SPECIAL SNEAK PEEK!
The complete first chapter of my latest novella THE FALL OF EMRYS coming the Kindle August 7th, 2022
The crow of a rooster announced the dawn of a new day in Camelot, rousing me from my slumber on that fair morning in Spring. I was in good spirits that day, drinking in the cool, sweet air filtering through the window. Inching closer to my wife, Creirwy, I drew back the raven-black curtain of her hair and caressed her fair cheek with a kiss.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I said, barely above a whisper.
“Not now, Gwion!” she mumbled.
“My love, it is sunrise on the first of May.”
“Ugh, why must the sun rise so early?” she moaned, drawing the covers over her tousled head.
I smiled at her reluctance to rise from bed. “Because that is the way of things, dear.”
“Go get your lyre and sing it back to sleep for an hour.”
“There are some spells even I cannot perform, my dear,” I said with a laugh. “Now, let us rise and bring in the summer!”
“Fine,” she sighed, throwing off the covers. Goose-pimples arose on her skin as it met the cold air.
Gingerly, she stepped over to the chest where we kept our clothes and drew out the garments she intended to wear that day. I sat at the edge of the bed, admiring her beauty as she dressed. I was often struck by how fortunate I was to have such a lovely wife as Creirwy.
“Goodness, my hair is a fright!” said she, looking into a small hand mirror.
I chuckled. “You are lovely no matter what your hair looks like.”
“Still, I cannot go out on May Day looking like a crow’s nest,” she replied, aggressively combing her hair into submission. “Enough lounging about, Gwion! Get dressed! We have a long day ahead of us!”
She tossed a tunic at me, which landed squarely on my face. With a hearty laugh, I shoved the garment over my head. A moment ago, I could barely convince her to get out of bed; now it seemed she could not wait to begin the festivities of the day.
May Day was a high day then, much as it is now in many places; a day of dancing and singing and feasting. Our tradition was to have Father Dubric and myself bless the fields, much as I had done as a boy in Ceredigion. Creirwy would be accompanying us for the first time, and I was greatly looking forward to celebrating the festival with her at my side.
Once we had dressed, we left our room in the great house of the king and went to the outer courtyard on our way to the church for morning prayers. Standing in the courtyard were the High King Emrys, Nimue his queen, and his brother, Uther. With them were Lord Gorlois of Kernow and his wife, Igerna, and their two small daughters, Morgana and Morgause. All appeared to be waiting on Creirwy and I.
“Taliesin,” said Emrys with a smile. “We were beginning to wonder if you would be joining us.”
“Good morrow, your majesty,” I said. “Forgive my tardiness.”
“It was my fault,” said Creirwy. “My hair, you know.”
The queen laughed. “Perfectly understandable.”
“Good morning, Taliesin and Creirwy,” said Morgana with a smile. “I made this for you.”
She handed Creirwy a garland of wildflowers.
“Oh, it’s lovely, Morgana, thank you!” my wife replied, placing the garland on her head.
“Well, let us not tarry any longer,” said Lord Uther. “To the church!”
We walked in a quiet procession through the streets of Camelot toward the church, peasants and court officials joining us along the way. King Emrys was not a lover of pomp and required no retinue to accompany him. He trusted his subjects as his subjects trusted him. He did not fear them at all; he was beloved by most, and all feared Caledbur, his ancient and powerful blade.
Thus we entered the church reverently as the liturgy began. As the prayers were said and the Scriptures read, I will confess that my mind wandered to other things. Despite the joy of this day, my thoughts turned to darker things. Visions of death had filled my mind in the night. I had a sense that King Emrys’ doom was imminent, though I could not say why.
Once the prayers and scripture had concluded, the festivities began. As the parish priest, it was Father Dubric’s duty to lead the procession. His thurible swung back and forth as we processed through the city streets and out of the great timber gates to the countryside. Creirwy and I walked directly behind him, leading the May song while the royal family followed behind us, along with various and sundry revelers.
Out we went, singing and dancing down the meandering paths through the homesteads as Dubric and I blessed the fields, wishing the karls a fruitful season. Karls, if you remember from my previous tales, work the land under the protection of the king.
The karls and their families met our party with great joy as they did every year, inviting Dubric to bless their animals and children as well as their crops. Despite her dour mood earlier that morning, Creirwy was in high spirits, singing the May song as fervently as I did, dancing gracefully about the field, weaving her magic into her words. Everywhere her bare feet trod, wildflowers sprang up.
