Merlin

TEN

Maelwys was better than his word, for the next day there was indeed a feast. The servants began preparing the hall as soon as we had broken fast. Maelwys and Chads and I sat before the hearth in our chairs and talked about all that had taken place in my absence – until the doors of the hall were opened and some of the serving girls came running in from the snow outside, laughing, their arms full of holly and green ivy. They proceeded to plait the holly and ivy together and then draped it around the hall – hanging it above the doors and torch sconces.

Their happy chatter distracted us, and when I asked what they were about, Maelwys laughed and said, 'Have you forgotten what day it is?'

'Well, it is not long past midwinter's – what day is it?' 'Why, it is the day of the Christ Mass. It has become the custom of this house to observe the holy days. We celebrate tonight – your return, and the birth of die Saviour God.'

'Yes,' agreed Charis, 'and there is a surprise in it for you: Dafyd is coming to perform the mass. He will be overjoyed to see you. His prayers have not ceased since he learned of your disappearance.'

'Dafyd coming here?' I wondered. 'But that is a far distance to come. He may not make it at all.'

Maelwys answered. 'Not so far. He has begun building an abbey but a half-day's ride from this very place. He will be here.'

'Is the shrine at Ynys Avallach empty once more?' The thought did not cheer me. I loved the little round building with its high narrow, cross-shaped window. It was a most holy place; my soul always felt at peace there.

Charis shook her head lightly. 'By no means. Collen is there and two others with him. Maelwys offered Dafyd lands for a chapel here and an abbey nearby if he would come and build them.'

The work is nearly complete,' announced Maelwys proudly. 'The first of his brood will begin arriving with the spring planting.'

A thought passed between Maelwys and Charis, and the king rose from his chair. 'Excuse me, Myrddin; I must attend to the preparations for this evening's celebration.' He paused, beaming at me. 'By the Light of Heaven, it is good to see you again – it is this much like seeing your father.'

With that, he was off on his errands. 'He is a good friend to us, Merlin,' observed my mother, watching him stride across the hall.

Indeed, I never doubted it. But her words seemed offered as an excuse.

'That is true,' I allowed.

'And he loved your father… ' Her voice had changed, becoming softer, almost apologetic.

'True again.' I watched her face for a clue to the meaning of her words.

'I did not have the heart to hurt him. You must understand. And I admit that I was lonely. You were gone so long – missing so long. I stayed here the first winter after you were taken… it seemed right, and Maelwys is so happy… '

'Mother, what are you saying?' I had already guessed.

'Maelwys and I were married last year.' She watched me for my reaction.

Hearing her say the words, I felt the uncanny sensation that it had happened before, or that I had known it from the first. Perhaps that night when I had glimpsed her in the flames of Gern-y-fhain's fire I knew it. I nodded, feeling a tightness in my chest. 'I understand,' I told her.

'He wanted it, Merlin. I could not hurt him. Because of me, he never took a wife, hoping that one day… '

'Are you happy?' I asked.

She was silent some moments. 'I am content,' she said at last. 'He loves me very much.'

'I see.'

'Still, there is happiness to be found in contentment.' She looked away and her voice broke. 'I have never stopped loving Taliesin, and I never will. But I have not betrayed

him, Merlin; I want you to understand. In my way, I have remained true to your father. It is not for myself that I do this; it is for Maelwys.'

'You owe me no explanations or apologies.' 'It is good to be loved by someone – even if you cannot return that love completely. I am fond of Maelwys, but Talie-sin has my heart always. Maelwys understands.' She nodded once to underscore that fact. 'I told you he was a good man.' 'I know that.'

'You are not angry?' She turned back, searching me with her eyes. Her hair shone in the soft winter light, and her eyes were large and, at that moment, full of uncertainty. It could not have been easy for her to do what she had done. But I felt that there was a lightness to it.

'How should I be angry? Anything that brings such happiness cannot be a bad thing. Let love increase – is that not what Dafyd says?'

She smiled sadly. 'You sound like Taliesin. That is just what he would have said.' She dropped her eyes and a tear squeezed from beneath her lashes. 'Oh, Merlin, sometimes I miss him so much… so very much."

I reached for her hand. 'Tell me about the Kingdom of Summer.' She looked up. 'Please, it has been so long since I heard you tell it, Mother. I want to hear you say the words again.'

She nodded and straightened in her chair, closed her eyes and waited for a moment in silence for memory to return, then began to recite the words I had heard from the time I was a babe in arms.

