The Endless Knot (19 page)
After a few such uneventful days, I began to persuade myself that the wild pig's disappearance was merely a lingering ripple in the disturbance caused by Simon and Meldron; a simple, small, isolated event, it foreshadowed no great catastrophe. Albion was healing itself, yes, but it would be unrealistic to expect everything to return to normal overnight. Undoubtedly, the healing process would go on for a long time. And after all, my reign was, as Cynan and Tegid implied, a major element of that recovery. How could I think otherwise?
Maffar, sweetest of seasons, had run its course full and fair, and Gyd, season of sun, was well begun before we at last turned the wagons north. I was glad to have made the circuit, but more so now that it was finished. I missed Dinas Dwr and all the friends we had left behind. And I wanted to see what had been accomplished in my absence.
The southern leg of the journey completed, Cynan and Tángwen bid us farewell, but not before I extracted a promise to winter with us in Dinas Dwr. “Favor us with the pleasure of your company. Our hall is a cow byre compared to yours,” I declared. “And it is as cold beside the hearth as on the hilltop when the snow drifts deep. But it would be less wretched if you would deign to share our meager fare.”
“
Mo anam!
” Cynan cried. “Do you expect me to refuse such a generous offer? See the cups are filled, brotherâit is Cynan Machae at your gate when the wind howls in the rooftrees!”
He and Tángwen returned to Dun Cruach, and we proceeded on to Sarn Cathmail. Once we had set our faces toward home, my impatience knew no bounds. We could not move swiftly enough. Each day's distance brought us no nearer, or so it seemed to me, yet with every step my eagerness increased; like thirst burning in a parched throat, I ached with it.
It was not until the land began to lift and I saw the high hills glimmering in the blue heat haze that I began to feel we were at last returning. On the day I saw Môn Dubh, I could contain myself no longer. I rode ahead, with Goewyn at my side, and would likely have left the others far behind if Tegid had not prevented us.
“You cannot return this way,” he said when he had caught up with us. “Allow your people to make ready a proper welcome.”
“Just seeing Dinas Dwr again is welcome enough for me,” I insisted. “We could have been there by now if you had not stopped us. We will go ahead. Let the rest come along in their own good time.”
He shook his head firmly. “One more day, then you will enter your city and receive the welcome due a king. I will send Emyr ahead to prepare the way for you.” He turned a deaf ear to my protests and insisted, “We have observed the rite without flaw. Let us complete it likewise.”
Goewyn sided with him. “Let it be as your wise bard advises,” she urged. “It is only one more day, and your people will be grateful for the opportunity of anticipating the return of their king and welcoming you back in a manner worthy of your rank.”
So Emyr Lydaw was sent ahead to announce our arrival. I spent one more night in a tent on the trail. Like a child on the eve of a celebration, I was too excited to sleep. I lay in the tent, tossing this way and that, and finally rose and went out to walk away my restlessness.
It was dark, the moon high overhead and bright. The camp was quiet. I heard a tawny owl calling and the answering call of his mate a short distance away. I looked up at the sound and saw a ghostly shape flickering through the treetops. The surrounding hills were softly outlined against a sky of silver-flecked jet. All was dark and quiet and as it should be except for one small detail: a spark-bright glimmer on the crest of a faraway hill.
I watched for a moment before realizing what it was: a beacon. In the same instant, I felt a chill in my silver hand, a sharp, cold stab.
I turned to scan the hilltops behind me but saw no answering flare. I wondered what the signal fire betokened and thought to fetch Tegid from his bed to show it to him. But the beacon faded and, with its departure, my own certainty of what I had seen. Perhaps it was nothing more than the campfire of hunters; or maybe Scatha had set watchers along the ridge to warn of our approach.
Stalking the perimeter of the camp, I spoke briefly with the guards at the horse picket, but they had seen nothing. I finished my inspection of the camp and returned to my tent. I lay down on the fleece and fell asleep listening to Goewyn's deep, slow breathing.
I awakened early the next morning, dressed quickly, and proceeded to make a general nuisance of myself by urging everyone to hurry. We were but a day's march from Druim Vran, and with all speed we would reach the lake at sunset and dine at Dinas Dwr that night.
