Caradoc of the North Wind (3 page)

They in turn thought her quite the barbarian – an unsophisticated ruffian from the eastern wildernesses. And they were not slow to show her their disdain, nor their amusement at her unkempt appearance.

But it seemed the journey across Bras Mynydd and over the mountains had taken their toll on the elder sister. Meredith’s usually immaculate hair was a ruin of half-fallen braids and knots, gleaming here and there with displaced green and yellow jewels. There was grime on her face and her thick woollen cloak was dirtied and frayed about the hem. Her slender face was still beautiful, but there was a new, haggard look to her features, and in her eyes Branwen saw fear and misery.

After the space of maybe five heartbeats, Branwen found her voice. ‘Well met, Meredith,’ she said in as kindly a tone as she could manage. ‘You need have no fear. Where is your sister? I was told she would be travelling with you.’

‘She is in an upper room,’ said Meredith. ‘She is very frightened and she is sick with cold and hunger.’ A tear crept down her face. ‘Our servants are dead and our carriage and horses taken by the Saxons. How are we to get to Pengwern now?’

Captain Angor dropped to one knee in front of her. ‘I gave a promise to your father to deliver you and the Lady Romney safe and well into the king’s court,’ he said. ‘I won’t fail you.’

‘I will find Princess Romney,’ said Rhodri, stepping up on to the rubble that spilled from the entrance way. ‘Then we should get away from here. Blodwedd is right – the Saxons may rally in the forest and return.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Branwen. ‘Linette, Banon? Go and fetch our horses. We shall have to ride double to give everyone a seat, but speed is of the essence.’ She looked up into the sky. The sun was gone now, dusk seeping across the pale wintry blue, throwing down long shadows. She turned to Captain Angor. ‘Are you with us or not? Choose swiftly.’

‘He is with you, Branwen,’ said Meredith.

Angor gave a curt nod to the princess and stood up, avoiding Branwen’s gaze as he went to check on his wounded men.

A fine foe to have with us on the way back
, she thought.
I’ll be needing one eye open for Saxons and one eye for Captain Angor on the long road to Pengwern
.

As was usual in the aftermath of a skirmish, Branwen’s band moved among the slain Saxons, stripping from the corpses anything that might be of use and was light enough to be carried. Weapons were always of value, as were the thick winter cloaks and any provisions. In this hard winter, every morsel of food was worth more than gold, and as the months dragged by even the storehouses of the king were beginning to look disturbingly lean.

Fain came gliding from the filigree of bare forest branches and alighted on Branwen’s shoulder, folding his wings and rubbing his beak against the side of her face in greeting. Branwen walked through the steaming bodies, one hand on her sword hilt, the fingers of her other hand lightly stroking the falcon’s soft feathers. In her mind, she was already tracing the journey back down the mountains. They would overnight in the deep cave known as Cêl Crau, then make an early start down into the rough and tumble of lands that led to the king’s court at Pengwern. With good luck and no unwelcome interruptions, they would be with King Cynon before nightfall the same day. Another mission accomplished. And all without a drop of Gwyn Braw blood spilled.

She smiled to herself. The Shining Ones may have withdrawn from her over the past months, but she felt sure that Rhiannon and Govannon must still be watching her with kindly intent. How else could such luck have travelled with them?

Not for the first time, she roved the horizon with her eyes, seeking among the barren trees and rocky heights for some sign that she was right. The glimpse of antlers against the sky to show that Govannon of the Wood was at hand. A star-bright jewel among the branches that would reveal that Rhiannon of the Spring was close.

She sighed, seeing nothing, but still convinced of their presence and guardianship. She knew who she was! She was Branwen of the Shining Ones. The Warrior Child whose destiny it was to be the saviour of Brython.

That would never change.

She turned to see Rhodri leading Romney out over the rubbled entrance and on to the bloodstained snow. The younger princess was short and sturdy, with dark hair and a broad, sullen face. Like her sister, Romney was swathed in a tattered cloak and showed clear signs of her hard journey in the wild, but unlike Meredith, when she saw Branwen there was only cold dislike in her eyes.

