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After Ceredig’s suggestion that he should dress like a woman, Elffin ceased to shave. A couple of weeks later he had cultivated what would become a big beard, red and blond. It wasn’t, he told me in confidence, that he found it that repulsive to wear a dress:
"I can imagine," he said, "that it would be cool and comfortable in the summer, wearing a loose-fitting dress. No, I wouldn’t mind that. But Ceredig still has that pink dress stuffed into one of his saddlebags, and if I know him right, he wouldn’t hesitate to order me to put it on, without preparation. No, let him ask Owain instead. Then he’ll see what a silly notion it was in the first place."
Then he paused, looking concerned. "You know, Cullyn," he said to me, "Ceredig has too much influence over Owain. Someday, I’ll try to make a grown man out of him, one who can think for himself and who doesn’t trust his brother’s every word. For you know as well as I that Ceredig does not see him as a man, but only as his little brother. Sure, he looks after him, but he doesn’t respect him."
I could only agree. Although loyalty is a fine thing, it can be taken too far. However, I just nodded and refrained from commenting, knowing how fiercely loyal Elffin was to his lord. This did not change when Band deceased – instead, the loyalty Elffin gave his next lord would be even greater, but I suppose that should not be surprising, considering the strong bond they had forged during the year they were just friends of equal rank.
Some years later, Elffin kept his word and tried to make an independent man of Owain and the birth of Cunobaros the second marked the success of his campaign. Now, this brings me to the story of the first we met who carried that name. One tidbit of gossip the peddlers had brought with them when they were following the spring two years earlier was that the mother of Ceredig and Owain had died, and that their father had stated he would come to Bedford to visit his sons. But he never arrived, and as it was said that he meant to take the road through the Savage Forest, nobody thought he ever would. That forest had a nasty reputation, it was said to be a place where horrible monsters lived, and where robbers waylaid travellers. Considering what was told nobody though it likely their father was still alive. But we would be proved wrong.
* * *
During the winter, there had been talk among the peasants about a mad hermit in the forests. He was reputed to come and go stealthily without a trace, surprising hunters, foresters, and wood gathering women. And those he met, he sometimes gave a prophecy, some insane words that made sense only after the event they warned about had already come to pass. Clothed in tatters, dirty and unkempt, he was said to look worse than the poorest beggar. Nobody knew where he lived, or indeed what he lived of, but the peasants said he had his lair somewhere in the deep forest.
The story intrigued lord Band, and as the days grew warmer he often pondered what this alleged prophet would have to say him. Finally, he let it be known that he would like to meet the hermit, and that whoever brought him to the castle in time for the midsummer feast would be richly rewarded. Of course, this stirred Ceredig, who saw his chance to redeem himself in the eyes of his lord. As he had since he was fit enough to serve, he had been assigned the night shift. Serving with him were Elffin, Owain and Pertacus who had all shared the fall from the grace of their lord when they failed to kill Cerwd. But by offering money and favours, Ceredig managed to convince other men to take their place. I was one of them, and Dafwydd joined me.
They went out early one morning a couple of days before midsummer. The persistent rains that had dampened the area for a week had finally drawn by, and the sun shone on them from a pale blue sky. Although many had tried, no one had found the hermit. By now many were convinced the prophet would never be found unless he wanted to. But Ceredig felt hopeful, since Elffin was a good tracker, and he saw the change in the weather as a fortunate sign. The huntmaster of Bedford, a fellow named Collum, had been out looking, but in vain. While Collum was a far better woodsman than any other Ceredig had met, he nevertheless believed Elffin would succeed. What he lacked in tracking skills, he made up for in cunning and ruthlessness.
They halted in the village closest to the forest, north and west of Bedford. Since the people there had seen the most of the hermit, Ceredig thought it prudent to ask around there first. Almost everybody else who had been out looking had started there too, without success, but Ceredig had awoken with a feeling that this day was special. Most of the people were out in the fields, working, but the steady ring of a hammer pounding on steel revealed that there was at least one who had work to do at home. The smithy was by the village-square, and the doors stood wide ajar in the hot day. The young man paused in his work as they peeked in, and nodded respectfully towards them.
