A String in the Harp (22 page)

“I have no essay from you this week, Morgan,” Mr. Griffith
said carefully, reading through the next day’s lesson plan. “Have you been working on it, then?”

“Not really, sir,” Peter answered honestly.

“Why not? Have you an excuse?” The teacher kept his voice reasonable, his eyes still fixed on the papers in front of him.

“No.”

“Do you intend to do it?”

Peter was silent, and Mr. Griffith had to look up at last. He was a young teacher, only two or three years out of university, serious about his work. He tried hard to strike a spark of interest among his students that might catch and spread. He had grown up, the son of a coal miner in south Wales, and he knew the difficulties he was facing: boys without money, without interest in learning more than they had to, boys who would go to work as soon as they could. But if he could convince only a handful to go on in school past leaving age, some even perhaps to university, he could feel he had achieved something.

Peter Morgan puzzled him. Mr. Griffith knew Peter was not stupid. He knew Peter did only as much work in school as he could scrape by on and not attract attention. That in itself was a sign of cleverness. But, since the start of this term, Peter had stopped doing even that much. Except for the fact that he was physically present in the classroom, he might as well have dropped out of school altogether. And Mr. Griffith couldn’t understand why.

“I will be forced to give you an incomplete for the week unless you can produce that essay, Morgan,” said Mr. Griffith quietly. “I don’t want to do that, mind, and I should not be having to. It was not a very difficult one, you know. I am sure you could have written something.”

“I didn’t have time, I guess.”

“Oh? Has there been a problem at home? If you have a reason . . .” He knew a little about Peter and could see the boy
was unhappy and rebellious. He was willing to be patient for the slightest reason.

But it didn’t seem important to Peter to make up an excuse even though Mr. Griffith was inviting him to. It just didn’t matter. “I don’t have a reason.”

Mr. Griffith sighed and stacked the papers in a precise pile. “Then I have no choice. If there is something I can do to help you, Morgan, I would like to.”

Peter shook his head. “May I go, sir?”

“Yes.”

Peter felt vaguely irritated as he stood at the top of Penglais Hill waiting for the bus to Borth. What difference did it make to Mr. Griffith what he did and didn’t do? He would only be going to school here for a few more months and then he’d never set eyes on the teacher again. He didn’t make trouble, he wasn’t fresh, he came to school every day. If he chose not to do any work that should be his own business. He dismissed the entire matter from his mind then, expecting that was the end of it.

***

“Peter’s teacher wants to come and see me,” said David to Jen after dinner Friday. They were alone in the study going over a reading list. “I wonder why.” He frowned at
David Copperfield.

“Mmm?” said Jen, absorbed. “Why does he want to come?”

“That’s what I just said—why? I hope it isn’t trouble. We seem to be on a fairly even keel right now and it’s very restful. Has Peter said anything to you about school lately?”

“No. He hasn’t said much about anything lately. When’s his teacher coming?”

“Tuesday afternoon after school. Didn’t say what he wanted, but said it was important. Oh, lord, and I thought Peter was sorting himself out at last!”

“Maybe he is and that’s why his teacher’s coming.” Even
in her own ears Jen knew it didn’t sound convincing. She realized with a start that she and Peter had lost contact recently; they’d hardly seen each other except at breakfast and dinner. And no mention at all had been made of harp keys, magic, or superstition.

***

Peter’s mind was full of the sense of unrest among Gwyddno’s people. Uneasiness hung like a mist from the Bog over their villages. Men coming out of the north brought word of violence and fighting. The warriors of Maelgwn, Lord of the large and powerful Kingdom of Gwynedd above the Dyfi, were gathering at his court. There had been successful raids on the country to the east, outside Gwynedd. The raiders had come from Maelgwn’s fortress, Dyganwy.

Gwyddno’s melancholy face grew graver daily as he listened to reports brought out of Gwynedd by weary, travel-stained men. Not without cause had the monk Gildas called Maelgwn “The Dragon.” Now he was beginning to itch for activity after one of his periods of peace and contemplation. He was talking of battles and conquests and new lands again, talk that could only be dangerous, and the young men of Gwynedd were listening. Between Maelgwn and Gwyddno’s precarious kingdom lay only the Dyfi, all the defense Gwyddno could count on. His people were too busy with the tasks of keeping alive to build fortresses and earthworks. But Gwyddno had no choice; he began preparing his people for battle.

