'Swords and doves, Bedwyr!' I said. 'Think what it means!'
'Am I a bard?' growled Bedwyr. 'Tell me, Myrddin.'
'It means she has claimed him for her husband,' I told him. 'Does Arthur accept the dove?'
'He does,' Bedwyr replied. 'He holds it in his hand.'
'Then he has accepted the match,' I told him, realizing the ruin of the day. It was over before I could make a move to prevent it.
In truth, I should have known it was finished the day Fergus brought the treasures of his tribe to Arthur as tribute, placing his daughter and his champion in Arthur's care. In accepting Fergus' tribute he tacitly accepted the proposed match.
From the moment Gwenhwyvar set eyes on Arthur, she had chosen him for her mate. That is the way it is done among Ierne's royalty. For the sovereignty of the Eireann Island race runs through its women. That is to say, a man derives his kingship through his wife. Among the Children of Danna, kings enjoy their season, but the queen is queen forever.
And Arthur, innocent of the significance, made no complaint. Why would he? She was beautifuclass="underline" hair black as a raven's breast, plaited in hundreds of tiny braids, each one bound with a golden thread and gathered to fall around her shoulders and neck – blackest jet against pale white skin. Her eyes were grey as mountain mist; her brow was high and smooth, and her lips cherry red.
Never forget she was a warrior queen. She carried a spear, a sword, and a small round shield of bronze; her fair form she clothed in silver mail, of rings so small and bright they rippled like water when she moved. And Llwch Llenlleawg, her champion and battlechief, served Arthur well and took his rightful place among the Cymbrogi; but the tall Irishman was the queen's guardian first, last, and always.
It was true that the kings and lords of Britain would never have tolerated a High King whose wife was not a Briton born. But Gwenhwyvar, shrewd and subtle, had already triumphed.
Before anyone knew it had begun, the contest was over. She simply waited until Arthur had claimed the kingship; then she claimed him. True, she waited not one moment longer than necessary lest any rival enjoy even the slightest chance. On the day that Arthur took the crown for the second time, that day was Arthur also wed.
We stayed in Londinium six days in all – feasting the kings and lords who had come to pay homage and tribute to the new High King. The feast became Arthur and Gwenhwyvar's marriage repast as well, and no one enjoyed the celebration more than Fergus of Ierne, Gwenhwyvar's father. I do not think I ever knew a happier man.
Arthur was pleased, as well he might be. He admired Gwenhwyvar for her boldness, and stood in awe – almost everyone did – of her beauty. Still, he did not love her. At least, not yet. That would come; in time they would learn a love which bards would celebrate a thousand years hence. But, as is so often the way with two such strong-willed mates, their first days of marriage chafed them both.
When the last lord had departed to his hearth, we also departed: the Cymbrogi with Cador and Bors to Caer Melyn, and the rest of us, Cai, Bedwyr, Llenlleawg, myself and Arthur, to Ierne with Gwenhwyvar. It is a short voyage and the weather stayed fair.
I remembered Ierne as a green gem set in a silver sea. It is a shallow bowl of an island, lacking Prydein's rough crags; what hills Ierne boasts are gentle and wooded, and its few mountains are not high. Expansive and numerous are its plains, which grow good grain in plenty. If the island's contentious kings ever stopped slaughtering one another, they might find themselves possessing grain-wealth enough to attract trade from the east for the upbuilding of their people.
It is a damp land, alas, suffering almost continual inundation by both sea and sky. Even so, the rain is soft, filling the rivers and streams with sweet water. The ale of the Irish is surprisingly good, for all they make it with scorched grain – yet another mystery concerning this baffling race.
We sailed into a bay on the northeastern coast. I heard a loud whoop, and Cai, standing beside me at the rail, said, 'It is Fergus, bless him. He is wading out to welcome us.' Even as he spoke I heard the splash of someone striding through the tidewash.
Fergus shouted something which I did not catch, and a moment later, a strange, shrill wail sounded from the beach. 'What is happening, Cai?'
'Fergus' bards, I think. He has his retinue with him, and the bards are making a sort of music for us with pig bladders.' He paused. 'Most peculiar.'
I had encountered the instrument before: an odd conflux of pipes which in their hands produce a laudable variety of sounds: now crooning, now crying, now piercing as a scream, now sighing and low. When played with the harp, which they often did, this piping made a most enjoyable music. And the voices of Eire's bards are almost as good as those of the Cymry.
Many among the Learned Brotherhood hold that the men of Green Ierne and the black hills of Prydein were brothers before Manawyddan's waters divided them. Perhaps that is the way of it. The people are dark, for the most part, like the mountain Cymry, and they are keen-witted and as ready for laughter as a fight. Like the Celts of elder times, they are generous in all things, especially song and celebration. They love dancing, and think themselves ill-treated if they are not allowed to move their feet when their filidh play the harp and pipe.
Fergus was lord of a small realm on the northern coast in Dal Riata; his principal stronghold was called Muirbolc after one of his noble kinsmen. His hall and holding, as Cai described it to me, was fashioned on the old style: a number of small round houses – dwellings, grain stores, craftsmen's huts, cookhouses – surrounded a great timber hall with a high-pitched roof of thatch. An earthen wall topped by a palisade of sharpened timber had been flung around the whole. Beyond the wall were fields and cattle pens, and forest.
Inside the hall, which served as the king's house as well as the gathering place for all his folk, the great stone hearth blazed both day and night. Along the walls on either side of the hearth were booths with wicker-work walls where people could rest or withdraw more privately, and at the head of the hearth stood an enormous table, the king's table, fixed to the rooftrees on either side.
Fergus led us to his stronghold and stood before the gate. 'You are welcome in Fergus' dwelling, my friends. Enter and take your ease. Let your cares be as the mist that melts at morning's touch. Come, let us eat and drink, and celebrate the union of our noble tribes together.'
He greatly prized the marriage of his daughter and regarded Arthur as both kinsman and dearest friend. Never have I seen a lord so desirous of pleasing his guests as Fergus mac Guillomar. His good humour never flagged, and bounty, such as he could command, flowed from him like the waters of the silver Siannon. Fergus' fortunes, while still scant, had nevertheless improved since allying himself with Arthur. He possessed a fine herd of horses, and bred hounds second to none. He gave gifts to us all, and to Arthur he also gave a hound pup, which would be trained to battle and the hunt.
Fergus' daughter, too, was desirous of securing our good favour. Gwenhwyvar had brought Arthur to Muirbolc to deliver her dower to him, and a most unusual gift it was. But before I tell of it, I must first tell of the miracle that took place while we sojourned in Eire.
There were priests in the region who constantly sought to persuade Fergus to grant them lands on which to build a church and community for themselves. They also wished the king to join the Christianogi, of course, though they would settle for land.
Fergus did not trust them. He had got it into his head that once a king bent the knee to the Lord Christ, he became impotent. As Fergus was a man who greatly enjoyed the company of beautiful women, in which his realm abounded, it was a difficult thing for him to look favourably on any belief which threatened his pleasure.