A Wounded Realm

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘Do you mind if I join you?’ asked Beatty.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Cynwrig as a serving girl took away his platter.

  Beatty placed both tankards on the table and drank deeply of his own before letting out a satisfied belch and looking across at Cynwrig.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘you are not from around here?’

  ‘No, I am Powys-born though I used to trade here many years ago as a young man.’

  ‘I would not remember,’ said Beatty, ‘for I am from Worcester and came here ten years ago.’

  ‘Do you own this tavern?’ asked Cynwrig.

  ‘Own?’ Beatty laughed with a sneer. ‘Of course not. It is a very profitable business and as such, has been sequestered by the earl. All such businesses are soon absorbed into his estate and the tenants paid a pittance to run them on his behalf.’

  ‘Do you talk about Huw D’Avranches?’

  ‘Aye, Huw the Fat,’ replied Beatty, ‘and a more suitable name no man could ever have. His girth exceeds the width of that barrel and it is said his day consists of little more than counting his income from the taxes he imposes and eating whatever his kitchens place before him.’

  ‘A sad state of affairs,’ said Cynwrig.

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Beatty and picking up his tankard, he drank it dry before calling out to the serving girl.

  ‘Two more ales over here.’

  ‘I am fine with what I have,’ said Cynwrig.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Beatty, ‘the night is young and I would enjoy hearing tales from a stranger. Worry not about coin for the ale is free.’

  ‘Surely you will get in trouble for such generosity?’

  ‘The earl will never know,’ said Beatty, ‘besides, I worry not about any retribution he may bring, for I am not long for this world.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I have an affliction within me,’ said Beatty as the serving girl ladled fresh ale into their tankards from a wooden bucket, ‘a lump within my chest that grows by the day. The apothecary says he has seen such a thing before and it is a matter of months before it ends my life.’

  ‘Can he not give you potions?’

  ‘He has given me plenty of potions,’ said Beatty, ‘and a pretty penny they cost too. I have also been bled to within a whisker of my life, yet nothing he has done has any effect. Finally, I told him to stay away for the few pennies I have left will be left to my daughter.’

  ‘You are married?’

  ‘Alas, my wife died, but her sister brings up the child on a farm outside of Chester. I send what I can but it is barely enough to keep her fed. I fear for her future, friend, for when I am gone she will be open to the whims of the world.’

  ‘Does she not have a dowry?’

  ‘A dowry?’ Beatty laughed. ‘She is the daughter of an old soldier who now drinks himself stupid in a tavern owned by a cruel earl. Who would have a dowry in such circumstances?’

  ‘So how long do you think you’ve got?’ asked Cynwrig.

  ‘That trickster who sold me false hope reckons no more than a month and in this statement, I think he is actually correct.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For I already feel the tendrils of the growth creeping around my heart. Few are the days when I can get out of my bed without pain and even then I need to sample the earl’s ale to deaden the ache.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Cynwrig.

  ‘There is nothing to say,’ said Beatty. ‘My life may soon be over, but at least I know that death sharpens his scythe as we speak. Many men do not have the luxury of knowing their days are done.’

  ‘True,’ said Cynwrig, and he lifted up his refilled tankard. ‘I may not have met you before, Beatty, but allow me to propose a toast. To your past life and the journey ahead.’

  ‘Ha!’ Beatty laughed and picked up his tankard. ‘My life may not have been so grand but the journey before me will be interesting if nothing else.’ He drained his tankard and signalled for more before turning back to Cynwrig.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘enough about me, tell me of yourself. You say you are a Welshman yet have come here without fear. Surely you know that Huw the Fat resents your race with a passion?’

  ‘I do, but I am here to conclude some unfinished business.’

  ‘And what business would that be?’

  ‘It will have to stay with me at the moment for to reveal it could cost me my life.’

  Beatty took another drink from his tankard but his eyes did not leave those of Cynwrig.

  ‘You have me intrigued,’ he said eventually, ‘any business that could cause a man to lose his life must sit far past the legalities of our masters.’

  ‘I cannot share it with you,’ said Cynwrig, ‘except to say it is within the walls of the castle. I aim to stay here a few days and then beg audience with the earl.’

  ‘Ha.’ Beatty chuckled. ‘Good luck with that. Huw the Fat keeps his doors closed against all petitions these days and grants audience only to the rich and the noble. You my friend, are neither.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because,’ said Beatty, ‘your garb is that of a working man and you eat in a common tavern. If you’d have had money, you would be in the manor with sheepskin as covers and a wench to warm your bed.’

  ‘I have money,’ said Cynwrig quietly, ‘and may be willing to part with some towards your daughter’s dowry. That is, of course, if you are interested in making an agreement.’

  For the first time, Beatty put down his tankard.

