The Black Cauldron (10 page)

The Plan

THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT behind them and once again the companions found themselves outside the cottage. “Well, I like that!” Eilonwy cried indignantly. “After all their talk of dear little Dallben and sweet little Dallben, they've turned us out!”

“Better turned out than into, if you take my meaning,” said the bard. “A Fflam is always kind to animals, but somehow I can't bring myself to feel I should like to actually become one!”

“No, oh, no!” Gurgi cried fervently. “Gurgi, too, wants to stay as he is--- bold and clever!”

Taran turned back to the cottage and began pounding on the door. “They must listen to us!” he declared. “They didn't even take time to think it over.” But the door did not open, and though he ran to the window and rapped long and loud, the enchantresses did not show themselves again.

“I'm afraid that's your answer,” said Fflewddur. “They've said all they intend to say--- and perhaps it's for the best. And I have the uneasy feeling all that knocking and thumping might--- well, you don't know but what those, ah, ladies get upset at noises.”

“We can't just go away,” Taran replied. “The cauldron is in their hands and, friends of Dallben or not, there's no telling what they'll do with it. I fear them and I distrust them. You heard the way the one called Orgoch was talking. Yes, I can well imagine what she'd have done to Dallben.” He shook his head gravely. “This is what Gwydion warned against. Whoever has the cauldron can be a mortal threat to Prydain, if they choose to be.”

“At least Ellidyr hasn't found it,” Eilonwy said. “That's something to be grateful for.”

“If you want the advice of one who is, after all, the oldest of us here,” said the bard, “I think we should do well to hurry home and let Dallben and Gwydion attend to the matter. After all, Dallben should know how to deal with those three.”

“No,” Taran answered, “that I will not do. We should lose precious days in travel. The Huntsmen failed to get the cauldron back. But who knows what Arawn will attempt next? No, we dare not leave the thing here.”

“For once,” declared Eilonwy, “I agree. We've come this far and we shall have to go on to the end. I don't trust those enchantresses either. They wouldn't sleep if they thought we had the cauldron? I shall certainly have nightmares if I think of them with it! Not to mention Arawn! I believe no one, human or otherwise, should have that much power.”

She shuddered. “Ugh! There go the ants on my back again!”

“Yes, well, it's true,” Fflewddur began. “But the fact remains--- they have that wretched pot and we don't. They're there and we're here, and it looks very much as though it will stay that way.”

Taran was thoughtful a moment. “When Arawn wouldn't give the cauldron back to them,” he said, “they went and took it. Now, since they won't let us have the cauldron, I see only one way: we shall have to take it.”

“Steal it?” cried the bard. His worried expression changed rapidly and his eyes brightened. “I mean,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “steal it? Now there's a thought,” he went on eagerly. “Never occurred to me. Yes, yes, that's the way,” he added with excitement. “Now, that has some style and flair to it!”

“One difficulty,” Eilonwy said. “We don't know where they've hidden the cauldron, and they evidently aren't going to let us in to find out.”

Taran frowned. “I wish Doli were here; we'd have no trouble at all. I don't know--- there must be some way. They told us we could stay the night,” he continued. “That gives us from now until dawn. Come, let's not stand in front of their cottage or they'll know we're up to something. Orddu spoke of a shed.”

The companions led their horses to the side of the hill where a low, dilapidated building tottered shakily on the turf. It was bare and bleak and the autumn wind whistled through the chinks in the earthen wall. The bard stamped his feet and beat his arms.

“Chilly spot to plan anything,” he remarked. “Those enchantresses may have a lovely view of the Marshes, but it's a cold one.”

“I wish we had some straw,” Eilonwy said, “or anything to keep us warm. We'll freeze before we have a chance to think of anything at all.”

“Gurgi will find straw,” Gurgi suggested. He scurried out of the shed and ran toward the chicken roost.

Taran paced back and forth. “We'll have to get into the cottage as soon as they're asleep.” He shook his head and fingered the brooch at his throat. “But how? Adaon's clasp has given me no idea. The dreams I had of the cauldron are without meaning to me. If I could only understand them...”

“Suppose you dozed off right now,” said Fflewddur helpfully, “and slept as fast as you could? As hard as you could, I mean. You might find the answer.”

“I'm not sure,” replied Taran. “It doesn't quite work that way.”

“It should be a lot easier than boring a hole through the hill,” said the bard, “which was my next suggestion.”

