“In a splendid palace without walls or roof,” answered Taliesin, “in a bed as wide and deep as our love.”
“Go in peace, my friends,” said the priest, making the sign of the cross over them. “Know that I will not rest until harmony is restored between you and Avallach; I will go to him as soon as you are well away. I will also take word to Lord Elphin so your kinsmen will not worry after you.”
Charis leaned close and kissed the priest on the cheek. “Thank you, good friend. I hope to see you again soon.”
Taliesin climbed into the saddle and reached down to pull Charis up behind him. “Farewell, brother,” he called, and they turned the horse to the trail. Collen came running and presented the couple with a carefully-tied bundle which he handed up to Charis.
“A gift,” he explained as she accepted the bundle, “You will be hungry on your journey, but you may forget to think about food.”
Charis laughed. “Thank you, Collen. We are certain to be well fed now.”
“Farewell,” called the priests. “Jesu care for you, until we meet again.”
They ambled down the hill and across the stream and then turned to follow a track north through the wooded lowland along the river Briw to the shores of Mor Hafren. They rode happily, filled with the joy of life and love for each other. Sundown found them in a hidden hollow by the river, soft with deep turf and surrounded by a fortress of ancient oaks, whose great, gnarled trunks formed stout walls against the world beyond.
Taliesin unsaddled the horse and tethered it, and then set about finding firewood for the night. Charis spread their cloaks on the ground and brought water from the river in the waterskin, and then sat on a moss-grown rock to watch her husband make the fire. When the fire was burning brightly, Taliesin fetched his harp and began to sing, his voice filling the hollow and soaring heavenward.
He sang and twilight seeped into the sky, spreading over the land like a deepening stain. And it seemed to Charis that his music was born of nothing on earth but derived from a source much purer than the world yet knew. When Taliesin sang it was as if the living song, like some rare caged creature, was freed at last to return to its rightful place, a realm beyond the world of men, higher, finer, and more beautiful than men could know. She thought of the subtle sadness in his music, the merest hint of longing, a note of pain so delicate that it blended and deepened the joy without coloring or mating it-as if the act of freeing the song from its earthly prison brought sorrow as well as joy. This heightened rather than diminished the beauty of the music.
The first stars shone brightly as Taliesin’s song faded on the evening breeze; a nightingale took up the melody with its own liquid voice. Taliesin stilled the gently-humming strings and lay aside the harp, saying, “For you, my Lady of the Lake.”
“I could ask no finer gift,” replied Charis dreamily, “than to be allowed to listen to you forever.”
“Then I will sing for you always,” he said and leaned forward and kissed her. “Your kiss will ever be my awen. “ He gathered her into his arms and pulled her close.
Laying a finger to his lips, Charis said, “Stay, my love; I will return in a moment.” She rose and walked to the river just beyond the ring of oaks. Taliesin built up the fire and stretched himself on his cloak to watch the moon rise and the stars appear in the deep folds of the night. After a while he heard Charis humming softly and raised his head.
She came to him then, her simple tunic transformed in the twilight into a fine gown, and her hair, falling loosely about her shoulders, shining in the silver moonglow. She came silently across the soft grass to stand before him. “The only gift I have to give you, my love, is the gift of myself,” she said.
Taliesin reached for her hand and smiled. “Charis, my soul, in you my joy is made complete. I need nothing else.” And then he took her in his arms and they lay together on their cloaks beside the fire under a heaven alight with stars and a new-risen moon shining with a clear, pure light.
They loved each other then, giving themselves fully to the act of loving, consummating their marriage in the joy of shared pleasure: he, giving his warmth and tenderness; she, her strength and intensity; together, igniting a passion that blazed with a high and holy fire.
When nightingales in the trees above voiced their own unearthly songs to a night-dark world, husband and wife wrapped themselves in their cloaks and let sleep overtake them as they lay entwined in one another’s arms.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Charis and Taliesin journeyed along the river to the place where it emptied itself into the great tidal estuary of Mor Hafren. There, at a small fishing settlement on the mud-slick banks, they bartered for passage across the wide channel to Caer Dydd. It was agreed that for an evening of song and story, Taliesin and Charis would be given food and lodging and taken across the inlet the next morning.
Upon reaching Caer Dydd, Taliesin sang again for food and lodging, and so on along the way-sometimes receiving a bit of gold or silver or a handful of coins in addition to meals and a pallet by the fire. By day they made their way west and north, following the Roman road from Isca to Mar-idunum, receiving each night shelter-often the very best- in exchange for that which Taliesin was happy to provide.
In this way they happily traveled through the wild hills and narrow green valleys of Dyfed, reveling in the warmth of the early summer sun and their love for each other. Taliesin sang as they went, walking with his staff beside the horse, making the hills resound with the echo of his voice. He composed hymns to earth and sky and the Creator God who had made him. He taught Charis the words and melodies, and the two sang in harmony under the wide blue canopy of heaven.
At last they came to Maridunum, arriving on a market day, when the stone-paved streets were aflood with crowds: some with livestock-chickens, sheep, cattle, pigs, oxen, and horses, all squealing and squalling and protesting their abuse; others brought grain, wine, leather, cloth, objects of silver, gold, and bronze, or flat iron ingots for working into tools and weapons.
Taliesin and Charis threaded through the noise and stink and made their way to the holding of the lord of Maridunum, who lived in a villa well away from the town on a hill by the River Towy. His estate consisted of a huge porticoed hall surrounded by long wings. On one side the wings enclosed a formal courtyard and on the other a bath, with kitchens, workrooms and sleeping quarters around it.
Atop a mound a short distance behind the villa was a small square temple, little more than a cell surrounded by a verandah. Black smoke issued from the smokehole in the temple dome.
The villa was very old, and it had been several generations since the descendants of its original owner had lived within its square stone walls; but the place was kept in good order. Although many of its red clay roof tiles had been replaced with slate, and one of its long wings lay in a jumble of stone and timber, the yards were swept clean and the long ramp leading to the entrance boasted a new railing.
“Within is a man who loves order,” remarked Taliesin as he stood in the foreyard inspecting the expansive house. He gave Charis a wink and said, “Let us see if he loves song as much.”
“You have only to sing, my love, and gates open to you, silver coins pour from empty purses, and gold falls into your hands like rain. Why ask whether the lord of this place cares for song? None can resist your harp and you know it well.”
Taliesin laughed and tied the horse to a nearby bush. They started toward the entrance ramp, where they were met by a thin-faced man with narrow shoulders and clipped gray hair. He was dressed in the Roman manner with a long, Belted mantle, although around his neck he wore a bronze tore. He stood flat-footed in the center of the ramp and observed the strangers skeptically. “What do you here?” he asked in a gruff voice.