A Moment in Time (49 page)

Wynne.
She was never out of his thoughts. It had been a year and a half since she had disappeared. Sometimes in moments of dark discouragement he wondered if she was even still alive. If she had ever really existed. Wynne of Gwernach, with her long, black hair and her green, green eyes. It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed her.

For over a year they had combed the countryside back and forth, over and over again seeking any word of her. Madoc had finally decided that his wife could not possibly be in England. Ruari Ban had obviously hidden her from public sight and taken her with him into Brittany. He called his men home and went about the painful business of waiting for Einion, who had personally followed after the Irish slaver, to return home to Raven's Rock. When he did, his news was discouraging.

"I followed Ruari Ban, my lord, first to Brittany, then to Italy, where I finally caught up with him about to take passage with his cargo of slaves to Byzantium."

"Did he tell you where Wynne was?" Madoc demanded eagerly. He had grown thin in the months that Einion had been away.

"She is not with him, my lord," Einion said gently. "At first he pretended to not even know what I was talking about. He would accept no bribe from me. It was only when I pressed the matter more strongly in a, ah, physical way, that he would admit to having had possession of my lady."

"Where is she?"
There were great purple circles beneath Madoc's dark blue eyes. He hardly slept at all now.

"There was nothing I could do to make him tell me where, my lord. He lives in utter, total terror of your brother, Brys of Cai. He believes that should he betray him, the bishop can reach out and find him wherever he may be. He believes that your brother will kill him should he dare to break faith with him. I could have torn this Ruari Ban apart limb by limb and he still would not tell me what I wished to know. His fear is that complete, my lord.

"I did, however, in a roundabout way, discover one thing that will be of help to us. There was a young boy among Ruari Ban's slaves that the Irishman intended for some nobleman in Byzantium. The slave is, as his reputation has said, kind-hearted. The boy was allowed a certain measure of freedom. Overhearing my conversation with Ruari Ban, the boy came to me when I left him. He told me he had been with his master for many months as the slaver made his way eastward. He said if I would buy his freedom and help him to return to his home in Ireland, he would aid me in my quest."

"And did he?" the prince asked.

"Aye, my lord, he did indeed. His purchase cost me dearly, but 'twas well worth it. When they landed in Wales from Ireland, Ruari Ban left his men and his cargo about ten miles from Castle Cai. He had received a message to go there to see the bishop. When he rejoined them several days later, he had a beautiful dark-haired woman in his possession whom he treated with much care. The boy remembers this distinctly because Ruari Ban allowed the woman to ride behind him on his horse instead of walking her with the other slaves. Shortly before they were scheduled to arrive at Worcester, Ruari Ban departed his troop again, taking the woman with him. When he met them in Worcester, she was no longer with him. It is obvious to me, my lord, that the lady Wynne never left England!" Einion concluded triumphantly.

"But we have been unable to find her," Madoc answered him despairingly. "Where can she possibly be, unless, of course, the slaver murdered her and buried her body." He grew pale at the thought, hating his helplessness in the matter.

"My lord, she is here," Einion said firmly. "Our men have obviously missed her, for the territory in which they sought the lady Wynne is a vast one. Now we have narrowed it down to
somewhere
near Worcester. You and I will go together visiting each thegn in the area until we have found her."

The prince nodded slowly, a small bit of hope springing back into his heart. "We will consider Worcester the center of the circle," he said, "and we will work outward from the town. First to the north, then to the east, then to the west, and lastly to the south. We must start soon, Einion, for Earl Harold and Gruffydd, our king, have been skirmishing with each other like two stags fighting over a doe.

"Harold seeks to impress his own king, Edward, in hopes that Edward will change his will and name Harold his heir instead of Duke William of Normandy. Gruffydd will soon call out his liegemen; but if I am not here, I cannot answer that call. I care not for this battle of power between the mighty! I want only to find Wynne again; to bring her and our child home in safety."

"Will not Gruffydd ap Llywelyn be angry with you for ignoring his call to arms?" Einion queried.

"When I have my wife and child home again, I will explain to him why I could not be here for him. He will understand. Wynne is his kinswoman, however distant. Besides, why should we waste the summer playing these war games when it will all come to nothing in the end, as it always does? Why the Saxons feel that in their boredom they must harry the Welsh, I do not know," Madoc concluded.

"Perhaps," Einion answered him, "because we in our boredom harry the Saxons and steal their cattle, my lord." The big man's eyes were twinkling.

"The Saxons do indeed have fine cattle," Madoc agreed with a small smile, "but I will not let myself get swept up in this power struggle. Though my family and title be old, this small mountainous realm of Powys-Wenwynwyn is of little account to the mighty. Gruffydd will certainly survive without me."

In this conjecture, however, Madoc was wrong. The news was always slow in getting to Raven's Rock. The prince did not know that in early winter England's most powerful earl, Harold Godwinson, had raided into Wales, burning Rhuddlan, Gruffydd's estate. The king and his family had barely escaped with their lives, and Gruffydd was furious.

Gruffydd ap Llywelyn was the son of Llywelyn ap Seisyll, the king of Gwyndd, and Angharad, daughter of Deheu-barth's king. As a boy he was not thought of as an impressive leader by those around him; but as a young man he grew into a great warrior, drawing men by the score to his banner, much to everyone's surprise. Gruffydd ap Llywelyn, the man, had a charm and magnetism about him no boy could have ever possessed.

