Radiant Brow – The Epic of Taliesin
March 29, 2016
*****
Rooted in Celtic myth and the turbulent history of Dark Age Britain, ‘Radiant Brow’ is a tale of the unconquered spirit…
the story of one man at the heart of a threatened culture
Abandoned at birth and fostered by the royal clan of Gwynedd, Taliesin lives to become the greatest bard of his time, one whose name is still revered today. But he pays the price for power, for his fierce dedication to the goddess Ceridwen and to the land of his ancestors. Whilst he fights the Anglo-Saxon enemy and for unity amongst his people, he also fights a battle within, and faces conflict between love and loyalty.
As the Britons lose ground and are torn apart by tribal rivalry, Taliesin’s own life reaches a crisis, and he must make an ultimate decision.
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To view the book trailer click on this link:
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REVIEWS
Taliesin was a real person, but the reality about him is an enigma. This novel weaves his dreams and desires, his fears and hopes, all bound up with the frailties, emotions and general life that everyone enjoys and endures…..
The descriptions bring the era to life – slip into the past and sit in the mead hall, and listen to the bard telling his tales…..
‘The Historical Novel Society’, August 2015
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‘Radiant Brow’ tells the story of Taliesin the bard, a generation or so after the death of King Arthur. The story weaves together elements of the mythical Taliesin of the ‘Mabinogion’, with an imagining of Taliesin as a living bard of the Britons in the Dark Ages, in the face of ever present Saxon encroachment. It is an extraordinarily well-written novel and will appeal to those who enjoy the works of Juliet Marillier and Jules Watson…….
Readers familiar with the ‘Mabinogion’ and Dark Age myths will enjoy the appearance of some of the characters from those stories. Myrddin/Merlin has a particularly original role to play, adrift in his madness upon a mountaintop. The goddess Ceridwen is ever present as muse, guide and inner voice…..
I highly recommend this novel, which is both an entertaining and thought provoking read.
‘The Glastonbury Oracle’, October 2014
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‘Touchstone’ readers will recall Catherine’s contributions especially on the bardic arts, and here she turns to historical fiction and a subject dear to any follower of the bardic path. She bases her story on the fact that there are ‘two’ Taliesins: the mythical hero of the story of Little Gwion and an actual person who lived in the 6th century……..
She had skillfully introduced the story of little Gwion into the bard’s life as events experienced in trance, dream, meditation, or as part of initiatory ordeals, to produce the most satisfying end evocative parts of the book and a wholly satisfactory way of identifying ‘both’ Taliesins as aspects of the same person. The latter sections deal with the sweep of history, the realities of constant warfare and the place of the bard, inviting comparison with the works of Rosemary Sutcliffe and Mary Stewart…..
‘Touchstone’, Journal of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids, December 2015
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The Beginning
The woman clutched a sleeping infant to her breast as she stared out across the waves. Their rhythm pounded in her ears: a hollow voice, goading, testing.
She was numb to the chill water that swirled around her ankles, dragging at the hem of the cloak which made her no more than a shadow in the failing light, and though she had draped a fold over her head, for concealment rather than warmth, the wind caught at wisps of silver-fair hair that had blown free. Spray stung her eyes so the world became a blur, the salt of the sea mingling with the salt of tears.
It was only a faint movement from the infant in her arms that broke her trance, and the woman retreated up the beach to where a coarse-woven sack lay beside a coracle of bowed willow spars. The tide was at full flood, but soon it would begin to ebb. She knew she must act now. Before her resolve broke.
She crouched on the wet sand, scarcely looking at her child as she reached for the sack. Yet she had to gaze at his face just one more time, the face that was more precious than any other. Pale lashes rested on rounded cheeks as he breathed softly from between slightly parted lips. He did not wake when she placed him inside the sack, nor when she tied the top with a cord. If he lived, he would be a good child, and clever, she felt sure. His brow was unusually high and his eyes seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. But torturing herself was pointless.
She got to her feet, the sack cradled in one arm, and dragging the coracle with her free hand, waded out thigh deep, the force of the waves making her stagger, struggling for balance. When she could go no further, she steadied the craft and placed the sack on the willow spars at the bottom. Believing that she heard her child’s cry, she hesitated, clinging to the coracle, fighting the current and buffeted by the storm.
Finally, she let it slip from between icy fingers.
‘May the gods watch over you.’
Her whisper merged with the wind and was carried away with the coracle as it rose and fell on the tide, one moment visible on the crest of a wave, the next plunging down, then rising to view again, each time further from the shore.
The woman watched the receding shape until it was no more than a speck in the distance. She began to shiver and wrapped her cloak more tightly about her, but it made no difference.
