CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Charis and Taliesin journeyed along the river to the place where it emptied itself into the great tidal estuary of Mor Hafren. There, at a small fishing settlement on the mud-slick banks, they bartered for passage across the wide channel to Caer Dydd. It was agreed that for an evening of song and story, Taliesin and Charis would be given food and lodging and taken across the inlet the next morning.
Upon reaching Caer Dydd, Taliesin sang again for food and lodging, and so on along the way-sometimes receiving a bit of gold or silver or a handful of coins in addition to meals and a pallet by the fire. By day they made their way west and north, following the Roman road from Isca to Mar-idunum, receiving each night shelter-often the very best- in exchange for that which Taliesin was happy to provide.
In this way they happily traveled through the wild hills and narrow green valleys of Dyfed, reveling in the warmth of the early summer sun and their love for each other. Taliesin sang as they went, walking with his staff beside the horse, making the hills resound with the echo of his voice. He composed hymns to earth and sky and the Creator God who had made him. He taught Charis the words and melodies, and the two sang in harmony under the wide blue canopy of heaven.
At last they came to Maridunum, arriving on a market day, when the stone-paved streets were aflood with crowds: some with livestock-chickens, sheep, cattle, pigs, oxen, and horses, all squealing and squalling and protesting their abuse; others brought grain, wine, leather, cloth, objects of silver, gold, and bronze, or flat iron ingots for working into tools and weapons.
Taliesin and Charis threaded through the noise and stink and made their way to the holding of the lord of Maridunum, who lived in a villa well away from the town on a hill by the River Towy. His estate consisted of a huge porticoed hall surrounded by long wings. On one side the wings enclosed a formal courtyard and on the other a bath, with kitchens, workrooms and sleeping quarters around it.
Atop a mound a short distance behind the villa was a small square temple, little more than a cell surrounded by a verandah. Black smoke issued from the smokehole in the temple dome.
The villa was very old, and it had been several generations since the descendants of its original owner had lived within its square stone walls; but the place was kept in good order. Although many of its red clay roof tiles had been replaced with slate, and one of its long wings lay in a jumble of stone and timber, the yards were swept clean and the long ramp leading to the entrance boasted a new railing.
“Within is a man who loves order,” remarked Taliesin as he stood in the foreyard inspecting the expansive house. He gave Charis a wink and said, “Let us see if he loves song as much.”
“You have only to sing, my love, and gates open to you, silver coins pour from empty purses, and gold falls into your hands like rain. Why ask whether the lord of this place cares for song? None can resist your harp and you know it well.”
Taliesin laughed and tied the horse to a nearby bush. They started toward the entrance ramp, where they were met by a thin-faced man with narrow shoulders and clipped gray hair. He was dressed in the Roman manner with a long, Belted mantle, although around his neck he wore a bronze tore. He stood flat-footed in the center of the ramp and observed the strangers skeptically. “What do you here?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“I am a bard, Taliesin ap Elphin by name. This is my wife, Charis. We have journeyed from our people in the south with greetings to the lord of this place from one of his kinsmen.”
The man’s narrow eyes calculated the veracity of Taliesin’s tale; then he shrugged and said, “You are free to enter and to wait. Our lord is not here now. He is inspecting his fields and will not return until sunset.”
“Then show us to a water trough, friend,” said Taliesin, “where we may water our horse and wash the dust of the road from our skins.”
“There is a trough down there…” He pointed to the river. And then, taking Charis into account, he added, “Also, we have a bath. You may use it.” He turned at once and walked back into the hall.
After watering the horse and removing its saddle, Taliesin and Charis entered the house. They saw no one about but easily found their way to the bath. The air in the rectangular room was warm and moist and the colored tiles wet.
The bath was square with tall columns around its perimeter. On the floor was a large mosaic of red and white tesserae representing the four seasons as vestal virgins, one at each corner of the bath. Taliesin stripped off his clothes at once and stepped into the warm water. “Ahh!” he sighed. “When I am king, the first thing I will have in my palace is a bath.”
“You said that about the bed!” Charis replied. She removed her tunic but retained her shorter undershift, and slipped into the water at the opposite end of the bath from Taliesin, then swam to him. He met her in the center of the heated pool and embraced her; they swam languidly, allowing the warm water to dissolve the weariness of the road, talking quietly, their voices ringing in the vaulted room.
When they finished, they went out into the adjoining courtyard and lay down on the wide stone benches there to doze while the sun dried them. Taliesin awakened to Charis’ touch on his skin. He turned over and gazed up at her.
“My beautiful bard,” she said, stroking his chest with her fingertips. “These last days have been a dream-a dream of such happiness that I fear waking. Never leave me, Taliesin.”
“Lady of the Lake, I never will,” he said, cupping a hand to her face above him. They sat for a long time in the silent courtyard, talking low and laughing quietly.
That evening, at sundown, the lord of Maridunum returned with four of his chiefs. They came into the hall from the stables just as Taliesin and Charis entered from the courtyard, and without any announcement the entire house instantly came alive. People appeared as if conjured in full stride, scurrying from room to room, intent on sudden errands; a fire was lit in the great hearth and horns of wine produced. Girls in long, black braids hurried with basins of water to wash the hands and feet of the king and his chieftains, two of whom were his sons.
In the midst of this bustle the steward who had earlier met Taliesin and Charis appeared, followed by two other servants bearing a huge chair, carven and enameled red. The two placed the chair in the center of the hall, and the lord lowered himself regally into it. Other chairs, of meaner craft, were placed nearby for the others and the girls began their task of foot washing.
A dour man with a Belly like a four sack made his way across the floor, accompanied by a sallow-faced young man with a long iron-tipped rod. He walked with such puffed-up dignity that, save for his greasy brown robe, he might have been mistaken for the lord of the house. “The pagan priest from the temple mound and his catamite,” whispered Talie-sin. Charis noted the frankly disapproving look the priest gave them as he passed.
Then the gray-haired steward approached and, bending low, spoke quickly to the lord, who turned his eyes this way and that until he fixed on the two newcomers. The lord replied to the steward, who then came to where Tahesin and Charis were standing and said, “Lord Pendaran wishes to hear you sing. If he likes what he hears, you may stay. If not, you will go.”
“Fair enough,” replied Taliesin. “May I speak to him now?”
“As you choose.” The steward turned to withdraw.
“If you please, friend,” said Taliesin, reaching out to take hold of his sleeve, “do me the kindness of announcing me to your lord.”
Taking Charis by the arm, Taliesin followed the steward to where the lord sat, his bare feet in the lap of a maid laving water over them. “The bard Taliesin wishes to be announced,” said the steward.