Caradoc of the North Wind (18 page)

‘If he was sure that Llew ap Gelert was false, he would speak out,’ said Dera. ‘But I see him watching the prince and Captain Angor at times, and he has a troubled brow, as though he senses something bad is brewing – like a faint rank smell on the air.’

‘And has he spoken to you of what word the Saxon messenger brought from Ironfist?’ asked Branwen. ‘Was he there when Ironfist’s message was delivered?’

‘He was not. The king and Prince Llew spoke to Hunwald alone in an antechamber, but the word is that some trysting place has been agreed – neutral ground where all may feel safe – and that emissaries of King Cynon and General Ironfist will meet there soon to talk terms. Apart from that, I know nothing else.’

Branwen looked into Dera’s eyes. ‘If you learn more, will you tell me of it?’

‘On my honour, I will,’ said Dera.

‘And meanwhile we must kick our heels and bury our dead and hope for better weather …’

Dera gazed up into the clear blue sky. ‘Is this bright day not enough, Branwen?’

‘I was thinking of the bitter winds and stormy clouds that gather in Pengwern,’ said Branwen, also looking up into the crystalline sky. ‘Of this … I do not know.’

Blodwedd looked at them, as though she had somehow guessed what had just been said. She walked forward, her arms outstretched. ‘It is the Lord Caradoc who has given us this day,’ she said. ‘Do you think it happenstance that the wind blows from the south on this day of all days?’

‘A curious compassion, it is,’ growled Aberfa, standing up from having placed the final stone at Linette’s head. ‘To strike Linette down with an avalanche, and then to have the sun shine down upon her burial. Too much and too little, I’d call that.’

‘You do not understand the workings of the Shining Ones,’ said Blodwedd.

‘Then enlighten us, Blodwedd,’ said Iwan, leaning on his spade. ‘
Make
us understand.’

Blodwedd frowned, as though thinking. ‘There is a story from long, long ago,’ she began as the others gathered around her. ‘A Druid priest and his wife came to do homage to Lord Govannon once on a time. They rode through the forest on a great white stallion that was their pride and joy. They came to ask the Lord Govannon to bless them with a child, for they had been childless in ten years of marriage.’

‘And did Govannon help them?’ asked Banon.

‘Lord Govannon killed their horse and told them they would never have children,’ Blodwedd said dispassionately. ‘Then he sent them from him.’

Iwan blinked at her. ‘And this is a story to show us how the Shining Ones love us?’ he asked in amazement.

‘Hush,’ said Branwen. ‘There is more.’

Blodwedd continued: “What Lord Govannon knew but the man and his wife did not, was that the woman was ill to the death. She would have died within the week had Govannon not blessed her with life. But a life had to be forfeit for the woman to remain in the world, and so Lord Govannon took their horse in her place.’

‘A strange tale,’ breathed Dera. ‘But why were they left childless?’

‘Because it was foretold that their firstborn would grow evil and madness, and that upon his twentieth birthday, he would slaughter his parents in their sleep.’ Blodwedd looked around at the puzzled faces that surrounded her.

‘And how does this twisted tale relate to us?’ asked Iwan.

‘Because we cannot know what purposes drive the actions of the Shining Ones,’ Blodwedd responded solemnly. ‘Only a fool judges the depth of a lake from the shine upon its surface!’ She turned to Branwen. ‘Now, with your leave, I will ride west as I promised.’

‘Go,’ said Branwen, moving forwards and putting her arms around Blodwedd’s narrow shoulders, stooping a little to hold her close. ‘Be swift as you can, and bring back good word from the Shining Ones. We will wait.’ She released Blodwedd from her embrace. ‘Rhodri? You may go with her if you wish,’ she said.

‘No,’ Blodwedd said quickly. ‘I must travel alone.’ She walked over to where Rhodri was standing and took him by both hands. ‘I will return to you, my friend,’ she said, her voice low and full of emotion as she looked up into his eyes. ‘Look to the west and think of me when you may.’

‘I will,’ said Rhodri. ‘Be safe for my sake.’

