A String in the Harp (24 page)

All night the battle shook Cors Fochno, the air rang with the sound of sword on shield, the cries of men fighting and dying. And the red of dawn staining the sky over the hills seemed to be reflected on the levels below as if in water. The Cors was red with blood. Men from both sides of the river lay scattered and broken on it. Gwyddno’s army had suffered heavily, and in the light they could see their own losses and they despaired. Whatever slim hope they had was gone, and the day belonged to Maelgwn.

But, unbelievably, there came a shout, and another, and another! And the men of Gwynedd drew back from the battle. They turned and recrossed the Dyfi on their rough-built rafts. They retreated. The weary defenders stood and watched them go, too dazed and weary to understand. It was incredible that the enemy, so close to winning, should withdraw!

But Maelgwn, The Dragon, did not retreat. He went with his honor unscathed, for he carried with him the greatest prize Gwyddno could lose. He had satisfied his lust for violence.

In the sudden quiet that fell across Cors Fochno, the white-haired King raised his fists to the morning sun, his eyes hard and dead as chips of granite in his ravaged face. “He has taken my son!” The wail of anguish was borne across the Dyfi on the dawn wind; it brought a cold smile to the lips of Maelgwn.

Gwyddno’s men stood about him, stricken. They were too few and it was too late. Elphin was Maelgwn’s captive.

“Do not grieve, Lord.” Taliesin, battle-wearied but steady, was at Gwyddno’s side. “Elphin has not been harmed and shall be returned to you. I promise.”

The old King’s face was a mask of bitterness. “And how
shall he be returned? Maelgwn releases no prisoners. I have lost my kingdom, now I have lost my son. Neither can be recovered. I have nothing.”

But Taliesin stood firm, his eyes blazing. “Not so! It is for me to bring Elphin, son of Gwyddno, safely out of Gwynedd. I, too, have lost much. I have lost one king’s son, I will not lose yours!

A journey will I undertake,

To Maelgwn’s gates I will come;

His hall I will enter,

And my song I shall sing.

A riddle I will pose

To silence the Royal Bards

In the presence of their Chief.

A contest I will win

And Elphin I will free

From haughty tyrant’s bonds.

To his fell and chilling cry,

By the act of a surprising beast

From the far distant North,

There shall soon be an end.

Let neither grace nor health

Be to Maelgwn Gwynedd,

For this force and this wrong!”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, when Jen opened the curtains, she and Becky looked out on a perfectly ordinary world. The wind had dropped with the coming of light, and the sea and Bog were empty, beaten flat by cold, streaming rain. There was no movement on either, no traces of the night before.

“They
were
there, weren’t they?” said Becky, echoing Jen’s own thoughts.
Had
they actually seen lights and fires on the Bog last night or had they dreamed it?

Gwilym appeared while the Morgans were still at breakfast. He came to the back door, his yellow mac shining with rain. He would only come inside far enough to allow the door to close behind him, and he dripped carefully on the door mat.

“Morning,” he said, glancing quickly around at them. “Mum told me to stop in to say we won’t be going to the shops this afternoon, and she’ll do your cleaning tomorrow, if that’s all right. Our Susan’s to go to hospital.”

“The baby?” Becky wanted to know at once.

“Not yet. She’s going for tests and that and she wants Mum with her.”

“What about supper?” asked Jen apprehensively.

“Not to worry. Mum’ll be back in time for that easy.”

“Nothing wrong with your sister, I hope?” said David, looking up from his scrambled eggs.

“No, sir. Mum says it’s just her being so tired and all, but what can you expect with Simon not yet two and a house and husband to see to as well.” Gwilym shifted awkwardly on the damp mat. “I’ll be off now.”

“Hang on, Gwilym,” said David. “I want to ask you about last night. It must have been after nine, I’d guess, we noticed lights out on the Bog. It looked as though there were torches and fires all over it and all along the river. Do you know what was going on?”

“It’s odd, that,” replied Gwilym slowly. “We saw them, too. I wanted to go down, but Mum wouldn’t have it. She said it was only trouble, and too late and dark, and best to leave well enough. Dad was out on shift and didn’t get in till late, but this morning he said like as not it was someone lost out there.”

“Mmm,” David said. “I thought so, too, but there were so many of them. I wondered if it were a celebration of some kind?”

