this extraordinary land-the more so with Goewyn by my side and the fellowship of amiable companions. I had forgotten how fair Albion could be. Ablaze with color and light the rich greens of the tree-filled glens and the delicate mottled verdure of the high moors, the dazzling blue of the sunwashed sky, the subtle greys of stone and the deep browns of the earth, the sparkling silver of water, the shimmering gold of sunlight.

I had ranged far through the land on my various forays, and still it held the power to astonish. A glimpse of white birches stark against a background of glossy green holly, or the sight of blue cloudshadow gliding down distant hillsides could leave me gasping with wonder. Marvellous it was-all the more so since Albion had endured the ravages of fire and drought and unending winter. The land had suffered through the desolation of Lord Nudd and his demon horde, and the depredations of the Great Hound Meldron. Yet it appeared reborn.

There must have been some unseen agent toiling away to bring about a continual renewing of the land, for there was no trace of desolation anywhere, no lingering scars, no visible reminders of the tortures so recently endured. Perhaps its splendors were constantly restored, or perhaps Albion was somehow created anew with each dawn. For it seemed that every tree, hill, stream, and stone had just burst into existence from sheer creative exuberance.

After two days of this I was a man enraptured with existence---not only my own, but the entire universe as well. My enchantment extended to the moon and stars and the dark void beyond. Had I been

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a bard, I would have sung myself dizzy.

As we travelled further, I grew, slowly but surely, more sensitive to the beauty of the land around me. I began to sense a momentous glory radiating from every form that met my eye-every limb and leaf, every blade of grass ablaze with unutterable grandeur and majesty. And it seemed to me that the world I saw before me was merely the outward manifestation of a vastly powerful, deeply fundamental reality that existed just out of sight. I might not discern this veiled reality directly, but I could perceive its effects. Everything it touched it set vibrating like a string on Tegid's harp. I thought that if I listened very hard I might hear the hum of this celestial vibration. Sometimes I imagined that I did hear it-like the echo of a song which lingered just beyond the threshold of hearing. I could not hear the melody, only the echo.

The reason for this delight was, partly, Goewyn. I was so enraptured by her that even Nudd's hostage pit would have seemed like paradise if she were there. As we travelled through the revived splendor of Albion I began to realize that I now viewed the world through different eyes. No longer a sojourner, a trespassing transient merely visiting a world that was not my home, I belonged; Albion was my home now. Indeed, I had taken an Otherworld woman for my wife. So far from being a stranger, I was now a king. I was the Aird Righ. Who belonged in Albion if not the High King?

The king and the land were connected in an intimate and mysterious way. Not in some abstract philosophical way, but actually, physically. The relationship of the king to the land was that of man to wife-the people of Albion even spoke of it as a marriage. And now that I was married myself, I was beginning to understand-no, to feel it the concept was still well beyond my comprehension, but I could discern wisdom taking shape in my flesh and bones. I could sense an ancient, primal truth I could not yet put into words.

Thus, the Cylchedd began to take on the quality of a pilgrimage, a journey of immense spiritual significance. I might not apprehend the full meaning of the pilgrimage, less still its more delicate

SONG OF ALBION

implications; but I could feel, like gravity, its irresistible, inexorable, inescapable power. I did not find this in any way burdensome; all the same, like a soul clothed in flesh, I knew that I would never move without it again.

By day we journeyed through a landscape made sublime by the light of a fulgent sun, imparting an almost luminous splendor to all it touched, creating shimmering horizons and shining vistas on every side. By night we camped under an enormous skybowl bursting with stars, and went to our rest with the blessed sound of harpsong in our ears.

in this way we reached our first destination: Gwynder Gwydd, clan seat of the Ffotlae in Llogres. As it happened, there were Ffotlae with us, and they were eager to discover whether their kinsmen still survived.

We established camp on a meadow near a standing stone called Carwden, the Crooked Man, which the Ffotlae used as a meeting place. There was a lively brook running through the meadow which was surrounded by woodlands of young trees. As soon as the tents were erected, Tegid sent the Raven Flight out as messengers into the region and we settled back to wait.

