“They are quick enough to steal it though,” put in Medhir.
“Only because they cannot get it any other way.”
“Let them grow their own grain and raise their own cattle!” Medhir cried. “They can plant and harvest like we do.”
“They hold no land, Mother. Besides, planting would mean staying in one place and they could never bear that. They roam; they follow the wind. It means more than life to them.”
“Strange men they are then,” muttered Medhir.
“What of their women?” wondered Rhonwyn. “Are they as bad?”
“As bad or worse. A woman will take as many husbands as she pleases. They reckon no parentage; children Belong to the clan. And if she has no children to care for, she paints herself with woad and goes into battle with the men. You can hear their wild screams from one end of those lonely hills to the other.”
Elphin took another long draught of his beer and replaced the horn. “Still and all,” he continued, “we met only the one band all summer. There are a few Novantae villages on the coast up there and the people say they have been seeing the Picti on the hill tracks, traveling north, always north.”
“Maybe they have given up at last,” said Rhonwyn.
“Not likely,” remarked Gwyddno.
“I cannot say.” Elphin shook his head slowly. “My gut says no.” He brightened and announced. “Anyway, we will not ride next year. I told Maximus, and he agrees, the Picti seem to have withdrawn, so there is little point in running the hooves off our horses all summer. We will stay home and tend to our own affairs.”
“Wonderful!” cried Rhonwyn, jumping up and throwing her arms around Elphin’s neck. “To have you here… Oh, but what will I do with you underfoot a whole year?”
“We will think of something, lady wife.” He pulled her close and kissed her.
“Good to have you home, son,” said Gwyddno, rising slowly. “But I am for my bed. Come on, woman,” he told Medhir, “I am tired.” They shuffled out together.
Elphin contemplated the boy snuggled in his arms. “Here is another one for bed.”
Shelagh, who had been listening from her corner at the hearth, approached, and Elphin stood and handed her the sleeping Taliesin; he bent and kissed the golden head. “Sleep well, my son.”
Rhonwyn slipped her arm around Elphin’s waist. “Come, husband,” she whispered, “let us to bed as well.”
CHAPTER THREE
The dawn held all the promise of the day’s heat although the sun had not yet risen. The wind was out of the north, dry, bearing the woody smell of arid land. Charis awoke and knew at once what kind of day it would be. By the time the stadium doors opened and the throngs began pushing their way to their seats the sun would be a hot, white flame in an eggshell sky. The sand of the ring would burn underfoot; the bulls would be edgy and unpredictable, the crowd ill-tempered, hard to please.
It was a day that welcomed disaster.
Therefore, Charis would make certain the Gulls were ready. They would breakfast well on figs and honey, flatbread and smoked fish, sliced meat, milk, nuts, dates, porridge, and tea, and no one would be allowed to leave the table until all had eaten heartily and well. They would don practice clothes and troop into the empty stadium to stretch their muscles and rehearse.
When all were limber, Charis would call them together and they would begin planning the day’s dance. She already had them paired in her mind: Joet and Galai would take the first bull; their solid performance would settle the younger dancers. Kalili, Junoi, and Peronn would dance next-Junoi would benefit from her partners’ experience and would be less at risk. Belissa and Marophon could be depended upon to turn in a spirited performance under any circumstance, but she would choose a bull for them that would not give them trouble, a steady grandsire of the ring-Yellowhorn perhaps, or Broadhump.
For herself? Galai would join her, and then Belissa. The three of them would perform the routine they had prepared for the Temple Festival last season-an inspired dance that had not been performed since. It drove the crowd mad with delight.
And then?
Charis would take the last bull alone. The routine? There would be none set. Today she would dance for the god, for Bel alone. The movements would come to her as she danced, she would follow her instincts, she would dance her heart and soul. She would dance her last. They all would.
The others would not know this, could not know until it was over. Then she would tell them. Not before. They would not understand and the news would unsettle them; their rhythm would suffer and maybe so would they. Life in the ring hung by the slenderest of threads. The blink of an eye, a misplaced hand, a fleeting lapse of concentration and the thread was severed. These thoughts filled her mind as she rose and pulled on a light shift, washed, and went to the dancer’s lodgings.
Morning was but a rumor in the east as Charis walked across the square of green that separated her lodgings from those of the others. Her dancers were still asleep. Charis went to the pump that stood beside the path. The pump was shaped like a dolphin; she took the creature’s tail in hand and worked it up and down until water came sloshing up sweet and cold to pour into the brass basin which stood on a tripod beneath its snout.
That done, she turned to the first door, knocked gently, and pushed the door open. “Galai,” she whispered, shaking the young woman gently by the shoulder, “wake up.”
“Mmm,” the dancer moaned.
“Come, get up; breakfast will be set and I want to talk to you.”
Galai rolled into a ball. “It cannot be time yet,” she corn-plained.
“Today is a special day,” said Charis, walking out. “Dress yourself and come along.”
One by one she woke them. The first stumbled out of their rooms and moved dreamily toward the brass basin, splashing their faces and arms with cold water. “Ohhh,” groaned Peronn as he took his turn, “you are a cruel captain.”
“Cruel, yes, and heartless. I live to make your life a misery, lazy Peronn.” Charis wagged the dolphin’s tail and gave him another cold dowsing.
“And you succeed too well!”
“Where is Marophon?”
“Still abed,” replied Belissa. “He is the lazy one. Do you want me to rouse him?”
“Go to the table,” Charis told them. “I will wake him.”
The Gulls trooped off, chattering noisily as Charis entered Marophon’s room at the eed of the dancer’s lodgings. “Mar” she began and stopped. Two bodies lay entwined in the narrow bed.
Marophon woke suddenly and saw her. He jerked upright, shoving the girl next to him aside. “Charis! Please! Wait, I”
Charis stepped to the foot of the bed. “Dress yourself at once.”
“I can explain. Please”
“I do not want to hear it! Get her out of here.”
The girl, awake now and terror-stricken, stared at Charis, clutching the bedclothes to her chest. “Wait until the others have gone and then get rid of your whore. Let no one see her. Understand?” Marophon’s head worked up and down. With that, Charis spun on her heel and left.
All of the bull dancers took their meals together in the lower temple courtyard near the bull pit. The Gulls, however, had their own table in a partially enclosed section of the courtyard and their own specially prepared food which Charis purchased in the market herself.
This had always caused a certain amount of jealousy among the other teams of dancers, who accused the Gulls of elitism even as they envied team. But Charis knew it was important for her dancers to feel superior, set apart by virtue of their unrivaled skill. While in the beginning this might not have been strictly true, Believing it over time had made it so. They were the Gulls and they were better than the rest.