"Good morning. How can I be of service?"
"Are you the master of this smithy?" Ceredig answered curiously.
"Heavens, no. I am still an apprentice, though you found me working on my examination piece." He held up a beautifully welded sword blade, which shimmered in the light of the forge. "Just the finish left, I believe."
"Man, that’s beautiful." Owain exclaimed. "Do you think you could make me a dagger in the same way?"
"Sure, but it won’t be cheap. Work like this takes time, you know, and I have to do it in my spare time, since my master will have the right to give me assignments. But if you can wait, then I can do it for you."
Both Owain and Ceredig ordered heavy hunting knives with Guest’s sign etched on the blade, thinking that it was some kind of occult symbol that would prove powerful. Pertacus asked for a more slender blade, with a cross on, while Elffin did not order a dagger at all.
"It’s not that I wouldn’t want one, but I can’t afford it", he said.
Then the young apprentice, soon to be journeyman, smith asked if there was anything else he could help them with.
"Well," Ceredig said, "you wouldn’t know anything about this mad hermit you’ve got out in the woods, do you?"
"So you are after the reward too?" the smith laughed. "To tell you the truth, I don’t think he’ll ever be caught. A lot of people have been out looking for him these last two weeks, but no one has seen a trace of him, from what I’ve heard."
"Yes, we know that, but we intend to try anyway. Now, do you have anything to say that could help us?"
"No sir," came the answer, "I don’t think so. He’s reputed to hide somewhere in the woods here, but as to where, precisely, I fear I can’t help you."
"Then maybe there’s somebody else…"
"Nay, sir, I fear none can help you. As I said, many have tried to find him, but none has succeeded. He won’t be found, I think."
Slightly disappointed, Ceredig bade the smith good bye and led his friends towards the forest. Now, you should know that the lack of knowledge the young smith evidenced was not altogether honest. Another had already sworn him and the rest of the villagers to secrecy, and together they would manage to locate the elusive madman. But even though Ceredig’s party would not succeed in bringing home the prize, they would encounter a stranger in the woods.
* * *
They spent the whole day in the forest, looking for tracks, searching for proof of the hermit’s presence, but all in vain. When the sun finally set they found themselves in a clearing by a small lake, and a long way from home. Since they were deep in the forest they decided to spend the night there and head back for home again at dawn.
Owain had borrowed a fishing net from Oban, thinking that it would be handy to snare the hermit, should they find him. Now, as the setting sun painted the western sky red, he and Elffin tried to use it in the lake, hoping to catch something for the evening meal. At first, they tried to throw it out and haul it in, but this proved difficult. Soon they both dropped the net, and it flew out into the middle of the brook and sank. As Pertacus and Ceredig began to laugh, Owain put on a fearful expression.
"I must retrieve it," he said, "or I’ll never dare to return to the castle."
"Why not?" Elffin asked.
"That’s Oban’s net. Would you want to face his anger?"
Elffin agreed that he had a point, and offered to help him. Quickly they stripped off their clothes and went into the water. At first they could wade, but suddenly Elffin disappeared, having found a spot where the bottom fell away. He soon re-emerged, spluttering and cursing, and their two friends on dry land began to laugh again. After much trouble, they finally managed to retrieve the net, and they came out of the water. Shivering in the cool breeze of the night, they hurriedly wiped the water off and put on their clothes.
"Well," Ceredig said, "if there ever was any fish there, you’ve certainly scared them away now. We’ll have to do with the bread and cheese we have left from lunch."
Then he prudently made a watch rooster, so they all would take turns at keeping vigil. And it was well that he did, too, but if it had not been for his frustration this would not have been enough. As they had been out all day since early they were tired, and the others fell fast asleep as Owain took his post. For prudence’ sake, they had all brought their armour and weapons with them on a borrowed pony, and sleepily Owain put his equipment on. Then he stoked the fire and let its warmth dry the last of the dampness from his long hair.
