Taliesin

CHAPTER TWO

Winter had been hard, the spring cold and rainy. Summer saw little improvement; crops did poorly, although the grazing was good and the cattle grew sleek and fat. As autumn drew near the winds grew bitter, heralding another bad winter hard on the heels of the last, for in the bleak north a storm was gathering which few in the southlands foresaw.

Elphin returned early from riding the Wall, anxious and ill-at-ease. Taliesin had not ridden with him this year. Instead, he had spent the summer with Blaise, helping Hafgan instruct a small but lively crowd of noblemen’s sons from around the region. When the warband, now grown to nearly three hundred of the best fighting men in all Gwynedd, came clattering into Caer Dyvi, Taliesin and his charges stood out on the road before the gates with the rest of the village to greet them.

He took one look at his father’s tight smile and the way he sat tense in the saddle and knew that something was wrong- although with the usual celebration of the warriors’ return, it was some time before Taliesin could discover what bothered the king.

“What is it?” he asked when he finally got Elphin aside for a private word. He lifted the jar and poured two drinking horns full with sweet mead and handed one to his father.

Elphin smiled thinly. “Am I as glass to one and all, then?”

“Not to one and all perhaps, but certainly to me.” Taliesin raised his cup. “Health to you, Father.” They drank deeply and wiped their mustaches with the back of their hands. “What happened up there this summer?” Taliesin asked.

“Little enough. We saw only three wandering bands all summer.” The king shrugged and peered into his drink again.

“And yet?”

Laughter pattered through the open doorway of the hall across the way where the feast was just beginning. “And yet there is a heaviness of heart that the wise counsel of my advisors can neither reason away nor lighten.”

“What troubles you?”

The king raised a hand and pressed the palm over his heart. “My own wise counselor tells me that there is dire wickedness afoot. Oh, it is quiet north of the Wall; there was no trouble. But I think it is because they are waiting, and avoiding us while they wait.”

“Have you spoken to Maximus about it?”

“I tried. We passed by Caer Seiont on our return, but he had gone oflf to Londinium again. Romans! If only they would fight the Picti and Attacotti as eagerly as they kill each other.” Elphin sighed. “Not that it matters. There are few enough legionaries left-five hundred at Luguvallium, not many more at Eboracum and Deva. Fullofaudes commands the Wall now, and he is vigilant, I give him that. But he trusts his scouts too much. Scouts, did I say? The cutthroats are little better than the vermin they are hired out to keep an eye on.”

“You could go to Londinium,” suggested Taliesin. “I would go with you, and some of your chiefs. We could speak to the legate.”

“I would climb back in that accursed saddle at once if I thought it would do any good. The legate believes that the southeast is more vulnerable. What men he has are put to work building forts along the southern coast, all to defend against a few fishing boats full of Saecsens-and this after the massacre in the north.”

“That was seven years ago, Father,” offered Taliesin gently.

Elphin considered this. He smiled slowly and shook his head. “So it was. But the same’ will happen again, maybe worse. It is beginning, Taliesin-the Dark Time. It seems I have been waiting half my life, but I swear I have never seen a darker time than this. I think Maximus realizes it as well and that is why he has gone to Londinium-to try to make them listen. They cannot bleed us dry up here and expect protection in the south.”

“What will you do?”

“What is there to do but look to our own defense?”

Taliesin remained silent. He had rarely seen his father so profoundly disturbed-angry yes, foaming with rage at the shortsighted stupidity of the emperor and governors and legion commanders, especially following the dreadful massacre of seven summers ago. But now Elphin, staunchest and most loyal of subjects, had all but abandoned the Roman leaders; this was new, and this concerned Taliesin.

Bit by bit he had seen it coming as each passing year increased the distance between the Cymry and their Roman protectors. The people were gradually returning to the old ways, the ways of their Briton ancestors.

“The Celt will live again,” said Taliesin.

“Eh?”

