Although the actual ceremony was yet some time away, the day I rode into Goddeu and saw Ganieda standing before the door of the king's great hall – dressed in a cream-white mantle fringed with golden tassels and worked in emerald green thread, with white wildflowers plaited in her black hair – that day, that instant, my soul was married to Ganieda's.
We were so happy!
I do not remember catching her up to sit before me in the saddle, although they say I did – coming at her on the run and leaning low to sweep her away with me in a wild and joyous ride. I only remember her arms around my neck and her lips on mine as we galloped along the sparkling lakeshore, the horse's hooves striking up showers of diamonds for us.
'How did you know I would come today?' I asked, when we dismounted at last outside Custennin's palace.
'I did not know, my lord,' Ganieda answered with mock solemnity.
'Yet you were ready and waiting.'
'As I have been ready and waiting each day since the first flowers bloomed.' She laughed that I should marvel at that. 'I would not have my love find me otherwise.'
'I love you, Ganieda,' I said. 'With all the heart and soul in me, I love you. And I have missed you.'
'Let us never part again,' she said.
Just then I was hailed from the doorway, and Gwendolau appeared. 'Myrddin Wylt! Is that you? But for the wolfskin on your back I would not know you, man. Unhand my sister and let me look at you.'
'Gwendolau, my brother!' We gripped arms in the old greeting and he beat me happily about the shoulders with his hands.
'You have changed, Myrddin. Look at how you have filled out. And what is this?' He raised a hand to my tore. 'Gold? I thought gold was the sole right of kings.'
'It is and well you know it,' said Ganieda. I smiled to hear the possessive note in her voice. 'Does he not look every inch a king?'
'A thousand pardons, lady,' he laughed. 'I need not ask how it has gone with you, for I see you have weathered well.'
'And you, Gwendolau.' The year had wrought its change in him as well. He appeared more like Custennin than ever, a veritable giant among men. 'It is good to see you.'
'Allow me to see to your men and their horses,' he said. 'You and Ganieda have much to discuss, I should guess. We will talk later.' And, with a happy slap of my back, he walked off at once.
'Come,' Ganieda tugged on my hand, 'let us walk awhile.'
'Yes, but first I must pay my respects to the lord of this place.'
That you can do later. He is hunting today and will not return until dusk.'
So we walked, and our path led us into the woods where we found a leafy bower and sat down on the sun warmed grass. I held Ganieda in my arms and we kissed, and if I could have stopped the world from turning, I know I would have. Just feeling the sweet, yielding weight of her in my arms was earth and sky to me.
Great Light, I cannot bear it!
FOUR
No… no, listen Wolf, my mind is calm. I will continue:
Custennin was well disposed to the match. Gwendolau must have given his father a good report of my kinsmen and lineage. Indeed, he could have done nothing else. The joining of our houses would be to affirm honourable and long-established ties, something both Avallach and Maelwys were anxious to do as well.
The south needed the north, and needed it strong. The attacks that year-by-year drove deeper into the heartland invariably originated in the north; Picti, Scotti, Attacoti, Cruithne: these were all northern tribes. And the Saecsen and Irish, who were becoming bolder and more belligerent with each passing season, when they came, they came across the sea and into Ynys Prydein from the unguarded north.
But the incessant raiding was driving the few stable and trustworthy Britons north of the Wall back into the south – those that, like Elphin and his people, had not already left long ago. So it was becoming more and more difficult to hold the middle ground between the war-lusting north and the civilized south.
Without strong northern allies the south became more vulnerable than ever. Rome had realized this from the beginning, of course. The Eagles built the Wall – more a symbolic demarcation than an actual defence, although it was that, as long as the garrisons were manned. But the true defence of the south had been, had always been, the strength of the northern kings.
This strength was faltering. It is no wonder that the southern Britons had begun to look fearfully to the north as both the cause of their troubles and their salvation. It was to the benefit of both to form strong alliances, and there is no stronger tie than blood.
Kinship would do what the administrative might of Rome could not. Or we would all go down together.
As king, this was to be my work. I saw, perhaps more clearly than others, the desperate need for accord between kingdoms. The few and feeble attempts at friendship between the north and south, good though they were, were not enough. If we were to survive we would have to find and welcome ways of encouraging the northern kingdoms, and supporting them. This would mean putting away the petty concerns of rank and wealth, the small rivalries of small men, for the greater good of all. On this the future depended. On this we would stand or fall.
I began thinking of one great kingdom made up of all the smaller kingdoms, united, yet each independent of the others, and all contributing to the general welfare and security. Not an empire, nor a state: a nation of tribes and peoples, ruled by a Council of Kings, each lord with an equal say. This was important, for, if we were to survive the barbarian onslaught, it would have to be as a single united entity presenting one, unassailable front, not the fractious scattering of divided kingdoms – which is what we were.
I began dreaming of this great kingdom made up of smaller kingdoms. This great kingdom would be ruled by a single great king, a paramount king, or chief king – one elected from among the Council of Kings to rule over all. A High King whom the lower kings, princes, lords and noblemen would serve.
You might say, as others have said, that this was foolishness, or at best the idle whimsy of a self-important young ass. Better, they said, to stand tall and demand our rights as citizens of the greatest empire the world has ever known.
'Petition Rome!' they cried. 'We are citizens. Protection is our right, is it not? Send to the Emperor with petitions. Bring the legions back, tell him. Now that Maximus wears the purple, he will listen. He will not let us be burned and bled by savages.'
But Maximus did not long wear his imperial robe and laurel circlet. When he marched on Rome, as I knew he would – rather, as old Pendaran Gleddyvrudd had predicted – Theo-dosius, son of Theodosius the Conqueror, captured him and marched him into the Senate in chains. A few days later, Magnus Maximus was beheaded in the Colosseum. And it was not only the man that died that day: the dream of empire was extinguished in the blood-soaked sand before those jaded, jeering crowds.
Bring the Eagles back!
Yes, bring the Eagles back. Bring them all back, for all the good it will do. Is everyone blind? Can no one see?
Never did we shelter beneath the Eagle's wings. We were the Eagle. When the first Romans had laid their roads and forts across the countryside and then turned aside to other, more pressing matters elsewhere, who took up the standard? Who buckled on the breastplates? Who took up the gladius and pike? Whose sons filled the garrison rosters all those years? Who took Roman names and paid tax in Roman coins? Who raised the cities and built the great villa farms?, Was it Rome?