He had been forced to fight for his inheritance of Gwyndd. In the same year he won it, he conquered Powys as well and defeated the Mercians in a decisive battle when they had dared to intrude on his territory. He then allied himself with Earl Aelfgar of Mercia, sealing their treaty by marrying Aelfgar's daughter, Edith. Gruffydd then went on to conquer Deheubarth, his mother's homeland; but all the while he maintained a fierce hatred of the Saxon earls of Wessex. First Godwin, who had sought Edith of Mercia for his own son, and now the son, Harold, who boasted that when he killed Gruffydd one day, he would take Edith for a wife.

With the coming of spring, Harold came into Wales again, traveling this time beneath a banner of truce; making peace and exchanging hostages with all who would meet with him. This had the effect of weakening Gruffydd's position, for the majority of Welsh lords did not want to fight. They wanted peace. Harold was offering peace even as Gruffydd sent out his messengers calling his liegemen to him for yet another assault on the Saxon men of Wessex.

Gruffydd realized immediately that Harold was attempting to take the threat of the Welsh from his flank, allowing him to concentrate totally on holding England against the Norman duke, William. When the time came, William would be swift to claim his rightful inheritance. Gruffydd did not know William of Normandy, but by his reputation as a great warrior. He knew, however, that William would have all he could manage, holding England against Harold and his ilk, to be bothered with the Welsh, and there were the Norse to consider as well. If the Welsh helped William by harrying Harold, Gruffydd knew there could even be something of value in it for them.

Harold, however, knew this too. He didn't want to have to fight the Normans and the Welsh at the same time. It would be a losing game. Gruffydd ap Llywelyn controlled most of Wales. By destroying him, Harold would take from the Welsh the only man capable of leading them as a nation. To this end Earl Harold went about his business of undermining Gruffydd's support among his jealous and petty nobles. He succeeded far better than even he had anticipated.

Madoc was not aware of this, for his holding was too remote for Harold to even be bothered about. The prince was wending his way into England even as Harold was coming to Wales. While Madoc spent the spring and summer of the year carefully combing the English countryside in a twenty-mile radius leading out from the town of Worcester, the Welsh king was fighting for his very life. It was a battle he lost in early August, when he was assassinated by several of his own men suspected of being in Harold's pay. The murderers did not live long enough to enjoy their ill-gotten gains. Gruffydd's sons, took swift retribution. Harold capped his triumph by announcing that he was taking Gruffydd's widow, Edith of Mercia, as his wife.

Edith's younger brother, now Mercia's earl, was not strong enough to protest this breach of good taste, or even resist Wessex's earl. Harold's
Danish
wife, also an Edith, and the mother of his three sons, accepted the situation as one of necessity. Now Harold had virtually all of England beneath his control, after the king of course. All that was left was for Edward to die.

At Aelfdene, Eadwine and Caddaric quarreled even more virulently about the political situation. Eadwine continued to support the king's decision to name the Norman duke his heir. Caddaric continued to believe Harold should be king. As the summer days shortened and moved toward the autumn, there was hardly a meal that was not disturbed by the two men arguing the situation.

"Harold is a common Saxon berserker," Eadwine insisted one evening as the dispute broke out anew.

"He has the people's support," Caddaric returned.

"Humph," his father snorted. "The people. The people do not rule, and their support can be bought with a ha'penny's worth of ale, you fool! Harold cannot hold England against the Norse! They seem to believe that they have a claim on this land too. Do you think they will politely step aside when the day comes and support Harold? 'Tis an idiot's belief! Only William of Normandy can hold England. His reputation as a war lord is both fearful and to be feared. Once William is in firm control, the Norse will not dare to oppose him."

"The Norman duke is a foreigner!" Caddaric exploded. "You would support a foreigner over Harold? 'Tis treasonous, I tell you!"

"Treasonous?"
Eadwine leapt to his feet. "You dare to call me treasonous, you ungrateful whelp?" The thegn reached for the dagger at his waist, but Wynne stayed his hand.

"Caddaric," she said angrily, "leave the hall and the board this instant! You are not to return until you have apologized to your father. I will not have this constant bickering at my table any longer!"

Caddaric opened his mouth to protest, but his wife hissed furiously in his ear, "Wynne is right, my lord!
Come now!"
Eadgyth then threw Wynne a look of support and, with the other women, hurried Caddaric from the hall.

Eadwine slumped to his seat, and Wynne refilled his goblet with strong red wine, which he quickly drank down. "I want another son," he said in a determined tone.

"You have Baldhere, and Baldhere has two sons now," Wynne told him gently. "If Caddaric displeases you, then name Baldhere as your heir. It is his sons who will eventually possess Aelfdene at any rate, my dear lord."

"Nay," he replied. "I want a son of your loins for my heir!" He stood and grasped her tightly by the wrist. "Come, my wild Welsh girl. I am hot to fuck you and make a new son for Aelfdene!" He pulled her toward the stairs leading to the Great Chamber.

It was no good arguing with him when he got like this, Wynne knew. More and more, Caddaric Aethelmaere was getting on Eadwine's nerves. If only Eadgyth's father would die, that Caddaric might have his own lands and attain the rank of thegn in his own right. Then he would take his women and depart, leaving them in peace. The constant arguing wasn't good for Eadwine.

In the Great Chamber she twisted out of his grasp, laughing softly, one hand outstretched to fend him off. "Nay, my lord stallion," she said playfully, "you will not tear my gown as you have done in the past."

"My storeroom is filled with beautiful rich cloth," he replied. "I give it all to you, sweeting. You can make a hundred new gowns." He reached for her again.

Wynne danced out of his way. "Nay!" she said in the firm voice one would use with a recalcitrant child. "I have better things to do with my days than to sew meekly by the fire. Besides, you know I abhor waste. Let me disrobe for you, and then I will undress you, Eadwine." Her voice was now seductive and soft. She smiled enticingly at him, removed the gold circlet and the prim white linen veil from her dark head and laid them aside.