“It is just something Hafgan said. A prophecy which I fear is coming true.”

“Aye, too true. I wish Gwyddno were here,” said Elphin gloomily. “I miss him.” He raised his horn. “To strong arms, sharp iron, and fleet horses!” He downed the mead in a gulp. “Now let us join the merrymaking. We both know this could well be the last we see for a long, long time. And bring your harp, son. I have missed your singing these last months.”

Rhonwyn entered the house then and met them as they rose from the board. “Your people are asking for you, husband.”

“Let them go on asking,” Elphin said, wrapping his wife in a fierce bear hug. “I mean to have you first.”

“Go on with you, man!” exclaimed Rhonwyn, struggling in his embrace. But not, Taliesin noticed, struggling enough to free herself. “There will be time enough for making love.”

Elphin grinned. “That is where you are wrong, woman. There is never enough time for lovemaking. We must take it when we can.” He planted a great kiss on her lips, which she returned with passion.

“Ah, Taliesin lad, find yourself a lusty wife and you will be happy all your life.”

“Words to live by, Father,” laughed Taliesin.

“Just love her as much as you can,” said Rhonwyn, pulling Elphin toward the door, his arm still around her waist, “and you will never want for a happy home.”

They joined the celebration, which lasted two days. In this Elphin proved himself something of a prophet, for it was the last feast that year and for several years to corne. And for far too many, the last they were ever to see.

The golden days of autumn fell away one by one and the land prepared for its winter rest. Hafgan, upright and erect as ever, gray eyes still sharp as a hawk’s-although his long hair now showed more silver than brown-sat before his hut, watching a long, thin wisp of smoke float into a cool azure sky. He studied for a long time as the smoke braided and curled and flattened on the upper wind. At last he gathered his blue robe about him and hurried to Elphin’s hall.

“Fetch your lord,” he told a young warrior lolling before the door.

The young man pulled on his mustache, so Hafgan drew back and gave him a quick kick on the shin. The warrior nearly toppled to the ground. “Be quick with you,” the druid said.

A moment later Elphin was standing before his chief counselor blinking in the light and saying, “A bit early for kicking the hirelings, is it not, Hafgan?”

“Too late, more like.”

“What is it, then? What have you seen?”

“They are coming.”

“Picti?”

“From today we will no longer speak of Irish, Picti or Saecsen but of barbarian.”

“Do you mean to say they are all coming?”

“Why look so surprised? Have you not yourself often spoken of the coming darkness?”

“I had hoped for a few more years,” Elphin confessed.

“One year or another, one season more or less, what difference? Take the day as it comes, Elphin.”

“Do you see victory for us?”

“Better to ask your son. He sees these things much clearer than I.”

“I have not seen Taliesin for three days! Where is he when we need him?”

“He will be where he is needed most.”

A little while later, as the warband prepared to ride out again, they heard the iron ring out from the council oak.

Elphin and his closest advisors-Cuall, Redynvar, and Her-idd-hurried to the tree, where Taliesin waited, the iron striker in his hand. “I would have come to you, but there is no time to lose,” the young man explained. “Irish ships have been sighted looking for landfall Below M6n. Raiding parties have pushed as far south as Dubr Duiu. Diganhwy is under seige.”

Taliesin half-expected his father to react in the way of Celtic battielords of old-with quick anger and white-hot rage. Instead, the king was cool and decisive. “How many ships?” he asked.

“Thirty at least. Maybe more. Those that have landed were painted the color of the sea-hull, sails, and masts-to better hide among the waves. It was difficult to count them.”

“That is easily a thousand men!” exclaimed Heridd.

Cuall, already buckling on his leather breastplate, observed dryly, “Their thousand to our three hundred-why, they only want two thousand more to make it a fair fight!”

“Do we take them on the shore or let them come to us?” wondered Redynvar.

“If they mean to have this land, let them come and take it from us,” replied Heridd.