* * *
It was peaceful, sitting there by the fire, and after a while Owain woke with a start, looking guiltily about. No one was awake, and judging by the thin sliver of the moon he had slept for no more than half an hour. Fearful he would succumb to the lures of sleep again, should he sit by the fire, he spent the rest of his watch walking around the camp, peering into the dark forest for signs of danger.
Finally his ordeal was over, and he carefully awoke Elffin. Making sure his friend was completely awake, Owain took his armour off and went to sleep on his blanket. As I have said before, Elffin was not the most energetic character I have met, and soon he drifted off to sleep. Alas, he was not as fortunate as Owain, who had slept but a short while. No, with his head on a log he closed his eyes "just for a minute" and embraced the sleep with all his heart.
Now, Ceredig was frustrated over the failure of his quest, and he tossed and turned, coming awake from time to time and then finding a fitful sleep again. Finally he awoke and looked at the position of the moon, judging it well past the time Elffin should have come and roused him. Wondering why this was the case, he heard the familiar sound of Elffin snoring.
Silently cursing he got up and found the guard happily asleep. On soft feet Ceredig went down to the water with his helmet and filled it with water. Then, with great satisfaction, he let the water trickle down on the sleeping Elffin. Starting at the groin, he watched how his victim managed to continue snoring as the water moved over his stomach, his chest and his neck. Not until Ceredig poured the last of the water straight into his open mouth did Elffin wake, but when he did, he literally jumped to his feet, coughing and spluttering. He looked down on himself and then lifted his eyes to the perpetrator of the offence. Ceredig looked back with a mean smile, but before he could begin to express his feelings for Elffin’s trustworthiness, he saw a fist heading for his face at great speed.
"What did ye do thet for? Can ye not jist wake one?" Elffin shouted as Ceredig dodged back. "Are ye mad, man?"
His shouts awoke the others, who rose to see what the commotion was all about. Owain’s yawn froze as he saw Ceredig hit Elffin, who stood still as a rock. Then he swung again and Ceredig nimbly dodged, astonished over the way things were going.
"Stand still, man," Elffin growled, "I can’t hit ye when ye jump away."
Ceredig avoided another blow and signalled for the others to come: "Grab him". They complied, wondering what had infuriated their friend so much. Elffin struggled but they held him fast, and Ceredig gave him an evil glance.
"Good. Now throw him into the water."
Protesting wildly, Elffin was dragged down to the brook and thrown into the water. He came up spluttering and glared at Ceredig, but before he could utter a word, his commander spoke up, with a low, tightly controlled voice filled with contempt.
"You fell asleep on your post. You failed your duty."
Then he returned to the camp and put on his gear. Owain gave his friend a sympathetic look and shook his head when Elffin opened his mouth to protest.
"He’s right, you know. And there’s no use to talk to him when he’s in that mood. Trust me," Owain said quietly and extended his hand, "I know. Let it lie now and talk to him later."
"He could’ve let me hit ’im," Elffin responded as he took the hand he was offered and climbed up, "instead of jumpin’ around."
"Why is that so important?"
"Hmpf! A man must pay back in kind, or he’s no man."
They said nothing more, but Owain would remember his friend’s words, and in the years to come he would learn that once Elffin was angered, he would not calm down again until he had hit someone.
* * *
After the commotion, both Elffin and Owain found it hard to return to sleep. After a half an hour of tossing and turning they got up to keep Ceredig company. The fire was burning low, and they sat silent in the gloom, each lost in his private thoughts. After a while, Ceredig began to yawn, and Owain went to put on his armour.
"Go to sleep, brother," he said quietly, "I’ll keep watch now. I can’t sleep anyway."
Ceredig looked offended, but before he could reply, he heard the muffled sound of voices. A glance confirmed that the others had heard it as well, and he put a finger to his lips indicating they should remain silent. Elffin carefully rose and put on his new leather armour and his helmet. Then he looked at Ceredig and indicated a question with a nod towards the sleeping Pertacus. Ceredig nodded in reply, but repeated the gesture for silence. Thankfully, Pertacus was never as hard to wake as his countryman Elffin, and was soon busy, silently readying himself. They all drew swords and waited.
