27
Owain ordered his men and Kenneth the Strange to stay close together. He didn’t want them to get lost again. None of them knew what dangers might be just beyond a clump of trees or rock. He and Ieuan discussed the situation, and decided that if they followed the river upstream, they might come to the ridge dividing it from the flow of the Sevre, and the could once again make progress towards the sea. So, as they fell into a line of twos and threes, Aidan-who-would-be-Bard fell in beside Kenneth the Strange.
‘Dia duit.’ Aidan broke the silence.
‘Dia is Muire duit,’ replied Kenneth, hoping that he might find out more about where and when they were from this beautiful fair haired lad, whom he had noticed seemed to catch every conversation around him. ‘You look a bit young to be a warrior, if you don’t mind my saying. How did you come to join Owain in his efforts?’
‘So, you’ve heard of Owain Lawgoch? I was hoping to tell his story and make my own name as a bard. Perhaps I am too late.’
‘Not at all. I have heard of Owain, but there are only rumours, and they don’t begin to match. Besides, I try to be something of a chronicler myself, and understand the workings of the world. So, how long have you been following Owain?’
‘Three years. I grew up in Ferns, where it seems every boy is named Aidan. But when I was fifteen, I went off looking for Owain, and caught up with him in the winter of the Gugler War. So far, I must admit, the heroic life has been more full of strife and misfortune than I had expected. Still, strife and misfortune can be an important part in a good story. And you, Stranger, how did you come to our journey?’
‘That’s a long story, but I can try to tell you a short version.’ And one that won’t be entirely unbelievable, thought Kenneth. ‘I was born in London, where my father is a . . . smith, but I spent my summers with my grandparents In Whitby, where my grandmother told me the tales of Taliesin and the other bards. I moved to Sheffield when I was old enough to leave home, and I saved enough to have a tiny cottage near Glastonbury where I could pursue my own studies. I was interested in traveling, so I set forth, not knowing just where I would go. My path crossed yours and here I am.’
‘You must have saved a lot, it seems. Your clothes are like none i’ve ever seen. You wear a torque like no smith’s son I’ve know ever had, but it’s not any metal I know, either. And, if I may be a bit bold, what is that slab of glass you take out and look at when you think no one is looking? Please don’t think I’m prying, but a bard needs to see and know things.’
‘Then you are an excellent bard, I expect. Sheffield is a great place for a smith’s son to learn more about metals and how they work. I found some ways to make knives and other tools that work well and cost less. So, I was well paid. But I spent almost nothing on what most people think of as wealth. I have put everything I have into this trip, so I dressed very carefully. I didn’t know what sort of weather I would find. Since you survived the Gugler War, you know a bit about weather. And this glass slab,’ taking it from his pocket without looking at it, ‘is my most prized possession, although most would find it useless. There are many wonderful secrets to making things of glass.’
As Aidan took the glass, Kenneth’s phone, their hands touched slightly. And Kenneth, not wanting to look at his phone and waken it, looked into Aidan’s eyes instead.
‘Stop’, Owain said quietly but firmly. ‘There’s a village just ahead.’
28
Nearing the village of Castle Cary, the green Great Western train carried two sets of travelers on rather different trips, even though they all had the same reason for the trip. In a First Class coach, Min-seo and Rafael, deep in conversation, were finding their interest in each other deepening with each mile. In Standard Class, deep in silence, Nora and Marcus were pondering what they expected might prove to be their losses. Nora had admired the stubbornness of her only child, but she had often warned him that it would ‘be the death of him’. Now she feared it had been. As the train had left Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s great rail shed, Marcus had averted his worry by thinking about the great advances in travel that had happened in the nearly two centuries since the station had been finished. He was a fan of technological history, especially of the history of transportation, his excuse for keeping an old oil-burning Mazda. And it seemed very possible that his very good friend Kenneth Owens had made something as amazing as Brunel’s shed, as amazing as the original Great Western Railway itself, which was even closer to two hundred years old, even if it had a somewhat discontinuous history. But the his thoughts turned to that discontinuity, and to the deaths that accompanied the early years of the road. And he realized that he still thought of Kenneth as more than his very good friend, and that it was very likely that he would not see him again, and that their relationship would go no further.
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