The singing of the Key shifted subtly; a thunderhead grew between the sun and the earth, darkening the summer sky. The days Taliesin and Elphin shared were lent an urgency. There was so much to speak of, to seek for, and to learn.

“Will there be war? If anyone knows, it must be you.”

“No, I do not know. I know no more than you of what
will
be, Elphin.”

“My father expects a war, and I shall fight beside him if
there is one.” The young man’s eyes flashed even as Gwyddno’s must once have.

“So shall I,” replied Taliesin. “But only because there is no choice. I would not choose to fight if there were one. Life is too precious.”

Elphin regarded his friend thoughtfully. “You are not a coward, I know. Do you believe fighting is wrong, then.”

Taliesin smiled a little and gave his head a shake. “Some men fight, some do not. Of those who do, some have to, and some want to. Maelgwn is the latter, your father the former. But look at me, Elphin. I am a bard and it is in the calling of a bard to sing of kings and battles, to record great courage and glory in war. That is my work, even as a king’s is to lead his men and a
taeog
must work all his life plowing fields and growing vegetables.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Let us say then”—Taliesin’s smile deepened—“that if there were no fighting I would not have difficulty finding things to sing of.”

***

Peter was out all day Saturday, not telling anyone where he was going or when he’d be back. He ranged the high, windy cliffs south of Borth as far as Sarn Cynfelin, eating a lunch of chocolate biscuits and ginger beer. He managed to get back to Bryn Celyn a bare fifteen minutes before his father came in from Aberystwyth for supper. There were no awkward questions to answer; Jen and Becky were used to Peter’s absences and David was unaware.

But Sunday Peter was not so fortunate. He slipped out after breakfast. However, David stayed at Bryn Celyn, reading the newspapers and working on the article he was writing for publication: “Celtic Languages—The Revival of Welsh in Wales.”

Dinner was at one as usual. At one-fifteen Peter was still missing. He was not in the house; Jen tried his room, but it
was empty. Becky said she remembered hearing him go out just before she went down for the papers, but no one had seen him since.

“He
knows
what time we eat dinner on Sunday,” said David, looking at his watch again. Jen watched helplessly as all the vegetables turned to mush in their pots.

“It’s all going to be horrible in a few minutes,” she stated.

“Well.” Irritation frayed David’s voice. “We’ll just go ahead without him and he can take his chances on what’s left over. Becky, are you sure he didn’t say where he was going?”

“No. He didn’t.”

So they sat down to eat without Peter, his empty place painfully obvious. Becky ate as slowly as she could. Jen knew she was hoping Peter would come in before they’d finished the main course. But he didn’t. Before dessert, Becky asked to be excused, saying she wasn’t very hungry. It was all too evident what David was thinking from his face. Jen’s own mind was full of wild thoughts. Peter was in for a good row when he did get back, but of course he was asking for it; and Jen found she was dreading the confrontation between her father and her brother.

At five there was still no sign of Peter, and Jen had begun to realize how truly worried her father was under his irritation. It was dark enough for lights in the house, and Jen made a pot of tea. When she took David a cup, she found him sitting in the study at his desk, not even pretending to work, just staring out through the curtains. She guessed what he was wondering and shivered involuntarily.

“I’m sure he’s all right, Dad,” she ventured. “He probably went for a walk and got further away than he’d realized.”

David sighed heavily. “I don’t know. Honestly I don’t. I thought he’d gotten over all this. He’s got me baffled. This is such a silly thing to do.”

“He can’t have done anything like run away,” said Jen, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

“For God’s sake, Jennifer, I’m sure he’s got more sense than that!” David exploded. “Where on earth could he
go?
He doesn’t know anyone very well and there aren’t any trains or buses from Borth on Sunday. No, I don’t think he’s run away, but I’d like to know what he
is
playing at. If he isn’t back by six, I’m going to have to call the police and begin looking for him—heaven knows where!”

Then, miraculously, they both heard the front door open and close. David was up like a shot and out into the hall, Jen close behind him. Becky had heard, too, and was in the lounge doorway.