“No,” replied Elphin firmly. “That may do for us, but there are many small holdings and settlements that look to us for protection. We will meet them where they come ashore. We ride at once.” He had no need to say more. So well schooled were his men in the ways of war, their commander’s word silenced all discussion.

Hafgan arrived as the commanders dashed away to their various chores. Elphin lingered with the bards. “Do you see victory for us, son?”

Taliesin frowned. “I see much death and pain on both sides. Victory? Father, I tell you the truth, the man is not alive who will see this fight ended, let alone won.”

Elphin tightened his Belt. “Then it is best to begin it rightly and give those who come after an example they will never forget. Will you ride with us?”

“I would ride with you even if you had not asked me,” said Taliesin.

“But I will not,” remarked Hafgan. “I am too old. Let me rather support my lord in imprecations against the enemy.”

“Do that,” said Elphin, flashing a malicious grin. “And let the whole stinking pack save themselves if they can!”

There were hurried farewells throughout the caer and the warband rode out. They galloped north in three columns along the coast searching for ships on the horizon, or already beached. They saw none until late in the afternoon when the sun was already sinking toward twilight. One of Elphin’s scouts returned to the lead column with the news: “Boats, lord, twenty by count. Still far out. They do not appear to be coming in.”

“It is late. No doubt they are waiting to slip in under cover of darkness,” said Cuall.

“Where is the likeliest landing?” asked Elphin.

“A sandy cove lies not two miles north of here. I think they might make for that,” the scout answered.

“I know the place. We wait for them there, then. Take two men with you and ride to Caer Seiont. Tell the tribune we will engage the enemy here and join the legion as soon as possible.”

The scout acknowledged his orders with a Roman salute, and a moment later three men rode off. The three columns moved off to establish themselves in strategic positions around the cove and to wait for nightfall and the landing of the enemy.

The early hours of the night passed uneventfully. Elphin’s warband watched and waited quietly. They ate cold rations and slept in their armor, their weapons at hand. On the sea there was no movement, although the late-rising moon revealed that the raiders were there, sitting off the coast.

“What are they waiting for?” wondered Cuall. He and Elphin were huddled together on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea, well above the beach. It had just passed midnight and still the boats had not moved.

“Look to the northern sky,” said a voice behind them.

“Ah, Taliesin, you join us,” said Cuall. “To the north, you say? What is to the north? I see nothing.”

“That bank of cloud-you can see the lower edge as a thin line in the moonlight. Just there above the water. They are waiting for complete darkness.”

“And they will get it,” snorted Elphin. “By Lieu, they show a canny streak! When did they get so smart?”

“You have taught them, Father. You and the Romans. They know that word of the raid has spread by now and that they will likely be met. So they wait and nurse their strength.”

“Let them do what they can,” humphed Cuall.

“We might as well sleep,” Taliesin suggested. “The clouds are moving slowly; the ships will not come to shore.”

Elphin posted a watch at the outcrop and slept, to be awakened while it was still dark by a harsh whisper in his ear. “A light, Lord Elphin. I think it was a signal. The ships might be moving.”

The king was already on his feet before the message was fully delivered. “Alert the commanders. Tell them to meet me here.”

They met: Cuall, Heridd, Toringad, Redynvar, Nerth, Ma-bon-all of Elphin’s commanders, each with charge of a contingent of fifty men, a system they had adopted from the Romans. “The boats are coming in,” he told them. “It will be difficult to see at first, but let the raiders come ashore and move a little inland. Then burn the boats. There is to be no escape. I will not have them run from this fight only to land somewhere else with the dawn.” He glanced around at his men, each one a battle-seasoned champion, proven many times over. “Lieu make your blade quick and your spear true,” he said.

“Death to our enemies!” they answered and hurried away to gather their companies.

Twelve of the raiding ships landed on the beach; ten others made for the estuary of the Tremadawc River a little further north. “Cuall!” shouted Elphin when he saw what had developed. His second-in-command came running, face set, eyes blazing. “Ten have gone upriver. You, Redynvar, and Heridd go after them.”

