George entered a pleasant room filled with morning sunlight. Llefelys was seated at one end of a long table, with his wife at his right hand. They were about to start their meal.
Morien had walked ahead to prepare introductions. Rhian was waiting for them near the entrance, where the light from a window fell upon her, and George stopped, pulled to a halt by Cernunnos. He altered into the horned man abruptly, startling the kitten which clung to his shoulder gamely as his form changed, and then sank on one knee before her. She flushed and smiled at him uncertainly but stood her ground.
“My lady,” he said, in the horned man’s deep voice, “We well recall what debt we owe you. We will repay it.”
She nodded shakily, and he rose and pulled the form back in. After he was sure the incident was done, he told her, “Sorry to frighten you. There seemed to have been some urgency to get that taken care of.”
She smiled at him genuinely this time. “Who’s this?” she said, pointing at his passenger. “Don’t I recognize him?”
“Mister Independent,” he said. “He wouldn’t stay behind. Will you hold him for a moment? I need to look a bit more dignified.” He winked at her.
He plucked the kitten off his shoulder and gave him to Rhian, then he walked past her and joined Morien for the formal greeting.
“My lord king,” Morien said, “this is George Talbot Traherne, whom you met yesterday.”
George made his best court bow.
Llefelys nodded at him. “You seem to have recovered from your ordeal,” he said.
“Yes, my lord king. I’m sorry I was not able to attend you at dinner as requested.”
“No matter,” Llefelys said. “This is my queen, Coronwen.”
George bowed deeply. “My lady, I return your cloak, with much gratitude.” He handed it to a servant. “And I bring you greetings from your parents, who hoped I might see you.” She looked like her mother, he thought, and a good thing, too. For a moment his imagination supplied Eurig’s walrus-like mustaches, and he choked.
“Will you please join us?” she said. “Rhian, I believe you know my cousin, Brynach. Please come and sit here with me, and tell me all about him.”
Morien sat on the left hand of his king, and Ceridwen was next, then Rhodri. George sat next to Rhian. He took the kitten back and dropped him onto the chair next to him. “Stay,” he said, not expecting success. The kitten curled up obediently.
His stomach rumbled at the sight and smell of the food, and he realized he was ravenous. When Morien raised an eyebrow at his third helping of ham, he paused to explain. “Sorry, but I haven’t eaten in a while. Couldn’t really see the appeal of twigs and leaves.”
As George had hoped, the casual reference to the uncanny deer surprised them into laughter and helped break the ice.
After awhile, when they’d finished eating, George took advantage of a lull in the conversation. “Could someone explain what has happened since we’ve been gone? How long were we held?”
At a nod from Llefelys, Morien said, “It’s been three weeks. What do you remember?”
“I remember all of it, both before and after,” George said grimly. He turned to Rhian. “Scilti was there. Creiddylad wanted to boast. She let him take a look at his handiwork, what was left of it.”
She shuddered.
He continued, “From what Rhodri told me, it’s obvious what Gwythyr wanted with you, but not what Creiddylad wanted with me. My one clue is overhearing her tell someone, probably Gwythyr, that she ‘wanted me willing, with my powers intact.’”
Ceridwen and Rhodri said, almost together, “The ways.”
George nodded. “Yes, I think so, too.” He automatically reached out and felt for the ways in the vicinity. There were several and, as always, a couple of hidden ones.
“I was lucky,” he said. “Her enchantment was too strong, too successful. It locked that away with everything else, and something stopped my tongue, besides.” At that, he felt a stir inside. Did Cernunnos make him mute, as a defense?
Llefelys observed, “Calubriga is isolated from the ways. It’s famous for it.”
“The better to hold me,” George said.
Coronwen nodded.
Time to ask the important question. He cleared his throat. “My lord king,” he asked, “can Gwythyr be held accountable for his actions, as your vassal?”
Llefelys paused over his answer.
“With regard to Rhian here, he was technically within his rights, however much we may disapprove. Once Lludd had agreed….”
George swelled with outrage, but Rhian put her hand on his arm.
“It’s true, George. And he did not mistreat me. I am obliged to admit it.”
Llefelys continued, “For his guest’s action he is indeed responsible but—forgive me, huntsman—you are not a vassal of mine and your position is not high enough to justify an overt and violent response from me.”
George frowned. “My… companion is not pleased to hear it.” And indeed, emotions roiled in the depths, wrath uppermost.
