Chapter 43: Children’s Games

“Herrwn, Herrwn, Herrwn, I am sorely disappointed in you—given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to consort with a goddess without assuming any ongoing obligations, and you wasted it!”

Herrwn fended off Olyrrwd’s good-natured ribbing about how he’d spent his solstice interlude with Rhonnon by saying he had found the evening quite rewarding in its own way.

And he had.

First of all, he now understood Rhonnon’s stipulation that, in exchange for taking Caelym back into the nursery, he agree to assist the Priestess Lunedd in overseeing the children until arrangements could be made to replace the nursery servant to whom Arianna had taken such an intense dislike.

Surprised that a grieving child’s temper tantrum would be taken so seriously, he’d ventured to say that, in his experience with childish outbursts, it was best to remain understanding but firm, at which Rhonnon had dryly commented that in most cases she would agree, but, as it happened, there was a reason for the young nurse’s intense and personal distress at Rhedwyn’s death, and that it was best for all concerned that she be sent to live with kinfolk outside Llwddawanden before that reason became apparent to Feywn.

Rhonnon crossed her arms and looked Herrwn in the eye.

Recalling his father’s often-repeated advice that “if a priestess—your consort or any other—crosses her arms, looks you in the eye, and tells you to do something, just do it and don’t argue,” he’d nodded and asked only how long his assistance would be required.

Rhonnon had nodded back and gone on, saying rather briskly, “Having lost most of the village men between fifteen and fifty in Rhedwyn’s final deb”—here she stopped abruptly, drew a breath, and then went on—“battle, I have sent all of the shrine’s able-bodied servants, excepting those that are indispensable—Benyon and Iddwrna—to help with work that has to be done if we are to have supplies to get us through the winter. I will see that a new nurse is found and trained as soon as possible, but until then”—here, another deep breath—“it would be of great help if you would watch over the children in the morning so Lunedd, who, as you know, spends her nights tracking the movement of the stars, can get some sleep before taking over their care for the afternoon.”

That was by far the longest statement their chief midwife had ever made to him outside of a formal council meeting, and it contained two revelations that seemed noteworthy to Herrwn—that of all the shrine’s workers, only the priests’ chamber servant and the cook were indispensable, in Rhonnon’s view, and that of the possible words beginning with the sound “deb” that she’d started to say following the phrase “Rhedwyn’s final,” only “debacle” seemed the likely choice.

Needless to say, he kept those thoughts to himself and said, in his most reassuring tone, that he was not merely willing but deeply honored to do his part for so long as it was necessary.

As Rhonnon exhaled in what seemed to Herrwn to be a sigh of relief, her rigid posture relaxed and her voice softened.

“You’ll want to know something about each of the girls and what they will require by way of supervision.”

“Of course.” Herrwn nodded gravely—giving, he was sure, no hint of his admittedly prideful assumption that having been in charge of a classroom of rambunctious boys, he was fully capable of taking those sweet little girls in hand. It was a supposition that seemed borne out as Rhonnon began with Gwennefor’s daughter.

“Gwenydd is eight but acts older. She is doing well in all her lessons and is by nature kind, conscientious, and motherly. She will expect you to learn the names and personalities of each of her dolls.” Here Rhonnon paused, appearing to do some mental calculation before going on, “There were eleven of them at last count. She is quite responsible and will give you no trouble—in fact, will be a great help in looking after the others.”

“Learn the names of eleven dolls,” Herrwn repeated solemnly. “I believe I can do that.”

“And their personalities.”

“I will do my best. And now about the twins?”

“The twins …” Rhonnon shook her head, giving Herrwn his first hint that not all his new charges would be as easily managed as Gwenydd.

“As you may recall, the twins were given the same name as they were so much alike at birth it was supposed that they must have begun their life in the womb as a single girl that was somehow split into two. When it is necessary, they are distinguished as Catara-the-First-Born and Catara-the-Second-Born. In the nursery, the elder is called Cata and the younger one Tara, although you will do best to call either or both of them Catara, as even …” There was a catch in Rhonnon’s voice, but she cleared her throat and went on, “As even their mother could not tell them apart.” She finished up with the admonition, “They like nothing so much as convincing you that each is the other, but since they are usually up to the same mischief, it hardly matters which one you reprimand.”

“And what is the language they speak?”

“Oh, that! When they first began to talk, it was in words that they made up and taught to each other, and with the recent events they have fallen back to it. Although they learned real language late, they came to speak perfectly well and I assume they will again, unless they find that pretending they do not speak Celt serves as a joke—so do act as though you understand and do not give them a reason to keep it up!”

