Taran Wanderer

Chapter 13 The Lost Lamb

UNDER FAIR SKIES and gentle weather, the companions traveled deeper into the Hill Cantrevs. Gurgi had bandaged Taran's wound and the smart of it eased more quickly than the sting of losing his sword. As for the bard, the encounter with Dorath had driven away his concern for the length of his ears; he hardly mentioned the word "rabbit," and had begun to share Taran's belief in a good ending to a hard journey. Gurgi still grumbled bitterly about the ruffians and often turned to shake an angry fist in the air. Fortunately, the companions had seen no more of the band, though Gurgi's furious grimaces might well have been enough to keep any marauders at a safe distance.

"Shameful robbings!" muttered Gurgi. "Oh, kindly master, why did you not sound helpful horn and be spared beatings and cheatings?"

"The blade meant a great deal to me," Taran answered, "but I'll find another that will serve me. As for Eilonwy's horn, once used, its power is gone beyond regaining."

"Oh, true!" Gurgi cried, blinking in amazement, as if such a thought had never entered his shaggy head. "'Oh, wisdom of kindly master! Will humble Gurgi's wits never grow sharper?"

"We've all wits enough to see Taran chose rightly," put in Fflewddur. "In his place I'd have done the same― ah, no, what I meant," he quickly added, glancing at the harp, "I'd have blown that horn till I was blue in the face. Ho, there! Steady, old girl!" he cried as Llyan suddenly plunged ahead. "I say, what are you after now?"

At the same time Taran heard a forlorn bleating coming from a patch of brambles. Llyan was already there, crouching playfully, her tail waving in the air and one of her paws outstretched to tug at the briars.

A white lamb was caught in the thicket and, seeing the enormous cat, bleated all the louder and struggled pitifully. While Fflewddur, strumming his harp, drew Llyan away, Taran quickly dismounted. With Gurgi's help he bent aside the brambles and picked up the terrified animal.

"The poor thing's strayed― from where?" Taran said. "I saw no farm nearby."

"Well, I suppose it knows its home better than we do," answered Fflewddur, while Gurgi eyed the lost animal and delightedly patted the creature's fleecy head. "All we can do is let it go to find its own path."

"The lamb is mine," called a stern voice.

Surprised, Taran turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man making his way with great difficulty down the rocky slope. Gray streaked his hair and beard, scars creased his wide brow, and his dark eyes watched the companions intently as he toiled over the jutting stones. Unarmed save for a long hunting knife in his leather belt, he wore the rude garb of a herdsman; his cloak was rolled and slung over his back; his jacket was tattered at the edges, begrimed and threadbare. What Taran had first taken to be a staff or shepherd's crook he now saw to be a roughly fashioned crutch. The man's right leg was badly lamed.

"The lamb is mine," the herdsman said again.

"Why, then it is yours to claim," Taran answered, handing the animal to him.

The lamb ceased its frightened bleating and nestled comfortably against the shoulder of the herdsman, whose frown of distrust turned to surprise, as if he had fully expected to be obliged to fight for possession of the stray. "My thanks to you," he said after a moment, then added, "I am Craddoc Son of Custennin."

"Well met," Taran said, "and now farewell. Your lamb is safe and we have far to go."

Craddoc, taking a firm grip on his crutch, turned to climb the slope, and had gone but little distance when Taran saw the man stumble and lose his footing. Under his burden Craddoc faltered and dropped to one knee. Taran strode quickly to him and held out his hands.

"If the way to your sheepfold is as stubborn as the ones we've traveled," Taran said, "let us help you on your path."

"No need!" the herdsman gruffly cried. "Do you think me so crippled I must borrow strength from others?" When he saw that Taran still offered his hands, Craddoc's expression softened. "Forgive me," said the herdsman. "You spoke in good heart. It was I who took your words ill. I am unused to company or courtesy in these hills. You've done me one service," he went on, as Taran helped him to his feet. "Now do me another: Share my hospitality." He grinned. "Though it will be small payment for saving my lamb."

As Fflewddur led the mounts and Gurgi happily bore the lamb in his arms, Taran walked close by the herdsman who, after his first reluctance, was willing now to lean on Taran's shoulder as the path steepened and twisted upward before dropping into a deep vale among the hills.

The farmstead Taran saw to be a tumbledown cottage, whose walls of stone, delved from the surrounding fields, had partly fallen away. Half-a-dozen ill-shorn sheep grazed over the sparse pasture. A rusted plow, a broken-handled mattock, and a scant number of other implements lay in an open-fronted shed. In the midst of the high summits, hemmed in closely by thorny brush and scrub, the farm stood lorn and desolate, yet clung doggedly to its patch of bare ground like a surviving warrior flinging his last, lone defiance against a pressing ring of enemies.

Craddoc, with a gesture almost of shyness and embarrassment, beckoned the companions to enter. Within, the cottage showed scarcely more cheer than the harsh land around it. There were signs Craddoc had sought to repair his fireplace and broken hearthstone, to mend his roof and chink up the crannies in the wall, but Taran saw the herdsman's labor had gone unfinished. In a corner a spinning wheel betokened a woman's tasks; but if this were so, her hand had ceased to guide it long since.

"Well, friend herdsman," Fflewddur remarked heartily, seating himself on a wooden bench by a narrow trestle table, "you're a bold man to dwell in these forsaken parts. Snug it is," he quickly added, "very snug but― ah, well― rather out of the way."

