The Silver Hand (15 page)

The image carved into the tree trunks identified the grove. It belonged to Gofannon, Master of the Forge. It was his sanctuary we had entered.

“This is a
nemeton
,” I whispered, “an ancient place, a holy place. This wood is sacred to Gofannon; it is his place. Come,” I said, tugging Llew's arm gently, “we will greet this lord and see whether he will have compassion on us.”

On soundless feet we crept deeper into the nemeton. I brushed the rough trunks of the great trees with my hands as we passed, and smelled the sweet dry smoke of burning oak . . . drawing near to the heart of the refuge, entering into the presence of the lord of the grove.

11
G
OFANNON'S
G
IFT

H
e is here.” Llew breathed a barely audible whisper. “He is . . . Tegid, he is enormous—a giant.”

“What does he look like? Describe him.”

“He is twice the height of the tallest man. His arms are knotted thick with muscles; they look more like the limbs of an oak tree than arms. He has rough black hair all over—on his arms and chest, his legs, his hands, his neck, and his head. He has a long forked beard and long black hair. He wears it bound tight to his head like a warrior. His face . . . Wait! He is turning—looking this way!” Llew gripped my arm in his excitement. “He has not seen us yet.”

“What else? Tell me more. What does he look like? What is he doing?”

“His skin is dark—smoke-blackened. His eyes are dark too; and he has great, thick black brows. His nose is flattened and immense; his mustache is tremendous—it covers his mouth and curls upwards at the ends. He is dressed in leather breecs only; his arms and chest are bare—except for huge gold bands coiled around each wrist.”

“What is he doing?”

“He is sitting on a hump of earth at the entrance to a cave. The cave has a doorway: two square stone posts crossed by a stone lintel. The two posts have skull niches, three on each side, with skulls in them—birds and beasts, I think—and the lintel is carved with the Endless Knot. The skulls and the carving are washed with blue woad. There is a stone and anvil just outside the cave entrance. Next to the stone, I can see a hammer—huge—it is the biggest hammer I have ever seen. And there are tongs on the anvil.”

“Go on,” I urged. “What else?”

“He is sitting before a firepit and holding a huge spit in his hands. There is meat on the spit—a whole sheep or deer. He is dressing the meat on the spit—getting ready to roast it. There is no fire yet, and . . . he is looking this way again. Tegid! He has seen us!”

I heard a voice, deep as the voice of the earth itself, stern and commanding.

“Welcome, little men,” said the lord of the grove. “Stand on your feet and come before me.”

Though it was stern, I heard no threat or malice in the command. Still gripping my arm, Llew drew me with him, and we stepped slowly from the outer circle and into the ancient one's scrutiny.

“Hail, lord,” I called, “we greet you with respect and worthy regard.”

Gofannon replied, “Show me a token of this respect you declare. What gift do you bring me?”

“Great Lord,” I replied, speaking in the direction of the voice that addressed me, “we are exiles seeking refuge in a land unknown to us. We were set upon by enemies and cast adrift. We bring only the small benison of the companionship our presence will afford. But if you deem that a gift worth having, we give it gladly.”

“That is a rare gift, indeed,” replied the ancient one with gravity. “For it is long since I have welcomed men within my grove. I will accept your gift with pleasure. Sit with me and share my food.”

We stepped nearer—Llew guiding me with his hand under my elbow—and sat down on the ground.

“Do you know me?” asked the ancient one.

“Great Lord, you are the Searcher of Secrets,” I replied. “You are the Delver of Ore and the Digger of Treasure. You are the Refiner and the Shaper of Metal, the Master of the Forge.”

The deep voice grunted its resonant agreement. “I am that—and more. Do you dare to speak my name?”

“You are Gofannon,” I replied confidently, though I trembled inside.

“I am he,” replied the lord. I sensed satisfaction in his voice. He was pleased with his guests. “How is it that you know my name and nature?”

“I am a bard and the son of bards, Mighty Lord. I am learned in the way of earth and sky and of all things needful among men.”

“Do you have a name, little man?”

“I am Tegid Tathal,” I told him.

“And the little man with you,” Gofannon said, “has he a name? Or do you share one name between you?”