“We could block up their chimney and smoke them out,” Eilonwy said. “Then one of us could sneak into the cottage. No,” she added, “on second thought, I'm afraid anything we might put down their chimney ---well ---they could very likely put something worse up. Besides, they don't have a chimney, so we shall have to forget that idea.”

Gurgi, meantime, had returned with a huge armload of straw from the chicken roost, and the companions gratefully began heaping it on the clay floor. While Gurgi went off again to fetch another load, Taran looked dubiously at the straggly pile.

“I suppose I could try to dream,” he said, without much hope. “I certainly haven't a better suggestion.”

“We can bed you down very nicely,” said Fflewddur, “and while you're dreaming, the rest of us will be thinking, too. That way, we can all be working after our own fashion. I don't mind telling you,” he added, “I wish I had Adaon's brooch. Sleep? I wouldn't need to be asked twice, for I'm weary to my bones.”

Taran, still unsure, made ready to settle himself in the straw when Gurgi reappeared, wide-eyed and trembling. The creature was so upset he could only gasp and gesture. Taran sprang to his feet. “What is it?” he cried.

Gurgi beckoned them toward the chicken roost and the companions hurried after him. The agitated Gurgi led them into the wattle-and-daub building, then slunk back, terrified. He pointed to the far corner. There, in the midst of the straw, stood a cauldron.

It was squat and black, and half as tall as a man. Its ugly mouth gaped wide enough to hold a human body. The rim of the cauldron was crooked and battered, its sides dented and scarred; on its lips and on the curve of its belly lay dark brown flecks and stains which Taran knew were not rust. A long, thick handle was braced by a heavy bar; two heavy rings, like the links of a great chain, were set in either side. Though of iron, the cauldron seemed alive, grim and brooding with ancient evil. The empty mouth caught the chill breeze and a hushed muttering rose from the cauldron's depths, like the lost voices of the tormented dead.

“It is the Black Crochan,” Taran whispered in fear and awe. He well understood Gurgi's terror, for the very sight of the cauldron was enough to make him feel an icy hand clutching his heart. He turned away, hardly daring to look at it any longer.

Fflewddur's face was pale. Eilonwy put a hand to her mouth. In the corner, Gurgi shivered pitifully. Though he himself had found it, he gave no joyous yelps of triumph. Instead, he sank deeper into the straw and tried to make himself as small as possible.

“Yes, well, I suppose it is indeed,” replied Fflewddur, swallowing hard. “On the other hand,” he added hopefully, “perhaps it is not. They did say they had a number of other cauldrons and kettles lying about. I mean, we shouldn't want to make a mistake.”

“It is the Crochan,” Taran said. “I have dreamed of it. And even if I had not, I would know it still, for I can sense the evil in it.”

“I, too,” murmured Eilonwy. “It is full of death and suffering. I understand why Gwydion wants to destroy it.” She turned to Taran. “You were right in seeking it without delay,” Eilonwy added with a shudder. “I'll take back all the things I said. The Crochan must be destroyed as soon as possible.”

“Yes,” Fflewddur sighed, “I'm afraid this is the Crochan itself. Why couldn't it have been a nice little kettle instead of this ugly, hulking brute? However,” he went on, taking a deep breath, “let's snatch it! A Fflam never hesitates!”

“No!” cried Taran, putting out a hand to restrain the bard. “We dare not take it in broad daylight; and we mustn't stay here or they'll know we've found it. We'll come back after nightfall with the horses and drag it away. For now, we'd better keep to the shed and act as if nothing has happened.”

The companions quickly returned to the shed. Once away from the Crochan, Gurgi regained some of his spirits. “Crafty Gurgi found it!” he cried. “Oh, yes! He always finds what is lost! He has found piggies, and now he finds a great cauldron of wicked doings and brewings! Kind master will honor humble Gurgi!” Nevertheless, his face wrinkled with fear.

Taran gave Gurgi a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Yes, old friend,” he said, “you have helped us more than once. But I never would have imagined they'd have hidden the Crochan in an empty chicken roost, under a pile of dirty straw.” He shook his head. “I'd think they'd want to guard it better.”

“Not at all,” said the bard. “They were very clever. They put it in one of the first places anybody would look, knowing quite well it was so easy nobody would ever think of looking there.”

“Perhaps,” Taran said. He frowned. “Or perhaps,” he added, unable to stifle the dread suddenly filling him, “they meant us to find it.”