So bitter for the time of year, she thought. In two days it would be Calan Mai, the start of summer. Light days lay ahead. And she pictured the bright face of her child surrounded by the darkness of the sea at night.
From Part One, Chapter One
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The Ordeal
The hut was windowless. Its stone walls excluded all sound, and the heavy oak door had been barred from the outside and covered by a hide curtain.
Taliesin lay on his back on a pallet bed, in a darkness so intense it seemed that he could reach out and touch it. His eyelids grew heavier, his limbs relaxing against the wooden planks of the bed. The darkness cocooned him – soft, rich and warm.
Then he saw the figure of the spirit woman standing over him, her face framed by silver-fair hair.
‘Tell me who you are?’ he whispered. Finally, he had managed to voice the question.
‘I am your guide, your companion. The gods chose me to walk with you, and I will show you mysteries far beyond all you have dreamt of or feared.’
‘But what is your name? Where are you from?’
‘My name I cannot reveal, though one day you may learn it.’ She smiled at his dismay. ‘As to your second question……..a part us both resides in the Otherworld, and together we walk between worlds.’
She raised her hand, indicating for him to get to his feet. As he did so and faced her, the woman took the form of Ceridwen.
‘Do you know me?’ For the first time she spoke to him – in a voice of eerie beauty.
Taliesin inclined his head, and from the depths of his being reached out to her, with a longing, a yearning, a love beyond any human love.
‘Most do not recognize me any longer,’ she said. ‘But without my nourishment – the elixir of inspiration that awakens the people to the living spirit of the land – Ynys Prydein becomes nothing but a barren waste. Without me there is no true motivation to valour; the souls of the Britons are dry without my mead, the sacrament from my vessel, my mother’s milk.’
Taliesin listened, shaking as if wracked by fever……..as if he stood in danger of his life. And he knew then that he did. They all did: his foster-kin at Braich y Dinas, his companions here, the heroes, the distant figure of Urien of Rheged, the farmers and herders – each one.
‘It does not have to be this way.’ The goddess spoke again. ‘There are a few who can make the life flow again through the Awen. A few who can give the Britons back their inner strength so the land will not be devoured by the wolves from across the sea. You are one of those few, Taliesin. But I will test you, test you to your limit.’
‘My Lady Ceridwen.’
The words seemed to strangle him, as he watched her face turn black, with a single eye of fire. The locks of her hair transformed into writhing serpents, and vaporous breath poured from between broken teeth. He saw a barren wilderness, earth scoured by scorching winds and icy blasts, his own body burning and shivering by turns.
The hag was screaming at him, words he could not understand. Taliesin knew only that he had to escape, and began to run. He ran until his lungs ached. He could hear her breathing closer and closer behind him. He was not fast enough. His legs felt like stone. His heart hammered like hail on a roof……..Faster………faster. Which animal could run faster than he? A hare. A hare.
In terror, he was racing between clumps of withered vegetation, past rocks that towered above him. The landscape flashed by to either side. His four legs moved with ease, lithe and strong. But it was not enough. She was on his heel, as a hound with swift stride and slavering jaw. He must go faster……
The wilderness had become a plain. Across it flowed a river. The rushing water, his refuge. Instinctively, he dived, down to the cool green depths, gliding smoothly, salmon tail propelling him onward. But, shifting shape from hound to otter bitch, Ceridwen was pursuing. Drawing nearer. He could feel the pull of the water as she closed in.
With a mighty sweep of his tail, he leapt…….
Then all was dark. He looked from side to side, seeing nothing. Clumsily, he sat up, the panic rising. He stared into a void, not knowing who or what he was. With trembling fingers he felt his own face and hair and limbs.
In the silence he could hear rapid breathing, and at first thought it was a predator, that still he was pursued. The sound seemed to be coming from outside himself. He was about to flee again when he realized where he was, and lay back with a sigh.
He tried to think, to understand whether he had been dreaming or journeying out of his body. He remembered when he was a very small child, sitting on Eilonwy’s knee as she told him how he had been found by his foster-father. It had always seemed like a bardic tale, not real, not a part of his own life.
Elffin had been hoping for a haul of salmon, instead he had found Taliesin. The old question returned, pressing itself on his mind. Who was he? He had no blood parents. Elffin had been expecting salmon. Salmon. That was what he had been in his vision. If it was a vision. He sat up once more. He was going insane. He had thought his comrade, Rhys, cowardly for hammering on the hut door and crying out until the Master went to him and gave him a sedative draught.
Taliesin sat in the darkness and solitude, desperately searching for some lost memory that would answer all his questions. That would make him whole.
From Part Two, Chapter Three
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