Blodwedd smiled and moved away. All eyes followed her as she walked among the horses, but Branwen could not begin to imagine what thoughts were in those looks. The wish, perhaps, that they still had the love and protection of the Shining Ones, despite what had happened? Or the hope that they would be rid of the Old Powers and free to live and love and fight and maybe die among their own kind?

Just as Blodwedd was about to mount the horse that had carried her and Rhodri to the hilltop, Rhodri broke into a run, pounding through the snow towards her, his face twisted with love and concern. She turned, hearing him coming, and she held out her arms to him.

They clung to one another as though their hearts would break at the parting, and Branwen saw the owl-girl’s face tilt up to Rhodri’s, and his head come down so that they kissed – and that was something Branwen had never seen happen between them before.

And as they kissed, the world turned and the sun beat down and the wind blew soft from the south.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

B
ranwen spent the latter part of the day alone in the small hut where Linette had died. Occasionally, footsteps crunched through the snow close by, but no one came in; at times she heard voices, but no one called out to her. She was, as she had wished, utterly alone. She wallowed in her solitude, needing it and hating it at the same time.

Mostly, she sat gazing into the fire. She had hoped for some kind of enlightenment to come to her – some understanding, some explanation of why her comrade had died – but her mind was heavy and blank and the time passed in miserable monotony. Not even the spirit of Linette ap Cledwyn lingered with her in that dreadful place.

As the day faded, Branwen threw herself down by the fire and floated on sleep’s troubled surface, often awake, sometimes asleep but dreaming she was awake, her eyes always full of the brawling of the red flames, whether they were closed or open.

A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her stupor.

She gazed up at the figure crouched by her side, the face bathed in ruddy light. It was Dera.

‘I have grim news,’ said the young warrior girl. ‘We must act, Branwen – or the king will be betrayed.’

Branwen sat up, shaking her head loose of dreams. ‘What has happened?’

‘My father asked that I sleep in his chamber in the Hall of Araith,’ Dera began urgently. ‘I obeyed, wanting to do all I could to please him. And so we doused the candles and prepared for slumber. But I could not sleep and I felt the need to be with my comrades in the long house. Once I was sure my father was asleep, I crept from his chamber, meaning to quit the hall. But as I was about to depart, I heard men speaking privately just outside the doors.’ Her eyes burned. ‘One was Angor, and the other was Prince Llew. They were discussing the meeting that is to take place with the Saxons.’

‘The meeting where land will be offered as tribute to hold Ironfist’s army back?’ Branwen’s mind was sharp as flint now. ‘What of it? What did you hear?’

‘The arrangements have been made,’ Dera said urgently. ‘The message that Hunwald brought from the Saxon general was that Ironfist would only agree to discuss a treaty on the condition that the king and Prince Llew meet him face to face.’

‘That would be madness,’ gasped Branwen. ‘Ironfist will betray them to their deaths!’

‘It is not Ironfist’s treachery we need fear,’ Dera said grimly. ‘Listen to me close, Branwen. The meeting is to take place on the mound of Bwlch Crug-Glas in the east.’ Branwen knew of the place – a bare and solitary tumulus crowned by an ancient ring of standing stones. It was no more than half a morning’s ride from Pengwern. ‘The king and Prince Llew are to ride out at dawn this very morn, with a troop of twenty-five armed warriors,’ Dera continued, speaking rapidly now. ‘The warriors are to be left at the foot of the mound, and Llew and the king are to ride to the crest alone and without weapons. There they will meet with Ironfist and one of his captains – also unarmed.’

‘Ride into ambush?’ interrupted Branwen.

‘Worse than ambush!’ growled Dera. ‘I heard Llew command Angor to pick twenty-five warriors of Doeth Palas as the escort – twenty-five men who are loyal to the prince. And when Llew rides at the king’s side to the top of Bwlch Crug-Glas, it will be to betray the king and to hand him over to Ironfist!’

‘No!’

‘By my soul, yes!’ hissed Dera. ‘Once the king is in Ironfist’s hands, Llew ap Gelert will be crowned the puppet king of Powys, and will allow the Saxon armies to enter Brython – and our beloved land will be in Saxon thrall for a thousand years!’