Meanwhile, we had brought my stag-antler chair with us, and Tegid directed that a small mound be raised before the Carwden stone and the chair placed on the mound. The next morning, following Tegid's counsel, Goewyn and I dressed in our best clothing--~~ for Goewyn a white shift with Meidryn Mawr's golden fishscale belt I had given her, and a skyblue cloak; for me, a cloak of red edged with gold over a green siarc, and blue breecs. I wore a belt of huge gold discs, an enormous gold brooch, and my gold torc. Goewyn had to help me with the brooch----I had grown accustomed to managing without a right hand, but I was still unused to my silver hand.

Goewyn fastened the brooch for me, then stepped quickly away again to appraise me with a critical eye. She did not like the way I had folded the cloak, so she deftly adjusted it. "Everything in place?" I asked.

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"If I had known you were going to make such a handsome king, I would have married you long ago," she replied, slipping her arms around my neck and kissing me. I felt the warmth of her body and was suddenly hungry for her. I pulled her more tightly to me... and the carynx sounded.

"Tegid's timing is impeccable," I murmured.

"The day is yet young, my love," she whispered, then straightened. "But now your people are arriving. You must prepare to greet them."

We stepped from the tent to see a fair-sized throng advancing across the meadow to the Carwden stone. The people of Gwynder Gwydd and surrounding settlements had gathered-sixty men and women, the remnant of four or five tribes. The Ffotlae among us were overjoyed to see their kinsmen again, and welcomed them with such cheering and crying that it was some time before the llys could begin. Then Tegid commanded Emyr to sound the carynx once more. The bellow of the battlehorn signalled the beginning of the court; Goewyn and I walked to the mound and took our places: myself on the throne, and she beside it where she would be most conspicuous. Tegid wanted them to recognize and honor their queen.

The people of Gwynder Gwydd, eager to cast their eyes on this wonder of a new king-and his ravishing queen-crowded close to the mound for a good view. This gave me a chance to observe them as well. Plainly, they had suffered. Some were maimed, many were scarred from beatings or torture, and despite the renewing of the land all were still gaunt from misery and lack of food. They had come dressed in their best clothes, and these were but well-laundered tatters, for the most part. Meldron had exacted a heavy price for his kingship, and they had been made to pay it.

The Chief Bard opened the proceedings in the usual way, proclaiming to one and all the remarkable thing which had come to pass. A new High King had arisen in Albion, and now was making a Cylchedd of the realm to establish his rule... and so on.

The Ffotlae wore the hopeful, if not entirely convinced, expressions of people who had grown used to being cheated and lied

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to at every turn. They were respectful, and appeared willing to believe, but the mere sight of me did not altogether reassure. Very well, I would have to win their trust.

So, when Tegid finished, I stood. "My people," I said, "I welcome you." I raised my hands; the sun caught the silver and flashed like white fire. This caused a great sensation and everyone gaped wide-eyed at my silver hand. I held it before them and flexed the fingers; to my surprise, they all fell on their faces and hugged the ground.

"What is this?" I whispered to Tegid, who had joined me on the mound.

"They fear your hand, I think," he replied.

"Well, do something, Tegid. Tell them I bring them peace and goodwill-you know what to say. Make them understand."

"I will tell them," Tegid replied sagely. "But only you can make them understand."

The Chief Bard raised his staff and told the frightened gathering what a fine thing it was rightly to revere the king and pay him heartfelt respect. He told them how pleased I was to receive their gift of homage, and how, now that Meldron had been defeated, they had nothing to fear, for the new king was no rampaging tyrant.

"Give them a cow," I whispered, when he concluded. "Two cows. And a bull."

Tegid raised his eyebrows. "It is for you to receive their gifts."

"Their gifts? Look at them, they have nothing."

"It is their place to-"

"Two cows and a bull, Tegid. I mean it."

The bard motioned Alun to him and spoke some words into his ear. Alun nodded and hurried away, and Tegid turned to the people, telling them to rise. The king knew of their hardship in the Day of Strife, he said, and had brought them a gift as a token of his friendship and a symbol of the prosperity they would henceforth enjoy.

