A Wounded Realm

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘The road was long, my lord,’ said Richard, ‘and the sea journey more difficult than anticipated.’

  ‘Surely it is no more than two days to Ireland with a fair wind?’

  ‘Aye, but oft the waves were higher than the bows and I regret to say my stomach now lays at the bottom of the sea, as do the stomachs of all my men.’

  Cadwgan laughed and raised his tankard of ale towards his lieutenant.

  ‘You have always said you are no sailor, Richard. Anyway, to business – where is this scroll you speak of?’

  Richard placed his eating knife on the table and reached for the leather bag at his feet. He handed over the sealed scroll before resuming his meal. Cadwgan broke the seal and read the document silently before placing it to one side and sitting back thoughtfully.

  ‘You seem troubled, my lord,’ said Richard.

  ‘Not troubled, Richard, but there is much to do.’

  ‘Can I be of help?’

  ‘Ordinarily, yes – but you are just returned from a difficult journey and have earned a rest.’

  ‘There is no such thing as rest for a soldier in times of war. Just tell me what you want and I will get it done.’

  ‘In that case, I have a task I would entrust to few others.’

  Richard put down his tankard and wiped the froth from his moustache with the back of his hand.

  ‘Name it, my lord.’

  ‘I want you to gather a patrol of best men and prepare to ride with the dawn. Gruffydd may have declined our proposals for an alliance due to illness, but there is another who is ready to move as we speak. Take a message to him and request his presence as soon as possible.’

  ‘Who is this man?’ asked Richard.

  ‘Hywel ap Goronwy.’

  ‘The Lord of Radnor is joining our cause?’

  ‘He is. He too suffers from the attention of the Marcher lords and has sent word that he will ride at our side. As will Uchtryd ap Edwin.’

  ‘An exciting prospect,’ said Richard, ‘but may I counsel caution?’

  ‘Speak your mind, Richard.’

  ‘The reputation of Goronwy goes before him like a vanguard. However, the pedigree of Edwin may not be so pure.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I have heard he is a man of limited intellect and is sometimes a burden to his allies. It is only due to the reputation of his father that he retains his cantref. If we are to engage these men, then perhaps we should test their mettle before deploying them in any place of strategic importance.’

  ‘Noted,’ said Cadwgan, ‘but my invitation remains. It will take them a few days to arrive, so in the meantime I will decide a suitable target and witness their value from afar.’ He turned to his son. ‘Owain, you will join Richard upon this task, it is about time you witnessed the ways of warfare at first hand. Leave us now and see to your equipment and your horse.’

  ‘Aye, Father,’ said Owain, and he ran from the tent.

  ‘The boy is growing up fast,’ said Richard between mouthfuls of meat.

  ‘That he is,’ said Cadwgan, ‘and each day brings a new worry, for he is a fiery brand with no thought of danger.’

  ‘Are not all such boys the same?’

  ‘Perhaps so, but Owain gives me concern. He acts before thought and many times I have had to pay reparations for damage done on his behalf.’

  ‘Really?’ Richard laughed. ‘What possible damage could a boy do that causes you so much anxiety?’

  ‘He sees himself as a man already and craves battle. I have denied him the opportunity for there is much yet for him to learn. In frustration he has gathered a group of like-minded young men about him and seeks adventure of a different kind. Every few days I am faced with a fresh claim for compensation from a farmer or trader who has experienced their youthful zest. It seems that he favours livestock as target practice and the company of maidens to make the evenings shorter.’

  ‘I am impressed!’ Richard laughed. ‘To have an interest in women at such a young age is an admirable trait.’

  ‘Like I said, he is a boy beyond his years. Mark my words, one day he is going to lay trouble untold at my door.’

  ‘Let the boy enjoy his life, my lord, heaven knows it can be short enough. No man knows the span of his days so let him live while he can.’

  ‘Aye, that is also my whim, but anyway, enough of domestic affairs, tell me of your journey to Ireland.’