After a long day of dancing and singing, we made our way back to the city, where the citizens had prepared a great feast. Huge tables laden with food and drink stood in the town square. A great shout arose from the crowds as we returned, and immediately, we sat down to feast. We ate, we drank, we sang, we danced; it was quite a merry time for all.
Exhausted from my labors, I reclined drowsily at the table, Creirwy sitting beside me, feeding me strawberries. Morgana and Morgause lay by the wall, fallen asleep as children who have been playing all day often do. Uther and Gorlois discussed hunting exploits while Igerna listened attentively, occasionally commenting on her husband’s exaggerations. Across from us sat Emrys and Nimue. The queen’s eyelids drooped as she laid her head against the king’s broad chest.
“Are you happy, wife?” asked Emrys, stroking her dark hair with great affection.
“How could I not be, with this much mead and a husband as handsome and strong as yourself?” responded Nimue. “The question is, dear husband, are you happy?”
“I am brimming with joy, dear wife. More than that, I am brimming with desire.”
“Desire for what?” asked Nimue.
“I can hold our secret in no longer.”
The queen lifted her head and looked directly into Emrys’ gray eyes. “Then say on, my king.”
With a hearty laugh, Emrys crushed the elf maid to his chest and kissed her passionately. Rising from his seat, the king raised a toast.
“People of Camelot, my friends. I have an announcement to make: there will soon be another to carry on my name. Queen Nimue is with child!”
The people cheered.
“Long live the queen!” said Emrys, draining his cup.
Leaping up, Creirwy embraced the queen joyfully.
“Oh that’s wonderful, Queen Nimue! I am so happy for you!” she said.
“Thank you, Creirwy. I am indeed blessed beyond measure.”
“You will make a wonderful mother,” added Igerna.
“Congratulations, your kingship!” said a familiar voice.
Peering through the crowd, I beheld the grinning faces of Domhnall and Conall McCallum, the Gaelic fishermen who accompanied me on my last adventure.
My lips curved into a smile as I went to meet the two Hibernians.
“Domhnall! Conall! It is Good to see you again. What brings you to Camelot?”
“Well, if we’d known there’d be this much free beer and food, we’d have come sooner!” said Conall with a laugh.
“Verily,” I replied. “May Day is one of the high days of the year in Camelot.”
“Greetings,” said the king to the two fishermen. “I believe we’ve met before.”
“That we did,” responded Domhnall. “We helped your bard and his lady there out of a wee scrape some months ago.”
“I suppose you are here to trade, or perhaps gamble and lose money, forcing you to steal away in the dead of night,” quipped Creirwy.
Conall laughed heartily. “Not this time. We’ve come on something of an errand of mercy, actually.”
“Oh yes?” asked King Emrys
“Aye. It concerns you, actually,” said Domhnall. “We have a message from Bishop Patrick.”
The fisherman drew a small scroll from his purse and handed it to the king. Opening the scroll Emrys read it carefully, a look of deep concern washing over his face.
“What is it, my love?” asked Nimue.
“Apparently the whole of Hibernia is overrun with werewolves; the servants of the black god, Crom Cruach.”
A chill ran down my spine. Crom Cruach was one of the most feared of all the old gods. He was a mysterious, aloof deity, living in the dark forests of Hibernia, lusting after the blood of mortal children. Some said he was a great black wolf. Others said he resembled a man clothed in black. Many said he was a shape-shifter. One thing they all agreed upon; he was not to be trifled with.
The king grew pale. It was no idle matter to challenge Crom. Tales of his savagery had reached all across the Western world.
“We shall have a formal council on it in the morrow,” he said at last. “We have all had much wine, and such decisions must be made with a clear mind.”
“Of course,” said Domhnall.
News of such gravity had darkened the King’s mood, as well as mine. We sat silent and sober, despite all the joy and levity about us.
About midnight, the revelers returned to their respective abodes, as did Creirwy and I.
“What do you suppose King Emrys will do?” asked Creirwy as she undid the fastenings on her gown.
“Render aid to the Hibernians, I suppose,” I responded, leaning down to untie my sandals.
“Well, obviously!” retorted Creirwy. “But Crom is one of the most powerful of the old gods. He will not be easy to defeat.”
“True,” I agreed.
“What I am saying is that I do not fancy you going on a long and dangerous campaign in Hibernia.”
“Neither do I; least of all, being away from that lovely face for any length of time.”
Creirwy wrapped her slender arms about my neck.
“They say absence sharpens love.”
“Aye, though I cannot imagine my love being much sharper.”
Creirwy pressed her warm lips to mine.
“Come to bed,” I said. “We will think about Hibernia in the morning.”