Rhonnon’s tone had shifted from approving when she spoke of Gwenydd to amused exasperation when she described the twins. The exasperation remained, but the amusement was replaced with an undertone of uneasiness as she moved on to Arianna, “who, I don’t need to tell you, is Feywn’s daughter and will, in all likelihood, reign after her. It will be best that you strive to withstand both her charm and her temper, or you will find yourself and the nursery being ruled by a five-year-old.”

“And Cyri?” While he meant to have no favorites among the five girls, Herrwn was especially interested in what Rhonnon had to say about Annwr’s daughter.

“And Cyri …” Rhonnon faltered before saying, somewhat out of context, “You need to know about her blanket.”

“Her blanket?”

“It’s just a scrap of cloth now, but it was the baby blanket that”—a shadow crossed Rhonnon’s face—“her mother wove for her. She calls it “Lovie” and never goes anywhere without it.” “Only her mother could get her to let go of it when it needed washing, and then she’d stand under the line where it was hung to dry, talking to it as if it were alive and suffering through some frightening ordeal. And if it ever got lost, she—Annwr, I mean—would drop everything to hunt for it. I don’t know how many times I told her she was coddling the child—that she needed to leave her alone and let her grow up.” Rhonnon stopped there and was silent for a long moment before adding, in so low a voice that Herrwn almost missed hearing her murmur, “I wish I had never said that.”

Rhonnon had seemed to run out of words at that point, and for the next while they’d sat in silence at their opposite ends of the Sacred Summer Solstice bier. Eventually, Herrwn had said, “I’ll make sure she has her blanket,” and Rhonnon had said, “Thank you,” and they’d both stood up and made their way along the dark, overgrown trail to the shrine’s side entrance.

Feeling that Rhonnon’s unintended revelation of her innermost grief was something that needed to be treated as a private confidence, Herrwn skipped over that part of their conversation and returned to Olyrrwd’s earlier question about how Caelym was doing and whether he was ready to resume his regular studies.

“Caelym has thrown himself into caring for the little girls with all the enthusiasm of which he is capable, and that, as we both know, is considerable …”

Slipping into his narrator’s voice, he went on, “As agreed, I go directly from breakfast to relieve the servant who sleeps in the nursery so she may go to her other assigned tasks. By then the children have finished their own meal and are packing little baskets with the things each considers indispensable—Gwenydd her family of dolls, the twins some balls and hoops, Arianna several changes of little dresses, and Cyri their five bunnies—while Caelym takes charge of seeing they are well supplied with cakes and sweetbreads for their mid-morning snack. After seeing to it that the last of the dolls and hares are securely stowed, he will announce, ‘Follow me!’ and lead the way, marching solemnly out to the herb garden—and the girls do, each taking her own basket, except for Arianna, who allows me the honor of carrying hers along with their basket of treats. Once there, Caelym will play whatever games the girls ask him to, shifting on demand from a father to Gwenydd’s dolls to a goblin chasing after the twins to a king in Arianna’s court, while I console whichever ones may be left out by telling them the stories my Lillywen loved so much.”

Drawing a satisfied breath, Herrwn reverted to a conversational cadence, saying, “So I believe she”—and by this point both Olyrrwd and Herrwn understood that unless otherwise specified, “she” or “her” referred to Rhonnon—“is satisfied with my fulfillment of these duties, though she had some doubts about my ability to successfully discharge my responsibilities in spite of my having been a teacher to boys in training—”

“—for the highest ranks of our priesthood for over twenty years and having dealt quite successfully with the challenges which that entails,” Olyrrwd finished for him. “I, for one, never doubted you for a moment—but what about Caelym? Has he gotten over his frenzy?”

“I believe so … or …” Herrwn weighed his next words thoughtfully. “Or has at least channeled it in a useful way.”

“So once Rhonnon has found a new nursery servant, he will be ready to resume his own lessons?”

“Perhaps. But do you think it wise for him to go to the healing chamber so soon, and so newly recovered from his own shock, while it is still occupied by … what I mean is …”

“I know what you mean, but I haven’t been entirely idle myself these past few weeks. Asof is fully recovered and gone back to his village, and Madheran and the rest—”

“—are recovered as well?” Herrwn had been afraid to ask about his former disciple, having had a dream in which Madheran, drenched in blood, came into the classroom and staggered toward him carrying a basket of severed heads and asking, “Where is Rhedwyn?”

“Are reasonably patched back together and I’ve discharged them as well, so the healing chamber is as free of unpleasant reminders of Rhedwyn’s final debacle as any other place in the shrine. So, about Caelym’s lessons …”

While Herrwn had some remaining apprehensions he could not explain either to Olyrrwd or himself, he agreed to bring Caelym back to the priests’ quarters and resume his regular lessons.