The Usual Disclaimer: This world isn't mine, but oh, I love to play there!
Taliesin in Love
Chapter 1: Bardic Exams
The vast, high-ceilinged chamber in the Hall of Lore at Caer Dathyl, stronghold of the royal family of Prydain, was calculated to inspire visitors with awe, if not wholesome fear. After all, those entering its portals to take their bardic examinations should not assume the road to initiation would be easy. Thus, while the library nearby was inviting, a booklover's dream piled to the rafters with volumes, by contrast this room was austere, lit mainly by torches along the stone walls. On this spring day, as was common when an examination was about to take place, the entire Council of Bards was ranged in a half-circle facing, and seriously outnumbering, the would-be initiate. While all this was as usual, though, what was unusual was the sex of the candidate requesting admission to the bardic ranks. Standing before the all-male conclave was a young woman, brown hair trained severely from her face in a long braid. While it was possible for women to become bards in Prydain, it had become unusual. Since Arawn Death-Lord had stolen the secrets of artisans, many of them women, the status of the female part of the population had declined. Few women were as educated as they needed to be to achieve initiation, and those who were confronted disabling prejudices against their intellectual abilities. It had thus been a long while since the Bardic Council had tested the worth of a female aspirant.
Cerys Daughter of Ceindeg usually did not like wearing a skirt, but today her robe provided benefits not afforded by male attire. She was able surreptitiously to wipe clammy palms on the folds of her gray dress, and moreover the gown concealed her trembling knees. Such concealment proved the more useful since, whenever Cerys looked at the bard sitting directly in front of her, rather than simply shaking her knees turned to water. Few who stood where she did now were not awed to see in the flesh the legendary Chief Bard. Like many in Prydain, from childhood Cerys had listened enthralled to tales of Taliesin, renowned for his heroic deeds and achievements as poet and composer. Sitting today in a throne-like chair at the center of the council, Taliesin's rank was signalled by his robes, which were not the dazzling white worn by the others but a rich kingly purple. Flowing straight to his shoulders, his silver mane framed a clean-shaven face that, while lined, seemed still youthful. Cerys, who had pictured Taliesin as ancient and white-bearded as some of his colleagues, had not thought to find a man middle-aged and still vital. To her surprise, too, while the Chief Bard radiated an almost palpable air of authority, he was not intimidating. He gazed benignly at Cerys, lips curved in an encouraging smile.
It was, in fact, Taliesin who asked many of the questions the bardic council posed to Cerys over the next few hours. Talking to him eased her nerves, and she sometimes even forgot she was surrounded by watchful faces. Certainly the council kept her busy. She answered countless queries about ancient lore and history. She translated runes and samples of other arcane languages. Finally, she took up her harp to play the song with which candidates traditionally ended their performance. Her nerves reasserting themselves, Cerys fervently hoped her damp hands would not slip on the strings. As she raised the instrument to her shoulder, she caught Taliesin's eye and could swear he gave her the hint of a wink. Cheered, Cerys bent her head over the harp, closing her eyes as she did so. At such times she felt as one with the music she played, and, indeed, as the voices of woman and instrument soared in the lofty hall, each seemed to listeners indistinguishable from the other. The song Cerys played was of her own composition, the plaint of a queen, a figure from ancient legend, mourning her slain lover. Typically Cerys had refused to make the woman of her song into a weepy, passive female. Instead, in its ache of longing the queen's lament captured the full range of human love and loss. As the last chords vibrated on the air Cerys gingerly opened her eyes. Apprehensive of her auditors' reaction, she could not at once look at Taliesin and so peeked first at the bards sitting on the far side of the table. As her eyes moved toward the center of the room, she saw that the men looked stupefied, several blinking as if awaking from a trance. One mopped his eyes with his white sleeve. When Cerys's gaze finally reached the Chief Bard she thought for a horrified instant she had put him to sleep. Taliesin's silver head rested against the back of his chair, his eyes closed. To her relief, however, Cerys realized he had not been sleeping but shutting out his surroundings in order to concentrate on the music. He reminded her of a man at the rail of a swift-moving ship, his head thrown back against the cleansing wind and drinking in its clear, intoxicating wine. As she looked he opened his eyes, a smile warm as the sun illuminating his face.
"Whose composition was that?" he asked curiously. "I do not recognize it."
"Sir, it is my own," Cerys answered. The aged bard to Taliesin's right—the only person relatively unmoved by the song—leaned over to whisper something in Taliesin's ear. The Chief Bard frowned slightly, then quietly spoke a few words in response. Looking grumpy, the older bard slumped back in his seat. Taliesin turned to Cerys.
"We have, I believe, taxed you as much as is necessary. Perhaps you would step outside this chamber while the council and I confer?"
It was good of him, thought Cerys, that he did not tell her to go relax. Surely he knew that rest of any kind would be impossible. Indeed, Cerys could not stop pacing the hall outside the chamber like a wild creature caught in a cage. Had she answered the question about that one legend in sufficient detail, listing all of its sources and variations? Had she made an error in the second rune translation? And what had that all been about, anyway, when the grouchy old bard had muttered to Taliesin after her song? Still, Cerys realized that she could not worry too much. There had not been any obvious holes in her knowledge, and, as for the aged bard, Taliesin had not seemed to take him very seriously. Cerys knew that it would be difficult to overcome the prejudices about women's intellectual inferiority surely subscribed to by at least some of the bards. But, remembering that encouraging wink, Cerys felt certain Taliesin was on her side. She would be gravely mistaken were it otherwise.