Alun approached then with the cattle. "These kine are given from the Aird Righ's own herd for the upbuilding of your stock." Then he asked for their chief to take possession of the cattle on

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behalf of the tribe.

This provoked some consternation among the Ffotlae; for, as one of the clansmen with us quickly explained, "Our lord was killed, and our chieftain went to serve Meldron."

"I see." I turned back to Tegid. "It seems we must give them a chief as well."

"That is easily done," the bard replied. Raising his staff, he stood before the people and said that it was the High King's good pleasure to give them a new lord to be their chief and to look after them. "Who among you is worthy to become the lord of the Ffotlae?" he asked. There followed a brief deliberation in which various opinions were expressed, but one name eventually won out, apparently to everyone's satisfaction. "Urddas!" they clamored. "Let Urddas be our chief."

Tegid looked to me to approve the choice. "Very well," I said, "have Urddas step forward. Let us have a look at him."

"Urddas," Tegid called. "Come and stand before your king."

At this the crowd parted and a thin, dark-haired woman approached the mound. She regarded us with deep, sardonic eyes, a look of defiance on her lean, expressive face. "Tegid," I said under my breath, "I think Urddas is a woman."

"Possibly," he replied in a whisper.

"I am Urddas," she said, removing any doubt. I glanced at Goewyn, who was obviously enjoying our momentary confusion.

"Hail, Urddas, and welcome," Tegid offered nicely. "Your people have named you chieftain over them. Will you receive the respect of your clan?"

"That I will," the woman replied-three words, but spoken with such authority that I knew the Ffotlae had chosen well. "Nor will it be to me an unaccustomed honor," she added, "for I have been leading my clan since their lord, my husband, was killed by Mór Ct~. If I am ackRowledged in this way, it is no less than my right."

Her speech had an edge and why not? the clan had been through hell, after all-but it was not rancor or pride that made her speak so. I think she simply wanted us to know how things were with

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them. No doubt she found blunt precision more suited to her purpose than affable ambiguity. It could not have been easy ruling a clan under Meldron's cruel regime.

"Here, then, is your king," Tegid told her, and asked, "Will you acknowledge his sovereignty, pledge him fealty, and pay him the tribute due him?"

Urddas did not answer at once-I believe I would have been disappointed if she had. But she cast her cool, ironic eyes over me as if she were being asked to estimate my worth. Then, still undecided, she glanced across at the cattle I had bestowed upon the clan.

"I will own him king," the woman replied, turning back. But I noticed she was looking at Goewyn as she answered-as if whatever lack she saw in me was more than made up by my queen. Presumably, if I could woo and win a woman of Goewyn's distinction, then perhaps there was more to me than first met her dubious eye.

Tegid administered the oath of fealty then, and when it was completed, the woman came to me, knelt before me and held her head against my breast. When she rose once more, it was to the acclaim of the Ffotlae. She ordered some of the younger men to take the cows and bull-lest I change my mind.

"Urddas," I said as she made to return to her place. "I would hear from you how you have fared through this ill-favored time. Stay after the iiys is completed and we will share a bowl between us-unless something else would please you more."

"A bowl with the Aird Righ would please me well," she replied forthrightly. Only then did I see her smile. The color came back to her face, and her head lifted a little higher.

"That was well done," Goewyn said softly, stroking me lightly on the back of the neck.

"Small comfort for the loss of a husband," I said, "but it is something at least."

There were several lengthy matters to arbitrate-mostly arising from the troubles that had multiplied under Meldron. These were

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prudently dealt with, whereupon Tegid concluded the llys and, after leading the combined tribes in a simple oath of fealty, declared clan Ffotlae under the protection of the Aird Righ. To inaugurate this new accord, we hosted them at a feast and the next day sent them back to Gwynder Gwydd loudly praising the new king.