Cuall slapped his breastplate with the flat of his hand and whirled away. A moment later a hundred and fifty men rode silently from the dunes above the beach.

Elphin waited until the raiders had dragged their boats well above the tide line and allowed them to penetrate inland a short way. He struck before they could assemble into their main contingents. One moment the dunes were dark, quiet shapes against the night-dark sky; the next they echoed with blood-chilling screams as burning arrows streaked through the darkness. When the invaders dispersed along the beach, invisible horsemen thundered down from either side. And when they fled to their boats, they found the sails burning and the hulls aflame.

It was a short, ugly fight. Elphin dispatched the enemy with cold efficiency and when he was certain all had been accounted for-either wounded or dead-he mounted his troops and rode to the river to help his commanders deal with the rest.

They reached the river as dawn lightened the sky in the east. Smoke drifted in gray snakes through the trees, and they heard urgent shouts and the clash of arms as they plunged through the thick underbrush toward the battle. But by the time they reached the site all was strangely quiet. The weak morning light revealed a neat row of Irish ships burning quietly down to the waterline; bodies of half-naked invaders bobbed silently in the blood-red river. So many, a man might have walked from one bank to the other without wetting his feet. On the shore the dead lay sprawled everywhere, some pierced by arrows, others by spears. Few of the dead wore Cymric battlegear.

“Where have they gone?” wondered Elphin.

“Listen!” hissed Taliesin.

A moment later Elphin heard the sound of men pushing their way toward them through the wood. Elphin gave a quick, silent signal and his troops disappeared. They waited. Suddenly Cuall’s mea appeared, their leader stalking angrily ahead, a black scowl twisting his face.

“What happened?” asked Elphin, stepping out to meet him.

“The dogs got away,” Cuall said, as if the words burned his mouth.

The king tallied the bodies around him. “Not many got away, from the look of it.”

“Oh, indeed! But there were more than we expected. Each boat had fifty at least! We took them as they put to shore.”

Taliesin marveled at the casual ferocity of the warriors. He knew well their skill and courage; he had occasion enough to laud it in song. All the same, it awed him to see it in action: a hundred and fifty against three times their number, and they fretted that some had escaped-never mind that they had been seriously outnumbered from the start.

“We gave chase,” continued Cuall, “but lost them in the woods.”

“Let them go. We ride to Caer Seiont.”

On they rode, approaching the Roman fortress by midday. Elphin sent scouts ahead to view the situation. “I like this not at all,” muttered Cuall as they waited, using the time to eat a few bites of food and water the horses at the ford. The hill on which the fort was built was not far from the river, and they could see the black smoke rising above the trees ahead and hear the frantic sounds of battle sharp in the still autumn air.

“Maximus is in trouble,” replied Elphin. “But it will not help him for us to rush in without a good account of how things stand.”

When the scouts returned, the king called his commanders together and all listened to what the scouts had to report. “The fort is well surrounded, but the main fighting is taking place before the gates, which are afire. There are small fires inside the fort,” said one of the scouts.

“How many of the enemy?” asked Elphin.

“A thousand,” replied the second scout cautiously. “Maybe more. But they are holding none back.”

“A thousand men,” wondered Redynvar. “Where did they come from?”

“That matters but little,” Cuall reminded him. “They are here, and that is the meal that is on our plate!”

“We will take the main force at the gate,” Elphin said. “One column will go in first with support from either side. Heridd and Nerth, stay behind and guard our backs. We may need fresh reserves later.” Battle plans laid, they remounted their men and continued to the fort.

It was as the scouts had said: at least five hundred invaders massed before the main gate, and another five or six hundred deployed around the square’s stone-and-timber walls, busily keeping those inside the fort occupied with the defense of those walls. Stones and arrows flashed through the air, clattering against the long, narrow shields of the raiders.

