The Endless Knot (6 page)

The first one struck at me, drawing a wide, lazy arc with his sword. I crouched as the blade passed over my head, and then drove into them, holding my spear sideways. At the lightest contact, the two warriors toppled, fell, and lay still.

Suddenly, the grove shook to a tremendous shout of triumph as I stepped to the bower's entrance. “Come out, Goewyn,” I called. “All is well.”

There was a movement from within the bower, and Goewyn stepped forward. She was as I had seen her only a few moments before, and yet she was not. She had changed. For, as she stepped from the deep green shadow of the birch-leaf bower, the sunlight struck her hair and gown and she became a creature of light, a bright spirit formed of air and fire: her hair golden flame, her gown shimmering sea-foam white.

The crowd, so noisily jubilant before, gasped and fell silent.

Dazzling, radiant, glowing with beauty, she appeared before me, and I could but stand and stare. I heard a movement beside me. “Truly, she is a goddess,” Cynan whispered. “Go to her, man! Claim your bride—or I will.”

I stepped forward and extended my silver hand to her. As she took my hand, the sunlight caught the metal and flared. And it seemed that a blaze sprang up between us at the union of our hands. Though it was only a game, it was with genuine relief that I clasped her to my heart. “Never leave me, Goewyn,” I breathed.

“I never will,” she promised.

The sun had begun its westward plunge by the time we returned to the crannog. Tables had been set up outside the hall to accommodate the increased numbers the king would entertain this night. I would have preferred to remain outside—after the brilliant day, the night would be warm and bright—but the interior of the hall had been festooned with rushlights and birch branches to resemble the leafy bower in the grove. With all this preparation specially for us, it would have been unkind not to acknowledge the honor and enjoy it.

Famished with hunger and aflame with thirst, the warriors called loudly for food and drink as soon as they crossed the threshold. The tables inside the hall had been arranged to form a large hollow square so that we could all see one another. As the first were finding their places at the board, the platters appeared—borne on the shoulders of the servers—huge trenchers piled high with choice cuts of roast beef, pork, and mutton; these were followed by enormous platters of cooked cabbages, turnips, leeks, and fennel. A fair-sized vat had been set up at the end of each table so that no one would have to go far to refill cup or bowl. Alas, there was no ale left, so tonight the vats had been filled with water flavored with honey and bullace. Along the center of each table were piled small loaves of honey-glazed
banys bara,
or wedding bread—fresh-baked and warm from the ovens.

As the platters were passed, each diner, man or woman, was offered the most succulent portions. Within moments the clamor sank to a muffled din as hungry mouths were filled with good food. The privilege of eating first carried with it the obligation of serving; those who served now would be guests later. Thus, order and right were admirably maintained. The guards watching over the Singing Stones were the only exceptions. They neither served nor ate, but stood aloof from the celebration, as watchful and wary as if they were alone in a hostile land.

Looking out across the crowded hall, my heart swelled with joy to see my people so happy and content. It came to me why it was that the mark of a king was linked to his benevolence: his people lived on it, looking to the king for their sustenance and support; through him they lived, or died. I filled my bowl with the savory morsels served me and began to eat with a ready appetite.

When everyone had been served, a loud thumping drum resounded through the hall, and into the hollow square advanced eight maidens at a slow and solemn pace. Each maiden gathered her loose-hanging hair and wound it into a knot at the nape of her neck. They then drew up the hems of their mantle so that their legs were bare, and loosened the strings of their bodices. Each maiden then approached a warrior at the table and begged the use of his sword.

The warriors—eager accomplices—gave up their swords willingly, and the maidens returned to the center of the square where they formed a circle, each placing her sword on the ground at her feet so that the sword points touched. Tegid, harp at his shoulder, appeared and began to play. The harpstrings sang, each note plucked with definite accent; and the maidens began to dance, each step deliberate and slow.

Around the sunburst of swords they danced, treading their way slowly over the hilts and blades, eyes level, fixed on a point in the distance. Around and around, they went, adding an extra step with each pass. By the sixth pass the harpsong began to quicken and the footwork grew more complicated. By the twelfth pass, the harp was humming and the dance had become fantastic. Yet, the maidens danced with the same solemn attitude, eyes fixed, expressions grave.

