The door snapped shut in Taran's face. He pounded in vain; no further reply came from the enchantresses, and even the window suddenly darkened with an impenetrable black fog.
"When Orddu and her friends say farewell," remarked the bard, "they mean it. I doubt we shall see them again." He brightened. "And that's the most cheerful piece of news I've had this morning."
Taran wearily dropped his hammer to the ground. "Surely there must be something else we can do. Though we cannot destroy the Crochan, we dare not part with it."
"Hide it," suggested Fflewddur. "Bury it. And I should say, as soon as possible. You can be quite certain we won't find anyone eager to jump into the thing and break it for us."
Taran shook his head. "No, we cannot hide it. Sooner or later Arawn would find it, and all our efforts would have been useless. Dallben will know," he went on. "He alone has the wisdom to deal with the cauldron. Gwydion himself planned to bring the Crochan to Caer Dallben. Now that must be our task."
Fflewddur nodded. "I suppose that's the only safe thing. But it's a cumbersome beast. I don't see the four of us lugging it along some of those mountain trails."
In front of the silent cottage, the companions led out Lluagor and Melynlas and lashed the cauldron between the two steeds. Gurgi and Eilonwy guided the heavily laden horses, while Taran and the bard walked, one in front, one behind, to steady the Crochan.
Though eager to be gone from Orddu's cottage, Taran did not dare venture across the Marshes of Morva again. Instead, he determined the companions would travel some distance from the edges of the swamp, keeping to solid ground and following a path half-circling the bog until they reached the moors.
It's longer," Taran said, "but the Marshes are too treacherous. Last time, Adaon's brooch guided me. Now," he added with a sigh, "I'm afraid I'd lead us to the same fate as the Huntsmen."
"That's rather a good idea!" cried the bard. "Not for us," he added quickly, "for the Crochan. Sink the beastly pot in the quicksand!"
"No thank you!" answered Eilonwy. "By the time we found quicksand, we'd be sinking along with the Crochan. If you're tired, we can change off and you lead Melynlas."
"Not at all, not at all," grunted Fflewddur. "It's not as heavy as all that. In fact, I find the exercise bracing, quite invigorating. A Fflam never flags!"
At this, a harp string broke, but the bard gave it no heed, busy as he was in holding his side of the swaying cauldron.
Taran trudged in silence, speaking only to call directions to Eilonwy and Gurgi. They continued with few moments of rest throughout the day. Nevertheless by sunset Taran realized they had covered only a little distance and had barely reached the broad moorlands. He was aware, too, of his own fatigue, heavy as the Crochan itself, a weariness he had never noticed while he had worn Adaon's brooch.
They camped on an open heath, cold and barren, shrouded with mist drifting from the Marshes of Morva. There they unroped the Crochan from the tired horses and Gurgi brought out food from the wallet. After the meal, Fflewddur's spirits revived. Although shivering in the chill and dampness, the bard put his harp to his shoulder and attempted to cheer the companions with a merry song.
Taran, usually eager to listen to the bard's music, sat apart, gloomily watching the cauldron. After a time Eilonwy drew near and put her hand on his shoulder.
"I realize it's no consolation to you," she said, "but if you look at it in one way, you didn't give up a thing to the enchantresses, not really. You did exchange the clasp and everything that went along with it. But, don't you see, all those things came from the clasp itself; they weren't inside of you.
"I think," she added, "it would have been much worse giving up a summer day. That's part of you, I mean. I know I shouldn't want to give up a single one of mine. Or even a winter day, for the matter of that. So, when you come right down to it, Orddu didn't take anything from you; why, you're still yourself and you can't deny that!"
"Yes," Taran answered. "I am still only an Assistant Pig Keeper. I should have known that anything else was too good to last."
"That may be true," said Eilonwy, "but as far as being an Assistant Pig-Keeper is concerned, I think you're a perfectly marvelous one. Believe me, there's no question in my mind you're the best Assistant Pig-Keeper in all Prydain. How many others there are, I'm sure I don't know, but that's beside the point. And I doubt a single one of them would have done what you did."
"I could not have done otherwise," Taran said, "not if we were to gain the cauldron. Orddu said they were interested in things as they are," he went on. "I believe now they are concerned with things as they must be.
"Adaon knew there was a destiny laid on him," Taran continued, turning to Eilonwy, his voice growing firmer, "and he did not turn from it, though it cost him his life.
"Very well," he declared. "If there is a destiny laid on me, I shall face it. I hope only that I may face it as well as Adaon did his."
"But don't forget," added Eilonwy, "no matter what else happens, you won the cauldron for Gwydion and Dallben and all of us. That's one thing nobody can take away from you. Why, for that alone you have every reason to be proud."
Taran nodded. "Yes, this much have I done." He said no more and Eilonwy quietly left him there.
For long after the others had gone to sleep, Taran sat staring at the Crochan. He thought carefully over all Eilonwy had told him; his despair lightened a little and pride stirred within him. Soon the cauldron would be in Gwydion's hands and the long task ended. "This much have I done," Taran repeated to himself, and new strength budded in his heart.
Nevertheless, as the wind moaned across the heath and the Crochan loomed before him like an iron shadow, he thought once again of the brooch, and he buried his face in his hands and wept.
Chapter 16
The River
HIS NIGHT'S SLEEP refreshed Taran but little and hardly blunted the edge of his weariness. Nevertheless, at dawn he roused the companions and with much effort they began roping the Crochan to Lluagor and Melynlas. When they finished, Taran glanced around him uneasily.
"There is no concealment for us on these moors," he said. "I had hoped we might keep to the flatlands where our journey would be easier. But I fear that Arawn will have his gwythaints seeking the Crochan. Sooner or later they will find us, and here they could fall on us like hawks on chickens."
"Please don't mention chickens," said the bard with a sour grimace. "I had quite enough of that from Orddu."
"Gurgi will protect kind master!" shouted Gurgi.
Taran smiled and put a hand on Gurgi's shoulder. "I know you'll do your best," he said. "But all of us together are no match for even one gwythaint." Taran shook his head. "No," he said reluctantly, "I think we had better turn north to the Forest of Idris. It's the longest way around, but at least it would give us some cover."
Eilonwy agreed. "It's not usually wise to go in the direction opposite to where you want to be," she said. "But you can be sure I'd rather not fight gwythaints."
"Lead on, then," said Fflewddur. "A Fflam never falters! Though what my aching bones might do is another matter!"
Crossing the moorlands, the companions journeyed without difficulties, but once within the Forest of Idris the Crochan grew more burdensome. Although the trees and bushes offered concealment and protection, the paths were narrow. Lluagor and Melynlas stumbled often and, despite their most valiant efforts, they could barely drag the cauldron through the brush.
Taran called a halt. "Our horses have borne all they can," he said, patting the lathered neck of Melynlas. "Now it is our turn to help them. I wish Doli were here." He sighed. "I'm sure he'd find an easier way of carrying the Crochan. He'd think of something clever. Like making a sling out of branches and vines."