Then they heard the sound of footsteps drawing closer. Whoever it was, he took some care to be quiet, and Ceredig indicated to his friends that they should lie down and pretend to sleep. They did so, and Ceredig slumped down and tried to look relaxed. After a while, he heard some snatches of whispered conversation, then hurried steps approaching their camp. Soon, the soft footfalls turned into running steps, and Ceredig rose to meet the newcomers even as the others sprang to their feet. Pertacus threw more wood on the fire and in the sudden flare of light they saw a group of Saxons running towards them, axes raised high. The first man came fast, but when the fire flared up he shied from the light, stumbled and fell on his face in front of Ceredig, who nimbly put the point of his sword to the man’s neck. Taking hold of the crosspiece he put his weight on the sword, and with a gnashing sound the point pierced the fallen man’s spine. Ceredig pulled his sword free to meet the next Saxon.
All in all, the attackers numbered five men, of which four died. One was taken prisoner; Elffin struck him over the head with the flat of his blade so hard that the man lost his consciousness. Ceredig’s party had only suffered minor wounds, due to the fact that they had surprised the ambushers. Upon inspection, the Saxons proved to be a sorry lot. Their clothes and equipment were of inferior quality and they seemed weak and haggard. The prisoner was tied and disarmed, the dead dragged away into the forest. By the time they were finished, the sun had come up, and they brought out the remains of their food to break their fast.
* * *
As they were eating, they heard again someone move in the undergrowth. Quickly they grabbed their weapons, cursing that they had removed their armour. But there was no assailant coming forth from the woods. By now they all recognised the grey felt hat they saw; the enigmatic Guest had come again, and Ceredig began to curse under his breath.
"What do you want?" he called. "How come you always turn up when we’ve been in a fight?"
Guest remained silent while he walked into their little camp and sat down on a log. Then he looked at Ceredig for a long while.
"Be quiet, boy." The cold and unemotional tone of his voice was frightening. "I have come to tell you a story, and give you a warning."
Startled into silence, Ceredig sat down too, and indicated to Guest he should continue. The others exchanged a worried look, then turned their attention to Guest, who told them a story of a great battle, where a commander had been told by his leader to remain behind, and not enter the fray until a horn was sounded as a signal the men were needed. So the commander remained in hiding with his men, anxiously following the battle as he waited for the signal to sound.
"Then he saw a detachment of the enemy break free from the battle and move around, preparing to fall in the back of his friends. The commander hesitated, torn between his orders and the opportunity to save the day, which had been presented in front of him. Then he made up his mind, and motioned his men to silence. Carefully he and his soldiers moved forward, undetected by the enemy. Then, just as the enemies were about to attack, the commander led his men into their back."
Guest paused to study the rapt attention on the faces of his audience. Then he looked into Ceredig’s eyes and continued.
"The surprising attack routed the enemy, and the commander led the pursuit. Then, as he was laughing of joy at the thought of the glory he had gained, he heard the horn. Halting, abandoning the pursuit, he turned around and ran back. When he reached the position he had been assigned, he looked out over the battlefield. The horn sounded again, and his eyes found his leader, whose few remaining men were completely surrounded by enemies. Even as he began to run towards them, they was struck down, the horn torn from the dead hands of the man who had trusted the commander to be ready to help."
Guest sat silent for a while, holding Ceredig’s eyes. "Beware. There will be a great battle, and of the men with you, one will be named traitor, one will be named hero, and one will die for a friend’s hand." Then he rose to his feet.
"The sun will come up any minute now. Return to the castle – he who you sought will have something to tell you. Take care, and remember my words. "
They were not really surprised when he quickly vanished in the forest.
"That man really intrigues me." Ceredig said. "I wonder so who he is and what he wants of us. What’s so special about us, anyway? If there is something he wants us to do, why can’t he tell us what it is?" Then he rose and kicked at the cold ashes of the fire. "We’d better leave, as he said. Lord Band expects us back this morning anyway."