  Across the Irish Sea, Gruffydd ap Cynan slept soundly on a couch in the solar, the room the family used for sleeping and relaxing. Deep yellow flames glowed lazily from between slow-burning logs, casting shadows around the room as Angharad sat back in her chair, gazing lovingly at her husband. Even now, after more than a year, she still couldn’t believe he had returned home after so much time in captivity.

  Since he had returned, she had spent almost every day at his side, helping him to recover after all the torturous years as a captive of Huw the Fat. There seemed not a pinch of muscle on his skeletal frame and sometimes she thought he wouldn’t make it but despite this, she persevered and watched him slowly improve, gaining a little strength each day.

  At first, exercise was out of the question and it was all he could do to walk himself to the garderobe to see to his toilet. But within months, the rich meals carefully prepared by the kitchen staff under the watchful eye of his wife, slowly added flesh to his bones. Despite her husband’s weakened state, God had seen fit to bless them with their first child within a year of Gruffydd’s return, and they named him Cadwaladr.

  Cadwaladr was fast asleep in the cot made by the estate carpenter and only stirred slightly when a knock came upon the solar door. Angharad checked that neither of the two at slumber had been woken before going to the door and lifting the latch.

  ‘Adele,’ she said quietly, ‘is everything all right?’

  ‘No, my lady,’ said Adele, ‘will you come with me?’

  Angharad glanced back before going through the door and closing it quietly. Adele was already halfway down the corridor and Angharad walked quickly, trying to catch up with her.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ asked Angharad, turning into the buttery.

  ‘You are the problem, my lady,’ said Adele, ‘you are going to make yourself ill if you’re not careful. Now sit down and forget your worries, if only for a few moments.’

  Angharad looked at the small table Adele had set for her. A platter of roast pork and cheese sat alongside a freshly baked loaf and a bowl of butter. A jug of warmed wine sat invitingly alongside the food. Angharad sighed in appreciation.

  ‘Adele,’ she said, ‘what would I do without you?’

  ‘Oh, probably starve yourself,’ replied Adele. ‘Now eat something and relax for a few moments. I’ve asked one of the chambermaids to stand outside the solar in case Cadwaladr wakes up.’

  ‘You are truly a treasure,’ said Angharad. ‘Come, sit with me and share the fayre.’

  ‘I have already eaten,’ said Adele, ‘but would enjoy a sip of wine if the invitation extends that far.’

  ‘Of course it does; come, bring another beaker and sit awhile.’

  Adele did as she was bid and filled both cups.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Angharad, ‘the pork is still warm.’

  ‘Freshly cooked for tomorrow’s table,’ said Adele. ‘I had to steal a few slices when the cook left the kitchen for a moment. He will be livid when he sees the beast has already seen the attentions of a carving knife.’

  Angharad laughed. ‘Why is it that cooks are always so cantankerous?’

  ‘It has surely always been the way.’ Adele sighed. ‘And I suspect it will always be so.’

  Angharad picked at the meat and smiled at Adele. Adele had served her loyally for many years, and Angharad felt that the other woman was closer to being a friend than a servant.

  ‘My lady,’ said Adele gently, ‘you look like you have the woes of Ireland upon your shoulders. Pray tell – what worries you so?’

  Angharad put her cuttin
g knife down and looked at her friend.

  ‘How long have I known you, Adele?’ she asked.

  ‘Far longer than you deserve.’ Adele smiled, with a hint of mischief in her eye.

  ‘I agree,’ said Angharad, ‘and if it wasn’t for you I don’t know how I would ever have survived those years without Gruffydd. But survive them we did and I thought I could never be happier when he appeared on our doorstep.’

  ‘My lady, you make it sound like the happiness will be short-lived.’

  ‘Alas, I feel it might be. The master is still weak but already he plans on taking the fight back to Wales.’

  Adele stared and shook her head in disbelief.

