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. “Meldron has no right to them. Wear them with pride, Llew. 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 toward the hall. 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?”
“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, stuffing 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,” I 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 hall 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 signaled 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 thread-work— 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 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 away 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 is 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 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?”
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 did not think—”
“No, before the nut. What did you say before that?”
“Um . . . 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. 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 shoulders, then 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 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 that 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?”
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 love 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 slightly. “What token do you offer for your acceptance?”
Token? No one had told me about that; I had no token to offer. Cynan’s voice sounded in my ear. “Give her your belt,” he suggested helpfully.
I had no better idea, so I removed the belt and draped the heavy gold across Tegid’s outspread hands. “I offer this belt of fine gold,” I said and, on a sudden inspiration, added, “Let its excellence and 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 forever—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 Hand and Goewyn are wed.”
And that was that. The people acclaimed the wedding loudly and with great enthusiasm. We were instantly caught up in a whirlwind of well-wishing. The wedding was over; let the celebration commence!
3
THE WEDDING FEAST
Swept away on a flood tide 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.
Feas
t 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 games 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 vantage point, 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 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 had 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 harp-bearer, 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 ornate brooches, bracelets, and rings. As if this were not enough, there were three good horses, which Calbha could not resist adding.