The music reached a crescendo and the maidens, spinning swiftly, performed an intricate maneuver with their arms. Then, quick as a blink, they stopped, spun around, stooped, and each seized her sword by the hilt and lofted its point to the rooftrees above, shedding the tops of their mantles in the same motion.

The music began again, slowly. Lowering the swords, the maidens began to dance once more, their steps measured and precise. The swords flashed and gleamed, creating dazzling arcs around the twirling, lissome shapes. The tempo increased, and those looking on began beating time with their hands on the tables, shouting encouragement to the dancers. The young women's skill at handling the swords was dazzling; handwork and footwork elaborate, cunning, and deft: hands weaving enigmatic patterns, feet tracing complex figures as the keen-edged swords shimmered and shone.

Torchlight and rushlight glimmered on the sweat-glistening flesh of slender arms, rounded shoulders, and breasts. The harpsong swelled; the sword dance whirled to its climax. With a shriek and a shout, the maidens leapt, striking their blades together in simulated battleclash. Once, twice, three times, the weapons sang. They froze for an instant, and then fell back, each maiden clutching the naked blade to her breast. They knelt and lay back until their heads touched the ground and the swords lay flat along their taut chests and stomachs.

Slowly raising the swords by the hilts, they rose to their knees once more, brandishing the blades high. Suddenly, the harp struck a resounding chord. The swords plunged. The maidens collapsed with a cry.

There was a moment's silence as we all sat gazing raptly at the swaying blades standing in the packed earth floor. And then cheers filled the hall, loudly lauding the dancers' feat. The maidens gathered their clothes and retreated from the square.

I looked at Goewyn and then at the bowl in my hands. All thought of food vanished from my mind—instantly replaced by a hunger of an entirely different, though no less urgent, variety. She sensed me looking at her and smiled. “Is something wrong with the food?” she asked, indicating my half-filled bowl.

I shook my head. “It is just that I think I have discovered something more to my liking.”

Goewyn leaned close, put her hand to my face, and kissed me. “If you find
that
to your liking,” she whispered, “then join me when you have finished.” Rising from her chair, she let her fingers drift along my jaw. Her touch sent a delicious shiver along my ribs.

I watched her go. She paused at the door and cast a backward glance at me before disappearing. It seemed to me that the close-crowded hall, so festive only moments before, grew suddenly loud and the crush of people oppressive.

Cynan noticed that I was not eating. “Eat!” he urged. “This night above all others you will need what little strength you possess.”

Bran, sitting next to him, said, “Brother, can you not see it is food and drink of a different kind that he craves?”

Others offered their own opinions about how best to maintain strength and vigor in such circumstances. I forced down a few bites and swallowed some mead, but my friends thought my efforts lacked conviction, and redoubled their exhortations. Calbha filled my cup from his own and insisted I drain it in a single draught. I sipped politely and laughed at their jests, though my heart was not in it.

The feasting and dancing would continue through the night, but I could not tolerate another moment. Rising from the table, I tried to make an unobtrusive exit, which proved impossible. I was forced to endure much good-natured, bibulous advice on how to conduct myself on my wedding night.

As I moved past Tegid, he slipped a skin of mead into my hands so that my wedding night would lack neither sweetness or warmth. “In mead is found the flavor of the marriage bed. Twice blessed are lovers who share it on this night.”

The more garrulous seemed anxious to accompany me to the hut where Goewyn waited. But Tegid came to my rescue, urging them to sit down and celebrate the new-wedded couple's happiness in song. He took up his harp and made a great show of tuning it. “Away with you,” he murmured under his breath. “I will keep order here.”

Cradling the mead in the crook of my arm, I hurried across the yard to the nearby hut that had been prepared for us. The house, like the hall, had been transformed into a forest bower with fragrant pine and birch branches adorning walls and ceiling, and rushlights glowing like ruddy stars, creating a dimly pleasant rose-hued light.

Goewyn was waiting, greeted me with a kiss, and drew me inside, taking the meadskin. “I have waited long for this night, my soul,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms tightly around me.

