Ceremon perused the papers, frowning. "Yes, I see what you mean: granaries…number of gates to the city…depth of harbor…fresh water supply…From this I would expect—" he looked up worriedly, "—an invasion."
"Our thoughts precisely, Sire."
"Who else knows about this?"
"Only myself and Belyn." Avallach hesitated, then added, "And Seithenin."
"You are not to tell anyone else. In fact, you are to forget the entire incident."
"Forget, Sire? But, these," he indicated the sheaf of documents, "in light of Nestor's deplorable behavior in council—"
"I will deal with this in my own way, Avallach. Leave it to me."
Avallach stared at the High King for a moment. "As you will, Sire." He drained his cup and stood up. "If you will excuse me, it has been a long day and I wish to retire."
"Yes, of course," agreed Ceremon affably. He rose from his couch and walked with Avallach to the door. "We have all had a trying day, I dare say. Sleep will do us all good."
"Good night," said Avallach. He turned and started through the open doorway.
The High King put out a hand to stay him. "Please, as difficult as it may be, forget this incident. And do not provoke Nestor. Indeed, stay well away from him."
"That, at least, will not be difficult. I mean to have nothing further to do with Nestor, now or in the future."
"I will find out what is behind these actions, Avallach. Trust me."
"As you wish," said Avallach. "I leave it in your hands."
THIRTEEN
NEWS OF ELPHIN'S ASTOUNDING PROWESS IN THE BATTLE with the cattle raiders spread quickly throughout the six cantrefs. His kinsmen greeted him respectfully when they saw him and told one another once and again about the uncanny change in the king's son.
He was bold, they said, and brave; the soul of an ancient hero—perhaps the very one whose torc he now wore— animated him. The lumbering Cuall, formerly one of Elphin's harshest detractors, became overnight his greatest advocate.
Elphin enjoyed the praise and his increased status in the clan but did not make too much of it, preferring to minimize his role in the remarkable series of events that seemed to be clustering around him since his discovery of the babe in the weir. And Hafgan, whose prophecy had foreseen the change, appeared to view the young man in a different light. Clan members saw the two talking together frequently and wondered about the druid's interest.
However, it was not Elphin that the druid was primarily interested in but the infant, Taliesin.
"It is time to begin thinking about the future," said Hafgan a few days after the foiled cattle raid. He and Elphin were sitting outside Elphin's house in the sun. With no shortage of eager volunteers, work was progressing quickly: timbers were cut, shaped, and erected around the perimeter of the excavated hole and connected with beams and rafters; walls of split logs had been lashed into place and the chinks were being filled with clay; soon reed thatch would be laid and trimmed for the roof. "What happened the other night has removed any remaining doubt people have nursed against you to this time. They will talk and your shadow will grow great in the land. Indeed, I will see to it: I intend composing a song about it. Your deed will be remembered, Elphin, and it is only the first of many."
"You flatter me, Hafgan," replied Elphin. "I hardly know how to think about what happened. I feel the same as ever I did, and yet I cannot deny what has taken place. Do you suppose there is something in what people say?"
Hafgan gave him a long, appraising look. "You will be wise not to let your head swell with false pride. Accept what happens to you, yes, even accept the praise. But do not glory too greatly in it, for that is the death of kings."
"But you just said you will make a song about me—"
"And I shall. But I want you to know that it is more a matter of necessity, I would say, than of desiring to increase your renown among men."
Elphin gazed at the druid uncomprehendingly. "I do not understand you, Hafgan."
"The time is coming when the tribe must have a strong leader. You will be that leader; you will be king after your father."
"That is far from certain," protested Elphin.
Hafgan reached out and tapped Elphin's gold torc with a finger. "Lleu himself has proclaimed it. But we must look further ahead than that."
"Further ahead? What are you talking about?"
"The child. Taliesin."
"What about him?"
"He will be a bard."
"So you have said."
"A bard must be trained."
Elphin stared at the druid as if he had lost his mind. "He is but a babe!"
