The White Dragon

Chapter Four: The Thought of Rome: Threatening Yet Intriguing

That night, Arthyr listened to his family with tears in his eyes. It might seem strange that this powerful young magician, who had all the advantages of being a Sí, should feel fear at the prospect of losing the company of his human kin. Yet Arthyr was in no way prepared for a departure from all that he knew. He loved everyone in the longhouse: his parents, his foster brother (Kai), his two aunts, three grandparents and four cousins. And they loved him and took pride in him.

Arthyr had come to the family as a result of a wish. That was the story his father told. Wanting a child, his mother and father had prayed together to Danu. The next day, his father had been hunting in the dangerous Trawfason forest, when he had heard the cries of a new-born infant. In the enclosure of a willow tree rested a Sí baby, wrapped in cotton in a basket woven of white poplar branches. Laurels crowned his head, a hazel wand, stripped of its bark, was in his right hand. In his left was a rattle made of yew. When, after many hours with no sign of the parents, the shadows began to gather and with the baby crying loudly from hunger and thirst, Arthyr's father picked up the basket and brought the new-born home.

As a baby, Arthyr had charmed them all. As a toddler he had made them laugh. As a child he had earned their admiration for the swiftness with which he learned and as a youth he had won their gratitude for the abundance that came with his magic. Their land and their livestock had never been so fertile.

Having returned from his recent adventure in Uffen, Arthyr had been looking forward to telling the story to his family, with suitable embellishments, and showing them the silver nugget. Yet before he could do so, Arthy's father had explained to him the day's events in the village and how the astonishing and unwelcome arrival of two Romans had given focus to the village's discontent with Arthyr. That it had been decided to send him away to serve the empress.

'How dare the people side with the Romans.' Arthyr was walking up and down the central isle of the longhouse, between the beds on which sat his family members, each sitting on their beds, looking at him with eyes that glistened darkly with unhappiness. He reached the wattle partition, beyond which was the household goat, span on his heel, and strode back the twenty-or-so paces back to the other end of the house. 'I have been betrayed.'

'You have,' answered his father just as grimly, mouth set in anger.

'And how will they feel if it turns out I have been sent to my death? There are very different spirits across the water, whose allegiance may be to enemies of my Sí ancestors. My power will wane over there. I will be in danger. And I'll be no one; there is no one across the water who knows me or cares for me at all.' His hand, waving through the air as he made the point, hit a pot that was hanging from the roof and made his knuckles sore.

'My love.' His mother caught Arthyr as he passed her, pulled him to her and caressed his hair, bringing back memories of his childhood. 'Wherever you travel, there will be people who care for you. Are you not the beauty of the world? The gods will listen to our prayers and bring you home safe.'

'You could hide me.'

'Not from Ithel,' replied his father. 'That old fox will sniff you out and every hand will be turned against you if you remain here against the decision of the assembly. Worse, against the promise King Ulwen made to the Romans.'

'I could run away.'

'I suggested this,' said Kai, Arthyr's foster-brother. Kai's parents were free farmers from nearby Dolwyddelan, distant relatives of Arthyr's mother, who, having a large family of their own, had fostered Kai in Betws-y-Coed. His bed was in the corner of the house, opposite Arthyr's and he was sitting there now, long, thoughtful face shining pale in the torchlight. 'But if we run, we'll be unable to return.'