The Castle of Llyr

Chapter 2 Dinas Rhydnant

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED put Taran in better spirits. The companions grew used to the motion of the ship; the air was clear, sharp, and salt-laden, and Taran could taste the briny spray on his lips. While Prince Rhun, from atop his platform, shouted commands which the crew, as usual, did not heed, the companions were glad to pass the time by lending a hand at the tasks aboard. The work, as Coll had foretold, eased Taran's heart. Yet there came moments when he suddenly recalled the purpose of the voyage and wished it would never end.

He had just finished coiling a length of rope when Kaw swooped down from the mast and circled around him, croaking wildly. An instant later the lookout cried they had sighted land. At Prince Rhun's urging, the companions hastened to climb to the platform. In the bright morning Taran saw the hills of Mona spring from the horizon. The vessel sped closer to the crescent-shaped harbor of Dinas Rhydnant, with its piers and jetties, its stone sea wall and clusters of ships. Steep cliffs rose almost from the water's edge and on the highest of them stood a tall castle. From it, the banners of the House of Rhuddlum snapped in the breeze.

The vessel glided to the pier; the sailors cast the mooring lines and leaped ashore. The companions, with Prince Rhun marching in the lead, were escorted to the castle by ranks of warriors who made a hedge of honor with their spears.

Yet even this short journey did not end without mishap. The Prince of Mona, drawing his sword to return the salute of the Captain of Guards, did so with such a sweeping gesture that the point snagged in Taran's cloak.

"I say, I'm sorry about that," cried Rhun, curiously examining the long, gaping slash his blade had caused.

"And I, too, Prince of Mona," Taran muttered, vexed at Rhun and embarrassed at the impression his torn garment would make on the King and Queen. He said no more, but shut his lips and desperately hoped the damage would go unnoticed.

The procession passed through the castle gates and into a wide courtyard. Shouting a glad "Hullo, hullo!" Prince Rhun hurried to his waiting parents. King Rhuddlum had the same round and cheerful face as Prince Rhun. He greeted the companions cordially, repeating himself a number of times. If he was aware of Taran's torn cloak, he showed no sign, which only added to Taran's distress. When King Rhuddlum at last finished talking, Queen Teleria stepped forward.

The Queen was a stout, pleasant-looking woman dressed in fluttering white garments; a golden circlet crowned her braided hair, which was the same straw color as Prince Rhun's. She showered Eilonwy with kisses, embraced the still embarrassed Taran, halted in amazement when she came to Gurgi, but embraced him nevertheless.

"Welcome, Daughter of Angharad," Queen Teleria began, returning to Eilonwy. "Your presence honors― don't fidget, child, and stand straight― our Royal House." The Queen stopped suddenly and took Eilonwy by the shoulders. "Good Llyr!" she cried. "Where did you get those frightful clothes? Yes, I can see it's high time Dallben let you out of that hole-and-corner in the middle of the woods."

"Hole-and-corner indeed!" Eilorlwy cried. "I love Caer Dallben. And Dallben is a great enchanter."

"Exactly," said Queen Teleria. "He's so busy casting spells and all such that he's let you grow like a weed!" She turned to King Rhuddlum. "Wouldn't you say so, my dear?"

"Very much like a weed," agreed the King, eying Kaw with interest.

The crow hunched up his wings, opened his beak and loudly croaked "Rhuddlum!" to the King's immense delight.

Queen Teleria, meanwhile, had been examining Taran and Gurgi by turns. "Look at that disgrace­fully torn cloak! You must both have new raiment," she declared. "New jackets, new sandals, everything. Luckily we have a perfectly wonderful shoemaker at the castle now. He was just― don't pout that way, my child, you'll give yourself a blister― passing through. But we've kept him busy and he's still cobbling away. Our Chief Steward shall see to it. Magg?" she called. "Magg? Where is he?"

"At your command," answered the Chief Steward, who had been standing all the while by Queen Teleria's elbow. He wore one of the finest cloaks Taran had ever seen, its rich embroidery almost surpassing King Rhuddlum's garment. Magg carried a long staff of polished wood taller than himself, from his neck hung a chain of heavy silver links, and at his belt was a huge iron ring from which jingled keys of all sizes.

"All has been ordered," said Magg, bowing deeply. "Your decision has been foreseen. The shoemaker, the tailors and weavers stand ready."

"Excellent!" Queen Teleria cried. "Now, the Princess and I shall go first to the weaving rooms. And Magg shall show the rest of you to your chambers."

Magg bowed again, even more deeply, and beckoned with his staff. With Gurgi at his heels, Taran followed the Chief Steward through the courtyard, into a high stone building and down a vaulted corridor. At the end of it, Magg gestured toward an open portal and silently withdrew.

Taran stepped inside. The chamber was small, but neat and airy, bright with sunlight from a narrow casement. Fragrant rushes covered the floor and in one corner stood a low couch and pallet of straw. Taran had no sooner taken off his cloak when the portal suddenly burst open and a spiky, yellow head thrust in.

"Fflewddur Fflam!" Taran shouted with joyful surprise at the sight of this long-absent companion "Well met!"

The bard seized Taran by the hand and began pumping it with all his might, at the same time clapping him resoundingly on the shoulder. Kaw flapped his wings while Gurgi leaped into the air, yelped at the top of his voice, and embraced Fflewddur in a shower of twigs, leaves, and shedding hair.

"Well, well, well!" said the bard. "And high time it is! I've been waiting for you. I thought you'd never get here."