IN THE SHED

the companions tried to sleep, knowing the night to come would be one of hard and dangerous labor. Fflewddur and Gurgi dozed briefly; Eilonwy huddled in her cloak with some straw piled around her. Taran was too restless and uneasy even to close his eyes. He sat silently, in his hands a long coil of rope he had taken from what little gear remained to the companions. They had decided to sling the cauldron between the two horses and make their way from the Marshes into the safe shelter of the forest, where they would destroy the Crochan. No sign of life came from the cottage. At nightfall, however, a candle suddenly glowed in the window. Taran rose quietly and moved stealthily out of the shed. Clinging to the shadows, he made his way to the low building and peered in. For a moment he stood there, amazed, unable to move. Then he turned and raced back to the others as quickly as he could.

“I saw them in there!” he whispered, rousing the bard and Gurgi. “They aren't the same ones at all!”

“What?” cried Eilonwy. “Are you sure you didn't stumble on a different cottage?”

“Of course I didn't,” retorted Taran. “And if you don't believe me, go and look for yourself. They aren't the same. There are three of them, yes, but they're different. One of them was carding wool; one of them was spinning; and the third was weaving.”

“I suppose, really,” said the bard, “it passes the time for them. There's little enough to do in the middle of these dismal bogs.”

“I shall indeed have to see for myself,” Eilonwy declared. “There's nothing so strange about weaving, but beyond that I can't make any sense of what you say.”

With Taran leading, the companions stole cautiously to the window. It was as he had said. Inside the cottage three figures went about their tasks, but not one of them resembled Orddu, Orwen, or Orgoch.

“They're beautiful!” whispered Eilonwy.

“I've heard of hags trying to disguise themselves as beautiful maidens,” murmured the bard, “but I've never heard of beautiful maidens wanting to disguise themselves as hags. It isn't natural, and I don't mind telling you it makes me edgy. I think we'd better seize the cauldron and be gone.”

“I don't know who they are,” said Taran, “but I fear they are more powerful than we could even guess. Somehow we've fallen on something--- I don't know what. It troubles me. Yes, we must take the cauldron as soon as we can, but we shall wait until they're asleep.”

“If they sleep,” said the bard. “Now that I've seen this, nothing would surprise me, not even if they hung by their toes all night, like bats.”

For a long time Taran feared the bard was right and that the enchantresses might not sleep at all. The companions took turns watching the cottage and it was not until almost dawn that the candle finally winked out. In an agony of waiting, Taran still delayed. Soon a loud snoring rose from within.

“They must have gone back to themselves again,” remarked the bard. “I can't imagine beautiful ladies snoring like that. No, it's Orgoch. I'd recognize that snort anywhere.”

In the still shadows of the false dawn the companions hastened to the chicken roost where Eilonwy ventured to light her bauble.

The Crochan squatted in its corner, black and baleful.

“Hurry now,” Taran ordered, taking hold of the handle. “Fflewddur and Eilonwy, pick up those rings; and Gurgi, lift the other side. We'll haul it out and rope it to the horses. Ready? All lift together.”

The companions gave a mighty heave, then nearly fell to the ground. The cauldron had not moved.

“It's heavier than I thought,” said Taran. “Try again.” He made to shift his grip on the handle. But his hands would not come free. In a spurt of fear, he tried to pull away. It was in vain.

“I say,” muttered the bard, “I seem to be caught on something.”

“So am I!” Eilonwy cried, struggling to tear her hands loose.

“And Gurgi is caught!” howled the terrified Gurgi. “Oh, sorrow! He cannot move!”

Desperately the companions flung themselves back and forth, fighting against the mute, iron enemy. Taran wrenched and tugged until he sobbed for lack of strength. Eilonwy had dropped in exhaustion, her hands still on the heavy ring. Once again, Taran strained to break free. The Black Crochan held him fast.

A figure in a long night robe appeared at the doorway.

“It's Orddu!” cried the bard. “We'll be toads for sure!”

The Price

ORDDU, BLINKING SLEEPILY and looking more disheveled than ever, stepped inside the chicken roost. Behind her followed the other two enchantresses, also in flapping night robes, their hair unbound and falling about their shoulders in a mass of snarls and tangles. They had again taken the shapes of crones, in no way resembling the maidens Taran had spied through the window. Orddu raised a sputtering candle above her head and peered at the companions.

“Oh, the poor lambs!” she cried. “What have they gone and done? We tried to warn them about the nasty Crochan, but the headstrong little goslings wouldn't listen! My, oh my,” she clucked sorrowfully, “now they've got their little fingers caught!”

“Don't you think,” said Orgoch in a croaking whisper, “we should start the fire?”

Orddu turned to her. “Do be silent, Orgoch,” she cried. “What a dreadful thought. It's much too early for breakfast.”

