Glancing at the gathered clansmen, Elphin replied, “Let us go inside and refresh ourselves and I will tell you all that has happened since I left.”

Gwyddno ordered two men to unload the horses and they all entered the house, leaving their audience agape but with fresh fodder for gossip. Once inside, Taliesin began crying again; so Rhonwyn took him to a corner pallet and, letting down the side of her runic, began to suckle him while the two older women bustled about preparing food. Elphin regarded the scene with favor and began to relate what had transpired on his trip to Diganhwy.

They ate while Elphin talked, and when he finished Gwyddno asked, “What was Lord Killydd’s disposition?”

“He was well disposed to the marriage. In fact, he agreed most heartily when I offered him Eithne’s house. He is getting old and wishes no trouble between our clans. He says there is enough trouble already from the Cruithni in the North.”

Gwyddno considered this. “Well said. I, too, am concerned. The Cruithni become bolder with each passing season. They wait only for an opportunity to strike in force.”

“That they dare not as long as the garrison remains in Caer Seiont.”

“Ah, there is an uneasy peace. Better to have them there than here, I say. It is a shame we have to have them at all.” He reflected for a moment and said, “Still, they are stout fighting men and never shrink from a battle. Was there any news?”

“Little enough. It was a quiet winter for them, as for us. He said the tribune came once to talk about sending men to help protect the Wall. Killydd declined, telling him that he needed his men for planting in the spring. He gave them horses instead.”

Gwyddno nodded. Save for his yearly taxes, which he al ways delivered in person so the magistrates would not forget for a moment who it was that paid, Gwyddno kept his direct dealings with the Romans to a minimum and considered him self fortunate. Although many lords, like Killydd, traded with them-and more than a few battlechiefs fought alongside them for silver-Gwyddno liked them best at a distance. Somehow, where the shrewd and swarthy Romans were concerned, one always came out the poorer for the bargain.

“Now then, about this wedding,” the king said, “I am well pleased.” He turned to look at Rhonwyn sitting beneath the window, her hair aflame in the afternoon light streaming in through the narrow opening. Oblivious to his stare she continued feeding the babe. “Ah, you have done well indeed.”

“When will the marriage take place?” wondered Medhir.

“As soon as possible. Tomorrow, if it can be arranged, or the day after,” replied Elphin.

“We will have a wedding feast!” exclaimed Gwyddno. “The biggest wedding feast anyone has seen.”

“Tomorrow?” began Medhir, looking to Eithne. “Brighid help us, it cannot be tomorrow-or even the day after.”

“And why not?” asked Gwyddno. “If that is Elphin’s choice, so be it.”

“Lord, you forget that Rhonwyn has just given birth. The marriage cannot be consummated until the end of the month at least.”

“It cannot be helped,” agreed Eithne. She glanced fearfully at Elphin and Gwyddno.

“A marriage unconsummated is no marriage at all,” added Medhir uncertainly.

“Well, many a marriage has been consummated well before the wedding,” observed Elphin. “We will do it the other way around.”

“See? You fret over nothing. We will have the wedding,” declared Gwyddno. “Rhonwyn and Elphin will stay here until they can sleep together in the house that I will build for them.”

Elphin thanked his father but said, “I wish to build the house myself.” He gazed at Rhonwyn proudly. “It will be my gift to my wife.”

Hasty plans were made and the wedding announced to the clan, who at once began preparing for the feast. Fire pits were dug and piled with kindling, caldrons scoured and filled with potatoes and turnips in fresh water, hunters dispatched to bring back wild pigs and deer, cattle slaughtered and dressed, fish hauled from the sea in nets, casks of mead and ale stacked on a long table made of split logs, bread baked in special wedding loaves, and torches lashed to long poles.

Immersed in the festive spirit, the clan soon forgot their differences with Elphin and began considering him in a more kindly light. After all, a king’s son was not married every day. And never was there a more generous lord in all Gwy-nedd than Gwyddno Garanhir; everyone was assured of a king’s portion and a celebration second to none.

By midmorning the following day, smoke from the cooking fires was ascending in thick clouds and the aroma of roasting meat permeated the village. The people, free from their work for the occasion, gathered in groups to talk and laugh as the preparations continued. By midday, riders who had been sent out at dawn’s first light to each of the six cantrefs to bid the noble houses and kinsmen to come to the feast began returning with the invited guests.

Each tribe brought with it a substantial contribution to the feast: smoked meat and fish, great white wheels of cheese carried on poles, mounds of sweet barley loaves, skins of honeyed mead and good dark beer, chickens and wild fowl, lambs and kids, eggs, butter and curded milk in crocks. One of Elphin’s kinsmen, an uncle from an eastern cantref who wore a thick gold chain on his chest, brought a wagoo full of skins containing wine obtained from the garrison at Caer Legionis.

When the sun began lowering in the west, Gwyddno, seeing that all the guests had arrived, climbed up on the pyramid of stacked casks and blew a long blast on his hunting horn. The people gathered around and he shouted, “Let the wedding celebration of my son begin!”

And so it did. Elphin emerged from his father’s house wearing a great silver tore around his neck, a bright yellow tunic, and green trousers bound to the knee with strips of blue silk; an emerald-studded dagger was tucked into his wide leather Belt, and a new cloak of orange-and-scarlet plaid was fastened at his shoulder with a great gold brooch inlaid with garnets. As he made his way to the feast site, which was now crowded with people, a small space was cleared and Elphin came to stand in the center of the ring.

Medhir and Eithne came next and stepped to either side of the doorway to hold aside the pelts covering the entrance. Rhonwyn emerged, straightened, and walked slowly to the circle. She was dressed in a long gown of spring-green linen, embroidered in gold at the neck and hem; a necklace of braided gold lay upon her breast, golden armbands in the shape of serpents encircled her bare arms, and gold bracelets jkigled on her wrists; her cloak was of radianTpurple silk with tiny silver Bells sewn to the tassels along its edge; around her waist she wore a peari-encrusted girdle, and on her feet were slippers of gilded leather. Her red-gold hair fell in russet waves down her back, beneath two long, intertwined braids into which white campion blossoms had been plaited and secured with jeweled pins.

Elphin gazed upon her as she walked slowly forward and knew that he had never seen a woman so fair. And he was not the only one with thoughts like these: most gathered there Believed her to be the loveliest woman yet seen in the kingdom, and said so, proclaiming this loudly to their neighbors.

When Rhonwyn had joined Elphin in the circle, Hafgan, with oaken staff in hand, came to stand before them. He was followed by his two new filidh, one of whom carried an earthenware bowl and the other a pitcher of wine. He smiled warmly at the couple and said, “This is a most auspicious time for a marriage. Look!” He pointed with his staff towards the first evening star already shining in the clean, cloudless sky. “The goddess’ own star looks down and blesses you with its light.”

Then he took the bowl, filled it from the pitcher, and raised it, offering it to the setting sun and to the rising moon, repeating a special wedding invocation to each in turn. He passed the bowl to Elphin saying, “This represents life; drink deeply of it.”