In the end Charis gave a cry of pain and pushed, her stomach held in the sure hands of the midwife, veins showing purple on her forehead and neck, sweat soaking into the sodden bedclothes, a piece of thick leather between her teeth. “Harder!” urged Heilyn, “I can see it! Push, girl! Push it out-now!”
Charis pushed again and the babe came into the world.
Heilyn, her face grave, gathered the tiny blue body into a length of cloth and turned away. Through a haze of exhaustion and pain, Charis saw the movement and cried, “My child! Where is my child?”
“Shhh,” said Heilyn. “Rest you now. It is over.”
“My baby!”
“The babe is dead, lady,” whispered Rhuna. “Its caul did never burst and it smothered.”
“No!” Charis screamed, her voice echoing along the sleeping corridors of the villa. “Taliesin!”
Taliesin was immediately in the room. Charis, pale with exhaustion, struggled up, reaching her hand to his. “My baby! My child!”
“Where is the child?” he asked.
Rhuna nodded toward Heilyn, who turned with the bundle, lifting a comer of the cover as she did. Taliesin saw the tiny blue thing in its membranous sac and his heart dropped like a felled beast. He took the bundle from Heilyn and cradled it to him, falling to his knees. He placed the babe on the floor before him and, taking the caul in his hands, ripped it open, freeing the child. The body lay inert, unmoving, gray-blue in the semidarkness of the chamber. Charis gazed in horror at the tiny dead creature, her mouth moving in silent, uncomprehending grief. Surely the child that had moved in her Belly could not be so still and silent.
Taliesin spread his hands over the infant and closed his eyes. A sound came from his throat, a single wavering note. Those who heard it thought he was beginning the wail of grief. But the note rose and filled the room, vibrating with resonance as he gave it strength. Behind him the door opened and in came Pendaran, Henwas, and Eiddon; others of the household crowded in behind.
The single note now rose and fell in a simple, elemental melody as Taliesin, oblivious to all around him, began to sing. Fingertips lightly touching breast and forehead, Taliesin stooped over the stillborn babe, singing his own life into the child.
Those who stood looking on witnessed a strange thing, for it seemed that as Taliesin bent low a shadow swept over him- not an ordinary shadow, but a shadow wrought by the presence of light rather than the absence of it. This shining shadow paused, hovering over Taliesin and the child on the floor before him, and then fell, darting down toward the babe with the swift, certain stroke of a dagger, piercing through Taliesin’s outstretched hands.
The babe quivered, drew breath, and wailed.
As the infant raised its natal cry, the hideous blue-black color of death receded. Soon its flesh glowed pink and warm, and its tiny fists clenched and shook the air, mouth wide and round in loud complaint. Heilyn bent and scooped the child into her arms, wrapping a new blanket around it.
Taliesin sat back on his heels and raised his head slowly, as if emerging from a long, dulling sleep. Heilyn, having bound and cut the birth cord, turned and lay the babe gently on the bed beside Charis, who encircled it in her arms and held it to her breast.
Eiddon was the first of the onlookers to move from the trance-like posture that held them all. He ran to Taliesin, raised him to his feet, and led him to the bedside where the bard slumped down once more, smiling weakly and placing a hand on the infant’s head. Charis caught his other hand in hers and pressed it to her lips.
“He is a beautiful man-child,” said Heilyn. “As beautiful a babe as these eyes have seen.”
“Your son,” whispered Charis.
Then and for the next several hours the chamber became the busiest place in the villa. Everyone wanted to see the miracle child, and despite Heilyn’s threats and protests one after another of the curious crowded into the room to peer at the babe and set the walls and corridors humming as they retold the tale of its birth to one another.
Charis-weak, shaken, exhausted, half-mad-finally complained of the noise and Heilyn snapped into action, shooing them all instantly from the room and placing Henwas as a guard before the door with strict orders to flog anyone who so much as breathed a word in the direction of the chamber. Taliesin sat in the chair beside the bed, his head drooping on his chest. Charis, the babe at her breast, dozed, her fingers tenderly brushing the infant’s downy soft black hair.
She slept most of the next day, awakening only to feed the baby and to speak drowsily with Taliesin when he came in to see them. “What will we name our son?” he asked, settling himself in the chair.
Glancing down at the child cradled in the crook of her arm, she saw the dark hair and sharp little features etched fine, and she thought of the fiercely independent bird that had struggled so hard to be free. “Merlin,” she whispered sleepily, “my little hawk.”
Taliesin had another name already chosen. But he gazed upon the child, smiled, and said, “Merlin it shall be.”
There came a knock on the door and Henwas stepped in. “There are men here, Master,” he said softly. “They are asking for you.”
“What men?”
“Druids by the look of them. I have never seen them before. Will you come out or shall I send them away?”
“No, I will come.”
Four men in hooded mantles stood in the foreyard of the villa, leaning on their wooden staffs and waiting in the chill drizzle that leaked from a low, leaden sky. When Taliesin approached, they turned silently to meet him, murmuring among themselves. “Learned brothers,” said Taliesin, “I am the one you are seeking. How may I serve you?”
The druids made no move or sound. And then one of them advanced and drew back the hood from his face. “You are a long way from home, brother,” he said.
“Blaise!” cried Taliesin, sweeping his old friend into his arms. “How glad I am to see you. Oh, and what is this? A rowan staff?”
The druid smiled happily. “One cannot stay afilidh forever. “
Taliesin acknowledged the others standing nearby. “How is it that you are here?”
“We have come to speak with you.”
“How did you find me?”
“As to that, we simply followed the river of rumor to this very door. Wherever you have been, Taliesin, men behave as if they have seen Pwyll, Prince of Annwn, and Rhiannon herself. So when the people hereabouts told us there was a god living in Lord Pendaran’s villa, we said to ourselves, ‘This can only be Taliesin.’ “ He smiled again and spread his hands. “Besides, Hafgan told us where you could be found.”
Taliesin embraced him again and then shivered with cold. “You must not stand out here freezing. There is a fire in the hearth and food to eat. Come inside, and you can tell me of your errand.”
Linking his arm through Blaise’s, Taliesin led them into the hall. Chairs were brought and placed before the fire while the druids shed their sodden cloaks and rubbed the warmth back into their hands. “We must honor the lord of this house,” said Blaise as he sipped the mulled wine that had been given him.
“Sing for him tonight,” replied Taliesin. “You will find him a most genial host.”
Blaise sat beaming at Taliesin over his cup. “It is no great wonder that people consider you a god. On my life, you do look like Lieu of the Long Hand, Taliesin. Until now I did not realize how much I have missed you these many years.”
“It feels to me like we have never been apart. Still, I want to hear all that has happened since you left Caer Dyvi.”
“It is little enough to tell. I served at Cors Baddon for several years and then at Cors Glanum in Gaul. I have traveled to Rome and Greece, returning to the Island of the Mighty only last summer when Theodosius returned with troops to crush the conspiracy.”