“Not that I know of, sir. Now you mention it, it did look a bit like Guy Fawkes.”

“Well, I’m sure someone from town will know.”

“Ah,” said Gwilym.

***

Jen wasn’t especially pleased to see Rhian arrive for lunch with Becky later that day. It complicated her plans. She had made up her mind to go and see Dr. Rhys that afternoon and to take Becky, which meant Becky would miss school. Jen was uncomfortable about that and hoped David wouldn’t find out, but it was necessary that Becky be convinced once and for all that Peter’s stories were just that—stories, and nothing more. If anyone could help, it had to be Dr. Rhys. Jen needed his reassurances, too, though she hated to admit it.

But now Rhian would have to be told Becky wasn’t going back to school, which was a nuisance. Jen scolded the two younger girls for leaving puddles in the hall and not hanging up their wet macs properly. But Rhian didn’t seem to notice Jen’s bad humor: she was as cheerful and full of energy as ever.

“You know, Jen”—Becky trailed her sister into the kitchen—“Rhian says that up her way they could see the lights last night, too.”

“How could they? The hills are in the way,” said Jen brusquely.

“We did, though,” Rhian informed her. “Not from the farm, it wasn’t, but Da and our Aled were seeing them when they came up from the pub at Tre’r-ddôl. And wasn’t there an argument about that, then! Still at it when they got in, they were!” She grinned.

“About the lights?” In spite of herself Jen was interested.

“Mmm. Aled was all for going to find out what was up, see, and Da would have none of it. Aled said it would be someone lost or a cow mired and shouldn’t they help, but Da said to leave it. Wasn’t natural, he said, and they’d only have trouble for going. Didn’t Aled shout about that!”

“Did he go? Aled, I mean,” asked Becky.

Rhian snorted. “Not him! Great for talking, that one, but he knows better than to get across Da, especially and he’s had a few pints.”

“So what
did
happen on the Bog?” Jen demanded.

“No one knows,” said Becky. “Lots of people saw the lights, but no one knows what they were for.”

“Happen Da was right,” said Rhian.

“You mean ghosts, I suppose,” said Jen scornfully.

But Rhian shook her head impatiently. “And you’re meaning sheets and chains and skulls and that! Baby stuff, that is. My Da doesn’t believe in that any more than you. I suppose you didn’t mind the wind last night? That wasn’t bothering you at all?”

“I didn’t like it much, but that doesn’t mean I thought it was supernatural,” Jen retorted.

“I did,” said Becky softly. “It didn’t feel right, somehow. Is that what your father means about the hills, Rhian?”

“It is.”

Jen slapped together a cheese and pickle sandwich crossly. “For heaven’s sake, you two! Someone in Borth must know what that was last night. Didn’t anyone see?”

“Not likely. You can believe what you want, but my Da is right, I think. It’s best not messing around with that you don’t understand.”

“You won’t ever understand if you don’t try to find out,” objected Jen.

“Did you go?” asked Rhian, fixing Jen with a sharp stare.

“No, I didn’t. We were getting ready for bed when we saw the lights and Dad would never have let me go out. Even so—”

“But it doesn’t matter now anyway,” interrupted Becky, sensing Jen was on the defensive. “It’s over.”

“Aye,” Rhian agreed. “The wind and the feeling both. Ach, look, will you? It’s time to get back already. We’ll be late if we don’t go sharp.”

“Becky’s not going back,” said Jen.

“I’m not?” and “She isn’t?” said Becky and Rhian together.

“No, you aren’t. You’re going with me to Aberystwyth, remember?”

“I didn’t think that was today—”

“I meant what I said. I’m going and I think you’ve got to come too.”

“Lucky,” said Rhian enviously, pulling on her wellingtons.

***

The dull, heavy rain made Aberystwyth look dismal and shabby: a jumble of stucco houses, cracked sidewalks, a few anonymous people with overcoat collars turned up and hats
or umbrellas. It was early closing day and all the shops were shut, which added to the derelict feeling of the town. Jen and Becky got off the bus at North Parade, the main street, and hurried up it under the uncomfortable, contorted monkey puzzle trees, then around corners until they reached the old University building. Without pausing, Jen pulled Becky with her between the pillars at the entrance and past the porter, drinking tea and reading a magazine in his little lighted cell inside the door. He didn’t even look up.