'There is a land shining with goodness where each man protects his brother's dignity as his own, where war and want have ceased and all races live under the same law of love and honour.

'It is a land bright with truth, where a man's word is his pledge, and falsehood is banished, where children sleep safe in their mothers' arms and never know fear or pain. It is a land where kings extend their hands in justice rather than reach for the sword; where mercy, kindness and compassion flow like deep water over the land, and men revere virtue, revere truth, revere beauty, above comfort, pleasure, or selfish gain. A land where peace reigns in the hearts of men, where faith blazes like a beacon from every hill, and love like a fire from every hearth, where the True God is worshipped and his ways acclaimed by all…

'There is a golden realm of light, my son. And it is called the Kingdom of Summer.'

We put on thick woollen cloaks and joined Maelwys for a ride into Maridunum where he passed among his people, visiting their houses, giving gifts of gold coins and silver denarii to the widows and those hard pressed by life. He gave, not as some lords give who expect to buy allegiance or secure future gain with a gift, but out of concern for their need and out of his own true nobility. And there was not one among them that did not bless him in the name of their god.

'I was born Eiddon Vawr Vrylic,' he told me as we rode back. 'But your father gave me the name I wear now: Maelwys. It was the greatest gift he could have bestowed.'

'I remember it well,' said my mother. 'We had just come to Maridunum…'

'He sang as I have never heard man sing. If only I could describe it to you, Myrddin: to hear him was to open the heart to heaven, to free the spirit within to soar with eagles and run with the stag. Just to hear his voice in song was to satisfy all the nameless longings of the soul, to savour peace and taste joy too sweet for words.

'I wish you could have heard him as I did. Ah, but when he finished that night, I went to him to give him a gold chain or some such and in return he gave me a name: "Arise Maelwys," he said. "I recognize you." I told him that was not my name and he replied, "Eiddon the Generous it is today, but one day all men will call you Maelwys, Most Noble." And so it is.'

'Indeed, it is. He may have given you the name, but you have earned it in your own right,' I told him.

'I wish you had known him,' Maelwys said. 'Had I the power, that is the one gift I would most like to give you.'

We rode the rest of the way back to the villa in silence, not sorrowfully, but simply reflecting on the past and on the events that had led us to where we now stood. The short winter day faded quickly in a flare of grey-gold among empty black branches. As we entered the foreyard, some of Maelwys' men returned from hunting in the hills. They had been away since dawn and had a red stag slung between two of the horses. Gwendolau and Baram were with them, as I might have guessed they would be.

I realized with a twinge of shame that I had neglected to introduce my friends. 'Maelwys, Charis,' I began as they came up, 'these men before you are responsible for returning me safely… '

One glance at my mother's face and I stopped cold. 'Mother, what is it?'

She stared as if transfixed, her body rigid, breath coming in rapid gasps.

I touched her arm. 'Mother?'

'Who are you?' Her voice sounded strained, unnatural.

Gwendolau smiled reassuringly and began a small movement with his hand, but the gesture died in the air. 'Forgive me-'

'Tell me who you are!' Charis demanded. The blood had drained from her face.

Maelwys opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then looked to me for help.

'We had to know for certain,' replied Gwendolau. 'Please, my lady, we meant no harm.'

What did he mean?

'Just tell me,' replied Charis, her tone low, almost menacing.

'I am Gwendolau, son of Custennin, son of Meirchion, King of Skatha… '

'Skatha,' she shook her head slowly, dazedly, 'how long since I have heard that name?'

Skatha… from somewhere deep in my brain the memory surfaced: one of the Nine Kingdoms of Lost Atlantis. And I remembered other things Avallach had told me in his stories. At the time of the Great War, Meirchion had sided with Belyn and Avallach. Meirchion had helped Belyn steal the ships from Seithenin – the ships that had eventually landed the remnant of Atlantis on the rock-bound shores of the Island of the Mighty.

How was it that I, who had grown up among the Fair Folk, failed to recognize them when I encountered them in Goddeu? Oh, I had sensed something – just hearing them speak had inspired a vague sensation of homecoming; I remembered the feeling, and at the same time, wondering why I had come there. I should have guessed.

'We did not intend to deceive you, Princess Charis,' explained Gwendolau. 'But we had to be certain, you see. When my father heard that Avallach was alive, and that he was here – well, he wanted to be certain. It was important to see how things stood.'

