by Svalbard

Created on: December 03, 2008

The Bard
Once upon a time in the distant past when heroes walked the lands, when men spoke of honour and lived by their word , a bard of great renown would go from hall to hall and sing of their deeds. He was a master of words and song. Visions of splendour and great feats of arms were conjured by the magic in his voice. But that was yesteryear and days were dark now with few free men of hills to sit and listen to Aneirin. The great kingdoms of the north were in decline and the old bard, stooped and grey with age struggled across the old paths to diminished halls.

It was on a particular wet and cold day when old Aneirin came upon a small fort in the hills south of Dun Eiydn. That great fortress was his destination, but as he looked up at the gathering clouds, the bard decided to stop at the fort. The customs of the north were still strong and Aneirin knew that for a story he would be fed and bedded for the night. As he approached the small gate in the palisade that surrounded the fort, it opened and a tall figure stepped out holding a spear in front of him.

"Who goes there on this night?" the man called out, an edge of fear in his voice.

"It is I, Aneirin. You know of me?"

Slowly the spear was lowered and the man stepped closer. A smile began to spread across his face.

"Aye. It has being a long time since a bard has come this way. You are welcome to my home. My name is Mynddog."

"A kingly name and a honoured one," the bard replied, following the warrior into the fort.

It was a ramshackle place, with only three buildings. A large circular building stood at the centre and it was here that Aneirin was brought. The interior was smoke filled and stank of wet animal fur, burnt food and sweat. Aneirin chose to ignore the stench and smiled at the faces about him. Mynddog showed Aneirin to a place close to the central hearth fire and ordered drink and food. As the bard consumed the meal, poor fare of bread, a gruel of indescribable meat and sour ale, the family settled in an arc about him. He noted their drawn faces and the dullness of their eyes, an abdication of all hope in life. And this he understood. Their land lay in the disputed regions between Manau Goddidin and the Saxon kingdoms to the south. Every year these people would have to put up with raids from the south and retaliatory attacks from the north. Their allegiance and taxes would switch to whichever king held sway. Looking about Aneirin noted that Mynddog was the only male adult. A sign of tough times and it did

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