She stumbled on a loose stone as she came into the open. Rhodri reached a hand to help her but she glared at him and drew off. ‘Get away from me,’ she spat. ‘Do not presume to touch a princess of Doeth Palas!’

So, her travels had done nothing so far to improve her personality, more was the pity. Branwen shook her head. It was going to be a long trip home, playing nursemaid to Romney and suffering Angor’s barbed loathing. A merry jaunt, indeed!

Rhodri bowed to Romney, stepping back to let her make her faltering way to her sister’s side. A small smile flickered on his lips. Romney saw it and scowled. She turned to Captain Angor, who was kneeling at the side of a wounded man.

‘Fetch a carriage,’ she demanded of him. ‘I’m cold and hungry. Bring me some food immediately, and then get us away from this place and these
people
.’ She said ‘people’ as though she meant
vermin
.

Angor’s voice was clipped and strained. ‘Your carriage was destroyed by the Saxons, my lady,’ he said. ‘Our horses and all our provisions are lost. What would you have me do?’

Just then, Banon and Linette came into the clearing, leading the eight horses of the Gwyn Braw. Among them was Branwen’s great bay destrier, once the steed of Skur the Viking warrior, but now taken by Branwen and named Terrwyn, meaning
The Brave
.

Romney jerked a finger towards the horses. ‘We can take those,’ she said.

Angor glanced at the horses. ‘They belong to others,’ he said.

Romney looked at Branwen’s followers. ‘What of it?’ she said. ‘Does a princess of Doeth Palas need to ask permission of vagabonds? Take the horses and whatever food they have, and be quick about it, Captain!’

Angor’s jaw twitched, as though he was biting back some inappropriate retort.

Aberfa burst out laughing, and even Dera was forced to smile.

‘Oh, the audacity of the child!’ roared Aberfa, clapping her hands together. ‘She’s a queen among us peasants to be sure!’

Iwan grinned, shaking his head. ‘Angor ap Pellyn does not command here, Romney,’ he told her. ‘If you seek special treatment, ask Branwen.’

‘But I’d keep a civil tongue, if I were you,’ added Banon, drawing the horses to a halt.

‘How dare you!’ Romney exploded, her cheeks red with anger.

Blodwedd gazed at the young girl. ‘If not for Branwen and the Gwyn Braw, you would likely be dead in your own blood by now,’ she said. ‘If you cannot be grateful, then at least be silent.’

The look that Romney gave the owl-girl was of uttermost disgust, but she kept her lips together, letting her expression speak for her.

‘Let’s not rebuke the child overmuch,’ Linette said, looking at Romney with a gentle smile. ‘She is cold and tired and far from home.’

‘Keep your pity, savage!’ said Romney. ‘I don’t want it.’

‘You have it, nonetheless, little one,’ Linette said.

Branwen walked up to Romney, gazing deep into the small girl’s angry, frightened eyes. ‘You are under my protection, Romney, whether you like it or not. You will have food shortly, but we must ride some way first.’ She turned, doing a quick head count. ‘Eight horses and sixteen riders – it can be done.’

‘Fifteen riders,’ said Angor, standing up. The man at his feet was staring sightlessly into the evening sky. ‘Colwyn ap Arion will not be travelling with us.’

Branwen looked at the other two injured men. One had an arrow wound to the thigh, another a deep cut on his forehead. ‘There is no time to bury the dead, and for that I am sorry,’ she said. Angor nodded, as though he understood the importance of moving on as quickly as possible. Branwen continued: ‘Such men of yours that are unhurt will each ride with an injured man. Linette will ride double with Romney. Meredith will ride with me. Rhodri? Tend the injured men as best you can, but do not delay us. I’d not pick my way down to Cêl Crau in darkness.’

The riders made their long, slow way down through the forested hills as the day gradually ebbed into a deep, silvery gloaming. Fingers of evening cold came creeping through the trees, nipping at toes and ears, turning breath to white fog. The snow-mantled landscape shone with an eerie ghost-light, and even the darkest shadows glowed.