'Meirchion,' Charis whispered. 'I had no idea… we never heard.'

'Nor did we,' Gwendolau said. 'We have been living in the forest these many years. We tend our own, keep to ourselves. My father was born here, as I was. I know no other life. When Myrddin came, we thought… ' he left the thought unspoken. 'But we had to make sure.'

My mind staggered under the weight of understanding. If Meirchion had survived with some of his people, who else? How many others?

Gwendolau continued, 'Sadly, my grandfather did not survive. He died not long after coming here. Many others died also, before him and after in those first years.'

'It was the same with us,' offered Charis, softening.

They fell silent then, simply gazing at each other, as if seeing in one another the ghosts of all those lost.

'You must go to Avallach,' Charis said at length, 'this spring, as soon as the weather allows. He will want to see you. I will take you there.'

'It would be an honour, lady,' replied Gwendolau courteously. 'And one my father would wish to repay in kind.'

Maelwys, who had held his tongue all this time, finally spoke. 'You were welcome in my house before, but as you are of my wife's people you are doubly welcome now. Stay with us, friends, until we can all travel to Ynys Avallach together.'

It is a strange thing to meet someone from one's homeland long after becoming resigned to never seeing home again. It is a singular experience, mingling both pleasure and pain in equal measure.

Grooms came to take the horses and we dismounted and returned to the hall. As we walked up the long ramp to the villa's entrance, I saw how much Gwendolau and Baram looked like the people of Ynys Avallach and Llyonesse. They were of the very appearance of men from Avallach's court. I wondered how I could have been so blind, but reflected that perhaps I had not seen the similarity before because I was not meant to see it. Perhaps their true appearance had been hidden from me, or disguised in some subtle way. That was something I thought about for a long time.

Another surprise awaited me in the hall. We trooped in to find the hall ablaze with light, shining with torches and rushlights by the hundred, and old Pendaran standing in the centre of the hall with candles in both hands, talking to a man in a long, dark cloak, while servants bustled to and fro on brisk errands.

A gust of frosty air came in with us and the two turned to meet us.

'Dafyd!'

The priest made the sign of the cross and clasped his hands in thanksgiving and then held out his arms to me. 'Myrddin, oh, Myrddin, let Jesu be praised! You have come back… oh, let me look at you, lad… Bless me, but you have grown into a man, Myrddin. Thank the Good Lord, for your safe return.' He smiled broadly and pounded me on the back as if to reassure himself that the flesh before him was indeed solid.

'I was just telling him,' said Lord Pendaran, 'just this very moment.'

'I have returned, Dafyd, my friend.'

'Look at you, lad. Jesu have mercy, but you are easy on the eyes. Your sojourn has done you no harm.' He turned my hand and rubbed the palm. 'Hard as the slate in the hills. And here you come wrapped in wolfskin. Myrddin, where have you been? What happened to you? When I heard you were missing, I felt as if my heart had been carved out. What is this Pendaran tells me about the Hill Folk?'

'You deserve a full accounting,' I replied. 'I will tell you all.'

'But it must wait for a time yet,' said Dafyd. 'I have a mass to prepare -'

'And a feast after,' put in Pendaran, rubbing his hands with childish glee.

'We will talk soon,' I promised.

He gazed at me with shining eyes. 'It is happiness itself to see you, Myrddin. God is indeed good.'

I do not believe I ever heard a more heartfelt mass spoken than Dafyd's Christ Mass that night. The love in the man, the grace and kindness shone from him as from a hilltop beacon, and kindled in his congregation a knowledge of true worship. The hall with the holly and the ivy, and the glowing rushlights bright like stars, light glinting off every surface, warmth enfolding us, love upholding us, joy flowing from each one to every other.

Upon reading from the sacred text, Dafyd lifted his face and spread his arms to us. 'Rejoice!' he called. 'Again I say rejoice! For the King of Heaven is king over us, and his name is Love.

'Let me tell you of love: love is patient and long enduring; it is kind, never envying, never ambitious for itself, never putting on airs, or displaying itself haughtily; it boasts not.

'Never vain, never arrogant, never puffed up with pride, love behaves in a seemly manner, never rude or unbecoming. Love seeks not its own reward, nor makes demands, but gives itself withal.

'Love does not persevere to its own benefit; it is not fretful, or resentful. It takes no account of evil done to it, and pays no heed to the wrongs it suffers. Yet, it does not rejoice at injustice, but rejoices when right and truth prevail.

