The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (44 page)

“I speak Cymry because I was raised here,” Bridei answered. “But that was a long time ago. I’m a bard, and I’ve traveled many places, most recently Ireland.”

“A bard? What’s your name?”

He was going to have to reveal himself sometime. Still, when he answered, he couldn’t quite get his father’s name out. “I’m Bridei . . . Bridei the . . . Silver-tongued.”

To his surprise, the man laughed. “Is that all the better you can do at making up a name?” He dismounted and approached Bridei, holding the torch. The flare of light made it difficult to see the man’s face, but he obviously got a good look at Bridei. “I can see you’re far too young to be bard,” the man said. “Tell the truth now. Why are you here?”

Bridei felt Dessia make a move toward him. He motioned for her to stay back. Then he began to sing. It was a song about King Arthur. He’d composed it several years ago, before Arthur was high king. It told of Arthur’s bravery, his ability to inspire his men and how he’d routed the Saxons in those first few battles. As Bridei sang, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. While this piece would clearly demonstrate his abilities, there was no telling what these men would think of the subject of the song. Men either seemed to love Arthur or hate him, and there was no way of knowing which viewpoint these men held.

When he finished, he was greeted by silence. Then, all at once, the man let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t believe it.” He turned and gestured for the other men to dismount and come near. As they gathered round, the man pointed at Bridei and said, “Look at him. Even with a beard, he’s the very image of the Lady Rhiannon.” The man turned to the other men. “It’s Bridei ap Maelgwn. Can’t you see it?”

A second man, much bigger and bulkier than the first, moved nearer to Bridei. “By the White Christ, I think you’re right.” The man held out his hand. “It’s Eleri. I taught you swordplay when you were a boy. Or, at least I tried to. You never had much interest in such things.”

Bridei felt as if the ground beneath him was shifting, like a sand dune giving way before the pounding sea. He reached out and grasped the man’s hand, feeling the tough calloused skin and iron-like grip. “Eleri,” he said faintly as he released him. “Your father and mine have been together since they were boys.”

“Until recently, that is. Balyn died last winter.”

Bridei’s sense of unreality increased. Balyn couldn’t be dead. He was like one of the hills surrounding them—massive, immoveable, eternal. If Balyn could die, that meant anyone could . . . even his father.

“Why didn’t you tell us who you were in the beginning?” asked the first man. His tone had changed dramatically, from threatening to jovial.

Bridei shook his head, almost dizzy with shock. “I don’t know. It’s been so long. I thought maybe you wouldn’t believe me.”

“I’m Senewyr, by the way. My father was Gavran. You might recall him as well.” The man grasped Bridei’s hand firmly.

“Gavran. Then you must have red hair underneath that leather helmet.”

Senewyr laughed. “Aye, you're right, although it’s streaked with silver now. You’ve been away a long time, Bridei.”

“Aye. Going on ten years.”

“And you come back a bard. Who would have guessed it,” said Senewyr. “You always hated learning your lessons from Father Islwyn.”

“Singing and telling stories is different from learning to cipher Latin.” Bridei could hardly believe he was having this conversation. It was too strange, as if he’d fallen asleep for ten years and woken up to find everything changed . . . and yet somehow the same.

“You’ve won quite a name for yourself,” said Eleri. “Bard to the High King. Said to be as gifted as Talisen and Aneirin.”

Bridei felt himself bristle. He didn’t like being compared to those old men. They told stories and strummed their harps in accompaniment. They might be poets, but they didn’t really sing or compose songs. Songs that lingered on the mind. Songs that made people laugh and weep.

“Bridei.” Dessia came to stand beside him. With a start, Bridei realized he’d almost forgotten she was there. He’d been transported back to the past, to the time before he knew what love was. Or how much it could change a man’s life.

He put his arm around her and gently urged her forward. “Senewyr. Eleri. This is Queen Dessia of the Fionnlairaos . . . my wife.” As he said this, Bridei realized he had no right to introduce Dessia this way. They hadn’t been formally wed, or even hand fasted. Indeed, he’d never asked her to become his wife.