Llefelys looked at him steadily. “I must keep the interests of my own kingdom foremost in my thoughts. I would seem weak to discipline a vassal for so small a matter.”
“It was not small to Madog,” George said. “What if he had succeeded?”
“True. And others may try.” He gave him a speculative glance. “How if I keep the both of you myself?”
There was a sharp intake of breath around the table. Careful, George, he told himself. This is a king. Tough. No more diplomatic answers. I won’t have it.
He replied, evenly. “You can try, my lord king. It didn’t work out so well for Gwythyr.” He reached down with his left hand and clasped Rhian’s right hand, in her lap.
Llefelys considered him, and nodded. The tension subsided in the room.
“No, I will not do that. Nor, having heard Rhian’s tale, will I defend Gwythyr against any actions you or anyone may take in revenge.”
That cheered George up.
“In addition,” he said, “I am now prepared to attend more favorably to Rhodri’s blandishments against maintaining my customary neutrality.”
Rhodri said, formally. “My lord king, I have new instructions from my lord Gwyn to answer freely and frankly any questions you may have. Any at all. My companions, too. He also suggests that you think about what might be a suitable request, whatever he can grant you.”
“That is most welcome to hear,” Llefelys said. “He is not to harm my brother directly, see to that. However, I cannot let these outrages continue, and I cannot be thought to give them encouragement. Things will need to change, brother or no.”
George said, “How can I help with that?”
Ceridwen spoke up. “Gwyn has proposed that instead of my continuing my journeys to my individual colleagues on his behalf, that I bring them here instead, with your permission, lord king, where they can also meet with Morien, with George, and with Cernunnos, if he will oblige us. The god seems to be taking an active role, and there have been signs of attention from some of the others.”
“I really don’t see why I should be such an object of interest,” George said.
Ceridwen looked at him. “What Gwyn is planning, what you can do, what Cernunnos has in mind, above all who controls you… you embody a great nexus of change. The holders of power want to know you, to understand what you can and will do, especially in light of Gwyn’s conflict with his father.”
“And so do I, kinsman,” Llefelys said, turning a stern gaze upon him.
Llefelys pushed his chair back and Rhodri was relieved to see an end to this session. He hadn’t expected George to beard Llefelys at his own table. What had gotten into him?
“You may arrange your visitors,” Llefelys told Ceridwen, and she curtsied to him.
“Morien,” he continued, “Have Bedwyr equip her with the necessary tokens.”
To Ceridwen, he said, “That’s my way-finder. Morien will take charge of you and have my steward organize the meetings. I will attend them myself, when I can.”
He looked over at Rhian, who had risen with everyone else. “And what about you, kinswoman?”
Rhodri said, “Gwyn suggests that she stay here for the month, until Nos Galan Mai, and then come with you. That will keep her out of Gwythyr’s reach. And your brother’s.”
Rhian sent him a worried look, and he told her, “It’s the best thing to do.” He smiled at her. “I forwarded your letter.”
She blushed faintly and curtsied to Llefelys. “That would please me, my lord king.” She glanced shyly at Coronwen. “I would like to know the daughter of my family’s friends better.”
“And we can talk about my kinsman Brynach,” the queen replied, teasingly. “Would you like that?”
George and Rhodri both laughed as Rhian uncharacteristically blushed again.
Llefelys turned to go and stopped to reach into his pocket. “Oh, and Morien, please return this master-token as well. I shouldn’t be walking around with it.”
Rhodri stared at him, and he continued, “Yes, I know it is careless of me. We sometimes forget how wonderful it is, to own the ways even when we haven’t the skill.”
Something about that casual remark froze Rhodri in his tracks. Llefelys has no way skills, but he owns a master-token and while he has possession of it, none can take his ways from him. Fool, he thought, why didn’t I think of that?
“Tell Gwyn to let me go back home,” he said to Ceridwen, urgently. “It’s important. I just thought of something to try with the rock-wights.”
He grinned at her. “I bet this will work. You and George can cover for me here.”
Angharad waited for a moment when the guards were on the other side of her closed doors and likely to stay there. She’d been planning this for awhile, and now, she thought, would be an auspicious moment to begin.
“Bedo,” she said to the servant who spent so much time keeping her quarters in order, lingering when he could to watch her work.
“Yes, my lady?”
He stood calmly before her, a quiet, brown-haired, youngish, nondescript sort of a man, well-practiced at fading into the background as a good servant should.