"How did you come?" cried Taran, who had just begun to catch his breath. "How did you know we were to be at Dinas Rhydnant?"

"Why, I couldn't help knowing," the bard replied, beaming with delight. "There's been talk of nothing but the Princess Eilonwy. Where is she, by the way? I must find her and pay my respects at once. I was hoping Dallben would send you along with her. How is he? How is Coll? I see you've brought Kaw. Great Belin, I've seen none of you for so long I've lost track!"

"But Fflewddur," Taran interrupted, "what brings you to Mona, of all places?"

"Well, it's a short tale," said the bard. "I had decided, this time, really to make a go of being a king. And so I did, for the best part of a year. Then along came spring and the barding and wandering season, and everything indoors began looking unspeakably dreary, and everything outdoors began somehow pull­ing at me, and next thing I knew I was on my way. I'd never been to Mona, so that was the best reason in the world for going. I reached Dinas Rhydnant a week ago. The vessel had already left to meet you or you can be sure I'd have been on it."

"And you can be sure you'd have borne us better company than the Princeling of Mona," Taran said. "We were lucky that noble fool didn't somehow manage to blunder onto a reef and sink us in the tide. But what of Doli?" he went on. "I have longed to see him as much as I have longed to see you."

"Good old Doli." The bard chuckled, shaking his yellow head. "I tried to rouse him when I first set out. But he's hidden himself away with his kinsmen in the realm of the Fair Folk." Fflewddur sighed. "I fear our good dwarf has lost his taste for adventure. I managed to get word to him, thinking he might come along with me for the sport of it. He sent back a message. All it said was 'Humph!' "

"You should have come to meet us at the harbor," Taran said. "It would have cheered me to know you were here."

"Ah― yes, I was going to," replied Fflewddur, with some hesitation, "but I thought I'd wait and surprise you. I was busy, too, getting ready a song about the arrival of the Princess. Quite an impressive chant, if I do say so myself. We're all mentioned in it, with plenty of heroic deeds."

"And Gurgi, too?" cried Gurgi.

"Of course," said the bard. "I shall sing it for all of you this evening."

Gurgi shouted and clapped his hands. "Gurgi cannot wait to hear hummings and strummings!"

"You shall hear them, old friend," the bard assured him, "all in due course. But you can imagine I could hardly spare the time to join the welcoming procession…"

At this a harp string broke suddenly.

Fflewddur unslung his beloved instrument and looked at it ruefully. "There it goes again," he sighed. "These beastly strings will never leave off snapping whenever I― ah― add a little to the truth. And in this case, the truth of the matter is I wasn't invited."

"But a bard of the harp is honored at every court in Prydain," Taran said. "How could they overlook―"

Fflewddur raised a hand. "True, true," he said. "I was certainly honored here, and handsomely, too. That was before they learned I wasn't a real bard. Afterward," he admitted, "I was moved into the stables."

"You should have told them you are a king," said Taran.

"No, no," said Fflewddur, shaking his head. "When I'm a bard, I'm a bard; and when I'm a king, that's something else again. I never mix the two.

"King Rhuddlum and Queen Teleria are decent sorts," Fflewddur continued. "The Chief Steward was the one who had me turned out."

"Are you sure there wasn't some mistake?" Taran asked. "From what I've seen of him, he seems to do his duties perfectly."

"All too well, if you ask me," said Fflewddur. "Somehow he found out about my qualifications, and next thing I knew― into the stables! The truth of it is I think he hates music. Surprising how many people I've run into who for some reason or other simply can't abide harp-playing."

Taran heard a loud rapping at the portal. It was Magg himself, come with the shoemaker, who stood humbly behind him.

"Not that he troubles me," Fflewddur whispered. "That is," he added, looking at the harp, "not beyond what I can honorably bear." He slung the instrument over his shoulder. "Yes, well, as I was saying, I must go and find Princess Eilonwy. We shall meet later. In the stables, if you don't mind. And I shall play my new song." Glaring at Magg, Fflewddur, strode from the chamber.

The Chief Steward, taking no notice of the bard's angry glance, bowed to Taran. "As Queen Teleria commanded, you and your companion are to be given new apparel. The shoemaker will serve you as you wish."

Taran sat down on a wooden stool and, as Magg departed from the chamber, the shoemaker drew near. The man was bent with age and garbed most shabbily. A grimy cloth was wrapped around his head and a fringe of gray hair fell almost to his shoulders. At his broad belt hung curiously shaped knives, awls, and hanks of thongs. Kneeling before Taran, he opened a great sack and thrust in his hand to pull out strips of leather, which he placed about him on the floor. He squinted at his findings, holding up one after the other, then casting it aside.

"We must use the best, the best," he croaked, in a voice much like Kaw's. "Only that will do. To go well-shod is half the journey." He chuckled. "Is that not so, eh? Is that not so, Taran of Caer Dallben?"

Taran drew back with a start. The shoemaker's tone had suddenly rung differently. He stared down at the aged man who had picked up a piece of leather and was now shaping it deftly with a crooked little knife. The shoemaker, his face as tanned as his own materials, was watching him steadily.

Gurgi looked ready to yelp loudly. The man raised a finger to his lips.

Taran, in confusion, hurriedly knelt before the shoemaker. "Lord Gwydion…"

Gwydion's eyes flashed with pleasure, but his smile was grim. "Hear me well," he said quickly, in a hushed voice. "Should we be interrupted, I shall find a way to speak with you later. Tell no one who I am. What you must know, above all, is this: the life of the Princess Eilonwy is in danger. And so," he added, "is your own."