All of the men bowed. “Welcome to Gwynedd, Queen Dessia,” Senewyr said formally. Then his tone became playful. “A queen, Bridei. Who would have thought it. Although you always did have a way with the wenches.”

Bridei suppressed a grimace. The conversation was straying too close to memories he’d rather keep in the past. He said briskly, “Although it’s certainly a pleasure to see all of you again, we’ve just made a long journey across the sea and we’re tired onto death. Is there somewhere we can eat and spend the night? It need not be extravagant. A roof over our heads, some warm food and a straw pallet would be more than adequate.”

“Of course,” Senewyr said. “Since there’s a lady with you,” he nodded to Dessia, “we should probably take you to the guest house at the priory.”

“Priory?” Bridei asked.

“Aye. Maelgwn . . . your father . . . provided funds for a priory to be built here. A brother named Cybi runs it. Kind of a trouble-maker, he is, but you how your father feels about keeping both sides happy.”

Bridei grimaced. He had no desire to have contact with any Christian brothers. He’d watched how they sought to control and manipulate Arthur. Ultimately, they were part of the reason the end had been such a disaster. “We’d rather not stay at a priory,” he said. “If you have a stable up at the fort, that would be good enough for us.”

“It appears you hold the same opinion of the Christians as your mother,” Senewyr said, grinning. “I can understand that. I can scarce tolerate the holy men myself. But there’s no need for you to stay in the stables. If you’re satisfied with the simple fare we eat and your lady isn’t uncomfortable around a bunch of rough soldiers, you can sup with us and bed down in the barracks.”

“We’d be pleased to do so,” said Bridei. He turned to Ronat and Ollam and told them in Irish, “You’re welcome to come up to the fort with us if you wish.”

Ronat shook his head. “We’ll stay with the boat.”

“I’ll have them send down some food for you,” Bridei told him.

“There’s also the matter of payment,” responded Ronat. “Unless you have a strong desire to make the rest of the journey by sea, I see no reason why you couldn’t travel to Deganwy from here on horseback.”

“That’s true,” Bridei said. He glanced out at the dark roiling sea. Although he’d fared better on this sea journey than most, he had no desire to go any farther by boat. “We’ll have to take some sort of craft from Mona to the mainland, but we could make the rest of the way by land.”

“I’ll have the gold then,” Ronat prompted.

Bridei nodded and removed his cloak.

“What are you doing?” Senewyr asked as Bridei began to undo his belt so he could take off his outer tunic.

“The man wants payment for bringing us here, and all the wealth I can carry is sewn into my undertunic.”

“I’m certain your father would pay him,” Senewyr said. “Tell him all he has to do is come with us to the king’s court and he’ll be well compensated.”

Bridei continued to undress. “This man took some risks to bring us here. I think he should be rewarded now, rather than having to wait for payment.” Finally reaching his undertunic, he used his knife to rip out the hem. Sliding out two thumb-size pieces of gold, he held them out to Ronat.

Ronat examined the gold, then grinned at Bridei.

Senewyr whistled. “It looks as if you have done well for yourself, Bridei.”

Something prompted Bridei to say, “That’s not gold I earned. It’s part of Dessia’s heritage.”

They collected their few possessions from the boat and said farewell to Ronat and Ollam, then walked to where the warriors waited with their horses. One of the men insisted Bridei and Dessia take his mount, saying he could easily walk back.

As they rode along, Dessia said in a mock-chiding voice, “You made me think there was some reason for you to dread going home. Yet everyone appears pleased to see you.”

“So far, that is,” responded Bridei.

“You still think your father is angry with you?”

Bridei shrugged. “I don’t know. When we last spoke, he told me to get out of his sight and never come back.”

“He’s had a long time to get over whatever it was you did to upset him so much.”

Bridei didn’t say anything, and as the moments passed, he felt the silence stretch out between them. Dessia wasn’t going to ask him, but the question must be on her mind. Perhaps she respected his privacy, or maybe she was afraid to find out what terrible thing he’d done to earn his father’s animosity.