This was to become the pattern for the rest of the circuit through Liogres. Sadly, some previously well-populated districts or can trefs were now uninhabited, either abandoned or destroyed. Our messengers rode far and wide, to the caers and strongholds and to the hidden places in the land. And at each place where we found survivors-at Traeth Eur, Cilgwri, Aber Archan, Clyfar Cnül, Ardudwy, Bryn Aryen, and others, our messengers proclaimed the news: The High King is here! Gather your people, tell everyone, and come to the meeting place where he welcomes all who will own him king.

The years of Meldron's cruelty had wrought a ghastly change in the people. The fair folk of Albion had become pale, thin, haggard wraiths. It tore at my heart to see this noble race degraded so. But I found solace in the fact that we were able to deliver so many from the fear and distress that had held them for so long. Take heart, we told them, a new king reigns in Albion; he has come to establish justice in the land.

As the Cylchedd progressed, we all-each man and woman among us-became zealous bearers of the glad tidings. The news was everywhere greeted with such happiness and gratitude that the entire entourage strove with one another to be allowed to ride with the message-just to share in the joy the tidings brought.

Indeed, it became my chief delight to see the transformation in the listeners' faces when they at last understood that Meldron was dead and his war host defeated. I could almost see happiness descend upon the people like a shining cloud as the truth took hold within them. I saw bent backs straighten, and dead eyes spark to life. I saw hope and courage rekindled from dead, cold ashes.

The Year's Wheel revolved and the seasons changed. The days were already growing shorter when we finished in Llogres and turned towards Caledon. We had arranged to winter at Dun

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Cruach, before resuming the Cylchedd. I was for going home, but Tegid said that once begun, I could not return to Dinas Dwr until the round was completed. "The course must not be broken," he insisted. So, Cynan would have the pleasure of our company through Sollen, Season of Snows.

Alban Ardduan

We arrived at Dun Cruach in Caledon just as the weather broke. Rain pelted down and wind whined as we passed through the gates. It had been a good journey, but it was a relief to abandon our tents for the warmth and light of a friendly hall. Cynan and the Galanae threw open the doors and gathered us in.

"Llew! Goewyn!" Cynan cried, throwing his arms around us. "Mo anam! But we expected you days ago. Did you get lost?"

"Lost! Goewyn, did you hear that? I will have you know, Cynan Two-Torcs, that I have personally inspected every track, trail, and footpath in Llogres and most of Caledon. Truly, the deer in the glens will lose their way before Llew Silver Hand."

"Ah, Goewyn," Cynan sighed, and I noticed he had not taken his arm from around her. "Why did you ever marry such an ill-tempered man? You should have married me instead. Now look what you must suffer." He shook his head sadly and clucked his tongue.

Goewyn kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Alas, Cynan," she sighed, "if only I had known."

"All this talk of marriage," I remarked. "Are you trying to tell us something?"

The big warrior became suddenly bashful. "Now that you say it, brother, I believe I have found a woman much to my liking."

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"That is half the battle, to be sure," I replied. "But, more to the point, will she have you?"

"Well," Cynan allowed with uncommon reticence, "we have talked and she has agreed. It so happens, we will be married while you are here."

"At the solstice perhaps," suggested Tegid; he had overheard everything. "It will be a highly favorable time-the A/ban Ardduan."

"Welcome, Penderwydd," Cynan said warmly, grasping his arms and embracing Tegid like a wayward brother.

"What is this Alban Ardduan?" I wondered aloud. "I have never heard of it."

"It is," the bard explained slowly, "the one solstice in a thousand coinciding with a full moon."

"And," Goewyn continued, taking up where Tegid had left off, "both setting sun and rising moon stand in the sky at once to regard one another. Thus, on the darkest day, darkness itself is broken."

I remembered with a pang that Goewyn, like her sisters, had once been a Banfáith in a king's house. Govan and Gwenllian were dead, and of the three fair sisters of Ynys Sci, Goewyn alone survived.

"That is why," Tegid resumed, "it is a most auspicious time-a good day to begin any endeavor."

"Yes, do it then," I urged. "If ever a man stood in need of such aid, it is you, brother." My eyes swept the busy hall. "But where is she, Cynan? I would meet the lady who has won your heart."