'Love bears all things, hopes all things, believes the best in all things. Love never fails, and its strength never fades. Every gift of the Giving God will come to an end, but love will never end.

'And so three things abide for ever: faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.'

So saying, he invited us to the Table of Christ to receive the cup and bread, which was Body and Blood to us. We sang a psalm and Dafyd offered a benediction, saying, 'My lords and ladies, it is written: Wherever two or more are gathered in his name, Jesu is there also. He is here among us tonight, friends. Do you feel his presence? Do you feel the love and joy he brings?'

We did feel it; there was not a single soul in that glowing, glittering company gathered in the hall that did not feel the Holy One's presence. And because it was so, many who heard the mass believed in the Saviour God from that night.

This, I thought to myself, is the foundation the Kingdom of Summer is built upon. This is the mortar that binds it together.

The next day Dafyd took me to see his new chapel; we talked along the way, riding out on one of those brilliant winter days when the world gleams like a thing new-made. The sky was high and clean and bright, shining pale blue like fragile bird's eggs. Eagles wheeled through cloudless sweeps of heaven, and quail strutted through elder thickets. A black-tipped fox slipped across the trail with a pheasant in its mouth, stopping to give us a wary glance before disappearing into a copse of young birches.

We talked as we rode, our breath puffing in great silver clouds in the cold air, and I told him about my life among the Prytani. Dafyd was fascinated, shaking his head slowly from time to time, trying to take it all in.

In good time we arrived at the chapel, a square timber structure set on a raised foundation of stone on top of a wooded rise. The steep roof was thatched and the eaves reached almost to the ground. Behind the chapel a springfed well spilled over to form a small pool. Two deer at the pool bounded into the brake at our approach.

'Here is my first chapel,' Dafyd declared proudly. 'The first of many. Ah, Myrddin, there is a rich harvest hereabouts; the people are eager to hear. Our Lord the Christ is claiming this land for his own, I know he is.'

'So be it,' I said. 'May Light increase.'

We dismounted and went inside. The interior had the new building smell: wood-shavings and straw, stone and mortar. It was bare of furniture, but there was a wooden altar with a slab of black slate for a top, and affixed to the wall above it, a cross carved from the wood of a walnut tree. A single beeswax candle stood upon the slate in a golden holder that surely came from Maelwys' house. Before the altar lay a thick woollen pad on which Dafyd knelt for his prayers. Light entered the room from narrow windows along the side walls, now covered with oiled skins for winter. It was similar to the shrine at Ynys Avallach, but larger, for Dafyd fully expected his small flock to increase, and had built to accommodate them.

'It is a good place, Dafyd,' I told him.

There are far grander chapels in the East,' he said. 'Some with pillars of ivory and roofs of gold, I hear.'

'Perhaps,' I allowed. 'But do they also have priests who can fill a king's hall with words of peace and joy that win men's hearts?'

He beamed happily. 'I do not envy the gold, Myrddin, never fear.' Spreading his arms and turning slowly about the room, he said, 'This is where we begin and it is a good beginning. I see a time when there is a chapel on every hill and a church in every town and city in'this land.'

'Maelwys tells me you are building a monastery as well.'

'Yes, a little distance from here – close enough to be a presence, but far enough away to be set apart. We will begin with six brothers; they are coming from Gaul in the spring. More hands will make the work lighter, true enough, but what is most important is the school. If we are to establish the Truth in this land, there must be a place of learning. There must be books and there must be teachers.'

'A glorious dream, Dafyd,' I told him.

'Not a dream, a vision. I can see it, Myrddin. It will be.'

We talked a while longer and then he led me out to walk through the unbroken snow to the pool behind the chapel. I had some presentiment of what was about to happen, for I suddenly had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach and a lightness in my head. I followed the priest to a little bower beside the pool with its thin skin of ice which the deer had broken to get at the water.

In the bower, formed by three small hazel trees, stood an oaken stake with a cross-piece lashed into place with rawhide. I stood for a long moment looking down at the hump of earth beneath the snow. Finally, I found my voice. 'Hafgan?'

Dafyd nodded. 'He died last winter. The foundation here had just been laid. He chose this spot himself.'

I sank to my knees in the snow and stretched myself full-length upon the grave mound. The earth was cold, cold and hard; Hafgan's body lay deep in the frozen ground. Not for him entombment in cromlech and barrow, his bones would rest in ground sacred to a different God.

