Gwydion nodded, as they were led through the huge doors of the college. The left door showed the sign for the ash tree, the tree sacred to Nantsovelta—one vertical line slashed with five horizontal lines of silver, all outlined in pearls. The right door displayed the constellation of Nantsovelta, also outlined in pearls.
Entering the cool building they took the stairs to the right of the entrance hall. “Yours is the first suite on the right here,” Elstar explained, when they reached the second level. “The other heirs are housed in this corridor. Next to you is Geriant of Prydyn and his party. Then Elen of Ederynion. And then Elphin of Rheged.”
She held her hand out to Arthur. “Come, let’s go meet the Ardewin. You too, Gwydion.”
Gwydion nodded for Susanna and Cai to settle in then followed Elstar and Arthur down the corridor to the open door of the Ardewin’s chambers.
The room was bright, lit with the beeswax candles of Rheged, which augmented the light shining through the tiny glass windows. The walls were covered with tapestries made by the master-weavers of Gwynedd, bright colors woven to show scenes of forests, lakes, and mountains. The floors were covered with carpets in shades of green and silvery gray. A sideboard with glass decanters spun by the glassmakers of Ederynion stood to the right of the door, and the light played off the dark violet glow of the wines of Prydyn.
Myrrdin, the Ardewin of Kymru, splendid in a rich robe of silver, sat at a small table before the hearth, frowning down in concentration at a playing board. His gray hair and short, gray beard glowed silver in the light. A younger man dressed in Bardic blue sat opposite, smiling slightly at Myrrdin’s frown. An older man, tan and lean, reclined before the hearth, idly strumming on a harp, completely ignoring the two young boys who wrestled on the rugs.
“Llywelyn, Cynfar, stop that at once,” Elstar commanded. The two boys sat up and hastily rearranged their clothing, trying without success to look innocent.
Myrrdin glanced over and, catching sight of Gwydion, leapt from the table with a smile on his face. “So, boyo, you’ve come to see your old uncle at last!” The two men hugged briefly, and then Myrrdin drew back to get a good look at Gwydion. The concern in his uncle’s eyes told Gwydion clearly that the signs of strain and sleeplessness on his face had been noted. But Myrrdin forbear to comment and turned to Arthur, gazing down at the boy for a long moment. He stooped down and took the boy’s hand. “Hello, Arthur. I’m Myrrdin ap Morvryn, your great-uncle.”
“The Ardewin,” Arthur said.
“Yes,” Myrrdin smiled.
“My father says to tell you hello.” Arthur paused. “Hello.”
“So, you are a man of your word. I like that. Perhaps you would care to meet two young scamps that I know,” he said, motioning for the two boys to come over. The elder boy looked to be about five years old, the younger one about three. “This is Llywelyn,” Myrrdin said, touching the older boy’s shoulder. “And this is Cynfar. Elstar is their mother. And Elidyr over there is their father. He is the heir of the Master Bard. I’m sure you saw him just a few days ago at Neuadd Gorsedd, didn’t you?”
Arthur nodded, as the younger man bowed briefly and smiled. Myrrdin motioned to the older man who was still strumming his harp. “And this is Dudod ap Cyvarnion. The Master Bard is his brother. He is Elidyr’s father, and the Granda of these two imps.” Dudod nodded and smiled, but did not cease playing.
Myrrdin turned to the children. “Now, you boys go outside. Why don’t you show Arthur the gardens?”
As the children left Elstar called after them, “And don’t get too muddy, and don’t be late for dinner!”
“You’re wasting your time, Elstar. They’ll do both,” Dudod said.
“Well, with you as an example, Uncle—” She shook her head.
“So, Gwydion, how was the testing at Tegeingl?” Myrrdin asked.
“Pretty good. Susanna found two Dewin and one Bard.”
“Wasn’t Arthur due to be tested this year?” Myrrdin asked.
“Yes indeed. No special talents,” Gwydion lied smoothly. He turned to Dudod. The older man was lean and his face was tanned. Laugh lines bracketed his finely cut mouth. His fingers were long and supple, as they danced over the harp strings. His light brown, sun-streaked hair was caught at the back of his neck with a plain leather thong, and his light green eyes brimmed with life. He wore brown riding leathers and his soft leather boots were dyed Bardic blue. “What have you been up to, Dudod?”
“No good, as usual,” his son, Elidyr, answered for him. “Flitting around Kymru from place to place. He’ll never settle down.”