In truth, I remember little of the day. All is shadow next to the daylight of Ganieda, bright and shining star. She was never more beautiful, more graceful and serene. She was love embodied for me, I swear it; and I hope I was for her.
On that fine day, we two stood before Dafyd in the chapel and we gave each other the gift of rings after the Christian custom, and spoke out the eternal promises that would bind our souls, as our hearts had already been bound by love – and as our bodies would be joined later that night.
Ganieda's black hair was brushed and shining, it hung in long braids entwined with silver thread; she wore a circlet of spring flowers, pink as a maid's blush – they filled the wooden chapel with their fragrance. Her mantle was white, and white embroidered; on each tassel hung a tiny gold bell. Over one shoulder was draped the marriage cloak she had woven that winter: a fine expanse of imperial purple and bright sky blue in the cunning checked pattern of the north country; it was held by a great, gold brooch. There were golden bracelets on her wrists and bands of gold on her arms. She wore sandals of white leather on her feet.
The most beautiful of the Fair Folk, she was a vision.
I scarcely recall what I wore – no one took notice of me beside her; I know I took no notice of myself. In my hands I carried the slim golden tore that was my wedding gift to her. She would, after all, be a queen and should have a tore like the great queens of old.
Dafyd, his dark robes brushed clean, his face glowing like the bride's beside me, held up the holy text for all to see, and he pronounced the marriage rite. When he finished, we laid our joined hands on the pages of the sacred book and repeated vows to one another as Dafyd instructed, whereupon he made a prayer for us.
In his great benevolence, Dafyd allowed Blaise to come forward and sing the joining of our souls after the manner of the bards, which he did with simple and elegant dignity. The harp was deeply appreciated by all gathered in the chapel – there is something about a harp, and a true bard's voice lifted in song, that bestows great blessing on all who hear it.
And I think it was something Taliesin would have done himself, if he had lived to see his son's wedding day.
As the last notes of the harp faded, we left the chapel, emerging to find that the whole of Maridunum had come to see us wed, thronging the chapel yard. As soon as they saw us, they gave forth a mighty shout – led by the warriors of my war band, who acted as if they were the ones taking a queen. They were so pleased.
But then, Ganieda could have conquered any army with charm alone; the young men of my warband were firmly under her spell, and they loved her.
We rode back to the villa surrounded by a noisy sea of well-wishers. Between the shouted blessings of the townsmen and the singing of the warband, the far hills rang and rejoiced with the happy sound.
Custennin had brought his cooks and stewards with him, and all the supplies they would need for the feast – including six head of fine, fat cattle on the hoof, a dozen casks of heavy mead, and some of his good heather beer. The rest – pigs, lambs, fish, mountains of turnips and tender spring vegetables – he bought in the market at Maridunum. Maelwys kept trying to get him to accept the use of his own stores but, other than a few spices the cooks had forgotten to bring, Custennin would not hear of it.
Ah, we feasted well. It brings the water to my mouth to recall it. Although, at the time, my only appetite was for Ganieda. It may well have been the longest day of my life: would the sun never go down? Would the twilight never come, when I would bear Ganieda away to the sleeping-place that had been prepared for us to share our first night together? I kept looking at the sky and finding it still light.
So, we sang, and the jars and cups went round, and the meat was served up and the loaves of hot bread, and the steaming vegetables, and the sweetmeats. We sang some more – Blaise and his druids provided endless music on their harps – and I do not think even Taliesin could have filled that hall with a better sound.
Oh, but Taliesin was there; he was there, Wolf, he was there. You only had to look at my mother's face to know it: Taliesin's spirit infused the day; his presence was a sweet fragrance everywhere. Charis had rarely appeared more fair, more radiant. Likely, she was living her own wedding day in mine.
'Mother, are you enjoying yourself?' I asked; a needless question, for a blind man could have seen it.
'Oh, Merlin, my Hawk, you have made me very happy.' She drew me to her and kissed me. 'Ganieda is a wonderful young woman.'
Then you approve?'
'How sweet of you to pretend that it mattered. But since you ask – yes, I approve. She is what every mother would have for a daughter, and as a wife for her son. No woman could ask for more.' Charis put a hand to my cheek. 'You have my blessing, Merlin – a thousand times if once.'
It was important for Charis to say this to me, since her own father's refusal to bless her marriage is what had driven her and Taliesin away. Even though Avallach had become reconciled in the end, it had caused them both considerable pain.
Subtle are the workings of God's ways: if Elphin and his people had not been driven from Caer Dyvi, if the Cymry had not come to Ynys Avallach, if Charis and Taliesin had not been driven from the Isle of Apples, and if they had not come to Maridunum, and if… and if… well, then I would never have been born, and I would not have been taken by the Hill Folk, and I would never have met Ganieda, and I would not be a king of Dyfed now, and this would not be my marriage day…
Great Light, Mover of all that is moving and at rest, be my Journey and my far Destination, be my Want and my Fulfilling, be my Sowing and my Reaping, be my glad Song and my stark Silence. Be my Sword and my strong Shield, be my Lantern and my dark Night, be my everlasting Strength and my piteous Weakness. Be my Greeting and my parting Prayer, be my bright Vision and my Blindness, be my Joy and my sharp Grief, be my sad Death and my sure Resurrection!
Yes, Charis loved Ganieda, a circumstance from which I derived unexpected pleasure. It was joy itself to see them together, fussing over the preparations before the wedding, knowing that I was the object of devotion in their warm womanly hearts, and the living link between them. May such love increase!
They were, both of them, Faery Queens, tall of stature and elegant in every detail, perfection in movement, harmony made flesh, beauty embodied. To see them together was to catch breath and pray thanks to the Gifting God.
Men speak foolishly of the beauty that slays, though I believe such a thing may exist. But there is also a beauty that heals, that restores and revives all who behold it. This is the beauty Charis and Ganieda possessed. And it greatly cheered Custennin and Maelwys to see it; those two kings glowed like men aflame with their good fortune.
I tell you the truth, there was never a more joyous company gathered beneath one roof than gathered beneath the roof of Maelwys' hall that wedding day.
O Wolf, it was a fine and happy day.
And it was a fine and enchanting night. My body was made for hers, and hers for mine. The delight of our lovemaking could have cheered whole nations, I believe. Even now the smell of clean rushes and new fleece, of beeswax candles and baking barley cakes makes my blood run bold in my veins.
We slipped unnoticed from the feast – or perhaps by common consent the celebrants chose not to attend to our leaving – and flew to the courtyard, where Pelleas had my horse saddled and ready. I took the reins from him and swung myself into the saddle, and reached down for Ganieda, and settled her before me in the saddle, and, with my arms around her, I caught up the bundle Pelleas offered and clattered from the courtyard.