The snow melted where my tears fell.

Farewell, Hafgan, my friend, may it go well with you on your journey. Great Light, shower mercy upon this noble soul and robe him in your loving kindness. He served you well with what light he had.

I got to my feet and brushed snow from my clothes. 'He never told me,' Dafyd remarked, 'but I gather something happened on your journey to Gwynedd, something unpleasant or distressing to him.'

Yes, it would have distressed him. 'He had hoped to bring the Learned Brotherhood into the Truth, but they refused. As Archdruid, I suppose he saw their refusal as a defiance of his authority, as rebellion. There was a confrontation and he disbanded the Brotherhood.'

'I thought it must have been something like that. When he returned, we had many long talks about -' Dafyd chuckled gently, ' – about the most obscure.points of theology. He wanted to know all about Divine Grace.'

'Seeing that he is buried on holy ground, it would appear he found his answer.'

'He said he wanted his burial here not because he thought his bones might rest better in hallowed earth, but that he wanted it to be a sign, an expression of his allegiance to Lord Jesu. I had thought he should be buried at Caer Cam with his people, but he was adamant. "Look you, brother priest," he said, "it is not the ground, not the soil – earth is earth and rock is rock. But if anyone comes looking for me, I want them to find me here." So, here he is.'

It was very like Hafgan; I could hear him saying that. So, he had not died in Gwynedd as he had planned. Perhaps, after the confrontation with the druids, he had simply changed his mind. That would be like him as well. 'How did he die?'

Dafyd spread his hands in a gesture of bewilderment. 'His death is a mystery to me – as to anyone else. He was hale and well one day – I saw him at Maelwys' house; we talked and drank together. The next day but one he was dead: in his sleep, they said. He sang for Maelwys after supper, and then remarked that he was very tired and went to his room. They found him cold in his bed the next morning.'

'He went out with a song,' I murmured.

'Which reminds me!' replied Dafyd suddenly. 'He left something for you. In my joy at seeing you, I had nearly forgotten all about it. Come with me.'

We returned to the rear of the chapel where Dafyd had a little room for when he stayed there. A rush pallet piled with fleeces and skins, a small table and simple stool beside a fireplace, and utensils for eating and cooking, were all Dafyd's possessions. In the corner beside the pallet stood an object wrapped in a cloth cover. I knew what it was.

'Hafgan's harp,' Dafyd said, retrieving it and holding it out to me. 'He asked me to save it for your return.'

I took the beloved instrument and reverently uncovered it. The wood gleamed in the dim light and the strings hummed faintly. Hafgan's harp… a treasure. How many times had I seen him play it? How many times had I played it myself in learning? It was almost the first thing I remember about him – the long, robed frame sitting beside the fire, hunched over the harp, spinning music into a night suddenly alive with magic. Or, I see him standing upright in a king's hall, strumming boldly as he sings of the deeds and desires, faults and fame, hopes and harrowings of the heroes of our people.

'He knew I would come back?'

'Oh, he never doubted it. "Give this to Myrddin when he returns," he told me. "He will need a harp, and I always meant him to have this one."'

Thank you, Hafgan. If you could see where and when your harp has been used, you would be astonished.

We rode back to the villa then, arriving in time to eat our midday meal. My mother and Gwendolau were deep in conversation, oblivious to the activity around them. Dafyd and I ate with Maelwys and Baram, who were sitting with two of Maelwys' chiefs from the northern part of his lands. 'Sit down with us,' Maelwys invited. 'There is news from Gwynedd.'

One of the chieftains, a swarthy dark man named Tegwr, with short black hair and a heavy bronze tore around his neck, spoke up. 'I have kinsmen in the north who sent word that a king called Cunedda has been established in Diganhwy.'

Baram leaned closer, but said nothing.

'Has been established?' I asked. 'What does that mean?'

The Emperor Maximus has put him there,' Tegwr answered bluntly. 'To hold the land, they say. Gave it to him outright› him and his tribe, if they would live there and hold the land.'

'Very generous of our emperor,' replied Maelwys.

'Generous, aye, and crack-brained.' Tegwr shook his head violently, showing what he thought of the idea.

'The land is empty and that is not good. Someone has to hold it – to keep the Irish out, if for no other reason," I pointed out.

'Cunedda is Irish!' Tegwr exploded. The other chief spat and cursed under his breath. 'And he is there!'

'That cannot be,' said Baram. 'If it is, it cannot be good.'