Our first embrace ended in a long, passionate kiss. And as the sleeping place was prepared—fleeces piled deep and spread with cloaks— we tumbled into it. I closed my eyes, filling my lungs with the warm scent of her skin as our caresses grew more urgent, taking fire.

Thus occupied, I do not know whether it was the shout or the smoke that first called me from the bed. I sat up abruptly. Goewyn reached for me, tugging me gently back down. “Llew . . .”

“Wait—”

“What is it?” she whispered.

The shout came again, quick and urgent. And with it the sharp scent of smoke.

“Fire!” I said, leaping to my feet. “The crannog is on fire!”

4
A F
INE
N
IGHT'S
W
ORK

T
he fire is on the western side,” Goewyn said, watching the rusty stain seeping into the night sky. “The wind will send it toward us.”

“Not if we hurry,” I said. “Go to the hall. Alert Tegid and Bran. I will return as soon as I can.”

Even as I spoke, I heard another cry of alarm: “Hurry, Llew!” I kissed her cheek and darted away.

The smoke thickened as I raced toward the fire, filling my nostrils with the parched and musty sharpness of scorched grain: the grain stores! Unless the fire was extinguished quickly, it would be a lean, hungry winter.

As I raced through the crannog along the central byway joining the various islets of our floating city, I saw the yellow-tipped flames, like clustered leaves, darting above the rooftops. I heard the fire's angry roar, and I heard voices: men shouting, women calling, children shrieking and crying. And behind me, from the direction of the hall, came the battle blast of the carynx, sounding the alarm.

The hot, wicked flames leapt high and ever higher, red-orange and angry against the black sky. Dinas Dwr, our beautiful city on the lake, was garishly silhouetted in the hideous glow. I felt sick with dread.

Closer, I saw people running here and there, darting through the rolling smoke, faces set, grimly earnest. Some carried leather buckets, others had wooden or metal bowls and cauldrons, but most wielded only their cloaks which they had stripped off, soaked in water, and now used as flails upon the sprouting flames.

I whipped off my own cloak and sped to join them. My heart sank like a stone. The houses, so close together, their dry roof-thatches nearly touching, kindled like tinder at the first lick of flame. I beat out all the flames in one place only to have them reappear elsewhere. If help did not come at once, we would lose all.

I heard a shout behind me.

“Tegid! Here!” I cried, turning as the bard reached me. King Calbha, with fifty or more warriors and women came with him, and they all began beating the flames with their cloaks. “Where are Bran and Cynan?”

“I have sent Cynan and Cynfarch to the south side,” Tegid explained. “The Ravens are on the north. I told them I would send you to them.”

“Go, Llew,” instructed Calbha, wading into battle. “We will see to matters here.”

I left them to the fight and ran to aid the Ravens, passing between huts whose roofs were already smoldering from the sparks raining down upon them. The smoke thickened, acrid and black with soot. I came to a knot of men working furiously. “Bran!” I shouted.

“Here, lord!” came the answer, and a torso materialized out of the smoke. Bran carried a hayfork in one hand and his cloak in the other. Naked to the waist, his skin was black from the smoke; his eyes and teeth showed white, like chips of moonstone. Sweat poured off him, washing pale rivulets through the grime.

“Tegid thought you might need help,” I explained. “How is it here?”

“We are trying to keep the fire from spreading further eastward. Fortunately, the wind is with us,” he said, then added, “but Cynan and Cynfarch will have the worst of it.”

“Then I will go to them,” I told him and hurried away again. I rounded a turn and crossed a bridge, meeting three women, each carrying two or three babes and shepherding a bedraggled flock of young children, all of them frightened and wailing. One of the women stumbled in her haste and trod on a child; she fell to her knees, almost dropping the infants she clutched so tightly. The child sprawled headlong onto the bridge timbers and lay screaming.

I scooped up the child—so quickly that the youngster stopped yowling, fright swallowed by surprise. Goewyn appeared beside me in an instant, bending to raise the woman to her feet and shouldering an infant all in one swift motion. “I will see them safe!” she called to me, already leading them away. “You go ahead.”