  ‘My lady,’ she said, ‘forgive me for being rude, but sometimes I think your husband is blind to what lies beneath his very nose. He has lived through a hell he had no right to survive, was chased across Wales when he was barely alive, and crossed the Irish Sea hidden amongst a cargo of pigs meant for the slaughterhouse. You would think that he would recognise God’s compassion and settle down to raise his new family in peace.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Angharad, ‘yet I think it is not to be. Already he has received representations from Cadwgan ap Bleddyn and conspires to join the rebellion as soon as he is able.’

  ‘Men and cursed wars,’ said Adele. ‘Why can’t they see they are not the answer? Why they can’t just settle for a roof, a platter of food and a family’s love, is beyond the likes of me.’

  ‘Me also,’ said Angharad. ‘We are lucky enough to have this house, a parcel of land and an income from the king of Dublin, but always Gruffydd wishes to return to Wales. I fear he will not rest until he sets foot on home soil. My heart bleeds for him, it really does, and he has tried to repossess Aberffraw so often it makes me weep, but this time I feel it will be the death of him.’

  ‘Well –’ Adele sighed – ‘there is no way of knowing the future, my lady, perhaps this time the good Lord will reward his persistence with victory.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Angharad, ‘I really hope so.’ She picked up her cup and after a silent toast towards her friend, drank the remainder of the wine before resuming her meal.

  The following day, Gruffydd was out of bed and already dressed by the time Angharad awoke. She glanced down at the crib and was surprised to see her son was also gone.

  Quickly, she got out of bed and ran to the window but saw no sign of her husband. Hearing the door ease inward she turned in relief but saw it was only Adele, bring her warm water with which to bathe.

  ‘Adele,’ she said starting forward, ‘please tell me you have taken Cadwaladr to be dressed.’

  ‘Fret not, my lady, for the child is already dressed and has been fed by the nurse maid.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Angharad. ‘And my husband, do you know his whereabouts?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Adele, ‘he has taken his son to get some fresh Irish air.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Angharad in surprise. ‘Do you know where they are?’

  ‘The last I heard they were heading for the stables,’ said Adele, ‘I believe the king is going to introduce your son to his first horse.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Angharad. ‘The boy is not yet able to walk, how can he be expected to ride?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ said Adele, ‘he may be a stupid man when it comes to kingship but his heart is good when it comes to his son.’

  ‘Nevertheless!’ Angharad laughed at the other woman’s bluntness. ‘Help me dress for I would join them as soon as I can.’

  Half an hour later, Angharad and Adele walked through the stables and out into the training yard.

  ‘Dermot,’ asked Angharad, ‘have you seen the king?’

  ‘Aye, my lady,’ said the stable hand, ‘he is beyond the stable wall showing Master Cadwaladr his horse.’

  The two women walked quickly but as they turned the corner, Angharad suddenly held her hand up and both women stopped dead in their tracks, transfixed by the beauty of the scene before them. Gruffydd was sat on a low wall holding Cadwaladr on his lap while in front of them, a foal no more than a few weeks old stretched his head downward to sniff at the child’s face. The foal’s mother was eating oats from a nearby wooden bucket and completely unperturbed at the attention of Gruffydd and the baby, so when Angharad slowly approached, it did little more than raise its head to check the newcomer wasn’t a danger.

  ‘My love,’ said Angharad gently, as Gruffydd acknowledged her presence, ‘you had me concerned for a while.’

  ‘Really?’ said Gruffydd as a particularly loud giggle from the child made the foal prance a few paces away. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because when I awoke, neither of you were to be seen.’

  ‘Is a man not allowed to spend time with his own son?’

  ‘Of course you are, it’s just that you have spent so little time with him, this was . . .’ she paused for a few moments, seeking the right word, ‘unexpected.’

  ‘You are right,’ said Gruffydd, ‘I have been found wanting as a father. For too long I have nursed grudges instead of my child but hopefully those days are gone.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Every day I feel myself getting a little stronger than the day before. My gait gets longer and I am no more out of breath after the first flight of stairs. I now realise I am a very lucky man and have been given a second chance by God, so while I am here, I aim to spend at least a portion of every day with my son.’

