"No." I touched his shoulder lightly to set him walking again.
We traveled seven or eight miles without stopping to rest. In the early afternoon the road led us down into a valley, to what had been the Roman city of Aquae Arnemetiae, a city of healing pools and mineral wells. The Roman baths lay crumbling into ruin now; the springs were beginning to break free of the shrines that had been built around them, though they ran clear and warm as they always had. The outer buildings of the old city lay as rubble, roofless and empty. But the heart of the town remained inhabited. On one of the streets that we passed through there was a public house with its door open, and from within, fragments of quiet conversation echoed in the street. I unslung the small black leather satchel that I carried and put a hand in, searching for the few coins I had brought with me. I said to Lleu, "Shall we eat here?"
He watched in horror and amazement as I drew my hand out of the bag. I saw the fear in his look, but could not understand it. Disturbed and puzzled, I said, "What is it? You can’t be afraid to take a meal among other people."
Lleu whispered, "Why do you carry feathers in your bag?"
"Feathers?" I asked, speaking low, and feeling curiously fearful myself. "Feathers…," I repeated slowly. "Where did you see them?"
We stood beneath the eaves of the low building, talking in quiet voices, as would any two traveling companions who might pass through the town and debate whether or not to take their midday meal in company of the townsmen.
"You shook them out of your satchel just now," Lleu said. "Didn’t you? A handful of black feathers, like snowflakes of shadow, they fluttered from your fingers and scattered across the street—"
"Ai, God help you, Lleu," I whispered. I stood a moment considering whether he had any idea of what was happening. Then I bent and reached down as though picking up some small thing near my boot, and held my hand before his face. "A feather like this one?"
"There’s nothing there," Lleu said.
"Are you sure?" I slowly turned my hand.
His face betrayed him. "What did you see?" I asked.
"I don’t know," Lleu gasped quietly. "You’re not—holding anything."
"No," I said. "I’m not. But you saw something."
We both stood still and silent. Lleu looked at the white doves in the eaves of the building across the street, then closed his eyes with a small cry and quickly turned his face away.
"Come, let’s eat here," I said. "You must rest, Lleu. You will destroy yourself if you go on like this."
Lleu said carefully, "Suppose the folk in this place have heard that I have been abducted?"
"That is a risk hatligI take."
"And if I cry to them for sanctuary?"
"Will you?" I asked.
"No," he said. "This is our contest now, yours and mine alone, I will not force my father’s people to choose between us."
We stepped inside the small, dark shop. There were a dozen or so men there, shepherds and farmers from the nearby moors, and a few townsmen. I asked for bowls of porridge and mugs of warm ale for myself and Lleu, and the other patrons made room for us on one of the benches. Lleu looked up from his food to scan the faces around him, as though one might prove to be compassionate or even familiar; but he suddenly sank his face against his forearm, leaning on the table, his shoulders shaking. "Sit up, you little idiot," I said in his ear, helping him to straighten. "What’s the matter?"
"I thought one of the men was horned with stag’s antlers, like the lord of death and the Wild Hunt," Lleu whispered despairingly. "Oh, God, I am so tired." When he finally gathered the courage to pick up his mug his hands shook so much that he spilled a good deal on the table. The men sitting near threw him curious glances, but decently looked away when they saw me gently take the cup from Lleu’s hands and wipe the table.
When I went to pay for our meal the keeper of the hostel remarked quietly to me, "It’s a bad time to travel far in open country. Is the boy simple?"
Lleu heard, and flung up his head in defiance, but he said nothing. I answered, "He’s not simple. A bit of a fool, perhaps." I beckoned Lleu with a nod of my head. "He could shape entertainment in a king’s court, couldn’t you, little one?" I said. "Give them the performance we had at Midwinter’s."
"You dare tempt me!" Lleu said aloud. He rose to stand before me and handed his bow and quiver to one of the patrons. Then in spite of his exhaustion, in spite of the tricks his eyes were playing him, in the small space between a table and a screen of woven rush he executed two fast, furious handsprings, forward and backward. Afterward he clung to the nearest table for support, blinking to clear his unreliable vision, as the astonished patrons burst into a roar of approval and admiration.
"Hey, Maria," the proprietor called into the inner room, pushing aside the wattled reeds. "Bring the children out here. There’s an acrobat."
A thin woman came out of the back room, dogged by two small boys; the elder looked about six years old, and the other, whose face and hands were covered with flour, was perhaps two years younger. The little one hid behind his mother’s skirts, peering out through his dusty fingers. "Come on, you lot," the owner directed. "Stand back, clear some room."
They dragged the tables and benches aside and waited expectantly, all gazing at Lleu. He glanced around the dark room, biting his lip; then suddenly he laughed and ran a hand through his hair, and spoke in his clear, authoritative voice:
"Under your green-girt beams I come
Neither to beg nor borrow;