Fain came and went, sometimes flying ahead and at others slowly circling the line of horse-riders, calling out sharply every now and then as if to spur them on. Stars began glittering like frost on the eastern hem of the sky. Their journey was silent, save the rattle and slap of harness and reins, the snorting of horses and the padded crunch of hooves in snow; and the occasional stifled groan from an injured man. But these sharp sounds only made the profound silence of the winter forest all the more unearthly.

Aberfa led the way, Banon riding double with her. Behind her the others rode in single file – Rhodri and Blodwedd, followed by Linette and Romney and then Angor, alone in the saddle. Branwen wasn’t quite sure why she had decided to let the captain of Doeth Palas ride solo. Possibly because she knew none of her party would wish to share with him, possibly to isolate him.

Meredith’s arms were wrapped tight around Branwen’s waist. Both princesses had baulked at the idea of riding astride the horses, and Romney had been forcibly put in the saddle by Aberfa, the enraged child planted on the horse’s back like a bag of grain.

Branwen could feel Meredith trembling at her back through many layers of clothing, and when Terrwyn’s hoof faltered or slid, the princess’s arms tightened so she could hardly breathe. Behind Branwen rode the four soldiers, two to a horse, and behind them, keeping a sharp eye out, were Dera and Iwan.

They came to a gloomy place where a sheer wall of rock reared on one side, and the trees fell away down a steep decline on the other. Icicles as long as Branwen’s arm hung from the overhanging ridges.

Fain was ahead of them again, lost in the gathering twilight.

Aberfa halted her steed and turned in the saddle. ‘The way ahead is dangerous,’ she called, her breath billowing like a cloud. ‘Melt-waters have turned to ice on the stones. We should dismount for a little and lead the horses on foot.’

‘Can you get down?’ Branwen asked Meredith.

‘I think so,’ came the quavering reply.

‘Take my hand, and mind your footing,’ said Branwen. Meredith slid awkwardly from the saddle.

All but the injured men dismounted. The ground was slick and treacherous underfoot, and their progress was slow as they made their cautious way down over the shelving icefields. All the same, more than one person slipped and fell as they descended, and the horses were jumpy at the feel of the slithery ice under their hooves.

‘What is that noise?’ called Iwan from the rear. Branwen had heard it too, a strange grumbling, rumbling sound that seemed to drift down to them from out of the sky.

‘The snows are unstable in the high places,’ Aberfa replied. ‘We should get out from under this cliff as swift as we can.’

‘Easier said than done!’ panted Rhodri, struggling with his horse. ‘I’d rather we got to journey’s end with sound limbs, given the choice.’

‘Speed and caution!’ called Dera. ‘In such an exposed place, an avalanche could sweep us all to our deaths!’

Alarmed by Dera’s words, the strung-out party edged forward down the uneven, ice-glazed path, often clutching at one another as their feet slid from under them.

After a brief time, a small, shrill voice sounded. ‘No! I cannot do it! I’ll fall! Someone must carry me.’

Branwen turned at the sound of Romney’s voice. Would the girl never cease with her complaints?

‘Come, Romney,’ said Linette. ‘Don’t be afraid. Hold on tight to my hand. I shall not let you fall over.’

‘She’s terrified,’ Meredith murmured to Branwen, watching anxiously as her sister’s feet slithered on the ice. ‘I should never have agreed to her coming with me. She thought it would be a great adventure.’ She rested a cautious hand on Branwen’s arm. ‘I know you hate us, but Romney is only a child. Don’t let her sharp tongue turn you further against her.’

‘I do not hate either of you,’ said Branwen. ‘And it’s a long time since Romney’s spite might have stung me.’ She smiled. ‘You will both have my protection till we get to the king’s court, even if Romney spits venom at me every step of the way.’

Meredith looked solemnly into Branwen’s eyes. ‘You have changed, Branwen,’ she said quietly. ‘You’ve grown since the days at Doeth Palas. You make me feel like a stupid child.’

‘Warfare and a long hard winter will do that,’ Branwen said. ‘But I don’t think you’re stupid, Meredith. I’d say …’ She frowned, looking up in mid-sentence as the low rumbling sounded again.

A horse whinnied in fear. Pale faces stared upwards. The rumbling noise was like thunder now, steady and continuous, and growing ever louder.