"And I thought you would never ask!" he cried happily. He turned and motioned to someone standing a little behind him. "Ah! Here she comes with the welcome cup!"

We all turned to see a willowy young woman with milk-white skin and pale, pale blue eyes, advancing towards us with a great steaming bowl of mulled ale between her long, smooth hands. It was easy to see how she had captured Cynan's notice, for her hair was as fiery red as his. She wore it long and it hung about her shoulders in such a mass of curls as a man could get lost in. She stepped briskly, regarding us steadily; there was an air of boldness about her. In all, she looked more than a match for Cynan.

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"My friends," said Cynan expansively, "this is Tángwen, the fortunate woman who has agreed to become my wife."

Smiling, she offered the bowl to me, saying, "Greetings, Silver Hand." Her voice was low and smoky. At my expression of surprise she smiled knowingly and said, "No, we have never met. You would remember if we had, I think. But Cynan has told me so much about you that I feel I know you like a brother. And who else wears a hand of silver on his arm?" She gave me the bowl, and as I took it from her, she let her fingertips stroke my silver hand.

I drank the warming liquid and returned the bowl to Tángwen. She passed it to Tegid. "I give you good greeting, Penderwydd," she said. "You, I would know even without the rowan. There is only one Tegid Tathal."

Tegid raised the bowl, drank, and returned it, watching the red-haired charmer all the while. Tángwen, cool under his gaze, turned next to my queen. "Goewyn," she said softly, "I welcome you most eagerly. Since coming to Dun Cruach, I have heard nothing but praise for Llew's queen. We will be good friends, you and I."

"I would like that," Goewyn replied, accepting the bowl. Though she smiled, I noticed that Goewyn's eyes narrowed as if searching for some sign of recognition in the other woman.

Then Tángwen raised the bowl to her own lips, saying, "Greetings and welcome, friends. May you find all you wish to find in your stay among us, and may that stay be long."

All this was accomplished under Cynan's proud gaze. Obviously, he had schooled her well. She knew us all and spoke frankly and directly. Her forthright manner took me aback somewhat, but I could see how it would appeal to Cynan; he was not a man to endure much simpering.

Having served us, Tángwen moved on to welcome Bran and the Ravens who had just entered. We watched her lithe form glide away. Cynan said, "Ah, she is a beauty, is she not? The fairest flower of the glen."

"She is a wonder, Cynan," I agreed. "But who is she, and where did you find her?"

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"She is no stranger to a king's hall," Goewyn observed. "I am thinking Tángwen has served the welcome bowl before."

"You cut straight to the heart of it," Cynan replied proudly. "She is the daughter of King Ercoll, who was killed in a battle with Meldron. Her people have been wandering Caledon in search of a steading and came to us here. I saw at once that she was of noble bearing. She will make a fine queen."

Gradually, the hall had filled with people. Food had been pr"pared in anticipation of our arrival and, when it appeared, Cynan led us to our places at his table. We ate and talked long into the night, enjoying the first of many pleasant meals around the winter hearth.

Thus we passed the winter at Dun Cruach amiably. When the sun shone we rode over the misty hills or walked the soggy moors, slipping over wet rocks and scaring up grouse and partridges. When the sleet rattled on the thatch or snow swirled down in the north wind's frigid wake, we stayed in the hall and played games- brandub and gwyddbwyll and others-as we had done when wintering on Ynys Sci.

Each night Tegid filled the hail with the enchanting music of his harp. It was joy itself to sit in that company, listening to the stories Albion's kings had heard from time out of mind. I counted every moment blessed.

As the day of Cynan and Tángwen's wedding drew near, Tegid let it be known that he was preparing a special song for the occasion. Though many asked what the tale would be, he would say no more than that it was an ancient and powerful story, and one which would bring great blessing to all who heard it.

Meanwhile, Goewyn and Tángwen attended to the preparations for the celebration. They were often together and appeared to enjoy one another's company. I thought them a strikingly beautiful pair, and thought Cynan and myself the two most fortunate men in all Albion to boast such women as wives.