“Look at them,” muttered Elphin in amazement. He had never seen a Roman fort under attack, Irish Scotti dodged to and fro, loosing their long spears upon those on the ramparts; around them naked Picti and Cruithne, their skins bright blue from the woad, darted and danced, filling the air with their short, sharp arrows; Attacotti, slim dark bodies gleaming in the sunlight, threw themselves at the gates armed only with iron axes.

“Those big ones” Cuall said, pointing to a rear echelon made up of large-limbed, beefy men dressed in skins and leather, their fair hair hanging in long braids.

“Saecsen,” said Taliesin. “They are all here.”

“And will soon wish they were not!” The king turned in his saddle. “Column ready!” he bawled. There was a rustling along the ranks as spears were readied for the charge.

“Speak a victory for us, Taliesin,” said Elphin, gathering his reins.

“I will uphold you,” Taliesin replied.

The column charged up the hill as a straight line, flaring out at the last instant to form a sharp-pointed wedge. They rode straight for the gate where the battle was thickest. Too late the enemy heard the thunder of their horses as death swooped over them. They turned to meet the charge only to be swept backward before it and pinned against the burning gates and wall of the fort they were trying to destroy.

The spears of the Cymry thrust and thrust again, blade-tips running red as they scythed through the melee. Here and there men were hauled from horseback to disappear under a swell of flashing blades and clubs. Those in the forefront of the attack feinted back, moving to the side to allow their comrades who had regrouped to charge into the mass again.

Taliesin, along with Heridd, Nerth, and their squads, watched the fight, and waited for Elphin’s signal. The horses charged and charged again. Spears thrust and hooves flashed and the enemy fell by the score, but for every one that fell, three more took his place. Eventually exhaustion forced Elphin’s company to retreat and let fresh troops take the field.

“Ride in twos!” the king cried as his mount came pounding in. “Keep your horses! Each man protect his neighbor!” Panting and sweating, he motioned the replacements into the fray.

“It is worse than I expected,” Elphin told Taliesin when they had gone, wiping blood and grime from his brow. All around them men gasped from their deadly exertion. The king spoke low so those close by would not overhear. “They mean to die this day, and it fills them with desperate courage. They fight like men gone mad.” He shook his head. “And there are so many of them.”

Without a word Taliesin turned his horse aside and rode through the sheltering trees, back across the stream to the hill opposite the one on which the fortress was built. He rode to the crest of the hill and stopped on the barren height overlooking the scene of battle. He dropped his reins and, slipping from the saddle, drew out his oak staff and his blue robe. He threw the robe over his shoulders, walked a few paces from the horse, and planted the staff firmly in the ground.

Then he set about gathering good-sized stones, which he heaped into a small pile at the place where he had driven in his staff. Taking up more stones, he proceeded to pace off the dimensions of a large circle, placing a stone every third step. Then he plucked his staff from the ground and, raising it, closed his eyes, his lips forming the words of the incantation.

As he stood murmuring, the sun, already dim with smoke, shrank away as the smoke thickened and spread its darkness over the sky. The sound of battle-harsh clash of arms, terrified whinnying of horses, curses and cries of wounded and dying-came to him across the small valley.

Taliesin opened his eyes and saw his father’s warband surrounded by the enemy and halted as they tried to force a way through to the burning gates, Elphin himself at their head, hacking away with his short sword.

Twice more Taliesin repeated the conjure and when he looked again, the foe was pressed tight around Elphin’s forces six deep, and more were streaming around the walls, their angry axes flashing dull red above their horn-helmeted heads.

The barbarians, by diot of superior numbers, had stopped the king’s onslaught and were forcing the warband back. Frustration growing, Taliesin turned and stared wildly around, eyes lighting on his black horse. He ran and grabbed the reins and pulled the horse into the center of the crude stone circle he had constructed. He climbed into the saddle and stood on the horse’s back.