Jen had given a good deal of thought to this trip. She’d chosen a time when Hugh-the-Bus was off the Aberystwyth route and when her father would be up at the new University, not here in his office. She didn’t want to see anyone but Dr. Rhys.

The main hall was dim and empty; their footsteps shattered its gloomy silence.

“Shh,” hissed Jen, and Becky obediently tiptoed. It took them some time to find the right office—it was up several flights of stairs and down a little passageway: Dr. G. H. Rhys, Director, Welsh Studies, on a brass plate on the door.

Jen hesitated for the first time; her hands were damp.

“Suppose he’s not there?” whispered Becky.

“We’ll have to come back.” Jen knocked lightly.

“He’ll never hear that.”

“All right then.” She rapped hard.

And from the other side of the door they heard, “Come?”

“At least we don’t have to come back.”

“Shhh!” said Jen.

The office was small and very full of books. They lined the walls, floor to ceiling, filled the narrow windowsill, stood in neat stacks on the floor. The only furniture was a desk, also piled with books, two chairs, a small stepladder, and a little file cabinet. Over the books on the desk Jen and Becky could just see Dr. Rhys’s head looking oddly disembodied. He was evidently absorbed in something in his hands, for he didn’t look
up right away. A cold trickle of water from the collar of her mac found its way down Jen’s neck. Panic rose in her throat; she’d forgotten what she was going to say.

After what seemed like ages, Dr. Rhys raised his head, peering at his visitors nearsightedly. “Yes?” He obviously didn’t place them immediately.

“Dr. Rhys”—Jen cleared her throat—“I’m Jennifer Morgan and this is my sister Becky.”

She saw recognition then, and he actually smiled at them. “Of course, David’s children, aren’t you? Ah, yes. Have you come to find your father? His office is on the first floor, you know, but I believe he is up at Penglais this afternoon.”

“I know. We came to see you actually.”

“Oh?” He sounded surprised.

“Do you mind? Are you busy?”

“No more than usual. It can wait, it can wait. Take off your coats, why don’t you, and I’ll just find another chair.”

When they’d all sat down, Dr. Rhys and Becky both looked expectantly at Jen.

Where did she begin? Jen tried to find a logical place. “It’s our brother Peter we came about.”

“Yes, yes. I remember Peter. He’s interested in Welsh folklore—he asked me about it when you visited.”

“He did?” It was Jen’s turn to be surprised.

“Indeed, yes. If I am right, it was the Bard Taliesin he wanted information on. Gratifying to find such an interest, especially in a boy his age.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Only a little. But I did loan him two of my books to read.”

Jen turned to Becky triumphantly. “There. You see? That’s where he’s gotten it from—he read it in a book.”

“Well, I’m not sure,” said Becky frowning.

“
I
am.” Jen turned back to Dr. Rhys. “You see, Peter’s
been acting very strangely for quite a while. He’s been a real problem to everyone. His teacher’s even complained.”

“Are you sure you’ve come to the right person? I don’t really know your brother, do you see.” Dr. Rhys removed his spectacles and polished them carefully on his necktie.

“I know,” said Jen. “The trouble is that he’s been telling stories, the kind you were talking about when we came to dinner. Only he tells them as if they weren’t stories at all, but things that had really happened and he’d seen them.”

“Oh?” Dr. Rhys seemed genuinely interested.

“Back before Christmas, Peter found this thing on the beach and it’s very complicated and it sounds silly, but he claims it’s got some sort of”—Jen fumbled uncomfortably with the words—“some sort of magic power.”

Dr. Rhys didn’t laugh; he didn’t even smile. He pressed the tips of his fingers together and nodded. “What is this ‘thing,’ do you know?”

“I’m not sure. It looks a bit like a key. He says it’s the tuning key of a harp, and it does look sort of like the one Mr. Roberts used at his concert.”

“You have seen it?”

Jen nodded. “It’s tarnished and scratched, but Peter says it’s silver. I don’t see how it could be, but he wears it on a chain around his neck.”

“You don’t believe it has magic power?”

She examined the man’s face to see if he were making fun of her, but she saw nothing to make her suspicious. “Of course, I don’t. It’s curious-looking and it may be old—it may even be worth something, I suppose, but that’s all. He’s playing a game with it, Dr. Rhys, but the trouble is he’s forgotten it’s a game now and he thinks it’s serious. He won’t admit he’s just pretending.”