Cynan was well pleased with his choice, and remarked often on the happy circumstance that brought her to his door. "She might have wandered anywhere," he said, "but she happened to come here, to me."

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I saw little more than simple chance in it, but what did that matter? If Cynan wanted to believe that some extraordinary destiny had brought them together, who was Ito disagree?

In any event, Tángwen had firmly established herself at the center of Cynan's household. Neither timidity nor humility found much of a patron in her she was intelligent and capable and saw no reason to affect a meekness or modesty she did not naturally possess. Still, there was something about her-something driven, yet strangely constrained. She often stood apart when Tegid sang, watching from the shadows, her expression almost derisive, scornful-as if she disdained joining us, or spurned the pleasure of the gathering. Other times, she seemed to forget herself and joined in with a will. I felt somehow she was following the dictates of a scheme, rather than the promptings of her heart. And I was not the only one to notice.

"There is a hidden place in her soul," Goewyn said one night when we had retired to our sleeping quarters. "She is confused and unhappy."

"Unhappy? Do you think so? Maybe it is just that she is afraid of being hurt again," I suggested.

Goewyn shook her head slightly. "No, she wants to befriend me, I think; but there is something cold and hard in her that will not let her. Sometimes I wish I could just reach into her heart and pluck it out, and then all would be well with her."

"Perhaps that is her way of covering the pain."

Goewyn looked at me oddly. "Why do you say she has been hurt?"

"Well," I said slowly, thinking aloud, "Cynan said that her father had been killed in a battle against Meldron. I suppose I simply assumed Tángwen, like so many we have met along the way, still carried that grief."

"Perhaps," Goewyn allowed, frowning in thought.

"But you think otherwise?"

"No," she said after a moment. "That must be it. I am certain you are right."

The days dwindled, shrinking down toward Alban Ardduan and

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Cynan's wedding. The Galanae warband and the Raven Flight had stocked the cookhouse with wild game of all kinds, and the cooks kept the ovens glowing hot, preparing food for the feast. The brewer and his helpers, foreseeing strong demand for the fruit of their labor, worked tirelessly to fill the vats with mead and ale. On the day before the wedding, the fattened pigs were slaughtered, and next morning we awoke in the dark to the aroma of roast pork.

After breaking fast with a little bread and water, we all dressed ourselves in feast-day clothes and assembled in the hail, eager for the festivities to begin. Torches fluttered from scores of holders, banishing shadows from every dark corner. On this day the torches would burn brightly from dawn to dawn in observance of Alban Ardduan.

Cynan appeared first, resplendent in red-and-orange checked breecs and yellow siarc. He wore a blue-and-white striped cloak and his father's great gold brooch. He had brushed his long red beard and fanned it out across his broad chest, and he had allowed his wiry red hair to be gathered and tied at the back of his head. His gold and burnished silver torcs gleamed like mirrors. He fretted and preened, patting his belt and adjusting his cloak.

"A more regal groom has never been seen in Caledon," I told him. "Stand still, now. Do you want her to think she is marrying a twitch?"

"What can be keeping them?" he asked, glancing nervously around the hall for the third time in as many moments.

"Be at ease," I told him. "You have endured your solitary ways a long time, you can endure yet a little longer."

"What if she has changed her mind?"

"Goewyn is with her," I reassured him. "She will not change her mind."

"What can be keeping them?" He craned his neck around, inspecting the hail yet once more. "Here they come!" he said, darting forward.

"Relax--it is Tegid."

'Oh, it is only Tegid." He began patting himself again, as if he were searching for something he had lost somewhere about his

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person. "How do I look?"

"Handsome enough for any two men. Now stand still, you are wearing a hole in the floor."

"Only Tegid?" wondered the bard.

"Ignore him," I told Tegid. "Cynan is not himself today."

"My throat is on fire," Cynan complained. "I need a drink."

"Later-after the wedding."

"Just one cup."

"Not a drop. We do not want the king of the Galanae falling down during his own wedding ceremony."

"I tell you I am dying!"

"Then do it quietly."