Hafgan closed his eyes. "I am aware of that. He must begin his training when the times comes, as it soon will."
"I still cannot see what you want from me."
"Your word: that you will give the child to me—when the time comes."
Elphin hesitated. "Where will you take him?"
"There will be no need to take him anywhere. He will stay here at Caer Dyvi for the most part. In fact, he can remain in your house if you choose. But I must be given charge of his learning."
"This is important?"
The druid looked at him levelly. "Vitally important."
"Very well, I agree. And I will talk to Rhonwyn too. She can have no objection—except that she may come in time to fancy kingship for Taliesin, and might prefer it."
Hafgan rose slowly. "Tell her this: Taliesin may well be a king one day, but he will be a bard first and last. And that is how he will be remembered—as the greatest bard who ever lived."
Elphin considered this for a moment and said, "You can have my son, Hafgan. You have my word, for I see that your interest is not for yourself alone, but for the people."
"Well said, Lord Elphin," replied the druid.
Just then there came the sound of hammering. Elphin looked back toward his house where Cuall, having prepared the heads of the two raiders slain by Elphin's spear by dipping them in cedar oil, was now nailing them to the doorposts of his nearly-finished house. "This is a warrior's house," he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Now everyone will know it."
"A warrior's house," muttered Elphin, shaking his head. "It was luck, not a warrior's skill that felled those two."
"Do not mock the faith of simple men," replied Hafgan. "Luck in battle is a thing of power, for whatever men believe they will follow." He paused and pointed at Cuall. "I spoke of the future. There is yours."
"Cuall?"
"And men like him. A battlechief must have a warband."
"A warband! Hafgan, we have not maintained a warband since before my grandfather was a boy. With the garrison at Caer Seiont there has been no need."
"Times change, Elphin. Needs change."
"How will I raise a warband?"
The druid frowned at his shortsightedness. "You have six cantrefs, lad! What good is being king if you cannot raise a respectable warband from six cantrefs?"
"But I am not the king. My father is the king."
"Not much longer. And when I have finished your song, men will come to you to pledge their arms and lives. You will have your warband."
"And you, Hafgan, what will you have?"
"A name."
"A name—nothing else?"
"There is nothing else."
The druid turned and walked away. Elphin watched him go, and then went back to inspect his house. Cuall was lingering nearby, and Elphin realized with some surprise that the man waited for a look or sign of recognition from him. He stopped and studied the heads nailed to his doorposts and then directed his gaze to Cuall.
"I am honored by your thoughtfulness," he said and watched a huge grin break like sunrise across Cuall's crag of a face.
"A man should have renown among his people."
"You have earned the hero's portion often enough yourself, Cuall. And I have heard your name lauded around the feast table more times than I can count."
Elphin was amazed at the imp
act of his words. The hulking Cuall grinned foolishly, and his cheeks colored like a maid's when her clumsy flirtation is discovered.
"I would fight at your side anytime," said Cuall earnestly.
"I am going to raise a warband, Cuall. I will need your help."
"My life is yours, Sire." Cuall touched his forehead with the back of his hand.
"I accept your service," Elphin replied seriously. The two men gazed at one another and Cuall stepped close, taking Elphin in a fierce hug. Then, suddenly embarrassed, he turned and hurried away.
"You will make a good king."
Elphin turned to see Rhonwyn watching him from the doorway. "You saw?"
She nodded. "I saw a future lord winning support. More, I saw a man putting aside the hurt of the past and reconciling a former enemy, raising him to friendship without rancor or guile."
"It is not in me to hurt him. Besides, he is the best warrior in the clan. I will need his help."
"And that is why you will be a good king. Small men do not hesitate to repay hurt for hurt."
"All this talk of kings and warbands…"He shook his head in wonder. "I never dreamed …"
Rhonwyn moved close and put her hand to his cheek. "Dreams, Elphin, why speak of dreams? Wake and look around you. Is this a dream?" She touched the golden torc. "Am I?"
