“How was the king when you saw him?”
“I was not with him long, but he received me courteously-although his wound pained him and he was made to lie down the while.”
Charis nodded and spun the feather between her fingers. “Thank you,” she said. “I am grateful for your service and would repay you in some way.”
“I have been paid already,” replied the messenger, inclining his head. “If there is nothing more, I will leave you now.” With that he turned and was quickly gone.
Charis could not understand the meaning of the black feather. When Taliesin returned from riding with Lord Pen-daran and his sons, she told him about the messenger and the token he had given her. “Here it is,” she said, handing the feather to him. “Just as he gave it to me.”
Taliesin grimaced when he saw it and when he raised his eyes, his smile was forced and tight. “You see? Here is the sign you asked for.”
“A black feather?”
“A raven’s feather. It is said among my people that a man knows he must die when he hears a raven croak outside his house on a night without a moon. The raven’s feather is a symbol of mourning.”
Charis shuddered. “How can you say that I asked for this?”
“It may be that Avallach is telling you that he is in mourning. He misses you and mourns your absence. Time and brother Dafyd have done their work; Avallach is reconciled to our marriage. He is sorry and wants you to come back.”
“If that is so, why did he send it with a stranger? Why not with one of our own people?”
“That we will have to ask him when we see him,” replied Taliesin. “A day which is not far off.”
Charis had been so distracted by the feather, the meaning of Taliesin’s words were just reaching her. “Then we can go home?”
“Indeed, we will leave as soon as provisions can be made ready.”
“Tomorrow then!” exclaimed Charis, “We leave tomorrow!” She squeezed his hand and called for Rhuna, and the two began making preparations.
Lord Pendaran appeared sorrowful when Taliesin told him about the message from King Avallach. His smile sagged at the corners and the light dimmed in his eyes. “I have long known this day was coming,” he said, nodding slowly. “But that does not make it easier to bear. I arn sorry to see you go, my friend, though I know you must.”
“That was not your attitude on our first meeting,” Taliesin reminded him.
Pendaran’s smile became grim and he waved the comment aside with his hand. “That was a different Gleddyvrudd, I tell you, than the one you see before you now.”
“I know,” replied Taliesin, clapping a hand to Pendaran’s shoulder, “but it is good to be reminded of the past from time to time lest we become arrogant.”
“Ah, you see? You are my better self, Taliesin, my soul’s true guide.”
“The Light,” said Taliesin. “Look to the Light and serve Him, Lord Pendaran, and He will be to you a better guide than any mortal man.”
Pendaran shook his head sadly. “It is with a heavy heart that I see you go.”
“We are not gone yet.”
“No, but soon enough. Still, I will not let you go until I have your promise that you will come back to stay once more beneath this roof.”
“Let it be so,” agreed Taliesin.
The rest of the day, while Rhuna and Heilyn gathered provisions for the journey, Charis packed their few Belongings. She went about her preparations with a lightness of heart that she had not felt for many months, saying over and over to herself, “I am going home… Home…” And it seemed that the word had suddenly begun to live for her again, after being so long dead.
Now and again she would find herself standing beside the wicker cradle where little Merlin lay. “We are going home, Merlin,” she told him, ruffling his downy-soft hair as he slept, his tiny hand pressed against his cheek, fingers curled tight in a baby fist.
Thoughts of home brought thoughts of her mother, and Charis wished that Briseis would be there to see her child. There was so much she wanted to ask her mother, to share with her, but it could not be. She picked up the sleeping infant and held him close, murmuring softly and thinking about a time long ago when Briseis was still alive and the sun shone fair over lost Atlantis.
Eiddon came to her then and announced that he would go with them. “So you will not lack for company on the way,” he told her, although privately he thought that a second sword and spear would be no bad thing.
By evening they were ready. Charis dined in the hall, sitting next to the king, while Taliesin sang for Pendaran’s household one last time. Early the next morning as they came out into the foreyard to leave they found Eiddon and the youngest of the icing’s sons, Salach, who was leading the packhorse on which had been fixed the hawk’s perch. Three other horses stood ready, and Lord Pendaran was talking to his sons; he turned as Taliesin and Charis, with Merlin wrapped warmly in soft wool and rabbit skins, approached.
“It will be a good day for a journey,” Pendaran said. “You will make a fair distance before nightfall.”
Taliesin saw the empty saddles and said, “We are taking half your stable by the look of it.”
“Nonsense,” said the king. “I would go with you also if I could be spared my duties here. But I send my sons in my stead; and Rhuna has begged the boon of attending her lady and the babe on the journey. I have gladly consented.”
Charis embraced the lord warmly. “Thank you, Lord Pendaran. I would not be my father’s daughter if I did not extend the hospitality of Avallach’s house to you and yours. If ever you come to Ynys Witrin, know that the gates are open to you and a place of honor assured,”
“I have done little enough to warrant it,” Pendaran replied. “But if it means we will see each other again, I accept with gratitude.”
“Farewell, Red Sword,” said Taliesin, gripping Pendaran by the hands. “I will not forget my promise, but I will hold the day of our reunion in my heart.”
The king pulled Taliesin into a rough embrace, pounding him on the back, saying, “Go now, so that day will come all the sooner.”
Henwas and Heilyn appeared with Rhuna and said their good-byes. Rhuna climbed into the saddle, Eiddon called farewell to his father, and they turned the horses and started down the hill toward Maridunum, still dark in the valley beneath a pall of blue-white smoke haze. As they rode through the stone-paved streets people poked their heads out and watched in silence as the riders passed by or murmured knowingly to one another as they stared at the beautiful woman carrying the infant: “The Queen of the Fair Folk! See? And there is the infant king!”
They rode south toward the great Mor Hafren on the Roman road that followed the shoreline to Caer Legionis and Caer Gwent before it turned east to Glevum and the Roman towns of the south all the way to Londiniurn and beyond. Skirting the high heath hills to the north, they passed through the ruins of old Lencarum-once a tight little port town on a sheltered bay, now a gray stone shambles sliding into oblivion-reaching the City of the Legion by sunset of the third day. The tribune there knew Eiddon well and welcomed the travelers to his house which, like many of the officers, he kept in the city outside the walls of the fort.
“There is nothing to worry about,” Tribune Valens told Eiddon confidentially. They were sitting in the small kitchen at a wooden table, a jar of beer between them. “There have been no raiders sighted in the region this spring. And Count Theodosius’ campaign in the north and east has been strikingly successful. Most of the dogs that moved in during the conspiracy have been overrun and sent limping back to their mongrel dens with their tails between their legs.”