Night Bird's Reign (31 page)

“Why, nothing. We looked at each other for a moment, then I opened the gates, and she rode out.”

“And that was it? Nothing else?”

“She stopped and smiled at me after she rode through. Tears were streaming down her face. But she smiled at me. And she waved good-bye.”

“And so you just let her leave.”

“She was my friend,” Achren said simply. “And it was what she wanted. That was good enough for me.”

Chapter Twelve

Llwynarth, Kingdom of Rheged and Coed Aderyn, Kingdom of Prydyn, Kymru Draenenwen Mis, 494

Alban Haf—late afternoon

T
hirty days later, weary and travel-stained, Gwydion arrived outside the gates of Llwynarth, the capital city of the Kingdom of Rheged.

He had left Arberth soon after his arrival, spending only a few days with Rhoram, withstanding the melting looks directed at him by Rhoram’s daughter and enjoying the spectacle of Achren ur Canhustyr returning muddied, exhausted, but triumphant, with the heads of five wild boars (and a few extra scars).

Despite his growing anxiety that he would never find Rhiannon, his trip across Rheged fed something in him. Rheged was renowned for its honey, its beeswax candles, its superb mead and ale, its golden wheat. The land itself seemed to be made of fire—wheat fields glistening under the hot sun, rich honey glowing with an inner light. Gwydion was the Dreamer and, as such, he owed his primary allegiance to Mabon of the Sun, the Lord of Fire. And Rheged was Mabon’s land.

Yet he did not expect to find any answers here to his most pressing problem—where to find Rhiannon. For here in King Urien’s court there were none who had known her well. Still, this trip throughout Kymru was giving him the chance to reconnect with all the Rulers of this land. Since it had recently become clear that he needed Kymru’s Captains at his side, it was as well that he had already determined to visit each Ruler. He needed the support of all of them both now and in the uncertain future. So he reconciled himself to this long journey, in hopes that it would bear fruit at a later time.

The gates of the Llwynarth were still open for it was only late afternoon and people were still going in and out of the city. Many of the people were from the outlying areas around the city, coming in to celebrate Alban Haf, the festival of Modron, the Great Mother, which would take place later tonight.

Llwynarth was built in the shape of a circle. Four watch-towers stood equidistant from each other around the circular stone walls. The stones had a golden cast to them, causing the walls to glow in the late afternoon sun. As he rode through the southern gate he left the main road, passing Nemed Draenenwen, the sacred grove of hawthorn trees. As it was early summer, the trees were coated with clusters of delicate white flowers.

“You honor us, Dreamer, with your presence.
”

Gwydion recognized the call of Esyllt ur Maelwys, the King’s Bard.
“How kind of you,”
he answered.

“I’ve orders from Anieron to help you in any way I can. Do you need anything?”

“I need to see Urien and Ellirri.
”

“I’ll send Trystan to escort you,”
Esyllt replied.

Of course she would send Trystan. Trystan ap Nap was the Captain of King Urien’s
teulu
—and Esyllt’s lover. Everyone knew that. Everyone except, perhaps, March, Esyllt’s husband.

“Thank you Esyllt,”
Gwydion said.
“Remember me to March, won’t you?”

“Yes,
” she replied shortly, and then the contact was broken. Apparently she and March were still married. He wondered why. In Kymru a couple could be divorced if they declared their marriage over by mutual consent, at any one of the eight festivals. If Esyllt didn’t love her husband, why didn’t she divorce him? And if she did love her husband, why did she keep Trystan as her lover?

He rode by Crug Mawr, the burial place of the Rulers of Rheged. The stones stood dark and silent—an incongruous note on this beautiful summer afternoon.

Gwydion was looking forward to spending some time with King Urien and Queen Ellirri. King Urien was a generous, good-natured, talented warrior, not overly clever or subtle. Subtlety came from his Queen, Ellirri of Gwynedd. She was full sister to Madoc and half sister to Uthyr. Gwydion had known Ellirri since childhood and he remembered her well—and fondly—from his visits to Tegeingl as a boy.

At last he reached the gate of Caer Erias, the King’s fortress. The gate was iron covered with gold leaf. On it was carved a rearing stallion, his mane flying in the wind, outlined in shimmering opals. The horse’s opal eyes glowed as Gwydion rode through the open gate.

