'I will sit with you, Rina,' I told her. 'I will share your meat.'
With much clamour and ceremony, I was conducted to the largest of the three dwellings. Inside, presiding over a peat fire, sat an old woman with long white hair and a face so wrinkled I wondered that she could see out from among the puckers. But she tilted her head and regarded me with a clear black eye as I knelt before her.
'Ken-ti-Gern has come to share meat,' Rina told the woman, who nodded silently – as if she knew I would one day appear at her hearth.
'Greetings, Gern-y-fhain. Lugh-sun be good to you,' I said, and reaching into the pouch at my belt, produced a small gold bracelet I had brought with me for such an occasion. 'Take this, Gern-y-fhain. May it bring you good trade.'
The Wise Woman smiled regally, and accepted the gift with a slow bow of her head. Then, turning to Rina beside me, I produced a small bronze dagger with a stag-horn handle. Rina's eyes lit with innocent delight at the sight of the knife. 'Take this, Rina,' I said, placing the prize in her outstretched palm. 'May it serve you well.'
Rina's fingers closed over the dagger and she raised it before her sparkling eyes, clearly overwhelmed by her good fortune.
In truth it was nothing-a bit of bronze and bone. A steel knife would have served her far better, but the Prytani fear iron and distrust steel; these rust, which suggests disease and decay to them.
Gern-y-fhain clapped her hands twice sharply, and one of the women brought a bowl filled with a pungent foaming liquid. The Wise Woman drank and then passed the bowl to me. I took the bowl between my hands and drank deeply, savouring the bittersweet bite of heather beer. The taste brought tears to my eyes as memory flooded through me; I remembered the last time I drank that fine heady brew: the night of my leave-taking from Hawk Fhain.
I drank as if partaking of my former life, gulping down the rich memory, and only reluctantly passed the bowl to Rina. When the ceremony of the welcome bowl had been properly observed, the clansmen who had been crowding at the entrance came tumbling into the rath. Children, small and brown, lithe as fawns, appeared in our midst. Young women, cradling tiny fuzzy-headed babies, crept in and settled behind the clan Wise Woman. By this, I understood I was being granted a glimpse of the fhain's treasure – their eurn, their child-wealth – a high honour for a tallfolk stranger.
The men began preparing our meal, cutting strips of meat from the haunch of a small deer. The strips were wound on wooden skewers, and the skewers stuck in the earth around the peat fire to be turned idly from time to time. While the meat cooked, we began talking about the year.
Winter had been wet, but not too cold, they said. And spring likewise. Summer was drier, and warmer, and the sheep had fattened nicely. Raven Fhain had expected the Gathering to take place, and knew how many were in attendance and whence the participants had come. The Hill Folk did not seem to mind the warriors' presence. 'They do not raid like the Seaxemen,' Rina explained.
'Those of the Long Knife steal our sheep and kill our children,' Gern-y-fhain added bitterly. 'Soon our Parents will take us home.'
'Have you seen the Long Knife?' I asked.
The Wise Woman made a small motion of her head. 'Not this season,' she said. 'But they will return soon.'
One of the men spoke up. 'We have seen Picti boats flying north and east over the sea. The Cran-Tara has gone out, and the Seaxemen will come.'
This was said without bitterness or rancour, but I could feel the weight of sorrow in the words. The Small Dark Ones could see their world changing, diminishing before their eyes. They believed, however, that their Parents – the Earth Goddess and her consort Lugh-sun – would summon them to their proper homeland: a paradise in the western sea. After all, they were the Firstborn of the Mother's child-wealth, were they not? They had a special place in her great loving heart; and she had prepared a homeland for them far, far away from the bedevilled tallfolk. They yearned for that day, which, considering the ever-increasing predations they endured, could not be long in coming.
I listened to the recitation of their troubles, and wished I could aid them in some way. But the only thing that would help would be a long season of peace and stability in the land, and that was something I had no power to give.
Pelleas watched over Arthur and Bedwyr while I was gone. Rising early to begin the day, and resisting sleep to the last possible moment to prolong their participation, the two greedy cubs roamed the Gathering: young wolves out to devour as much of warrior life as they could clamp jaws to.
They watched the trials of skill and strength with great eagerness and enthusiasm – mostly in the company of Lord Ectorius, who welcomed them as lords and sword brothers. Their high-pitched yelps of pleasure could be heard above even Ectorius' roar of acclaim whenever a skilful blow was struck or a fine manoeuvre accomplished. They never missed an opportunity to view the trials, and when there were none, they practised on their own, imitating all they had seen.
The weather held good all the while, and as the Gathering drew to an end, I returned to camp and lingered near the boys – but out of their notice.
'What is it, master? Are you troubled?' Pelleas asked me once when he saw me alone. The boys were watching a trial of accuracy with the spear on the back of a galloping horse.
My eyes never left the scene before me. 'No,' I replied, shaking my head slightly, 'I am not troubled. I am wishing there was a way for them to remain together.' I gestured towards the two boys across the way.
'It would be well for them to remain together,' Pelleas agreed. 'They are very fond of one another.'
'But it is not to be.'
'No?'
'No. When the Gathering is over Bedwyr will go to Ennion in Rheged, and we must return to Caer Tryfan.'
'Perhaps Arthur would rather go with Ectorius,' Pelleas suggested lightly. He had been thinking about this, I could tell.
'It could be arranged,' I mused. Bleddyn would have no objection, I thought, and judging from what I had seen of Ectorius, the boy Arthur would be welcome at his hearth.
'But that is not what kept you from camp these last days,' Pelleas said, turning patient eyes on me.
'You are right, Pelleas,' I told him. 'The Picti and Scoti have sent out the Cran-Tara – the summons to war. In the spring they will amass their forces in the camps and then turn south to raid.'
'Is it something you have seen?'
'It is something the First Children have seen.' I told him where I had been for the last few days: wandering among the hollow hills in search of the Little Dark People. 'I was hoping to find some of them up here this summer, and I succeeded – rather, they allowed me to find them.'
'Hawk Fhain?'
'No, another: Raven Fhain. But they recognized my fhain-mark.' I touched the small blue spiral on my cheek – the reminder of my time with the Hill Folk – and could not help but smile. 'They knew me, Pelleas; they remembered. Ken-ti-Gern – that is how I am known among them now. It means Wise Leader of the Tallfolk.'
'They told you about the Cran-Tara? It is certain?'
'Their gern, the main's Wise Woman, told me, 'We have seen the ships flying east to Ierneland, and west to Saecsland- flying like gulls, like smoke disappearing over the wide water. We have heard the blood oaths spoken on the wind. We have seen the sun rise black in the north.' I paused. 'Yes, it is certain.'
'But, master,' Pelleas said, 'I do not understand why this should prevent the boys from remaining together.'
'What they must learn they will learn best alone,' I explained. 'Together, they would only hinder one another. Their friendship is a high and holy thing and it must be carefully conserved. Britain will need its strength in the years to come.'
Pelleas accepted this. He was used to my reasons. 'Would you have me tell them?'
'Thank you, Pelleas, but no. I will tell them.' I turned. 'But that will keep until tomorrow, I think. Come, we are to go and speak to Bleddyn and his lords; they are waiting.'