Bridei chewed his lip as he rode. He wanted to tell her, truly he did. But he dreaded what she would think of him. What he’d done was awful, he knew that now. But hadn’t he paid for it many times over? Bitter memories filled his mind. Memories he’d hoped to keep buried. He sighed heavily. Maybe this was the real reason he hadn’t wanted to come home. Not because he was afraid of facing his father, but because he was afraid of facing his past, the memory of the selfish, arrogant youth he’d been.

The lights of the fort finally came into view. It was a tiny stronghold; large enough to house a dozen warriors at most. His father’s men would take turns being stationed here, serving for a month or so at a time and then going back to Deganwy or one of the other small fortresses Maelgwn had built along the coast. Bridei was a little surprised to find men like Senewyr and Eleri here. Men who had families and strong connections to their lord didn’t usually end up in this sort of place. But perhaps they enjoyed taking their turn. It was a pretty area, with fairly mild weather. Not as beautiful as Deganwy, but few places were. Bridei felt a sudden pang of homesickness. It seemed odd to think he would soon be seeing the places where he’d grown up.

The guard in the tower had seen them coming and the gate was open. They rode in and dismounted. Senewyr came over to them. “As I told you, we have no guesthouse here but there’s room in the barracks. Or, if you and your lady would like some privacy, there’s a small office. We could bring in a brazier and some blankets. Nothing like what you’re used to, but perhaps for one night it would suffice.”

“After sleeping on the ground for a week and in the boat last night, I vow we’d be content in a cattle byre,” responded Bridei.

They followed Senewyr to a small rectangular building. Inside Senewyr set the torch in a bracket on the wall, then used a taper to light some candles. The candlelight revealed a narrow room furnished with several hide-covered stools and a table. “I’ll fetch the brazier and some food,” said Senewyr.

“I hope you don’t mind that I refused Senewyr’s offer of a bed in the barracks,” Bridei said after Senewyr had left.

“Nay, of course not.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t feel comfortable there, especially since you don’t speak the language. And I worried the Senwyr would want to know about everything I’ve been doing the past ten years.”

Dessia looked at him. “Despite our warm welcome, you seem unsettled. What is it, Bridei? Everything is going so well, yet you seem tense and anxious.” When he didn’t respond, Dessia added, “It’s your father, isn’t it? You’re worried how he will react to seeing you again.” Her green eyes probed. “What happened between you, Bridei? You’ve never told me, and yet I can see how it weighs on you.”

She’d finally asked the questions he’d feared for so long. He had to answer her, and yet he was afraid. Terrified that when she learned the truth about him, she’d lose all faith in him. That she’d stop loving him.

She struck his shoulder playfully. “Oh, come now. It can’t be that bad. You were only a boy. Everyone does foolish things when they’re young.”

“Aye. I was a child then,” he said, his voice tight. “In many ways. The pampered, spoiled king’s son.”

“So, tell me,” she persisted. “I vow I won’t think less of you, whatever it was. I love the man you are now; I don’t care what you did in the past.”

Bridei nodded. He had to tell her. If he didn’t, she’d eventually learn the truth from someone at Deganwy. Then it would be his father’s side of the story she heard, rather than his. “I was barely fourteen,” he said. “Still a child, as you’ve pointed out. Yet old enough to know better.” He clenched his teeth, grimacing. “The awful thing I did was . . . I raped a woman.”

Dessia stared at him. He continued, “I didn’t set out to hurt her. I thought she was lovely and desirable. And she seemed to like me well enough. We were alone. One thing led to another. But then she changed her mind . . . and I . . . I got angry. So, I pushed her down on the ground and forced her.” He glanced at Dessia, terrified at what she might be thinking. “At the time  . . . it didn’t seem to me I’d done anything so evil. I’d thought she wanted it, at least up until the time she tried to push me away. When she complained to my father and he confronted me, I thought the blame was as much hers as mine. It was only later when I . . .” The words seemed to freeze in his throat. He’d buried the memories so deep. Speaking of them made them real and alive in his mind. He was a boy again, reliving the pain . . . the humiliation.