Thoughts of home brought thoughts of her mother, and Charis wished that Briseis would be there to see her child. There was so much she wanted to ask her mother, to share with her, but it could not be. She picked up the sleeping infant and held him close, murmuring softly and thinking about a time long ago when Briseis was still alive and the sun shone fair over lost Atlantis.
Eiddon came to her then and announced that he would go with them. “So you will not lack for company on the way,” he told her, although privately he thought that a second sword and spear would be no bad thing.
By evening they were ready. Charis dined in the hall, sitting next to the king, while Taliesin sang for Pendaran’s household one last time. Early the next morning as they came out into the foreyard to leave they found Eiddon and the youngest of the icing’s sons, Salach, who was leading the packhorse on which had been fixed the hawk’s perch. Three other horses stood ready, and Lord Pendaran was talking to his sons; he turned as Taliesin and Charis, with Merlin wrapped warmly in soft wool and rabbit skins, approached.
“It will be a good day for a journey,” Pendaran said. “You will make a fair distance before nightfall.”
Taliesin saw the empty saddles and said, “We are taking half your stable by the look of it.”
“Nonsense,” said the king. “I would go with you also if I could be spared my duties here. But I send my sons in my stead; and Rhuna has begged the boon of attending her lady and the babe on the journey. I have gladly consented.”
Charis embraced the lord warmly. “Thank you, Lord Pendaran. I would not be my father’s daughter if I did not extend the hospitality of Avallach’s house to you and yours. If ever you come to Ynys Witrin, know that the gates are open to you and a place of honor assured,”
“I have done little enough to warrant it,” Pendaran replied. “But if it means we will see each other again, I accept with gratitude.”
“Farewell, Red Sword,” said Taliesin, gripping Pendaran by the hands. “I will not forget my promise, but I will hold the day of our reunion in my heart.”
The king pulled Taliesin into a rough embrace, pounding him on the back, saying, “Go now, so that day will come all the sooner.”
Henwas and Heilyn appeared with Rhuna and said their good-byes. Rhuna climbed into the saddle, Eiddon called farewell to his father, and they turned the horses and started down the hill toward Maridunum, still dark in the valley beneath a pall of blue-white smoke haze. As they rode through the stone-paved streets people poked their heads out and watched in silence as the riders passed by or murmured knowingly to one another as they stared at the beautiful woman carrying the infant: “The Queen of the Fair Folk! See? And there is the infant king!”
They rode south toward the great Mor Hafren on the Roman road that followed the shoreline to Caer Legionis and Caer Gwent before it turned east to Glevum and the Roman towns of the south all the way to Londiniurn and beyond. Skirting the high heath hills to the north, they passed through the ruins of old Lencarum-once a tight little port town on a sheltered bay, now a gray stone shambles sliding into oblivion-reaching the City of the Legion by sunset of the third day. The tribune there knew Eiddon well and welcomed the travelers to his house which, like many of the officers, he kept in the city outside the walls of the fort.
“There is nothing to worry about,” Tribune Valens told Eiddon confidentially. They were sitting in the small kitchen at a wooden table, a jar of beer between them. “There have been no raiders sighted in the region this spring. And Count Theodosius’ campaign in the north and east has been strikingly successful. Most of the dogs that moved in during the conspiracy have been overrun and sent limping back to their mongrel dens with their tails between their legs.”
Eiddon pulled his chin. “Vigilance could not hurt.”
“I tell you it is like the old days,” insisted Valens. “They are restoring the northern forts, and the southern shore is getting a line of watchtowers so that we cannot be taken by surprise again. The wars in Gaul are going well, and I would not be at all surprised to see troops returning soon. Mark my words, Eiddon Vawr, the legions will be back to full strength in a few years, and I will retire to my farm in the hills and grow fat on my own beef and cheese.”
“May it be as you say,” replied Eiddon, unconvinced.
“But tell me, who are these friends of yours? May Nodens take my eyes if I have ever seen a more beautiful woman.” He leaned forward, grinning. “With her along, I cannot see what you are worried about. Any Saecsen prince worth his salt would pay good gold for a beauty like that, eh?”
Eiddon stiffened.
“You take offense?” asked the tribune innocently.
“Out of friendship, I will not hold that remark against you. If you knew who it was that sheltered under your roof this night, you would never have said such a stupid thing.”
“Enlighten me then, O Soul of Wisdom and Honor. Who sleeps under my roof tonight?”
“Have you never heard of the bard Taliesin?”
“Should I have?”
“He is surely the greatest bard who has ever lived. And Charis is his wife, a princess from Llyonesse, I am told, although she will not speak of it herself. Her father is King Avallach of Ynys Witrin.”
The soldier’s eyes widened. “Indeed! Him I have heard of. How is it that you come to be traveling in such exalted company?”
“They have lived with us at Maridunum this past year and are returning home now.”
“I know nothing of poets and storytellers,” mused Valens, “but if a song and rhyme can capture creatures half so fair as that princess, I will get me a harp and strum it for all I am worth.”
Eiddon laughed. “And drive the cattle from the very hills with your braying!” He shook his head, “I tell you, I have never heard anyone sing as this man sings. With but a word he drove that vile priest from our midst and lifted the curse that had beset my father these many years.”
“How is Red Sword?”
“A changed man. To see him you would not recognize him-and it is Taliesin’s doing.”
“A wonder-worker, is he?”
“I will tell you a wonder,” said Eiddon seriously. “He shamed a hall full of kings to their faces and not one of them lifted a finger against him.”
“I am impressed,” said Valens. “Would he sing for me, do you think?”
“It is late, my friend and we have been traveling all day. I would not care to ask him.”
But even as Eiddon spoke, the first notes from the harp sounded from the next room. They rose and went in quietly to see Taliesin sitting on one side of the fire and Charis opposite him, nursing the baby. Salach, Eiddon’s younger brother, lay wrapped in his cloak at the singer’s feet, and Rhuna sat on the floor beside Charis. Valens’ slave, a young Thracian woman who kept the tribune’s house, was in the corner, her dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. Taliesin glanced at the men as they entered. The two drew up camp chairs of the kind officers used in the field, settling themselves near the hearth to listen.
Taliesin’s voice filled the room with its golden flow, like a rare honeyed nectar from a source rich and deep. In his hands the harp became a magical instrument-the loom of the gods weaving intricate beauty incomprehensible to mortal eyes but singing harmony to the ears. This night he sang about the land of his vision, the realm of peace and light, the Kingdom of Summer. His words called it forth in splendor, and the notes of his song made it live in the minds of his listeners.
Charis had heard him speak of his vision many times before, but now he sang about it and for the first time described the king who would dwell in this most holy realm: a king born to rule not for might or kinship, but for love of justice and the right; a king born to serve truth and honor, to lead his people in humility, and to uphold his land in the name of the Savior God.