* * *
When they came back to the castle, they found that Guest had been correct. Band was in the courtyard, and told them that the hermit had been found and captured by Ewan, the former wagoneer. He had enlisted all his friends and relatives in the search, and while Ceredig muttered about this unfair behaviour, his own deeds were not unrecognised. Lord Band was happy they had captured one of the Saxons for interrogation. Ever since the beginning of spring the land had been plagued by Saxon raiders. Rumour had it that their crops had failed the previous year, and that the long and hard winter had emptied all stores.
Since no one in Bedford could speak the Saxon tongue, the prisoner was kept in the courtyard until he could be taken to Earl Robert in Huntington, who had a merchant with knowledge of the barbarian language in his employ. Not far from where they put the prisoner, they found the hermit sitting in the dirt. Band explained that he had started to howl and scream when they tried to bring him inside, so he had been assigned a corner behind the stables, where Tyngyr stood guard over him.
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"The tables will turn, the world will turn, all will change and all will remain unchanged."
As his friends went to find something to eat, Owain remained with Tyngyr and studied the dirty old man. Somehow there was something familiar about his features, but since they were hidden in dirt and beard he could not identify him. Truly, he was a sad sight. He was dressed in a long tunic, which was as dirty as it was torn, and a faded old blanket as a mantle. From this blanket he had torn strips to tie around his feet. His hair and beard was grey and very dirty, and his green eyes shone with a gleam of madness. Beside him he had a walking staff, which his left hand was constantly clutching and releasing.
"Has he said anything?" Owain asked Tyngyr.
"Not anything you’d recognise as speech, no. Frankly, I don’t believe all this talk about him being a prophet. He’s just a madman." Then he shrugged. "But Band thinks there is a bit of truth in it, and who am I to argue. I wanted to tie him up, but Band wouldn’t allow it, saying he should be free to go wherever he wants inside the walls. So far he hasn’t moved."
The hermit glared at them and rose unsteadily, leaning on his staff. Tyngyr and Owain backed away, overwhelmed by the stench of the man, and followed as he hobbled to the Saxon prisoner. The latter, who had regained consciousness, sat with his hands tied behind his back and looked defiantly at the dirty old man and the two warriors in front of him.
"In days to come", the hermit suddenly said as he raised his finger in the air as if to make a point, "your descendants will defend this land from invaders from across the sea." Then he cackled. "The tables will turn, the world will turn, all will change and all will remain unchanged."
The sound of his voice startled Owain, who was sure he had heard it somewhere before. He closed his eyes and tried to capture the evasive memory, when his nose told him that the hermit had turned to face him.
"Say farewell to your loved ones, in fire they will perish. Your firstborn guard - shall he live one from your blood will bring a king down, and become king himself."
The words sent shivers down Owain’s spine. He didn’t know why, but he was suddenly sure that this was a prophet, and that his words were true. His children, his wife, to burn. Then, as the prophet turned to Tyngyr, he realised where he had heard that voice before.
"On the eve of victory, the high will fall low," the hermit said. "The cup tainted, the servant false, the dream shattered."
Owain took a thin arm and turned the madman to face himself. For a long time they looked into each other’s green eyes, and Tyngyr drew a deep breath, suddenly understanding what he was seeing.
Not letting go of the old man’s arm, Owain spoke. His husky voice was harsher than Tyngyr had ever heard it. "Fetch Ceredig, I need him now."
Tyngyr quickly left, shaking his head in amazement.
When Tyngyr returned with Ceredig, the hermit was once again sitting down in the dirt, his eyes unfocused. In front of him Owain squatted, intently looking at him.
"What is it?" Ceredig asked him. "What’s the problem?"
"Come here and look at him", Owain answered.
Hearing the urgency in his brother’s voice, Ceredig knelt down beside him. "Why? He’s an old, mad and dirty man. What is there to see?"
"Just look at him – does he remind you of someone?"
Ceredig studied the man in front of him carefully, but couldn’t see what his brother so obviously expected him to see. Then he froze in shock, and at the same moment the hermit focused his eyes on him and spoke.
"Beware the maimed one. By treachery and treason he’ll seek to bring you down."
Ceredig inhaled and grabbed the shoulders of the hermit.
"Father? Is that you?"
The trap S:t Albans
Text (c) Örjan Westin 1999, art (c) Ann-Cathrine Loo 1999.