kissed by the sun. Govanâs eyes were blue where her sisterâs were brown. And whereas Goewyn was tall and elegantly graceful, Govan was nimble, litheâa delight in motion. She was rarely quiet, and never still. Wherever Govan was there was laughterâor tears, it is trueâbut seldom silence.
Accordingly, they came laughing into our presence. Govan approached Llew directly. She raised wide eyes to meet his, searching his face, fascinated by the change she saw there. âLlyd?â she whispered in a voice made small by awe. âWhat has happened to you?â
âIt was a hard winter,â Llew replied.
âMy sister told me you were changed, but . . .â Delighted by the alteration in Llewâs appearance she laughed, letting the words go.
âIt is good to see you too, Govan,â Llew replied.
âYou were ever welcome here,â Govan told him, suddenly solemnâ suppressed laughter tugged at the corners of her mouth. âAnd you shall be no less welcome now that you are a king.â
We heard the hollow sound of hoofbeats outside and, almost before they ceased, she was thereâScatha, clothed in a scarlet cloak and mantle, with a girdle of plum purple. Her long, golden hair was unbound and wind-tossed from her ride. Her cheeks glowed with her exertion, and she entered the hall with eyes alight, for she had seen our boat on the beach and knew she had guests to welcome.
âTegid!â she called upon entering. âGreetings and welcome to you.â She turned to Llew. âAnd to you alsoââ Scatha hesitated, stepping closer and scrutinizing Llew carefully. âLlyd? Is it you?â
âI have returned, Pen-y-Cat,â he answered, using the informal title which her warrior pupils bestowed upon her: Chief of Battle.
âCome to me, son of mine,â she said. All who had mastered their skills in her hard school she recognized as her sons.
Llew stepped before her. She placed her hands upon his shoulders and gazed long into his eyes. âYes, it is Llyd,â she said and, leaning close, kissed him on both cheeks. âWelcome, my son.â
âI am called Llew now,â he told her simply.
âAnd he is a king!â added Govan.
âIs he indeed?â Scatha asked, regarding Llew placidly. âThis is a tale I will hear gladly.â At that moment, servants entered with platters of bread and cold meat and jars of beer. âBuild up the fire and fill the cups,â Scatha called to them. Turning to me, she said, âAnd you, Tegid Tathal, will tell us how this remarkable thing has come about.â
âAt last!â said Boru. âAnd here was I, thinking he had swallowed his tongue.â
Just then Gwenllian, Scathaâs first daughter, entered the hall. She had been riding with her mother and had seen the horses stabled before coming in. She now joined us, calling a greeting as she glanced quickly from one to the other of us.
Upon seeing Llew, she froze in midstep.
The smile of welcome vanished from her face, and her body grew rigid. I thought she might swoon, for she swayed on her feetâbut her eyes remained bright and alert. We all fell silent, watching her. âHail, Llew, I greet you,â she breathed in almost silent recognition, her eyes playing over his features. âYou have come at last.â
I did not wonder at this odd greeting, for it was Gwenllian whose emerald eyes had first glimpsed the shape of the dire events which had come to pass in Albion. And flame-haired Gwenllian it was who bestowed the prophecy upon Llyd from which he had taken his new name. Seeing him now, wise Banfáith that she was, she recognized him despite his altered appearance, or it may be because of it.
The moment passed, and Gwenllian went to him; she pressed his hand and kissed his cheek by way of greeting. Scatha watched this exchange, her features sharp with interest. And even as her daughter stepped