"It is mine," Craddoc answered, and his eyes flashed with pride. Fflewddur's words seemed to stir him, and he bent forward, one hand gripping his crutch and the other clenched upon the table. "I have stood against those who would have taken it from me; and if I must, so shall I do again."

"Why, indeed I've no doubt of that," replied Fflewddur. "No offense, friend, but I might say I'm a little surprised anyone would fancy taking it from you in the first place."

Craddoc did not answer for a time. Then he said, "The land was fairer than you see it now. Here we lived among ourselves, untroubled and at peace, until certain lords strove to claim our holdings for themselves. But those of us who prized our freedom banded together against them. Hotly fought was the battle and much was destroyed. Yet we turned them back." Craddoc's face was grim. "At high cost to us. Our dead were many, and my closest friends among them. And I," he glanced at his crutch, "I gained this."

"What of the others?" Taran asked.

"In time, one by one, they quit their homes," Craddoc replied. "The land was no longer worth the keeping or the taking. They made their way to other cantrevs. In despair they took service as warriors or swallowed their pride and hopes and labored for any who would give them bed and board."

"Yet you stayed," Taran said. "In a ruined land? Why so?"

Craddoc lifted his head. "To be free," he answered curtly. "To be my own man. Freedom was what I sought. I had found it here, and I had won it.

"You are luckier than I, friend herdsman," Taran answered. "I have not yet found what I seek."

When Craddoc glanced inquiringly at him, Taran told of his quest. The herdsman listened intently, saying no word. But as Taran spoke, a strange expression came upon Craddoc's face, as though the herdsman strove against disbelief and sought to reach out beyond his own wonder.

When Taran finished, Craddoc seemed about to speak. But he hesitated, then set the crutch under his arm, and rose abruptly, murmuring that he must see to his sheep. As he hobbled out, Gurgi trotted after him to gaze with pleasure at the gentle animals.

The day had grown shadowed. Taran and Fflewddur sat quietly at the table. "I pity the herdsman as much as I admire him," Taran said. "He fought to win one battle only to lose another. His own land is his worst foe now, and little can he do against it."

"I'm afraid you're right," agreed the bard. "If the weeds and brambles press him any closer," he wryly added, "he must soon graze his sheep on the turf of his rooftop."

"I would help him if I could," Taran replied. "Alas, he needs more than I can give."

When the herdsman came back Taran made ready to take his leave. Craddoc, however, urged the companions to stay. Taran hesitated. Though anxious to be gone, he well knew that Fflewddur disliked traveling at night; as for the herdsman, his eyes more than his words bespoke his eagerness, and at last Taran agreed.

Craddoc's provisions being scant, the companions shared out the food from Gurgi's wallet. The herdsman ate silently. When he had done, he cast a few dry, thorny branches on the small fire, watched them flare and crackle, then turned his gaze on Taran.

"A lamb of my flock strayed and was found again," Craddoc said. "But another once was lost and never found." The herdsman spoke slowly and with great effort, as though the words came from his lips at some painful cost. "Long past, when all had left the valley, my wife urged that we, too, should do the same. She was to bear our child; in this place she saw naught but hardship and desolation, and it was for the sake of our unborn that she pleaded."

Craddoc bowed his head. "But this I would not do. As often as she besought me, as often I refused. In time the child was born. Our son. The infant lived; his mother died. My heart broke, for it was as if I myself had slain her.

"Her last wish," Craddoc said, his voice heavy with grief, "was that I take the child from here." His weathered features tightened. "Even that wish I did not heed. No," he added, "to my mind, I had paid in blood, and more than blood, for my freedom. I would not give it up."

The herdsman was silent a while. Then he said, "Alone I sought to raise the child. But it was beyond my skill. A sturdy boy he was, yet in less than a year I saw him sicken. Only then did I understand his mother had spoken wisely, and I, like a proud fool, had not listened. At last I was willing to quit this valley.

"Too late was my choice," Craddoc said. "I knew the babe could not live out the journey. Nor could he live out another winter here. He was the lamb of my heart, already given to death.

"But on a certain day," Craddoc went on, "a wayfarer came by chance to my door. A man of deep knowledge he was and of many secret healing arts. In his hands alone the child could live. This he told me, and I knew he spoke the truth. He pitied the infant and offered to raise him for me. Grateful was I for his kindness as I put the child in his arms.

"He went his way then, and my son with him. No more did I see or hear of either, as the years passed, and often did I fear both had surely perished in the hills. Yet, I still hoped, for the stranger vowed by every oath my son one day would return to me."

The herdsman looked closely at Taran. "The name of the wayfarer was Dallben."

In the fireplace a thorny branch split and crackled. Craddoc said no more, but his eyes never left Taran's face. Fflewddur and Gurgi stared wordlessly. Slowly Taran rose to his feet. He felt himself trembling, for an instant feared his legs would give way under him, and he put a hand to the edge of the trestle table. He could neither think nor speak. He saw only Craddoc silently watching him, and this man he had met as a stranger now seemed a stranger all the more. Taran's lips moved without sound, until at last the words came brokenly and he heard his voice as though it were another's.

"Do you say," Taran whispered, "do you say then, you are father to me?"

"The promise has been kept," Craddoc answered quietly. "My son has come back."