“Can the garrison not hold ‘em then?”
“No.” Elphin shook his head firmly. “Not anymore. None of the garrisons are fully manned.”
“I know I pay enough taxes,” snorted Gweir Paladyr.
“Taxes aside, there are not enough men. And even if there were, the savages become bolder. If we stand by, if we wait, we can expect to see the heads of our children hanging from their Belts.”
“Is it as bad as all that?” wondered Gweir.
“Believe it,” said Cuall.
“It is. And it is going to get worse.” Elphin lay his hands flat on the table. “A strong warband is our best hope.”
“And the Lord Gywddno? What says he?”
“He agrees. It is field a warband or sit by and watch our villages burned and looted, our cattle and women carried off.”
Gweir ran a hand through his grizzled hair. “I had no idea.”
“Then you will support us?”
“Och, aye! You can count on Gweir Paladyr to do his part. Machynlleth will stand men and horses.”
Elphin beamed. “Good!” He raised his cup. “Long life to you, Gweir.”
“Aye, long life and health to our enemies’ enemies!”
They drank, wiping foam from their mustaches with the backs of their hands, and busy Osla brought a steaming pot to the table. While she ladled stew into wooden bowls, Elphin asked, “Now then, how many can we count on?”
Osla gave her husband a cautionary look. Gweir pursed his lips and, ignoring his wife’s silent warning, said, “Fifteen. No, make that twenty!”
Osla banged the iron pot down on the table and stalked off.
“Say ten,” replied Elphin. “It is enough; we do not want to bleed the strength of the village. You will need men to work the fields and harvest.”
“Ten then,” said Gweir, smiling expansively. “By Lleu’s lightning!-it will be a handsome warband, will it not?”
So it went. At Nethbo, Ysgubor-y-Coed, Talybont, Nev-enhyr, Dinodig, Arllechwedd, Plas Gogerddan, Brevi Vawr, Aberystwyth, and the other settlements of Lord Gwyddno’s realm, Elphin was received courteously and made his request for men and horses. Where confidence and clear-headed logic failed, Elphin coaxed, wheedled, challenged, flattered, and provoked. One by one he persuaded them all to his cause.
He returned to Caer Dyvi five days later with pledges amounting to one hundred and twenty-five men. Gwyddno Garanhir was pleased at his son’s success. “When will they come?” he asked.
“Three nights before full moon. They are to bring food enough for themselves and the horses for the journey. We are pledged to supply meat, drink, and provender after that.”
“As agreed. I hope Tribune Avitus appreciates our generosity,” Gwyddno added grudgingly.
Elphin fixed him with a fierce glare. “Hear me, it is not for Avitus or anyone else that we do this. It is for ourselves. You heard Centurion Maximus; we protect our own. It is important that we all understand this.”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” his father said impatiently. “It is just that-why pay my taxes if not for soldiers to protect my people?”
“Gweir, Tegyr, Ebrei, and the rest-they all feel the same and said so,” replied Elphin. “But it does not change the fact that Rome’s power is limited. And even if it were not, a legion cannot be everywhere at once.
“Listen, we need this for ourselves and it costs us little- a portion of the season’s tribute. It is a foolish lord who would risk everything to save so little.”
Gwyddno agreed lamely. “There was a time when having a garrison nearby meant something.”
Elphin smiled broadly. “There it is, you see? By summer’s end we will have our own garrison.”
The next weeks were devoted to readying supplies for the trip to Segontium and for the long summer months ahead. It seemed to Elphin an awkward time to be leaving, for it had only been a short time since the wedding and he was anxious about the welfare of his new family. He therefore spent as much time as possible with them; he and Rhonwyn walked for hours beside the river and along the sea cliffs watching spring transform the winter-drab world beneath the sun-bright days and crisp, star-filled nights.
“You will be gone so long this time,” sighed Rhonwyn as she placed dinner on the table of their new home. “We will miss you.”
“Already I miss you,” said Elphin softly as he caught her hand in his and pulled her away from her serving. “Can you be strong? Can you endure the waiting?”
‘ ‘I do not say it will be easy, but I will do it gladly. I know how important this is. If we are to have a future, you must go-“
Elphin drew the hand of his new wife to his mouth and held it against his lips for some time, savoring her sweetness. “Ah, Rhonwyn…”
“The moon has come and gone since we have been married, husband.”
“Yes.”
“The time for us to separate is past. It is time for us to be together.”
Elphin laughed and clasped her around the waist. “You are a blunt woman, Rhonwyn. You are also very beautiful, very strong, very kind… very much the woman for me.”
She brushed aside the strand of ginger hair that had fallen across her eyes and pulled him to his feet, then to their bed.
Hafgan sat on a stump in the sun, turning his staff in his hands, his blue cloak thrown over one shoulder. His gray-green eyes scanned the heavens and he seemed as one lost in a daydream, but the two boys sitting at his feet knew he was not lost, nor was he dreaming. “Observe,” Hafgan intoned, “how they fly. How do they hold their wings?”
The two filidh followed the druid’s gaze skyward to see a small flock of wood pigeons flying toward the wooded hills to the east of the caer. “They fly low, Hafgan, with their wings close to their bodies,” replied one of the youths.
“Does this suggest anything to you?”
The boy studied the pigeons for a moment, shrugged, and said, “They are clumsy birds and difficult to read.”
“Nothing in nature is clumsy, Blaise,” Hafgan chided. “Each body is created for a life peculiar to its purpose.
Therefore, when compelled to tasks beyond its wont it may labor awkwardly. We observe, we see, and when the reasons for what we see are known, we know.” Hafgan pointed to the pigeons. “Now, look again and tell me what you see.”
“They waver in the air, now up, now down. Such erratic flight seems most inexplicable.”
“Think, Blaise! Do they cry out as they pass overhead? Are they fleeing a predator? Do they fly against the wind? Are they winging to roost?”
The dark-haired youth shaded his eyes with his hand. “They fly against the wind. There is no predator. They make no cry as they pass.”
“Do you yet see the reason?”
“I can see no reason, Master,” replied Blaise hopelessly.
“You are silent, Indeg. I hope this betokens sagacity.” Hafgan turned to his other student. “What is your answer?”
“Neither do I see a reason why wood pigeons should fly as they do,” the young man admitted. “It makes no sense to me.”
“Look again, my dull-witted friends,” sighed Hafgan. “Look beyond the pigeons.” The boys raised their eyes. “Higher, higher. Look above. Higher still. What do you see? What is there? What is it that soars without a wingstroke?”
“A hawk! I see it!” cried Blaise, jumping up. “A hawk!”
“Ah, a hawk, yes. What kind?”
The boy’s elation turned at once to dismay. “I cannot see that far!”
“Nor can I,” chuckled Hafgan. “But that in itself should suggest something.”
Blaise’s brow wrinkled with the effort of his thought. “A kite-or one of the red-tailed kind. The pigeons fly low and close together to escape.”
“Well done, lad! But by horned Cernunnos, it is like pulling teeth!”