Then, raising the oak staff over his head, he repeated the incantation. This time he felt his awen descend like a radiant cloak; the air around him shimmered. He spoke and felt the power of his words take shape on the wind. They were not mere words anymore-they were the wind and the power behind the wind. Words flew from his lips, snatched from his tongue by the force of their own volition. An icy blast whirled around him in a spiraling vortex that gathered and raced by, flying down the hill. This strange and sudden chill blew across the valley to where the fighting raged most hotly.

King Elphin’s men felt the cold wind sting their faces and looked up. There on the opposite hill they saw the lean, tall figure of a man standing on a black horse, a long staff raised over his head. “Taliesin!” someone cried. “Our druid’s sent a wind to save us!”

The enemy too felt the cold wind and saw the dark sky. They turned wide, astonished eyes upon the mysterious hill-figure and faltered in their attack.

That was all the warband needed. Refreshed by the sight of the long-haired Saecsen and their minions falling back, Elphin’s troops wheeled and charged into the reeling mass. The cold wind howled high above the bloody battleground, and within moments the enemy was fleeing down the slope to the shelter of the woods. A tremendous shout went up from the legionaries on the walls. The gates opened and the soldiers came flooding out to give chase.

Not long after, Elphin stood in the compound facing an exhausted Magnus Maximus, his face smeared with soot and sweat. “I never thought I would see the day when a Roman legion would require the aid of an ala to stave off defeat.” He paused and added, “But, as ever, I am grateful for your help, King Elphin.”

“We sent twenty-odd boatloads to their doom this morning or we might have been here sooner.”

A servant came running with a carafe of wine and a cup for the tribune. Maximus handed the cup to Elphin and poured out the wine, saying, “A bad day all around, and it is far from over yet. Still, you must have the first drink; you have worked the harder.”

Elphin gulped down some of the raw red wine. “Where did they all come from?” he wondered, handing the cup back to Maximus. “I have never seen so many in one place, and never all of them together.”

“Whores’ whelps, the lot of them!” Maximus washed his mouth with wine and spat it on the ground. “Taking on a fort! They must be bewitched!”

They were still talking when a rider appeared on a stumbling horse; the beast was lathered and nearly lame. “What in” began Maximus, who took one look at the device on the horse’s harness and cried, “By Caesar! Luguvallium!”

The exhausted rider pitched forward in the saddle and toppled to the ground, to be caught by two grooms. Maximus and Elphin hurried to the man, and Maximus dashed the rest of the wine into the cup and pressed it to the man’s lips. “ Drink this,” he ordered.

The man drank and coughed, spewing wine over himself. “Tribune,” he wheezed and raised a hand in a slack salute. “I come from… from”

“From Fullofaudes,” said Maximus impatiently. “Yes. Out with it, man.”

“The Wall,” gasped the rider. “The Wall is overrun. Luguvallium has fallen.”

Maximus stood slowly. “Luguvaliium fallen.”

“We will go with you,” said Elphin, rising with him. “With rest and food, we can soon be ready to ride again.”

The tribune looked at Elphin and shook his head. “You have fought two battles already this day.”

“You will need us,” insisted Elphin.

“Your kinsmen will need you more. Go back, friend; defend your own.”

Elphin was about to object once more when Taliesin arrived. He slipped from the saddle and walked toward them, his step light and quick, although he appeared drained. Taking in the collapsed rider and the grave faces of Maxirnus and Elphin in one glance, he said, “Bad news from the north, is it?”

“It is,” replied Elphin. “Luguvallium has fallen and the Wall is overrun.”

“Then we must go back to Caer Dyvi,” Taliesin said simply. “While there is still time.”

“Just what I was saying,” said Maximus.

Taliesin turned and walked back to his horse. Elphin started after him, turned back, offered Maximus a sharp Roman salute and then remounted. With three shrill blasts on his hunting horn, the king gathered his warband at the bottom of the hill. When all had been accounted for and wounds bound, they gathered their dead and headed home.