Peter looked around at them with an expression of surprise, apparently quite unconcerned. Jen held her breath.

“Well, where the hell have you been?” demanded David, hiding his worry in anger.

“For a walk,” said Peter. Then he added as an afterthought, “Sorry I’m late.”

“Late?
Have you any idea how long you’ve been gone? Why on earth didn’t you tell anyone when you left?”

Jen couldn’t remember seeing her father so furious, but she and Becky, who stood pale and wide-eyed across the hall, were more afraid than Peter seemed to be.

“I forgot,” he said.

“Did it never enter your head that what you were doing was dangerous? Where’s your sense, Peter! I had absolutely no idea where you’d gone.”

“I just went for a walk, I told you.” At last David’s anger was beginning to penetrate.

“Where?”

“Along the cliffs.”

“And suppose something had happened to you out there. Suppose you’d gotten lost or fallen and broken a leg? I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea where to begin looking for you! For all I knew you might have been wandering on the Bog or down at Ynyslas. If you’d needed help, what would you
have done—would you have known where to go? There are hundreds of sane, sensible reasons why you should never, never go off like that without telling anyone! Stop and think!”

Peter was silent, his face closed. He looked at none of them. Jen wondered if he did indeed know how long he’d been away. He didn’t seem to.

“With everything I have to worry about,” David went on, “I thought at least I didn’t have to worry about you three. You’re intelligent enough not to get yourselves into senseless trouble, or so I thought. Now I find I’m wrong. I didn’t think that by this time I’d have to spell it all out for you and make all kinds of rules, but I see I do have to. After this, Peter, you will not go anywhere outside this house without telling
me
first. Not Jen, or Becky, but
me.
Do you understand?”

Peter nodded sullenly.

“If you behave like a baby, I have no choice but to treat you like one. Now you’d better go to your room and do some thinking.”

“Yes, sir.” Peter’s voice was icy.

He really isn’t scared, thought Jen in amazement, as she watched him walk, unhurried, down the hall to his room. The anger went out of David as if he’d turned a switch. He just looked tired and unhappy. It was Becky who broke the immobilizing silence, her voice husky. “Could we have some more tea?”

“I’ll put it on,” said Jen, thankful for action.

“Yes,” said David. “All right.”

***

Whatever Peter’s teacher, Mr. Griffith, came to talk to David about on Tuesday, Jen knew from her brief glimpse of him on his way into the study, it wasn’t an improvement in Peter’s attitude. He smiled gravely and shook hands with Jen when David introduced her, then the two men retired behind the study door, and she was left wanting and not wanting to know what was going on.

She was torn so dreadfully by Peter. Their father really ought to be told the whole wild story, no matter how farfetched it sounded, about the Key and Taliesin and Peter’s own explanation for them. Even while the sensible Jen argued for it, the emotional one warned her that trying to tell David would most likely only make the situation worse. If she didn’t understand Peter, she didn’t see that David would.

Then, too, Becky would never agree to telling David unless Peter agreed first, and there was no hope of that. Thinking about Becky only upset Jen further because Becky was willing to believe Peter’s wild story.

Mechanically, she helped Mrs. Davies put supper together, her mind far from brussels sprouts and mutton chops. It got later and later. Becky came and set the table, chattering on to Mrs. Davies about Susan and Susan’s soon-expected baby. Peter stayed in his room with the door shut, ignoring them all.

“Jennifer?” David called her from the hall. “Jen, would you please come in here for a minute?”

Mrs. Davies gave her an interested look but said nothing.

There was a worried frown on David’s face, but he wasn’t cross. Mr. Griffith looked apologetic.

“Come in and close the door, will you? Mr. Griffith has been telling me about Peter’s work at school and the peculiar way he’s acting right now. Jen, if you’ve got any idea why, please tell me. I’m at a loss.”

“Well, now,” began Mr. Griffith. His gray eyes were anxious.

“What’s he done?” Jen feared the worst without knowing what it was.

“Nothing wrong,” said Mr. Griffith quickly. Jen decided he didn’t look like the kind of person to make trouble. “No, you couldn’t say he’s done anything wrong, you know. It is more that he is not doing anything at all.”