There, true to Esyllt’s word, stood Trystan, the Captain of Urien’s warband, the PenDraenenwen of Rheged. Trystan was broad shouldered and muscular, standing just under six feet. He had brown hair and green eyes which shown with intelligence and humor. Trystan smiled and held Elise’s bridal as Gwydion dismounted. “Ho, Gwydion. How long have you been on the road, man?”

“Thirty days,” Gwydion said wearily, as he slid down from the saddle. “Where are Urien and Ellirri?”

“In the ystafell. But you’re not going there yet.”

“I’m not?”

“You,” Trystan said emphatically, “need a bath. And a change of clothing. Come on, it won’t take you long. They will still be there when you’re done.”

Too tired to argue, Gwydion acquiesced and turned back to Elise to unbuckle his saddlebags.

But Trystan had already done so, and given Elise’s reins to a waiting groom. Taking Gwydion’s arm, he led him past the stables and over to the bathhouse. He handed Gwydion his bags, then nodded to the door. “Bathe. Change.”

“Yes, Mam,” Gwydion grinned. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Wash your mouth out with soap while you’re at it,” Trystan said, grinning in his turn.

After his bath, Gwydion changed into more formal clothes, knowing that after the meal they would celebrate the festival. He put on his black robe with red trim and clasped the Dreamer’s Torque of opal and gold around his neck. Instead of tying his black hair back with a leather strip as he usually did, he used a golden ring studded with opals.

He was ready when Trystan reentered the bathhouse. Trystan nodded, “Better. Now you look more like the Dreamer and less like something the cat dragged in.”

“Thanks,” Gwydion said dryly. “Are Urien and Ellirri ready to see me now?”

“Yes. Leave your bags here. I’ll get someone to take them to your room.”

Gwydion followed Trystan out of the bathhouse. The men and women of Urien’s
teulu
had halted their afternoon practice and were making their way back to their quarters under the ceaseless prodding of Teleri ur Brysethach, Trystan’s lieutenant. Teleri was a tiny woman, no more than five feet tall. She had dark brown hair, cut short to frame her face and fine, gray-green eyes. She eyed Gwydion and Trystan as they made their way across the courtyard, but did not speak to them, absorbed in her task.

Gwydion followed Trystan through the door to the ystafell, the Ruler’s private chambers. The ystafell was a large, two-story building, set across the courtyard from the
teulu’s
quarters. The main room on the lower floor of the ystafell was furnished formally, for this was where Urien and Ellirri usually received visitors on state business. Two large, canopied chairs, cushioned in red and white stood in the center of the room. The floor was covered with a cream-colored carpet woven with a dizzying array of red, circular patterns. The right wall was covered with a large tapestry of a rearing stallion, worked in gold and opal.

As they mounted the stairs the sounds of a wrestling match reached Gwydion’s ears. Trystan and Gwydion came to a halt in the first doorway at the top of the stairs. The room was bright and airy with a large hearth and a thick carpet of cream and red. At the moment the carpet appeared to be littered with bodies.

King Urien, his large face flushed with exertion and laughter was lying on his back grappling with his eldest son, Elphin. “No, lad, like this,” Urien instructed and, quite suddenly, Elphin was on his back with Urien looming over him.

King Urien had brown, sun-streaked hair and velvety brown eyes that seemed small in the expanse of his large, good-natured face. He was tall and broad and as strong as an ox. His eldest son, Elphin, would look exactly like him in ten years. Elphin was only nineteen years old now, and his skin was not yet weather-roughened like his father’s. He was muscular, but not yet as broad.

“Owein,” Elphin cried out between bouts of laughter, “Help me!”

At his call Elphin’s younger brother, Owein, a lad of seventeen years, launched himself into the fray, landing on his father’s back and knocking him to one side. Owein had reddish brown hair and his mother’s deep blue eyes. His leap was accomplished in swift, competent silence, the strength in his leap belaying his slender build.

Urien roared as Owein pinned him to the floor and Elphin, now released, sprang up to continue the match. “Two against one, eh?” Urien cried.

“I’ll help you, Da,” fifteen-year-old Rhiwallon called out and the match was on. Elphin and Owein fought against Urien and Rhiwallon. The fight was over in the blink of an eye. For Owein instantly flipped young Rhiwallon onto his back just as Urien did the same to Elphin. Urien and Owein glanced at each other, and burst out laughing.

