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heard the news, but if the Saxons reached Corinium first, then all hope was gone. There was little enough
hope even if we did win the race, for without Gwent s spearmen we would be so outnumbered that only
a miracle could save us.
 Nonsense! Guinevere said when I had explained the situation.  Arthur hasn t even begun to fight!
We re going to win, Derfel, we re going to win! And with that defiant statement she laughed and,
forgetting her precious dignity, danced some steps on the verge of the track. All seemed doom, but
Guinevere was suddenly free and full of light and I had never liked her as much as I did at that moment.
Suddenly, for the first time since I had seen the beacon fires smoking in the Beltain dusk, I felt a surge of
hope.
The hope faded quickly enough, for at Dun Caric there was nothing but chaos and mystery. Issa had
not returned and the small village beneath the hall was filled with refugees who were fleeing from rumour,
though none had actually seen a Saxon. The refugees had brought their cattle, their sheep, their goats and
their pigs, and all had converged on Dun Caric because my spearmen offered an illusion of safety. I used
my servants and slaves to start new rumours that said Arthur would be withdrawing westwards to the
country bordering Kernow, and that I had decided to cull the refugees herds and flocks to provide
rations for my men and those false rumours were enough to start most of the families walking towards the
distant Kernow frontier. They should be safe enough on the great moors and by fleeing westwards their
cattle and sheep would not block the roads to Corinium. If I had simply ordered them towards Kernow
they would have been suspicious and lingered to make certain that I was not tricking them.
Issa was not with us by nightfall. I was still not unduly worried, for the road to Durnovaria was long
and it was doubtless thronged with refugees. We made a meal in the hall and Pyrlig sang us the song of
Uther s great victory over the Saxons at Caer Idem. When the song ended, and I had tossed Pyrlig a
golden coin, I remarked that I had once heard Cynyr of Gwent sing that song, and Pyrlig was impressed.
 Cynyr was the greatest of all the bards, he said wistfully,  though some say Amairgin of Gwynedd was
better. I wish I d heard either of them.
 My brother, Ceinwyn remarked,  says there is an even greater bard in Powys now. And just a young
man, too.
 Who? Pyrlig demanded, scenting an unwelcome rival.
 Taliesin is his name, Ceinwyn said.
 Taliesin! Guinevere repeated the name, liking it. It meant  shining brow .
 I ve never heard of him, Pyrlig said stiffly.
 When we ve beaten the Saxons, I said,  we shall demand a song of victory from this Taliesin. And
from you too, Pyrlig, I added hastily.
 I once heard Amairgin sing, Guinevere said.
 You did, Lady? Pyrlig asked, again impressed.
 I was only a child, she said,  but I remember he could make a hollow roaring sound. It was very
frightening. His eyes would go very wide, he swallowed air, then he bellowed like a bull.
 Ah, the old style, Pyrlig said dismissively.  These days, Lady, we seek harmony of words rather than
mere volume of sound.
 You should seek both, Guinevere said sharply.  I ve no doubt this Taliesin is a master of the old style
as well as being skilled at metre, but how can you hold an audience enthralled if all you offer them is
clever rhythm? You must make their blood run cold, you must make them cry, you must make them
laugh!
 Any man can make a noise, Lady, Pyrlig defended his craft,  but it takes a skilled craftsman to imbue
words with harmony.
 And soon the only people who can understand the intricacies of the harmony, Guinevere argued,  are
other skilled craftsmen, and so you become ever more clever in an effort to impress your fellow poets,
but you forget that no one outside the craft has the first notion of what you re doing. Bard chants to bard
while the rest of us wonder what all the noise is about. Your task, Pyrlig, is to keep the people s stories
alive, and to do that you cannot be rarefied.
 You would not have us be vulgar, Lady! Pyrlig said and, in protest, struck the horsehair strings of his
harp.
 I would have you be vulgar with the vulgar, and clever with the clever, Guinevere said,  and both,
mark you, at the same time, but if you can only be clever then you deny the people their stories, and if
you can only be vulgar then no lord or lady will toss you gold.
 Except the vulgar lords, Ceinwyn put in slyly.
Guinevere glanced at me and I saw she was about to launch an insult at me, and then she recognized
the impulse herself and burst into laughter.  If I had gold, Pyrlig, she said instead,  I would reward you,
for you sing beautifully, but alas, I have none.
 Your praise is reward enough, Lady, Pyrlig said.
Guinevere s presence had startled my spearmen and all evening I saw small groups of men come to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]