  Angharad smiled gently as she looked lovingly at her husband. Though he was still gaunt from his sufferings, he was nowhere near the skeletal ex-prisoner that had returned over a year earlier. Many of the scabs had fallen off and most of the sores healed after careful attention by physicians. His long matted hair had been shaven off soon after his arrival and had now grown back to resemble the carefully tended style he had worn as a younger man – although his eyes seemed deeper set than they had ever been.

  ‘It is good to hear,’ she said eventually, reaching up to gently touch the ridge of his oft-broken nose. ‘And am I to hope that your ambition will be a casualty of this new-found realisation?’

  ‘If you are asking if I intend relinquishing any dreams of retaking Ynys Mon, alas no. However, I will not be carrying out any assault until I am fully recovered and have an army capable of achieving victory. Be that in a few months or a few years, it will be when it will be. In the meantime, I intend to spend as much time as possible with you and my child.’

  Angharad smiled. For a few moments she had thought he had decided to give up on his dreams of returning to Gwynedd. Although it wasn’t quite as good news as she had hoped, it did at least mean he would be staying with her for considerably longer than she had imagined. She sat beside her husband and looked him in the eye.

  ‘If that is indeed the case, my love, then there is something you should know. You will not be spending time with your child.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Gruffydd, ‘why would you deny me this right?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not denying you anything,’ said Angharad, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘You just have your information wrong. What you will be doing, darling husband, is spending time with your children.’

  Gruffydd stared at her for a moment, unsure what she meant. But gradually his eyes lowered and he stared at her stomach before returning his gaze to her face.

  ‘Do you mean . . .?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Angharad, ‘I am carrying your second child, my love. You are going to be a father again.’

  Gruffydd was lost for words and looked around in desperation.

  ‘Adele,’ he said, seeing the servant grinning by the stable,’ come here quickly, take Cadwaladr from my arms so I can embrace my wife.’

  Adele did as she was bid and moments later, Gruffydd held his wife tightly, hardly believing how truly blessed he was.

  ‘I will make you proud of me, my love,’ he whispered, ‘you and our children. I swear by all that is holy, one day we will all enjoy the privileges
to which we were born.’

  Pembroke Castle

  October 17th, AD 1096

  As part of King William’s campaign into Wales, Gerald of Windsor had ridden through the south of Wales as part of a larger force, tasked with securing the shipping port of Pembroke. Quickly they captured and occupied the old wooden fortress dominating the town, before fortifying its poor defences with new palisades supported by swiftly erected buttresses. Within a month, the stockade was solid enough to resist any moderate attack, and happy his men were as safe as they could be, Gerald and a hundred men consolidated the garrison while the rest of the army, under the command of Arnulf of Montgomery, marched northward in an effort to link up with King William in Gwynedd.

  The next few weeks were relatively uneventful in the fortress, for though the town hated the thought of the English so close at hand, there was nothing they could do against the well-armed garrison. It was a typically quiet night when Gerald looked out across the palisade alongside Sir Godwin of Bristol, his second in command. Godwin was a stocky man, grizzled in both manner and appearance, having worked his way up from humble origins. His shaved head was in stark contrast to the magnificent beard that hung down to his chest and though he was brutal in combat, his advice was often the first sought by Gerald.

  ‘It is a quiet night, my lord,’ said Godwin quietly.

  ‘Aye it is,’ said Gerald. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’

  ‘I’d wager the taverns of Windsor are full just about now.’

  ‘No doubt,’ said Gerald, ‘and the ale flowing freely.’

  ‘Forget the ale,’ said Godwin, ‘I would settle for watered wine as long as it was served by a willing wench.’

  Gerald laughed. ‘It seems you think of nothing else these days, my friend.’

  ‘It has been a long time since I laid alongside any woman,’ said Godwin, ‘do you not also miss their company?’

  ‘Indeed, though these days there is only one woman who occupies my thoughts.’

  ‘You talk of the Welsh princess?’

  ‘Aye, I do.’ Gerald smiled to himself. Nesta had occupied his mind since the day they had met.