“Never too early,” muttered Orgoch.

“Look at them,” Orddu went on fondly. “They're so charming when they're frightened. Like birdlings without their feathers.”

“You have tricked us, Orddu!” Taran cried. “You knew we'd find the cauldron and you knew what would happen!”

“Why, of course we did, my chicken,” Orddu replied sweetly. “We were only curious to find out what you'd do when you did find it. And now you've found it, and now we know!”

Taran struggled desperately to free himself. Despite his terror, he flung back his head and glared defiantly at Orddu. “Kill us if you choose, you evil hags!” he cried. “Yes, we would have stolen the cauldron and destroyed it! And so shall I try again, as long as I live!” Taran threw himself furiously against the immovable Crochan and once again with all his strength tried vainly to wrest it from the ground.

“I love to see them get angry, don't you?” Orwen whispered happily to Orgoch.

“Do take care,” Orddu advised Taran, “or you'll harm yourself with all that thrashing about. We forgive you for calling us hags,” she added indulgently. “You're upset, poor chicken, and liable to say anything.”

“You are evil creatures!” Taran cried. “Do with us what you will, but sooner or later you shall be overcome. Gwydion shall learn of our fate. And Dallben...”

“Yes, yes!” shouted Gurgi. “They will find you, oh, yes! With great fightings and smitings!”

“My dear pullets,” replied Orddu, “you still don't understand, do you? Evil? Why, bless your little thumping hearts, we aren't evil.”

“I should hardly call this 'good',” muttered the bard. “Not, at least, from a personal point of view.”

“Of course not,” agreed Orddu. “We're neither good nor evil. We're simply interested in things as they are. And things as they are, at the moment, seem to be that you're caught by the Crochan.”

“And you don't care!” cried Eilonwy. “That's worse than being evil!”

“Certainly we care, my dear,” Orwen said soothingly. “It's that we don't care in quite the same way you do, or rather care isn't really a feeling we can have.”

“Come now,” said Orddu, “don't trouble your thoughts with such matters. We've been talking and talking and we have some pleasant news for you. Bring the Crochan outdoors--- it's so stuffy and eggy in here--- and we shall tell you. Go ahead,” she added, “you can lift it now.”

Taran cast Orddu a distrustful glance, but ventured to put his weight against the cauldron. It moved, and he discovered, too, his hands were free.

With much labor the companions managed to raise the heavy Crochan and carry it from the chicken roost.

Outside, the sun had already risen. As the companions set the cauldron on the ground and quickly drew away, the rays of dawn turned the black iron as red as blood.

“Yes, now as I was saying,” Orddu continued, while Taran and his companions rubbed their aching arms and hands, “we've talked it over and we agree--- even Orgoch agrees--- that you shall have the Crochan if you truly want it.”

“You'll let us take it?” cried Taran. “After all you've done?”

“Quite so,” replied Orddu. “The Crochan is useless--- except for making Cauldron-Born. Arawn has spoiled it for anything else, as you might imagine. It's sad it should be so, but that's the way things are. Now, I assure you, Cauldron-Born are the last creatures in the world we should want around here. We've decided the Crochan is nothing but a bother to us. And, since you're friends of Dallben...”

“You're giving us the Crochan?” Taran began in astonishment.

“Delighted to oblige you ladies,” said the bard.

“Gently, gently, my ducklings,” Orddu interrupted. “Give you the Crochan? Oh, goodness no! We never give anything. Only what is worth earning is worth having. But we shall allow you the opportunity to buy it.”

“We have no treasures to bargain with,” Taran said in dismay. “Alas that we do not.”

“We couldn't expect you to pay as much as Arawn did,” replied Orddu, “but we're sure you can find something to offer in exchange. Oh, shall we say... the North Wind in a bag?”

“The North Wind!” Taran exclaimed. “Impossible! How could you ever dream...?”

“Very well,” said Orddu, “we shan't be difficult. The South Wind, then. It's much gentler.”

“You make sport of us,” Taran cried angrily. “The price you ask is beyond what any of us can pay.”

Orddu hesitated. “Possibly you're right,” she admitted. “Well, then, something a little more personal. I have it!” she said, beaming at Taran. “Give us--- give us the nicest summer day you can remember! You can't say that's hard, since it belongs to you!”

“Yes,” Orwen said eagerly. “A lovely summer afternoon full of sunlight and sleepy scents.”

“There's nothing so sweet,” murmured Orgoch, sucking a tooth, “as a tender young lamb's summer afternoon.”