She hadn’t forgotten him standing with Maelgwn when Lludd stormed in for the first time a few weeks ago. He held himself there in support, unobtrusive but firm. It would have been suicide for him to do anything to help her, she was sure, and she respected him for the impulse. She was also fairly certain she knew where her missing supplies had gotten to.
“Please, sit down for a moment,” she said, taking a seat at her table.
“No, my lady, thank you.” He stood erect and at attention before her.
Well, she wouldn’t push it, not while they were here on dangerous ground and she couldn’t really protect him.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said.
“My lady,” he said, faintly shocked. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“I mean it,” she insisted.
He looked at her, as if to gauge her sincerity, and made a decision. “I was born into service to our lord king some seventy years ago, as my parents were before me.”
“How did you get this assignment? My rooms, I mean.”
He stammered. “I… asked for it, my lady, when the opportunity presented.”
She’d thought something like that might be true.
“And why would you do that?” she asked.
He looked uncomfortable. “Please forgive me, my lady, I didn’t think you’d mind.” He turned away. “I’ll be going now.”
“Stop, Bedo, you misunderstand me.” She didn’t want to scare him away.
“Come with me,” she said, and she stood and walked over to one wall covered with drawings of red deer. He followed her, uncertain as to what she wanted of him.
“Tell me what you think about this one.” She pointed at one of the sketches an apprentice candidate had made. He looked at her. “My lady?”
“Tell me what you think about this as a piece of work.”
He stared at her.
“Go ahead. I’m waiting.”
He started slowly. “My lady, I’m sure all of these people are fine artists…” He trailed off.
“What you really think,” she said.
He said nothing for a moment. Then, gathering confidence as he spoke, he blurted out, “It has no balance, my lady. So much mass on the right, it stops the eye from moving across it smoothly, with rhythm.” He recalled where he was. “Or so it seems to me,” he amended.
“So, it doesn’t dance, is that it?”
He smiled at her unexpectedly. “Yes, my lady, just so.”
She nodded. “And this one?” she said, pointing at another.
He glanced at her face, and then back at the drawing. “It’s accurate enough, but dull, wooden. Boring.”
“This one?”
“It’s clumsy but it has life. The deer is in motion. I want to see the next moment.”
“Yes,” she said, “Too many flaws in execution. He didn’t understand what to do with depth of plane, and I didn’t think he could learn from me, but he did well capturing movement in a few strokes. I sent him back to Bleddyn with a recommendation.”
She walked along the wall. “What about this one?” she said, pointing to a drawing of the horned man standing obliquely, gazing sideways across and out of the frame.
“That’s one of yours, my lady.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember you doing it.”
“I must have drawn dozens by now, and so have the candidates. You know each one?”
“Yes, my lady, though I wasn’t here to see you do all of them.” In a sudden impulse of candor, he added, “You may not sleep, with your worries, but some of us must.” He smiled at her warmly for a moment in fellow feeling, then let his face resume its usual polite mask.
“Besides, your hand is clear. The eye not only moves around the image in the path you create for it, there’s a story told, too.”
“And what’s the story in this one?”
He hesitated, then plowed ahead. “The figure is motionless but the dance of the lines is long and flowing. The head and the body are joined, but separate. The head in its tilt and the barely seen eyes have a fix upon… large things, outside the picture. The antlers are not the accidental natural growth of a red deer but something timeless and permanent. But the body, what you can see of it, that’s different. Its dance is within the frame, vigorous, inviting the viewer to join in. More… welcoming than the head of the god. And yet the two parts belong together, one picking up where the other leaves off. Complements of each other.”
She closed her eyes and tried to recompose herself after his unexpectedly penetrating insight. Her husband and Cernunnos. She hadn’t planned it so analytically, but he was right, all of that was there to be seen by eyes that knew how to look.
She nodded thoughtfully and walked back to her worktable.
“Please, do sit down, Bedo. I want to talk to you, seriously.”
This time he joined her, with a glance at the closed doors.
“You know I’ve been seeking a new apprentice to mentor.”
He nodded.
“I’ve made my choice.”
She watched his face go stiff again, and laughed at him.
“Isn’t it obvious? You, of course.”
He froze in surprise, and then looked at her bewildered. “But, my lady, I’m nobody. I don’t know anything.”
She waved that aside. “You have an eye and a burning desire. Everything else can be taught, believe me.”
“I can hardly draw,” he protested.
“Then let’s fix that,” she said, and drew a piece of paper over for each of them. She handed him a piece of charcoal.