There was something of familiarity in Baram's spare tone. 'You know him?' asked Maelwys.

'We know of him.'

'And what you know is not good?'

Baram nodded darkly, but said nothing.

'Speak man,' said Tegwr, 'this is no time to clamp jaws and bite tongue.'

'We hear he has three wives and a brood of sons.'

'Brood is right!' laughed Baram mirthlessly. 'Viper's brood, more like. Cunedda came to the north many years ago and seized land there. Since then there has been nothing but trouble. Yes, we know him and have no love for him, or his grasping sons.'

'Why would Maximus wish to establish him among us? Why not one of our own?' wondered Maelwys. 'Elphin ap Gwyddno, perhaps.' He gestured towards me. 'It was their land first.'

'My grandfather would thank you for the thought,' I replied, 'but he would not go back. There is too much pain in the place for my people; they would never be happy there again. Once, when I was quite small, Maximus asked Elphin to go back and received his answer then.'

'That is no reason to bring in a hound like Cunedda,' sneered Tegwr.

Take the Irish to keep the other Irish out,' mused Maelwys.

'You will have to watch him,' warned Baram. 'He is an old man now – some of his sons have sons. But he is cunning as an old boar, and as mean. His sons are little better; there are eight of them, and tight-fisted to a man, whether with sword or purse. But I will say this, they look out for their own. If holding the land is what they are to do, hold it they will.'

'Small comfort that is,' muttered Tegwr.

Baram shrugged. He had, after his fashion, spoken a whole month's worth and would say no more.

In my own estimation, no matter what Tegwr and those like him might think, Cunedda's coming was no bad thing in itself. The land had to be held and worked and protected. In the time since Elphin had been driven out, no one else had claimed Gwynedd – even those who had overrun it had no lasting interest in it; they cared only for the wealth it promised.

There could be, as Elphin realized, no return to the past. Better to have a known rascal like Cunedda – who could be relied upon to look out for his own interests, if nothing else – than an unknown rascal. Granting land to Cunedda could be a masterstroke of diplomacy and defence. Maximus might then more easily gut the garrison for his move to Gaul, having done what he could for the region by bringing in a strong clan to protect it. For his part, the old boar would be flattered and gratified to be so recognized by the Emperor; he might even mend his ruthless ways in an effort to win the respect of his neighbours.

Time would tell.

The others drifted into talk of other concerns, so I excused myself and took the harp to my room where I set about tuning it and trying my hand. So long had it been since I had last held a harp – in fact, the last time had been on the night I sang in Maelwys' hall.

A beautiful instrument, the harp is crafted by bardic artisans using tools and skills guarded, honed, and improved over a thousand years. The finest wood: heart of oak or walnut, carefully, gracefully cut, shaped, and smoothed by hand. Polished with a preserving lacquer and strung with brass or gut, a well-made harp sings of itself; in the wandering wind it hums. But let the hand of a bard touch those bright strings and it leaps into song.

There is a saying among bards that all songs ever to be made lie sleeping in the heart of the harp and only await the harper's touch to awaken them. I have felt this to be true, for often the songs themselves seem to teach the fingers to play.

After a time, the feel of my fingers on the strings began to come back to me. I tried playing one of the songs I liked best and managed to get through it with only a few hesitations.

For some reason, cradling the harp, Ganieda came to my mind. I had thought about her often since leaving Custennin's forest stronghold. Even though it had been in her father's mind to send Gwendolau with me, that did not lessen her concern for me. Did she, like her father, also guess I shared ancestry with the Fair Folk? Was that what attracted her to me, and I to her?

Oh, yes, I was attracted to her: smitten with that dark beauty, some might say, from the moment I saw her plunging recklessly through the wood in pursuit of that monstrous boar. First the sound of their chase and the sight of the beast thrashing through the stream, and then… Ganieda, suddenly appearing in the light, spear in hand, eyes bright, intense, fevered determination shaping her lovely features.

Ganieda of the Fair Folk – was it coincidence? Had chance alone brought us together? Or something beyond chance?

However it was, our lives could not go on as before. Soon or late, there would be a decision. In my heart of hearts I knew the answer already, and hoped I knew it aright.

The harp brought these things to my mind. Music, I suppose, was part of the beauty I associated, even then, with Ganieda. Already, though we scarcely knew each other, she was part of me and had a place in my thoughts and in my heart.

Did you know that, Ganieda? Did you feel it, too?