“This ruin whose walls enfold us was once, we are told, a place of worship sacred to the Almighty. We have come to find and if possible restore this chapel in order that the truth of our God might be proclaimed once more hereabouts.”
“You speak often of truth,” remarked Charis. “Is this god of yours so interested in truth?”
“In truth, yes; but in love as well.”
“Love?”
“Oh, yes. In love most of all.”
“A strange god then. And often disappointed, I should think.”
“I do not wonder that it seems strange to you. For so it seemed to me when I first heard it. But I have studied long on it and have in time come to be convinced of it. More, I have learned the truth of it for myself and now cannot be persuaded otherwise-no matter what may befall me.” He looked at Charis frankly and said, “What god do you worship or sacrifice to?”
“None whatsoever,” snapped Charis with sudden vehemence. She recoiled from the sound of her own voice and said more softly, “Once I Believed in Bel, the supreme god of our people. But he proved himself a false and unworthy god, allowing destruction to come upon his race; so now I neither serve nor worship any god at all.”
“Well said! I was myself like that once-until Jesu found me.” Charis could almost feel the eagerness and enthusiasm bubbling inside this strange priest-so unlike the jaded priests of Bel. “That is how he is! He reaches out; he draws men to him. He is the Good Shepherd who searches in the wilderness for his lost sheep, never resting until he gathers them to his fold.”
They talked a little longer and then Charis rose and said, “I must go now. If you intend staying in this place, you must ask my father’s permission.”
“We will do whatever is required,” answered Dafyd.
Charis moved to the doorway, then hesitated, thinking that perhaps she had dismissed the priest too abruptly. “Dine with us tonight; you can ask him then.”
Dafyd held up his hands in protest. “Please, we do not seek to exalt ourselves. Rather, allow us to remain here and eat the provisions we have brought with us.”
“You may not remain here until you have the king’s permission to do so, and my father will be most overwrought to learn that I have not extended the generosity of his house to you. If you refuse me, he may even come here himself to fetch you.”
At this, the holy man relented. “That would never do! We are servants of all men, kings and beggars alike. It shall be as you say.”
“Then follow me,” said Charis, “I will take you there at once.”
The place of Avallach was like nothing either of the holy men had ever seen: outside it was built on an imposing scale, while inside it was all smooth, polished stone-slender columns supporting delicate arches and high vaulted ceilings; intricate tOe floors and inlaid with mosaics and richly painted walls, detailing fabulous scenes of an otherworldly water paradise. And everywhere they looked there were tall graceful beings, men and women of beauty unrivaled.
Collen took one look at the stablehands who led their horses away and whispered to Dafyd, “Truly these are the Faery! There can be no doubt.”
“Nay, brother, they are mortals like as we.”
Collen rolled his eyes. “Mortals they may be but never like us.” He inclined his head toward the youth leading their horses away. “Why, look-the lowest stablehand is arrayed more richly than any Gaulish king!”
Charis had led them inside where, despite their best efforts, they stared unashamedly at all they saw and could not keep themselves from remarking at each new thing. She brought them into the great hall with its canopied litter of scarlet samite on which Avallach rested.
“Father,” said Charis drawing near, “I have brought visitors.”
The king raised himself on an elbow and looked with interest at his two guests. They saw a handsome man who despite the deathly pallor of his skin appeared in full possession of his faculties. A rich black mane of hair curled to his shoulders, his beard spread over his chest in perfumed coils. He was dressed in a spotless white tunic over white trousers, with a wide leather Belt of silver scales, each the size of a plate and inlaid with costly lapis lazuli. His vest was emerald green, embroidered with gold thread in the most amazing designs.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and full, like the voice of a god from the sea. “Welcome, friends, whoever you may be.”
Both men bowed humbly. Collen’s mouth hung slightly open.
Dafyd gathered his wits and replied, “Greetings to you in the name of our Lord and Master.”
“Who might your master be?” asked Avallach.
“He is Jesu, called the Christ.”
“Remember me to your Christ when you come again into his realm.”
“His realm is large, lord,” replied Dafyd. “Those who know him call him King of kings.”
Avallach nodded, his brow lowering in a frown. Charis spoke up. “This Jesu is a god, Father. And these men are his priests.”
“Priests!” Avallach laughed. “Welcome, priests. I trust your god does not begrudge you meat and drink?”
“No, lord,” replied Dafyd. “He does not.”
“Then allow my seneschal to find chambers for you where you may wash and renew yourselves. Join rne at my table when you are refreshed.” He raised a hand and a servant appeared. The two men bowed and fell into step behind their guide and were ushered from the room.
“Where did you find them?” Avallach asked as the doors closed on the hall once more.
“They found me, Father,” replied Charis, “at the ruin I sometimes visit. These men came looking for it, saying it is a shrine to their god. They thought me a goddess.” She laughed.
“Ah, that is very good.” Avallach lifted his dark eyebrows. “I am in need of cheering.”
“Are you in pain?” Charis bent near, placing her hand to his side.
He patted her hand. “It is not beyond bearing,” he said. “No, I am feeling better. I will be back on my feet again in a day or two. Now send word to the kitchen that we have guests. It would not do to slight two such important emissaries.”
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.”