Night Birds' Reign(22)

Flicker. Again that movement—just out of one’s range of sight. Gwydion turned his head quickly, but could not see anything out of the ordinary. Yet there was something there. He knew it. Every muscle in his body was tense, and he shivered as the darkness continued to swallow the grove.

“Now, I think.” Ygraine said to Uthyr. He guided her to the blanket and helped her down onto it. She lay propped up against the backrest, her hands gripping the wooden arms, her legs drawn up and apart, as Amatheon knelt in front of her. Cynan dipped a cloth into a bowl of cool water, and gently sponged her face.

“All right, Ygraine,” Amatheon said quietly. “Push.”

Ygraine took a deep breath and bore down.

“Again,” Amatheon said.

The wind moaned through the trees. To Gwydion it sounded like a howling beast. Or horns, he thought suddenly, the horns of the Hunt.

Flicker. Again the brief movement at the edge of his vision. And again, nothing there. The darkness was almost complete. A thin, fiery ring was all that remained of the sun, the center filled with darkness.

Then the light was gone. The stars seemed to spring from the sky, shining coldly in the sudden night.

“Again,” Amatheon ordered.

Ygraine took a deep breath and pushed. “Now. Oh, Shining Ones,” she gasped.

Suddenly, in the very center of the grove, two figures appeared. To Gwydion’s eyes, they seemed to glow in the darkness. One figure had antlers springing from his forehead, untamed topaz eyes glimmering. The other was a woman with long, black hair and a pitiless, amethyst gaze. His dream had come to the grove as Cerrunnos and Cerridwen, standing motionless, stared down at the woman on the blanket.

Neither Uthyr nor Ygraine gave any sign that they saw the two glowing figures. But Gwydion saw Amatheon’s and Cynan’s eyes widen, and heard them draw in a quick breath. But at Uthyr’s anxious, questioning gaze they shook their heads, indicating that nothing was amiss.

Then Cerrunnos raised a horn to his lips, and, as Ygraine’s single, shocking scream tore through the air, he blew the horn. The two sounds mingled in a dreadful counterpoint, and then the grove was quiet. The figures were gone. A small, pitiful wail rose up into the dark sky.

“A boy,” Amatheon called out in delight. “A beautiful, sturdy, healthy boy.” Gently, he laid the squirming baby on Ygraine’s belly. She reached out a trembling hand to the child. “A son,” she whispered. She turned her head slightly to look at Uthyr, crouched next to her. “My love, we have a son!”

Uthyr stared at the baby, then gently kissed Ygraine’s forehead. “Yes, cariad. We have a son this day.”

Amatheon reached for the child. With woolen thread he quickly tied off the birth cord, then severed it. Then he picked up the baby and handed him to Cynan. Cynan gently laid him in the golden bowl of lukewarm water, washing him carefully. Dipping his hands into the jar of oil he cleaned the baby’s ears and nostrils with his little finger. Then he dried the tiny body and put the child into Uthyr’s large, sword-callused hands.

Uthyr stood for a moment, looking down into the face of his tiny son. The child stopped crying, looking up at his father with wide eyes.

“His name?” Amatheon asked Ygraine, for the mother alone named her child.

“I name him Arthur. Arthur ap Uthyr var Ygraine.”

Slowly, Uthyr raised his hands over his head, lifting the child to the sky, which had just begun to brighten again.

“I name him Prince of Gwynedd, son and heir to all that I have.” Uthyr said in a tone of quiet wonder.

Gwydion, watching through the trees heard voices on the wind, the sound of silver bells, the sound of golden chains. “We name him High King of Kymru; heir of Idris, heir of Macsen, heir of the mighty Lleu. We name him Arderydd, High Eagle, quarry of the Hunt. We name him ours.”





Chapter Four


Tegeingl Kingdom of Gwynedd, Kymru Gwernan Mis, 482



Lludydd, Cynyddu Wythnos—dusk

Gwydion’s horse stumbled. Jolted out of his reverie, he noticed that dusk was beginning to settle over the quiet forest.

“Sorry, Elise,” he said to his horse. “I didn’t realize it was so late.” He dismounted and, looking around spotted a clearing just a few yards to his right. Leading the way through the trees, his horse followed with exaggerated patience. When they reached the clearing and Gwydion took off the saddle to rub the horse down, he thought the animal was looking at him somewhat critically. “I said I was sorry,” Gwydion said defensively. Elise did not deign to answer. Instead, the horse slipped away from under Gwydion’s hands and, ambling over to a nearby bush, began to eat. Gwydion sighed. Elise was not the forgiving type.