Ashes Under Uricon (The Change Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

have been able to tell you what it was. But I knew of ‘Y Gododdin’ from my A Level Welsh teacher. He was always telling us stories about how far back Welsh poetry went and I knew that this was one of the earliest.

    “What I couldn’t understand was how a copy of this poem, which had burned in a fire according to my teacher, should turn up here in this strange house in the middle of nowhere.”

    “Not quite in the middle of nowhere, Richard. That’s a bit over the top, don’t you think?” she hissed.

    If she kept on interrupting him, this story would take forever to reach the end. “Just carry on, Taid,” I said, nudging his arm.

    “Well, I gently carried the book down the ladder, cleared a small space on the table and placed it there. I then went back up the ladder to see what else might be there. It was incredible. On every shelf there was at least one, sometimes two or more, books of poetry from every age in Welsh history. Dafydd ap Gwilym, Iolo Goch, Y Gogynfeirdd, Barddoniaeth yr Uchelwyr. Every one I remembered from the teacher’s stories. Most incredible of all there were books by Taliesin and Aneirin, the oldest known poets. And, unbelievably, the ‘Canu Heledd’. The earliest known poem by a woman in northern Europe, never mind Wales.

    “I didn’t know very much about these things at the time, apart from the names of the poets and the poems, and when I looked through some of them I couldn’t make head nor tail of what was written. On the lower shelves were books from other centuries, right down to the 1920’s and 30’s. They were printed, of course, but each one was a first edition, no matter when it had been published. Although I could read the words in these, I had no idea who the poets were in most cases. The only one I recognised was T. H. Parry-Williams. He was one of my set texts.”

    “ Beth ydwyt ti a minnau, frawd,
      Ond swp o esgyrn mewn gwisg o gnawd? ”

    She spoke Welsh as well as Taid. I was astonished. So was he.

    “You know T.H.?”

    “My favourite. Now you’ve made me really break the law, Richard Beynon-James. So, you found all these books. What happened next?”

    “As I took a book from the bottom shelf to the table, I became aware that it was getting dark. When I looked at my watch I was horrified to discover that it was well past six. We were supposed to be in the centre for dinner at half past five. I ran to the door, opened it and looked up and down the hallway. There was no sign of the woman – your mother – or anyone else. I called ‘Hello’ a couple of times, but there was no response. I was seriously worried that I would be missed from dinner. I looked back into the library, my eyes falling on the pile of books I had placed on the table, then shut the door and left.

    “I ran back to the centre. Out of breath, I dashed into the dining hall just as the others were leaving. A plate of cold food sat at my place. I sat down and ate as much as I could manage. When I looked up I saw the course director still sitting in his place on the high table. He beckoned me over.

    “‘So what’s your explanation, Richard?’ This conversation was all in Welsh, remember, although my mind was still a bit scrambled from my afternoon adventure. I told him what I had been doing, apologising for being late, as I had not realised how much time had passed. I thought he would be thrilled when I told him what I had discovered. He simply stared at me. ‘Have you been drinking?’ he said. ‘No. What do you mean?’ I said. ‘Your story is plain nonsense. There is no house, Georgian or otherwise, along that road. Not until you get to the next town, anyway, and I’m sure you didn’t walk more than twenty-five miles and back this afternoon.’

    “I did not understand what he was saying. At first I thought it might have been that my Welsh was at fault. He repeated his words – ‘there is no house along that road’ – and I definitely understood him. I protested, of