He heard about her before she even arrived. A famous bard, a friend of Taliesin's, had written to the Chief Bard raving about the abilities of the brilliant young woman he was tutoring. The now-orphaned daughter of an ancient family, she had received an astonishing education and had continued teaching herself after her parents died within several years of each other. Hearing of the remarkable female prodigy, Taliesin's friend went to check out the truth of the rumors. Though initially skeptical, after hearing the young woman sing and assessing the range of her knowledge he begged to help her achieve her goal of preparing for the bardic exams. Taliesin was of course curious to meet this promising new prospect. Usually such extravagant praise would have seemed suspect, but his friend was a crusty sort not given to frothy encomiums. Personally Taliesin was glad a woman was finally presenting herself for initiation, as for too long the Council—and the world of bards more generally—had been a male preserve. Things were getting too boringly one-sided in the artistic sphere, Taliesin felt. And it was simply not fair to lack female representation in a profession that had long ago included many noted women.
He'd been pleased that Cerys had appeared poised as she entered the hall for her exams. It was not uncommon for candidates to turn green as leeks once they caught sight of the mass of waiting bards. In Taliesin's experience, several aspirants had hastily exited the room to puke. If he remembered correctly one poor fellow had not even made it out the door. Firmly pushing that unpleasant memory to the back of his mind, he fixed his attention on Cerys. He was delighted to discover that she was every bit as brilliant as his friend had said, if not more so. As she spoke about the world of the mind her hands gestured like birds about to take flight, a red spot of excitement appearing in each cheek. It was refreshing to meet someone so clearly in love with books. A number of Taliesin's colleagues had lost their original zest for knowledge, becoming pedantically fixed on arcane points rather than on larger questions or theories. Cerys's enthusiasm reminded him of his own, still strong after many years of poring over antique volumes and pursuing arduous scholarly trails.
He was expecting she'd be a wondrous musician, but he had not anticipated how much her song would move him. Indeed, while listening his spirit seemed to travel far beyond the torchlit hall, as if suspended in a realm of purest beauty and feeling. He'd been quite annoyed when one of his more hidebound colleagues, presumably searching for a pretense to mark down Cerys's exam, questioned whether candidates were allowed to sing their own songs rather than those enshrined by custom. Willing himself to remain calm, Taliesin pointed out—as he was sure his colleague knew—that there was no prohibition against performing original work. In any event, none of the other bards had the slightest objection to passing Cerys with the highest honors. Performing the ancient rite of initiation and draping Cerys with a white robe of her own, Taliesin felt as proud as if he himself had coached her.
It only occurred to him at the court feast following this ritual—for, as was customary with new bards, Cerys had been pressed to stay and celebrate—how very attractive she was. Tall for a woman, she possessed a slim intensity that lit her face with its high cheekbones and gray-green eyes. Why, he wondered, had he not noticed these things sooner? Or had he been aware of them all along? He was glad he had not been conscious of them while the young woman was taking her exams. Taliesin had too much integrity to be comfortable ogling a candidate he was supposed to be judging on her intellect. Indeed, it troubled him not a little that, earlier in the day, he had been full of fine intentions about honoring female scholarship and, by nightfall, he was gazing at this girl's lissome curves like any old goat for whom women were merely bodies to mate with. Well, perhaps he was being a bit harsh on himself. That he was bothered about his reactions to Cerys surely made him more enlightened than your average cloddish cantrev lord.
Startled, Taliesin realized that someone was saying his name. He looked up from his place at the table, to see that, while he had been thinking about her, Cerys herself had come to stand beside him. Curtseying deeply, she thanked him for his help that day and turned to leave the Great Hall. He called her back.
"Where to next?" he asked. "What do you plan to do now that you are well and truly a bard?"
Cerys smiled, a small smile that seemed to conceal a joke known only to herself. Respectfully, though, she answered, "I have a project, sir, that I have long yearned to undertake. Now, I may finally do so."
He was about to ask her what this project was when a voice broke in. The bard who had mopped his eyes at the end of Cerys's song, a kindly sort with round face and enthusiastic mien, was sitting to Taliesin's right; hearing Cerys's words, he beamed at her.
"Lady Cerys!" he exclaimed. "May I congratulate you on your splendid performance? You had me bawling like a baby, you know, by the end of that song. May we hope"—he looked at her encouragingly—"you will stay on at Caer Dathyl? As you know, we have a large community of bards here, including some of the best and brightest rising stars. We would welcome you among them, wouldn't we, Taliesin?" He turned to the Chief Bard eagerly. Taliesin nodded. The other bard went on. "You know, Taliesin here has even been kind enough to give tutorials in languages to some of the more promising new prospects, so they can read texts that have not yet been translated. You, of course, are well versed in your languages—but everyone can learn something more, can't they? We would be glad," he continued, "to have you stay here to write more of your marvelous songs. Surely you will also record them for our libraries?"
He said all this very quickly. At the conclusion of his speech, Cerys felt breathless herself, if frankly touched. Given rampant prejudices against intellectual women, she was more grateful than she could say for this kindly old man's attempts to make her feel at home in the bardic world. Not wishing to offend, she chose her next words carefully.
"I cannot tell you how deeply I appreciate your offer," she said, smiling at the round-faced bard. "I have already been made to feel very welcome here, and I will consider returning to Caer Dathyl when I have completed the task I am about to undertake. It may be some time before I can come back, but I think I would like to. It would be better," she added wistfully, "than returning to an old house of which I am the sole occupant." As if reluctant to sound self-pitying, she smiled again. "For now, I bid you farewell and render thanks for your kindness." She curtseyed again, and left the Great Hall.
Both men watched her leave with regret. Although he firmly stowed his more complicated thoughts about the young bard in the back of his brain, Taliesin felt unusually depressed in the days following Cerys's departure. It did not help his mood when, at the week's end, a new candidate for initiation arrived and, upon entering the examination room, promptly threw up at the Chief Bard's feet.