“How can I give you that?” protested Taran. “Or any other day, when they're--- they're inside of me somewhere? You can't get them out! I mean...”

“We could try,” Orgoch muttered.

Orddu sighed patiently. “Very well, my goslings. We've made our suggestions and we're willing to listen to yours. But mind you, if it's to be a fair exchange, it must be something you prize as much as the Crochan.”

“I prize my sword,” Taran said. “It is a gift from Dallben and the first blade that is truly mine. For the Crochan I would gladly part with it.” He began quickly to unbuckle his belt, but Orddu waved an uninterested hand.

“A sword?” she answered, shaking her head. “Goodness, no, my duck. We already have so many--- too many, in fact. And some of them famous weapons of mighty warriors.”

“Then,” said Taran, with hesitation, “I offer you Lluagor. She is a noble animal.” He paused, seeing Orddu's frown. “Or,” he added reluctantly in a low voice, “there is my horse, Melynlas, a colt of Melyngar, Prince Gwydion's own steed. None is faster or more surefooted. I treasure Melynlas beyond all others.”

“Horses?” said Orddu. “No, that won't do at all. Such a bother feeding them and caring for them. Besides, with Orgoch it's difficult to keep pets about.”

Taran was silent for a moment. His face paled as he thought of Adaon's brooch and his hand went protectively to it. “All that remains to me,” he began slowly.

“No, no!” Gurgi cried, thrusting his way toward the enchantress and brandishing his wallet. “Take Gurgi's own great treasure! Take bag of crunchings and munchings!”

“Not food,” said Orddu. “That won't do either. The only one of us who has the slightest interest in food is Orgoch. And I'm sure your wallet holds nothing to tempt her.”

Gurgi looked at Orddu in dismay. “But it is all poor Gurgi has to give.” He held out the wallet once again.

The enchantress smiled and shook her head. Gurgi's hands fell to his sides; his shoulders drooped; and he turned mournfully away.

“You must like jewelry,” Eilonwy put in quickly. She pulled the ring from her finger and offered it to Orddu. “This is a lovely thing,” Eilonwy said. “Prince Gwydion gave it to me. Do you see the stone? It was carved by the Fair Folk.”

Orddu took the ring, held it close to her eye, and squinted. “Lovely, lovely,” she said. “So pretty. Almost as pretty as you, my lamb. But so much older. No, I'm afraid not. We have a number of them, too. We really don't want any more. Keep it, my chick. One day you may find some use for it, but we surely won't.” She gave back the ring to Eilonwy, who sadly replaced it on her finger.

“I do have something else I treasure,” Eilonwy went on. She reached into the folds of her cloak and brought out the golden sphere. “Here,” she said, turning it in her hands so that it shone with a bright glow. “It's much better than just a light,” Eilonwy said. “You see things differently in it, clearer, somehow. It's very useful.”

“How sweet of you to offer it to us,” said Orddu. “But there again, it's something we don't really need.”

“Ladies, ladies!” cried Fflewddur. “You've overlooked a most excellent bargain.” He stepped forward and unslung his harp. “I quite understand that bags of food and all such couldn't possibly interest you. But I ask you to consider this harp. You're alone in this gloomy fen,” he went on, "and a little music should be just the thing.

“The harp almost plays of itself,” Fflewddur continued. He put the beautifully curved instrument to his shoulder, barely touched the strings, and a long, lovely melody filled the air. “You see?” cried the bard. “Nothing to it!”

“Oh, it is nice!” Orwen murmured wistfully. “And think of the songs we could sing to keep ourselves company.”

Orddu peered closely at the harp. “I notice a good many of the strings are badly knotted. Has the weather got into them?”

“No, not exactly the weather,” said the bard. “With me, they tend to break frequently. But only when I--- only when I color the facts a bit. I'm sure you ladies wouldn't have that kind of trouble.”

“I can understand you should prize it,” Orddu said. “But, if we want music we can always send for a few birds. No, all things considered, it would be a nuisance, keeping it in tune and so on.”

“Are you certain you have nothing else?” Orwen asked hopefully.

“That's all,” said the disappointed bard. “Absolutely everything. Unless you want the cloaks off our backs.”

“Bless you, no!” said Orddu. "It wouldn't be proper in the least for you ducklings to go without them. You'd perish with the cold--- and what good would the Crochan be to you then?

“I'm terribly sorry, my chicks,” Orddu went on. “It does indeed seem you have nothing to interest us. Very well, we shall keep the Crochan and you shall be on your way.”