"You are," replied Elphin and laughed, clasping her around the waist. "No man ever had such a beautiful wife."
A baby's cry sounded within. Rhonwyn wriggled from Elphin's grasp and disappeared inside, returning a moment later with Taliesin in her arms. "See your father, little one?" She held the child up to gaze into Elphin's face. Elphin reached out a finger and tickled the babe under the chin to make him smile.
Taliesin's eyes fixed on the gold at his father's throat, reached out a tiny hand, and grabbed the bear's head on the end of Elphin's bright torc. "This is too big for you now," said Elphin. "But one day you will grow into it, never fear."
"How beautiful he is," murmured Rhonwyn, her eyes lit with love for the child. "And the way he looks at me sometimes—so wise, as if he knows what I am thinking. Or as if he wants to speak to me. I believe he is trying to tell me something."
"Hafgan believes him charmed as well." Elphin took the tiny hand in his. "I have agreed to let him teach the boy. Taliesin will remain with us, but Hafgan will be charged with his learning. Think of it, both king and bard in the same house!"
* * *
The tribune of the Roman garrison at Caer Seiont rode into Caer Dyvi a few days later to speak to Gwyddno Garanhir. He wore a well-used leather breastplate and carried a gladius, the short sword of the legionary at the end of his baldric. Otherwise he rode unprotected. He was not a large man, but his easy authority gave him stature. His glance was quick and his manner decisive; he was not a man to give an order twice. Yet years of command in the furthest, most nearly forgotten outpost of the empire had blunted the sharp military edge he had acquired in Caesar's army. With him was a young man with black, curly hair and hungry black eyes under thick black brows.
They approached from the north along the narrow sea trail, circled around, and rode up the track to the gate at the rear of the caer, where they stopped and waited for someone to notice them. "Tribune Avitus of Legio Twenty Valeria to see Lord Gwyddno," the officer shouted at the first face to appear.
The gate was opened, and the soldiers rode directly to Gwyddno's house and waited for Gwyddno to appear. "Hail, Lord Gwyddno!" called Avitus, climbing down from his horse. He nodded to the young man with him, who also dismounted.
Gwyddno gestured and two men came forward to lead the horses away. "You have ridden far," said Gwyddno amiably—much more amiably than he felt. "Come in and refresh yourselves."
"I accept your hospitality," replied the tribune.
The three entered the house and Medhir scurried about, setting cups before each of them, and plates of bread and fruit. When they had toasted one another and offered a splash to the gods, they drank and the cups were refilled. The young man reached for his cup a second time, but his superior frowned and he withdrew the hand.
"You favor us with your presence," said Gwyddno.
"I have not seen you for a long time, Lord Gwyddno—" began Avitus.
"I paid my taxes!" protested Gwyddno quickly.
The tribune raised his hands to show he meant no offense. "Please, I was not thinking of taxes," explained Avitus. "To tell you the truth, I wish more lords would pay as promptly. It would be a blessing. No, I only meant that it has been some time since I have had the pleasure of your company."
"Is that what brings you here today? My company?"
"Father!" The voice from the doorway was at once genial and mildly reproachful. The men turned as Elphin came to the table. "I was told we had important visitors."
"Aye," agreed Gwyddno, less readily than he might have.
"Prince Elphin." The tribune inclined his head in greeting. "I am pleased to greet you. Allow me to present Centurion Magnus Maximus, newly assigned to the Twentieth."
"Centurion Maximus, welcome," he said, sitting with them.
The soldiers exchanged puzzled glances. Gwyddno saw what passed between them and said, "My son will join us. He is taking an active interest in my affairs lately."
"I see," said Avitus. "You are to be commended, Prince Elphin. Your father is a highly respected man."
"They have come seeking my company," offered Gwyddno by way of explanation.
"And your aid," added the tribune bluntly. "I have no wish to veil the true reasons for my visit. We need your help."
"Help!" snorted Gwyddno. "My taxes are not enough, they want my help too."