By midday I could see the dark line of Raven Ridge, and I thought we would never arrive. Nevertheless, as the sun began sinking low in the west, we entered the broad plain spreading before the ridge wall. The shadow of the gorsedd mound stretched long across the plain, and the looming mass of Druim Vran soared above it.
All along the ridge stood the people, my people, waiting to welcome us home. My heart soared at the sight.
“Listen,” said Goewyn, tilting her head. “They are singing.”
We were too far away to hear the words, but the voices fell like a fine, sweet rain splashing down from on high. I halted on the trail, swiveled in the saddle, and called to Tegid, “Do you hear? What are they singing?”
He rode to join me and halted to listen a moment, then smiled. “It is
Arianrhod's Greeting,
” he said. “It is the song Arianrhod sings to her lover when she sees him sailing over the waves to rescue her.”
“Is it?” I wondered. “I have never heard that story,” I said.
“It is a beautiful tale,” Tegid said. “I will sing it to you sometime.”
I turned my face to the heights and listened to the glad sound. I would not have imagined that the sight of my people standing along the ridge wall and singing their welcome to the valley below could touch me so deeply. My eyes grew misty with tears at the sound; truly, I had come home.
H
ie! Hie!” cried Goewyn as she galloped past. “I thought you were eager to reach home!” she shouted.
I lashed my mount to speed and raced after her. She gained the ridge wall before me and, without slackening her pace, flew straight up the track. I followed in a hail of dust and pebbles thrown up by the horses' hooves, but could not catch her. She reached the top first and slipped from the saddle, turning to await me.
“Welcome home, O King,” she said.
I threw a leg over the neck of my horse and slid to the ground beside her. “Lady, I claim a welcome kiss,” I said, pulling her to me. The crowd came running to meet us, and we were soon pressed on every side by eager well-wishers.
What a glad greeting it was! The tumult was heartfelt and loud, the reception dizzying. We were soon engulfed in a heady swirl of welcome. Scatha appeared in the forefront of the press. She seized her daughter in her arms and held her; Pen-y-Cat hugged me next, clasping me tightly to her, and, taking my hand and one of Goewyn's, she gazed at us with shining eyes and declared, “Welcome, my children.”
She kissed us both and held us together before her while her eyes drank in the sight. “I have missed you both,” she said. Then, fixing each one of us in her gaze, she asked, “It
is
just the two of you?”
“Still just two,” my bride told her mother. She squeezed my hand.
“Well,” Scatha allowed, “you are no less welcome. I have longed for you each day.”
We embraced again, and I glimpsed the crannog in the lake beyond. “I see that Dinas Dwr has survived in our absence.”
“Survived?” boomed Calbha, wading toward us through the crowd to stand before us. The Ravens we had left behind followed at his heels. “We have thrived! Welcome back, Silver Hand,” he said, gripping my arms. “You have fared well?”
“We have fared exceedingly well, Calbha,” I answered. “The circuit of the land is complete. All is well.”
“Tonight we will celebrate your return,” Scatha announced. “In the hall, the welcome cup awaits.”
Thanks to Tegid's foresight, Scatha and Calbha had had time to prepare a feast for our return. Trailing well-wishers, we made our way down to the city on the lake; in the golden light of a setting sun Dinas Dwr seemed to me a gem aglow in a broad, shining band.
At the lakeshore, we climbed into boats and paddled quickly across to the crannog, where we were welcomed by those who had stayed behind to attend to the preparations.
The tang of roasting meat reached us the instant we stepped from the boats. Two whole oxen and six pigs were dripping fat over pits of charcoal; ale vats had been set up outside the hall, and skins of mead poured into bowls. At our approach, a dozen maidens took up gold and silver bowls and ran to meet us.
“Welcome, Great King,” said a dimpled, smiling maid, raising the bowl to me. “Too long have you been absent from your hearth, lord. Drink deep and take your ease,” she said prettily, and it melted my heart to hear it.
