People of the Black Mountains Vol. I: The Beginning by Raymond Williams

Author:Raymond Williams [Raymond Williams]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 1989-09-14T00:00:00+00:00

GLYN TO ELIS: 5

ON THE ROUGH track to the road through the pass Glyn stumbled and almost fell. The full moon was high to the south, above the peak of the Skirrid which could now be seen above the long valley of the Honddu. But though the light was clear, the immediate ground was so broken that on the steep descent it was difficult walking. This was the area of Cnapiau, the humps that spread from the pass, but there were also old streambreaks across the track itself and towards the road the cluster of hollows of the huts of the old shepherds.

The stumble had shaken him but it cleared his mind. To have seen no sign of Elis was not deeply worrying, and the previous assumption, that he had been in some normal way delayed, had to be set aside. Glyn scrambled to the road where he could look both ways from the pass. If Elis had reached this road, late, he would not have gone over the mountain in the darkness. He would have followed the road past Twyn y Beddau and then turned for the road to Croes Hywel. Up to this hour, even on so remote a road, he might well have got a lift from someone returning late to one of the farms. Yet, on the schedule he had written, he should have been here by late afternoon. If he had been delayed, and then walked the road, he would of course be safe even if he had arrived while Glyn was crossing the mountain to the pass. But the greater probability, Glyn at last admitted, was that he was lying hurt somewhere on the long track ahead, over Twmpa to Rhos Dirion and down the long ridge to Bal Mawr and the Gaer.

He squatted and looked south to the long dark ridge. All western heights were cut off by the rise of Darren Llwyd, with its tumbled boulders black in the moonlight. He turned his eyes again to the Skirrid: Ysgyryd Fawr, the Holy Mountain. It was strange how many legends had converged on that broken peak, significant only in its isolation. Unlike these complex ridges and valleys it declared itself clearly and simply: a condition perhaps of belief.

Yes, he was going – had told himself he had been going – simply to meet his grandfather, to see him over the last of his walk. But it could no longer be thought of only as that. Elis was too experienced to be as late as this, in any ordinary circumstances. Every year, it seemed, someone died on these mountains, but almost always in bad weather, when low cloud and mist came down suddenly and the long ridges showed few landmarks. Or again, there were deaths from exposure when the military drove young men to the extremes of training, disregarding the knowledge of all those who lived in the mountains. In this clear, still weather Elis would never lose his way or be trapped, but

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