"You know," said Avitus gently, "I was born in Gwynedd, and so was my father. My mother and grandmother are Britons; so is my wife. I am nearly as British as you are, Lord Gwyddno. And we are both citizens of the same empire."
Gwyddno snorted again but said nothing. The tribune continued, "The men of my family are soldiers; we have served the Empire loyally for generations. We have a small farm near Arfon. And when my command is over I will live there as your neighbor."
"I understand what you are saying," said Elphin. "Helping you is like helping a kinsman."
"It is helping yourselves," put in Maximus.
"Oh? I suppose it is my own hand in my purse and not the Emperor's at tax time?" questioned Gwyddno.
"Without the Emperor's army up the road, you would find the Cruithne's hands in your purse and their knives at your throat, you old—"
"That will do, Maximus!" Avitus glared at his subordinate. "Please forgive the centurion. He is new to this province and is finding it difficult to accustom himself to the ways of the people hereabouts."
Gwyddno scowled and turned his face away. Elphin ignored his father's bad manners. "How can we help you, Tribune?"
Avitus leaned forward on his arms. "I do not need to tell you that the Cruithne are becoming more bold lately, raiding further south and inland each year. This summer we expect them to come into Gwynedd, perhaps as far as the Dyvi.
"And not Cruithne only—Picti, Attacotti, Scotti and Saecsen too. Every motherless savage among them is on the move these days. They come out of the very cracks in the rocks, it seems."
"Let them come," said Gwyddno. "We will be ready."
"I am certain you will," replied Avitus patiently. "But the villages on the coast and in the valleys will not be prepared. They are not fortified."
"What can we do?" asked Elphin.
"Governor Flavian has proposed to send a cohort up north of the Wall to patrol this summer. Segontium has been ordered to provide the auxiliary for Deva and Eboracum. The governor believes that if we make our presence felt, we may discourage them from coming down—perhaps stop them altogether. I am asking you to stand supply for the auxiliary."
Before Gwyddno could answer Elphin said, "You have it."
Avitus and Maximus glanced at each other. Avitus could not hide his smile.
"And anyth
ing else you need. I believe you asked Killydd for men."
"We did. He gave us horses—which are welcome, to be sure, but we need men as well."
"Does the emperor not have enough men?" asked Gwyddno snidely.
"Wars elsewhere take our strength. None of the legions is fully manned."
"You shall have the men too," said Elphin decisively. His father stared at him but did not gainsay him.
"Prince Elphin, your generosity is most gratifying." Avitus sat back and allowed himself a sip from his cup.
"My generosity has a price, Tribune Avitus."
"Yes?" Avitus sat up warily.
"I will give you the men and stand supply for them, but I want them trained and returned to me when you are finished."
"You shall have it and gladly," said Avitus. "But may I ask your reason for this request?"
"I intend raising a warband."
"I see." The implications suggested themselves to the tribune at once. "A Roman-trained warband would be most effective."
"You do not approve?"
"Officially? No, I do not approve. But I understand and will not hinder you. We must admit that Rome is having difficulty protecting all her subjects. You are half-a-day's ride from the nearest garrison—a trained warband will give you what we cannot provide."
"A warband?" wondered Gwyddno. He nodded slowly, eyes narrowed, as if seeing his son in an unexpected new light.
"How many men do you need?"
"As many as you can spare."
"A century," put in Maximus.
"A hundred?" Elphin did some rapid calculation. "Very well, a hundred. And I will be among them."
"Prince Elphin, there is no need—"
"No, it must be this way. You see, I wish to learn command. I will ride with my men."
"So be it!" Tribune Avitus pounded the table with his fist and smiled. He lifted his cup in a toast. "Death to Rome's enemies!"
They drank and the soldiers rose to leave. "Join us as soon as you have raised your men. The sooner the better. That will give us more time to train them."
"We will join you before another full moon has passed," promised Elphin.
"Until we meet again then, Prince." Avitus saluted, Maximus likewise, and they marched out of the house.