I accepted the bowl, lifted it to my lips, and drank the sweet, golden nectar. It was flavored with anise and warmed my throat as it slid silkily over my tongue. I declared it the finest drink I had ever tasted and passed the bowl to Goewyn. The king having drunk, the remaining bowls, cups, and jars could be distributed; this was done at once and the feast began.
No one was happier than I to be back home. I looked long on the hall and on the happy faces of all those I had left behind. They were my people, and I was their king. I truly felt I had come home, that my absence had pained, and that my return was pleasing.
It was not until I stood before my own hall with the taste of herbed mead in my mouth and the shouts of acclaim loud in my ears that I realized Tegid's wisdom in proposing the circuit. In going out like a king, I had become a king indeed. I belonged to the land now; heart and soul, I was a part of it. In some ancient, mystical way, the circuit united my spirit with Albion and its people. I felt my soul expand to embrace those around me, and I remembered all those I had met in the course of my circuit of the land. As I loved those around me, I loved them all. They were my people, and I was their king.
I saw Tegid standing a little distance apart with a bowl to his lips, surrounded by his Mabinogi. He sensed me watching him and lowered the bowl, smiling. The crafty bard knew what had happened. He knew full well the effect circuit and homecoming would have on my soul. He smiled at me over the bowl and raised it to me, then drank again. Oh yes, he knew.
Goewyn pressed the bowl into my hands once more, and I raised it to Tegid and drank to him. Then Goewyn and I shared a drink. Garanaw, who had stayed behind to help Scatha train the young warriors, came and greeted me like a brother. We drank together then, and I embarked upon a long round of drinking the health of all my long-absent friends.
Food followed, mounds of bread and cakes, and crackling joints of roast meat, great steaming cauldrons full of leeks, marrows, and cabbages. It was a splendid feast: eating by torchlight under the stars, the night dark and warm around us.
After we had eaten, Tegid brought out his harp, and we drifted away on wings of song. Under his peerless touch, the sky vault became a vast Seeing Bowl filled with the black oak water of all possibilities, each star a glimmering promise. Dawn was glinting in the east when we finally made our way to bed, but we slept the sleep of deep contentment.
We bade farewell to Calbha a few days later. He was anxious to return to his lands in Llogres and establish himself and his people before Sollen set in. I did not envy him the work he faced. I made certain he took a large portion of seed grain and meal, and the best of the pigs, sheep, and cattle to begin new herds. I gave him everything he would need to see him through the first winter, and we parted with vows of everlasting friendship and promises to visit one another often. He and the remnant of his tribe left with a dozen wagons piled high with provisions, tools, and weapons.
As Calbha had said, Dinas Dwr prospered in our absence. The crops and herds had flourished, the people had plenty and were content. The horror loosed by the Great Hound Meldron was fading, and with it the tainting abomination of his reign.
Having completed the Cylchedd of the land, I was not content to sit on my throne and watch the world go by. Indeed, I was more eager than ever to be a good king. As the warm days passed, I found myself wondering what I might do to benefit my people. What could I give them?
My bard suggested I give them wise leadership, but I had in mind something more tangible: an engineering feat like a bridge or a road. Neither seemed quite right. If a road, where would it go? And if a bridge, what body of water needed spanning?
I ambled around for a couple of days trying to decide what sort of endeavor would serve the people best. And, as luck would have it, one morning I was walking among the sheds and work huts on the lakeshore when I heard the slow, heavy mumble of the grinding wheel. I turned and lifted my eyes from the path to see two women bent over a massive double wheel of stone. One woman turned the upper stone with a staff while the other poured dried grain into the hole in the center. They saw me watching and greeted me.
“Please continue,” I said, “I do not wish to interrupt your work.”
They resumed their labor and I watched the arduous process. I saw their slender backs bent and their shapely arms straining to turn the heavy stone. It was hard work for meal that would be eaten in a moment, and there would be more grain to grind tomorrow. When they finished, the women collected the flour from around the stone, using a straw whisk to sweep every last fleck into their bag. They bade me farewell then and left. No sooner was the grindstone idle, however, than two more women appeared and, taking grain from the storehouse, they also began to grind the flour.
