He continued down the main road, riding by Nemed Collen, the sacred grove of hazel trees. The grove was dark and silent. The twisted branches of the trees were wrapped tightly together, as though for protection.
Elise cantered down the almost deserted road, for most people had already gone to their homes for the evening meal. All along the road the torches were being lit. Gwydion fidgeted in the saddle. He was uncomfortable returning to Arberth, and didn’t want to stay here any longer than he had to. The last time he came here was for Isalyn’s funeral. It was hard to believe that she had died nine years ago. It felt like longer than that. Memories of her were hazy and distant, for he avoided thinking of Isalyn whenever possible. He hadn’t loved her and she had known it—known it and resented it and clung to him in spite of it.
Elise’s hooves clicked sharply on the cobbled road. The city was quiet and he could clearly hear the seagull’s mournful cries as they settled in for the night. He rode up to Caer Tir just as the doors, made of iron covered with gold leaf, were closing for the night. The huge head of a snarling wolf, the symbol of Prydyn, was carved on the doors. Outlined in black onyx with emerald eyes, the wolf seemed to glare at him.
The doorkeeper stopped as he was closing the doors, staring at Gwydion. Slowly, the man smiled. “Gwydion ap Awst. I knew you’d show up again, one day.”
Gwydion grinned. “Right as always, Tallwch.”
Tallwch hadn’t changed much since the last time Gwydion has seen him, nine years ago. He had brown hair, cut ruthlessly short and steady brown eyes. His face had, perhaps, a few more lines, but otherwise he looked much the same. Tallwch had been Gwydion’s friend during those months he had been forced to stay here with Isalyn. As the gatekeeper, he had seen Gwydion come and go on his many trips out to the countryside to get away. The two men had struck up a casual friendship, for Gwydion had seen the sympathy in the man’s eyes, though they never spoke of it. Often Gwydion and Tallwch and Dafydd Penfro, Rhoram’s counselor, would stay up far into the night playing tarbell, swapping stories, drinking wine. He had never seen a man for holding his liquor like Tallwch ap Nwyfre.
“What are you doing here?” Tallwch asked.
“Can’t you guess, since you’re so clever?”
“Ho, ho,” Tallwch said flatly. “You always were a funny man.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Most folks are in the Great Hall. Come on, we’ll stable your horse and go on in. Unless you want a bath first.”
“You saying I need one?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.” Tallwch looked at Gwydion critically. “But then, it probably wouldn’t help, either.”
“It’s nice to have friends.”
They led Elise to the stables, which were just to the right of the gates. Gwydion made sure that the horse was comfortable in his stall before he grabbed his saddlebags. As they crossed the cobbled courtyard in front of the Great Hall, Tallwch took the saddlebags from him and hailed a passing servant. “Boyo, take this to the guest house, would you?” he asked, relinquishing the bags.
Dusk had deepened into night. Dimly, he heard the sound of merriment from within the Great Hall, penetrating the thick stone walls and heavy oak doors. “Sounds like a party,” Gwydion commented.
“Just mealtime, like always. Rhoram likes it noisy. It keeps him from having to talk to the Queen.”
Gwydion stopped and stared at Tallwch. “When did this start?”
“Not long after they were married. Truth is, he never got over losing Rhiannon.”
“Losing her? I thought he had tired of her?”
“So did he. Well, we all make mistakes don’t we? Ready to go in?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Gwydion said. The noise from the hall was rising in volume. Tallwch opened the door and they entered into the Great Hall of Caer Tir.
The din assaulted his ears fiercely. The hall was filled to the brim with laughing, shouting men and women. Uthyr’s hall was casual, too, but never as chaotic as this.
Table after table filled the hall, set up for the evening meal. People sat at the long benches or on the tables themselves, and even (in a few cases) underneath them. Bright banners hung the walls. Over the fireplace hung a huge banner of a wolf’s head, worked in black on a green background and fringed with gold.
In the corner to his left, Gwydion saw a wrestling match in progress. Two men grappled with each other to the shouts of the crowd gathered round them. A fire roared in the huge fireplace in front of which people played pipes and harps, laughing and singing, although Gwydion couldn’t imagine how they could hear themselves above the din. Directly in front of him a dice game was in progress. He peered through the crowd, trying to locate people he knew.