“Open it?”

“Let rne show you.” Her mother bent and turned back the leather cover to reveal a dazzling picture of a green and gold Atlantis afloat in a sea of lapis lazuli. Sunlight touched the page and set the colors aflame.

“It is beautiful!” exclaimed Charis, running her fingers across the page. “Where did you get it?”

“Traders brought it from across Oceanus. It is said the great libraries of the East have begun making books like this. I directed the royal artisans to paint the picture, but the writing is in the Eastern script. There is only one other book like this in all nine kingdoms and it belongs to the High King.”

Briseis closed the book and looked fondly at her daughter, lifting a hand to stroke the girl’s hair.

“Is something wrong, Mother?”

“Nothing to concern you, dear one,” she said, but a shadow lingered in her eyes.

Charis looked carefully at her mother. She was long-limbed and slim, with flawless white skin and hair of honey-gold. Her clear eyes were the color of mountain pools and hinted at icy depths. Although she rarely wore the circlet, there was no mistaking her royal bearing; nobility, fine and pure as light itself, radiated from her presence. Charis considered her mother the most beautiful woman in all the world, and she was not alone in this opinion. “You came to find me,” said Briseis. “What did you want?”

“Someone has arrived,” Charis replied. “I saw the ships come in. They are from Uncle Belyn.”

“Belyn here? That is news.” She turned and looked out across the harbor and Charis noticed the shadow was back.

“Hmph,” Charis snorted. “That is as much as you will get from me. There was a secret meeting and Annubi mentioned something about the Great Council. However, I know I will not get to go.” She plopped down in a nearby chair. “Oh, Mother, sometimes I just want to leave this place- leave it forever!”

The queen turned sad eyes on her daughter. “Charis, my restless one-do not long for leaving. There will be enough of leaving in your life, I fear.”

“I have never been to a Great Council before. Could we go? Please?”

Briseis brightened. “Perhaps Elaine is here as well.”

Charis saw an advantage and pressed her demand. “Could we? I never get to go anywhere. Everyone else-Kian and Maildun and Eoinn and”

“Shush, I have not said no. If Elaine and Belyn have come I must see to their arrangements.”

Charis raised her eyebrows hopefully. “Then yes?”

“It is your father’s decision.” Charis’ face wrinkled in sharp disappointment. “But,” her mother continued, “I think he may be persuaded.”

Charis jumped up. “Persuade him, Mother. You will, I know you will.”

“I will do my best. Now, let us go see if your aunt and uncle will accompany us to the arena.”

“Oh, I feel like a cow. I look like one, too. And I have never been so seasick in my life. Hello, Briseis. Hello, Charis. It is good to see you both. I cannot think why I insisted on coming, I have had nothing but misery since I stepped onto that wretched ship. But it is hot out here-or is it just me?”

“Hello, Aunt Elaine. Have you not had that baby yet?” Charis laughed and offered her hand as her aunt stepped from the carriage.

“Wretched girl. Would I be standing here panting like a pig if I had had the baby? Oh, and it is not to be born for weeks!” Elaine spread graceful hands over her swelling stomach. Despite her protestations she appeared in glowing good health and seemed thoroughly pleased with herself.

“Elaine, you are as beautiful as ever,” said Briseis, embracing her. “And it is hot standing here in the sun. Come inside, I have had a cool drink prepared.”

“Will you come to the bull dance with us?” asked Charis. They stepped into the shade of the portico and proceeded along the columned passage to the palace, palm fronds rustling as they passed.

“Would I miss it? There is nothing I love better. Who is dancing?”

“A team from Poseidonis, from the High Temple itself- the Crescents, I think. Guistan says that one of them does a double.”

“Enough, Charis,” her mother chided. “Elaine has come a long way and is tired. Give her a moment to rest before you have us all dashing out to the arena.” She turned to Elaine. “The baby is not to be born for several weeks, you say?”

“The stars, Briseis, the stars! The Magi tell me the stars must be properly aligned. ‘Highness,’ “ she said, adopting a solemn, sanctimonious tone, “ ‘he will be a king one day and therefore must have an auspicious birth sign.’ Idiot men.”

“You are certain the child will be male?”

“Quite certain. In my family at least, the Magi have not been wrong in five generations. There is no doubt it will be a boy.”

“Belyn must be pleased.”

“Ecstatic, and rightly so-considering I am doing all the work and he receives the glory.”

“Have you chosen a name?” wondered Charis.

“I have consulted the Magi, who have searched the Royal Registry and tell me that there was a man in my family named Peredur; he was a wise and just ruler of great renown at one time or another. I think I will name the baby Peredur.”

“A strange name,” remarked Charis, “but I like it.”

Briseis gave her daughter a harsh look, which Charis ignored. “Charis, go and find your brothers. Tell them to get ready. We will be leaving for the arena soon and I want to arrive before the crowds.” Charis frowned and opened her mouth to protest. “Go on. I wish to speak to Elaine alone for a moment.”

“I am going.”

“Sit with me at the ring,” Elaine called after her. “I will save a place right next to me.”

The two women watched her run off. Briseis sighed. “Sometimes I think I will never make a lady of her. She is so headstrong.”

“No more so than her father?”

Briseis smiled and shook her head. “No, no more than Avallach.”

Gwyddno Garanhir stood at the gate of his hilltop caer and looked out across Aberdyvi, the sea estuary of the River Dyvi, at the seabirds circling and chattering in the blue, windswept sky, diving for fish trapped on the mud flats by the receding sea. His eyes scanned the horizon for danger: the square, blood-red sails of Irish raiding ships.

There was a time, not long past, when the sight of sails on the horizon sent the clan into a frenzy. The alarm would sound and Gwyddno would take up his spear and bronze shield and lead the men down to the beach to await the attack. Sometimes it came; and sometimes, seeing the jeering, gyrating warband waiting for them in the shallows, the ships sailed by in search of easier pickings elsewhere.

But the horizon sparkled clean and clear; the village was safe for another day. Although it had been years since any sea raiders had dared attack, Gwyddno had not forgotten those bloody battles of his youth and his vigilance was as keen as ever.

Below on the tide-exposed strand a few of his kinsmen waded through the shin-deep rnuck searching out blue mussels and oysters-oysters with the rare tiny pearls which were saved and sold by the hornful to the equally rare trader venturing far west into the wild mountain fastness of the Cymry. He saw them, bent-backed, coarse-woven sacks trailing in the mire, laboring with their long-handled wooden forks… and a thought occurred to him.

Further up on this same river Gwyddno maintained a salmon weir which, in season, kept his table in fish and provided a good income out of the surplus. Perhaps, he thought, the weir could be made to provide more than salmon this year.

Lately Gwyddno had been feeling his age, and as king and lord of six cantrefs of Gwynedd he had begun giving thought to who might be his heir. He had had two wives, who between them managed to produce only one son, Elphin. “Would that my wives were as fruitful as my weir,” he often lamented to himself.