Branwen jumped up, burning with hatred and anger for the faithless prince of Bras Mynydd. ‘So, it is as I thought,’ she cried. ‘This treaty between him and the king is all sham and pretence!’ She swept up her shield and drew her sword. ‘Let’s to his chamber and take the head from his neck while the opportunity is there!’

‘No!’ Dera’s voice was sharp. ‘He is surrounded by warriors. We would be cut down before we came close, no matter how fiercely we fought.’

‘Then we go to the king!’

‘Our word against Prince Llew’s?’ said Dera. ‘Cynon would not believe us.’

‘He will, by the Old Gods!’ growled Branwen. ‘I’ll see to that!’

‘I think not,’ insisted Dera. ‘Remember, he trusts Prince Llew – even to the point of making him overlord of all the armies of Powys.’ She rested her hands on Branwen’s shoulders. ‘Besides, he knows we hate the prince – he will think that we purpose the prince’s downfall for our own reasons.’ Branwen looked into Dera’s eyes, knowing she was speaking the truth. ‘I have a better plan, Branwen. A surer plan that will reveal Llew ap Gelert’s treachery in a way that cannot be refuted!’

‘Tell me.’

‘We two should depart Pengwern upon this moment,’ explained Dera.

‘We should go to Bwlch Crug-Glas and hide ourselves among the standing stones and await the coming of the king and Llew and Ironfist. They will be unarmed, as was agreed – but we shall keep our swords at the ready! And the moment that Prince Llew seeks to betray the king, we will rise and strike!’

‘By the Old Gods, I like that plan!’ said Branwen. ‘Three birds killed with but one stone! The king rescued, Llew ap Gelert exposed and, with luck, Ironfist run through with cold iron! But we should not go alone, Dera – we should take the others of the Gwyn Braw with us!’

‘I think not,’ Dera said again. ‘Two may hide among the stones and hope not to be seen, but our chances of being revealed too soon would increase with a greater number. And besides, we two may quit Pengwern unremarked, but if all the Gwyn Braw leave, word will get back to Prince Llew, and his suspicions be roused.’

Branwen frowned. ‘There’s sense in that,’ she admitted. ‘But what of the twenty-five that will follow? How shall we keep them at bay?’

‘If Llew is dead, I believe they will kneel to the king,’ said Dera.

Branwen smiled grimly. ‘Then Llew shall die,’ she said. ‘At my hand shall the treacherous prince meet his end – and if fate allows, my second blow will be to the heart of General Ironfist!’

Leaving Pengwern at dead of night was accomplished without too much difficulty, despite the guards on the gates. For Branwen the hardest part was creeping past the long house of the Gwyn Braw to secure their horses, without rousing her comrades for the adventure that was to come. But Dera was probably right – six riding out together would cause too much of a stir. And there was another, perhaps stronger reason why Branwen was prepared to leave her followers slumbering while she and Dera departed.

She feared that more of her comrades might die. If the Shining Ones had chosen not to protect Linette, why should Branwen assume any others of the Gwyn Braw were safe now? Better to ride into danger with Dera alone, than to drag her friends to potential destruction.

‘Who seeks to pass?’ demanded the gate guard, standing besides a blazing iron brazier and wrapped head to foot in a cloak of thick furs. His eyes narrowed as he saw who it was that had led their horses to the outer bailey. ‘What is your business outside in the deeps of the night?’

‘I have heard word,’ Branwen said, reciting the explanation that she and Dera had practised. ‘The Shining Ones wish to speak with me.’ She regarded the guard captain with a cold eye. ‘The Old Powers will not be denied, master gate warden,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Either you let us out to speak with them, or they will come here. The choice is yours.’

The man’s eyes widened in panic and a few moments later one of the gates was opened a fraction to allow Branwen and Dera to lead their two horses out into the night. As they mounted up and rode along the causeway, they heard the timber bars being thrown into place. None in Pengwern wanted to have dealings with the Shining Ones. Let the shaman girl go and meet with the old demons, if she was moonstruck enough to wish it!

The wind had shifted in the evening so that now it flowed down like an icy river from the north, bringing thick snow clouds along with it, although for the moment no fresh snow was falling. If Caradoc had sent the blessing of that warm, bright day to them so that they might bury Linette in peace, then his benison had ended with the sunset, and the weather had turned foul again.