“No fair, no fair,” thirteen-year-old Enid shouted as she ran into the room. She stopped in front of her father and brothers and put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t wait for me.” Enid had her mother’s red-gold hair and blue eyes.

And then Queen Ellirri entered the room. She was a tall, slender woman. Her heart-shaped face was framed with a cloud of reddish gold hair and her eyes were sharp sapphire blue. She was dressed in a cream-colored gown, with an underskirt of rich, deep red. A necklace of opals encircled her slender neck, and her hair was braided into a crown at the top of her head. Opals were scattered throughout her hair.

“No fighting now, Enid. You’ve just gotten dressed up,” she said, her voice calm and cool. “And you boys—you are supposed to be dressed up by now, too. Festival tonight, remember?”

Reluctantly the boys straggled to their feet. Ellirri smiled at them and the three smiled back. “Very handsome, all of you. But your manners,” she shook her head.

“What’s wrong with our manners, Mam?” Elphin asked.

“Well for starters you are ignoring your guest,” she said, nodding to Gwydion who still stood in the doorway.

“Gwydion!” Urien roared, coming to his feet. “How are you, man?” he asked, giving Gwydion a hearty slap on the back that nearly felled him.

Gwydion straightened up and noticed that four pairs of awestruck eyes were staring at him. “The Dreamer,” Owein breathed. “You are welcome here,” he continued, bowing. He poked Elphin in the ribs. Elphin started, and then he too bowed. Rhiwallon also bowed and Enid, at a pinch from Owein, overcame her momentary paralysis and curtsied.

“All right, everyone. Boys, go get changed. Enid, dear, please go see the steward and tell her to set another place at the high table.” The children scattered to do Ellirri’s bidding. “Trystan,” she continued, “thank you for bringing Gwydion here.” Trystan, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, grinned and promptly left.

“You should change too, Urien, dear. I’ll take Gwydion to our rooms. Join us as soon as you can, won’t you?”

Urien smiled at his lovely wife and kissed her hand. “Your wish is my command, as always.”

Ellirri smiled and softly patted his rough cheek. Then she turned to Gwydion. Delicately she put her hand on his arm. “You are welcome, here, Gwydion. Come.”

He followed her across the hall to her room. The chamber was bright and cheerful. The furniture—wardrobes, chairs, and tables—was carved from light oak wood. Her huge, canopied bed was covered with a taupe-colored spread, worked in gold thread. The floor was covered here and there with small rugs, woven in red and cream. Golden vases that held masses of bright, red roses were scattered throughout the room.

She gestured Gwydion into a chair before the hearth. She sat on a chair next to him, and turned her fine, blue eyes upon him, smiling warmly. “Tell me all the news, Gwydion. How is Uthyr?” The two had been very close growing up. She had been far closer to her half brother, Uthyr, than to her full brother, Madoc.

“I haven’t seen much of him lately. I don’t get to Tegeingl at all any more.”

“I hope there’s no trouble between you two.”

“No trouble. But I am not very welcome at Uthyr’s court just the same.”

“Ah, yes, Ygraine. Charming as always, I’m sure,” Ellirri said, smiling.

Gwydion smiled back. “Indeed. But last I saw Uthyr he was well.” He didn’t mention, of course, that the last time he saw his brother he had been disguised as a scruffy man-at-arms.

“I’m glad he is well. I hope he is happy,” she said doubtfully. “I doubt he has ever gotten over Arthur’s death. Now, Gwydion, my dear, I am so glad to see you, but why have you come?”

“What makes you think I have a special reason?” Gwydion asked.

“My dear Gwydion, you never, ever do anything without two or more motives up your sleeve. You forget, I’ve known you a long time.”

Urien entered the room, sparing Gwydion a reply. He was dressed in a red tunic and breeches, with a beige-colored undershirt. He wore the Ruler’s Torque of gold, studded with opals, around his thick neck. An opal ring glittered from his right hand and a large opal dangled from his right ear. His short brown hair was freshly combed and his ruddy face glowed.

“Well, Gwydion,” he said in his usual bluff tone, “What’s up?” He turned toward Ellirri. “Has he said yet?”

“Not just yet, dear. Here, sit down.” She gestured to another chair but Urien took a place at the edge of the hearth. “Chair’s too little, I’d break it,” he grinned. “Now,” he turned to Gwydion, “tell us.”

“I’m looking for Rhiannon ur Hefeydd.”

“Oh, that gal that ran off a while back?” Urien asked.