The Owl Service by Alan Garner Page B

“You taking photo of the Stone of Gronw, are you?”
    â€œNo,” said Roger. “The Albert Memorial.”
    â€œThere’s clever,” said Huw.
    Whirr. click.
    â€œDo you mind?” said Roger. “I’m trying to finish this before dark. Gwyn’s looking for you.”
    Huw began to suck at an unlit pipe, turning the charred bowl.
    â€œIt is old stone,” he said. “The Stone of Gronw.”
    â€œI said, Gwyn’s looking for you—”
    â€œNot a bad man,” said Huw. “He is not all to blame. She is setting her cap at him, the other man’s wife.”
    â€œThe one who was supposed to be made of flowers?” said Roger.
    â€œYes?” said Huw. “Blodeuwedd? You know her? You have raven’s knowledge? Yes, she is setting her cap at him, the fine gentleman: Gronw Pebyr, Lord of Penllyn.”
    â€œDon’t you people round here talk about anything else?” said Roger. “You’d think it was the only thing that’s ever happened in this valley.”
    Whirr.
    â€œThat is right,” said Huw.
    Click.
    â€œFinished,” said Roger.
    â€œLleu is a hard lord,” said Huw. “He is killing Gronw without anger, without love, without mercy. He is hurt too much by the woman and the spear. Yet what is there left when it is done? His pride. No wife: no friend.”
    Roger stared at Huw, “You’re not so green as you’re grass-looking, are you?” he said. “Now you mention it, I have been thinking – That bloke Gronw was the only one with any real guts: at the end.”
    â€œBut none of them is all to blame,” said Huw. “It is only together they are destroying each other.”
    â€œThat Blod-woman was pretty poor,” said Roger, “however you look at it.”
    â€œNo,” said Huw. “She was made for her lord. Nobody is asking her if she wants him. It is bitter twisting to be shut up with a person you are not liking very much. I think she is often longing for the time when she was flowers on the mountain, and it is making her cruel, as the rose is growing thorns.”
    â€œBoy, you’re really screwed up about this, aren’t you?” said Roger. “And you’d have me as bad. I’ve been here a week and I’ve got the ab-dabs already. There’s a world outside this valley, you know. It’s not cherubs blowing their gaskets and a whale in the top left-hand corner.”
    â€œI been outside the valley,” said Huw. “Once. That’s why I’m Huw the Flitch.”
    â€œI don’t see the connection,” said Roger. He telescoped the tripod and slung the camera round his neck. “I must go,” he said. “I’ll be late for dinner.”
    â€œI am coming up the house,” said Huw. “So I can tell you.”
    â€œAll right,” said Roger. “I’ll buy it. Why are you called Halfbacon?”
    â€œWe are very short of meat in the valley, old time,” said Huw. “And there is a man in the next valley. He has some pigs. But he is not letting anyone have them.”
    â€œSo what did you do?”
    â€œI go to him and I ask him to let me take the pigs in exchange for what I will give him.”
    â€œFair enough,” said Roger. “Did he agree?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd you took the pigs, and that’s how you got your nickname.”
    â€œYes.” Huw laughed. “I am tricking him lovely.”
    â€œWhat did you give him for the pigs?”
    â€œTwelve fine horses,” said Huw. “With gold saddles and gold bridles! And twelve champion greyhounds, with gold collars and gold leashes!”
    Huw staggered with his laughter.
    â€œYou did that swap for a few greasy pigs?” said Roger.
    Huw cackled, showing his teeth, and grabbed Roger’s arm for support.
    â€œYou’re mad,” said Roger. “You’re mad. You’re really