“He has a name, lord.”

“Has he a tongue? Or is yours the only tongue to serve you both?”

“He has a tongue, lord.”

“Then why does he not speak out his name? I would hear it, unless something prevents him.” I sensed a slight shift in the giant's voice as he turned to address my silent companion.

“Nothing prevents me, Great Lord,” said Llew softly. “Neither have I lost my tongue.”

“Speak then, little man. You have my grant and leave.”

“My name is Llew. I was once a stranger in Albion, but I was befriended by the one you see before you.”

“I see much, little man. I see that you are wounded,” said Gofannon. “You have lost a hand, and your friend has lost his eyes. And I see that these wounds still pain you. How did this happen?”

“Our enemies attacked us in a holy place,” said Llew. “The bards of Albion have been slaughtered. We alone survived, but they wounded us and cast us adrift in a boat.”

The lord of the sacred grove mused long on this, uttering a low rumble in his throat as he turned our words this way and that in his sagacious mind, weighing out the truth. “I know you now,” Gofannon replied at last. Again, I sensed satisfaction in his words. “Come, we will eat together. But first there must be wood for the fire.”

His next words were for Llew. “You, little man, will chop the wood.”

I heard the giant rise and move away. Llew whispered, “He means me to cut wood. My hand—how can I use an ax? I cannot do it.”

“Tell him.”

“Here is the ax,” Gofannon said, returning. “The wood is there. Cut enough to last through the night, for we will need it.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you, lord,” Llew said politely. “But I am injured as you see. I cannot hold the ax, much less cut wood with it. Perhaps there is another way I may serve you.”

Though Llew declined with all courtesy, the Master of the Forge remained unmoved. “You had two hands and lost but one. Do you not have another?”

“I do,” answered Llew, “but my injury is—”

“Then use the hand that is left to you.”

Llew said no more; he rose from beside me and a few moments later I heard the chunk of the ax as he began, slowly, clumsily, to chop. I thought Gofannon's demand harsh but did not consider it wise to intervene in the matter.

So I listened to the dull chink of the ax and Llew's breath coming in bursts. And I gritted my teeth for Llew's sake, feeling his pain and frustration as he wielded the giant's ax.

When Llew finally made an end of his work, Gofannon had him carry the wood to the firepit. Llew did so without a word of protest, although I knew his wound must have been pounding with pain after his ordeal. Again and again, from pile to firepit he carried the wood, using his one good hand. Upon delivering the last log, Llew collapsed beside me on the ground.

He was wet with sweat and trembling with exhaustion and pain. “That is over,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

“Be easy,” I soothed. “Rest.”

“Good work!” cried the forge lord. “We will eat now.”

So saying, the giant clapped his hands and I heard the crackle of a fire, and soon I smelled the scent of roasting meat. The aroma brought water to my mouth, and my stomach suddenly felt its emptiness. While Gofannon busied himself with his task, Llew lay on the ground, gathering his strength, and I listened to the sizzle of bubbling fat as the lord of the grove turned the spit and the hot juices sputtered in the flames.

By the time the meat was cooked, I was dizzy with hunger.

“Let us eat!” cried the Shaper of Metal suddenly, as if he could wait no longer. I then heard a loud pop and a muted tearing sound and, the next I knew, a steaming haunch of roast venison was thrust into my hands. There came another rending pop, and Llew was likewise presented a whole haunch to eat. “It is enough meat for a week!” Llew whispered. The rest of the deer belonged to our huge provider.

“Eat my friends! Eat and be filled,” he bellowed happily, and I heard a snuffling sound as our host began to gnaw meat from bone.

Casting off all restraint, I lifted the haunch to my lips and began to eat. I worried the meat with my teeth, filling my mouth greedily, delighting in the warmth and flavor. The savory juices flowed down my chin and neck and onto my chest. I let them flow, I was so hungry.

“Lord Gofannon,” said Llew abruptly, “never have I eaten meat this good. Had you given us but a taste of your meal, you would yet remain most generous.”

“Where food is taken alone, the repast is meager,” answered the ancient one affably. “Yet, where meat is shared among true companions of the hearth, the meal becomes a feast!”