Tegid broke in, saying, "Here they are." At that instant, a ripple of voices sounded from the far end of the hail. Cynan and I turned to see Goewyn and Tángwen approaching.

Cynan's bride was a vision-a blaze of fiery beauty: two long braids bound in bands of gold swept back from her temples and lost themselves in the luxurious fall of flaming curls that spilled over her shoulders. She wore a crimson cloak and a robe of apricot yellow over a salmon-colored shift. Her feet were bare, and on each ankle was a bracelet of thick gold so that each step glittered. On her breast was a splendid silver brooch set with glowing red gems around the ring; the pin was joined to the ring by a tiny silver chain, and the head shone with a blazing blue jewel. No doubt the eye-catching object was her father's chief treasure.

Cynan could restrain himself no longer. He strode to meet her, gathered her in his arms, and all but carried her to where we stood by the wide, central hearth. "To be surrounded by battle-tried friends in a shining hall," he crowed, "with his arms around a beautiful woman- this is the greatest joy a man can know!" He turned to Tángwen, kissed her, and declared, "This is the happiest day of my life!"

At this, Tángwen put a hand to his ruddy face and turned his lips to hers, kissing him ardently and long. "Come, Tegid," Cynan said, "the bride is here; the hall is filled, and the feast is waiting. Perform the rite and let us begin the celebration!"

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With raised staff and a loud voice, Tegid called the assembly to witness the marriage of Cynan and Tángwen. Everyone crowded close and the ceremony began. Cynan's wedding was very like my own. Gifts and tokens were exchanged and, as the bowl was shared, I felt Goewyn's hand slip into mine. She put her lips to my ear and whispered her love to me, nipping my earlobe as she withdrew.

Three sharp raps of the Chief Bard's staff and the wedding was over. Cynan whooped loudly and lifted his bride from her feet. He carried her to the table and set her upon it. "Kinsmen and friends!" he called. "Here is my wife, Tángwen. Hail her everyone, Queen of the Galanae!"

The room resounded with the chorused cries as the Galanae welcomed their queen. Tángwen, her face flushed with happiness, smiling, radiant, stood on the board, receiving the adulation of the people. The expression on her face, at first charmed, took on an aspect of triumph-as if she had won a close-fought campaign.

Cynan reached up to her and Tángwen tumbled into his arms. They embraced to the loud acclaim of everyone. And then Cynan ordered ale to be brought so that we could all drink the health of the happy couple. The brewer and his men brought forth the first vat and placed it beside the hearth. Cups and bowls were plunged deep and brought out frothing. We raised our bowls and our voices. ".~dinte! Slóinte mórt' We drank to life and health and happiness. We drank to the prosperity of Cynan's reign.

Outside it began snowing. Cold wind streamed over the hills, lashing the snow which fell from a blanched sky. Inside the hall, the feast began: steaming joints of venison and pork were carried in on their spits; platters of sweet breads of various sorts; huge rounds of pale yellow cheese, and mounds of crisp apples. We ate, and drank, and talked, and ate and drank some more, passing the dark day in the light-filled hall surrounded by fellowship and plenty. And when at last we sat back, stuffed and satisfied, a call went up for a story. Taking up his harp, Tegid came before us, standing at the hearth in the center of the hall, the fire bright around him.

He strummed the harp, waiting for everyone to find a place and

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for quiet to claim the crowd. Gradually, the hall fell hushed. Lifting his voice, the bard declared, "It is right to celebrate the union of man and woman with weddings and feasts and songs-more so than the victories of warriors and the conquests of kings. It is right to pay heed to the stories of our people, for that is how we learn who we are and what is required of us in this life and the life beyond.

"On this day above all others, when the light of Alban Ardduan burns in the high places, it is right to give ourselves to revelry, it is right to draw near the hearthfire to hear the songs of our race. Gather then and listen, all who would hear a true tale-listen with your ears, Children of Albion, and listen with your hearts."

So saying, he bowed his head and fell silent. Then, fingers stirring on the strings of the harp, he conjured a melody from the air, drew breath, and began to sing.

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