The lord of the hearth laughed then, and we laughed with him, filling the grove with joyful sound. We finished our meal, glowing with the pleasure of warm food in our bellies.

“Drink with me, little men!” cried the ancient one in a voice that rattled the clustered leaves on the oak boughs. He clapped his hands, and the sound was like thunder.

“I cannot believe it!” gasped Llew, leaning close.

I heard a sound like the plunge of a rock into a deep pool. “What has happened?”

“It just appeared,” whispered Llew.

“What appeared?” I whispered back. “Be my eyes, man! Describe what you see.”

“It is a vat! A golden ale vat—the size of . . .” He stumbled in his search for words. “It is enormous! Fifty men could stand in it! It could serve three hundred!”

I heard the sound of another plunge, and into my hands was thrust a cup. But what a cup—a beaker the size of a bucket!—and filled with frothy ale.

Gofannon cried, “Drink! Drink, my friends! Drink and be happy.”

I lifted the beaker and quaffed cool, refreshing ale. It was the finest brew, bittersweet and crisp on the tongue, full-flavored and creamy rich—easily the best I have ever tasted, and I have drunk in the halls of kings.

I thought Llew would not be able to lift his cup at all, so I turned to him and offered mine. “Not to worry, brother,” he replied heartily, sucking foam from his mustache. “I just put my whole face into the cup!”

He laughed and I heard the sound of the man I knew returning. We drank and laughed, and I felt the torment of my wound and the distress of my blindness begin to loosen and fall away from me like burdens shed at the threshold. Yet it was not the food and drink and mirth alone. We were in the presence of one greater than the forge lord—one whose fellowship itself was a soothing balm, a boon of inestimable value. I forgot my injuries and weakness; in the presence of the Goodly-Wise I was hale and whole once more.

When we had eaten and drunk as much as we could hold, Gofannon said to me, “You have said you are a bard. Have you rank among your kind?”

“I am Penderwydd of Prydain,” I replied. “In former times I was Chief Bard to Meldryn Mawr.”

Our host made his throaty rumbling sound once more and then said, “It is long since I have heard the song of a bard in my grove.”

“If it would please you, Great Lord,” I said, “I will sing. What would you hear?”

The Master of Artisans thought for a time, rumbling to himself all the while. “Bladudd the Blemished,” he answered at length.

A curious choice
, I thought. The “Song of Bladudd” is very old. It is little known and rarely sung—perhaps because there are no battles in it.

As if listening to my thoughts, Gofannon said, “It is a tale seldom heard, I know. Nevertheless, that is the tale I would hear. A true bard would know it.”

“So be it,” I said, rising to my feet. Standing before him, I suddenly missed my harp. “I must beg your pardon, lord, but I have no harp. Still, the song will suffer but little for its lack. That I promise you.”

“Never say it!” cried Gofannon in a voice that shivered the trees. “Why suffer even the lack of very little, when that little is so easily granted for the asking?”

“Great Lord,” I replied, still trembling from the mighty voice, “if it would please you, might I yet have a harp?”

“A harp!” he cried. “You ask for a harp, but you stand there with your arms dangling at your sides! Open your hands if you would receive.”

I opened my hands to him and received a harp. My arms closed around the familiar and comfortable weight, nestling the instrument against my chest and shoulder. I tried the harpstrings and found them melodious and resonant. What is more, the harpstrings were tuned. I struck a chord and the air was filled with a splendid sound, rich and vibrant. The harp was well made, a delight to play and hear.

I prepared myself to sing, pausing while my listeners settled themselves to receive the song. Then, loosing a shimmering chord, I began:

“In elder times, before pigs were known in Albion and beef was the meat of kings, there arose in Caledon a monarch of mighty renown, and Rhud Hudibras was his name.” My huge host grunted his approval, and the tale commenced.

“Now this chieftain, a man of esteem and well loved by his people, had three sons. The first son was a hunter and warrior of vast skill and cunning, and the second son was like the first. Both men enjoyed nothing more than feasting with fine companions and listening to the songs of bards. Life to them was good if mead filled their cups and a maiden filled their arms.