  ‘Continue,’ he said.

  ‘From our discourse so far, I assume you are no great supporter of the earl,’ suggested Cynwrig.

  ‘That is no secret,’ said Beatty, ‘for most men around here hate him with a fiery passion. Mine is as hot as any.’

  ‘Then I have a proposal for you,’ said Cynwrig, looking around. ‘You say you are not long for this life and fear for the future of your daughter.’ He opened the collar of his tunic to show the landlord a leather purse around his neck. ‘This purse contains a hundred coins,’ he said, ‘enough to marry your daughter to a tradesman. If you agree to help me in my quest, it is yours.’

  For a few moments there was silence before Beatty answered. ‘And if we fail?’

  ‘Then the money will be no good to me for I will lay alongside you in a common grave, but at least your daughter’s future will be secure.’

  ‘What do I have to do?’ asked Beatty.

  ‘It’s very simple,’ said Cynwrig, ‘I need you to get me into the castle.’

  ‘Impossible!’ said Beatty when their tankards had been refilled again.

  ‘Didn’t you just tell me you once worked in the kitchens there?’

  ‘I did, but that was many years ago.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you know the passages and the weak points.’

  ‘My friend,’ said Beatty, ‘since I worked there the castle has been rebuilt. Where I once worked behind palisades of timber, they now work behind walls of stone as thick as a horse is long. I have no idea what lies behind the outer walls.’

  ‘But surely there is a way to gain entry? There has to be.’

  ‘There may be,’ said Beatty, ‘but I will have to seek guidance.’

  ‘From where?’

  I know someone who works in the kitchens. He leaves the castle once a month to visit his sister. He usually calls in on his return and shares an ale with me. If anyone knows, then he will.’

  ‘When he is next due?’

  ‘A few days from now, though there is no guarantee he will show.’

  ‘Is he trustworthy?’

  ‘He should be,’ said Beatty, ‘he is my son!’

  Dinefwr Castle

  May 16th, AD 1101

  In the south of Wales, a widowed queen sat in the lonely hall of her family castle, threading a needle by the light of several candles. A servant sat opposite her, washing the platters they had used for their meal in a wooden tub. A fire burned in the far wall and thou
gh Gwladus wasn’t destitute, the life of a ruling queen was far in the past. Eventually, she sat back with a sigh and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘My lady, leave that,’ said the servant, ‘I will do it when I finish these.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Gwladus, ‘the concentration does me good. Besides, the hall will look a bit brighter when this tapestry is finished. I’ll get the village carpenter to make a frame and we will place it on the wall above the fire.’

  The servant smiled. Gwladus had been doing the tapestry for over a year and though she worked on it almost every night, the hunting scene it was supposed to portray was far from evident.

  ‘Then at least let me thread the needle,’ said the servant.

  ‘Thank you, Emma,’ said Gwladus. She put the needle to one side before looking around the room, deep in thought.

  ‘Do you remember when these halls were full of life?’ She sighed.

  ‘Alas, my lady, I was only a young girl when your husband last graced this place and did not attend such occasions.’

  ‘Of course you were,’ said Gwladus, ‘how foolish of me. Well, let me describe them to you. First of all, there was always a great roaring fire in that fireplace, not the paltry few embers we have now, and one boy had the task of keeping it banked high at all times. This draughty hall, believe it or not, was always warm, even in winter and there was always something going on. During the day, the ladies of the castle embroidered or painted; well, at least that’s what the men thought we did! Mostly we shared stories about the failings of our husbands.’

  The servant smiled at the queen’s recollection. ‘Were there banquets?’ she asked.

  ‘Often,’ said Gwladus, smiling, ‘and we hosted many kings over the years. But my favourite times were when the snow lay heavy on the ground and my husband’s men managed to catch a deer or a boar. Often we were snowed in and rather than cut up the carcass in the kitchens, we would spitroast the beast in that very fireplace and sit around the tables listening to the stories of the knights.’ She sighed. ‘Alas, those days have long gone.’

  ‘Perhaps one day they will return,’ said Emma hopefully.

  Gwladus just smiled sadly. For a while they chatted but were interrupted when a knock came at the door and Marcus Freeman walked in from the cold.

  ‘My lady,’ said Marcus, ‘there is a man at the gates asking for audience.’

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘He said he has business for your ears only and requested I give you this.’ He handed over a tiny parcel wrapped in linen.

  Gwladus opened the parcel and gazed down at the exquisite necklace within.

  ‘That is beautiful, said Emma with a sigh. ‘Perhaps he is a suitor, come to whisk you away to a life of riches.’

  Gwladus didn’t answer, just stared down at the necklace, fighting the terrible memories that came flooding back.

  ‘My lady, said Emma, ‘are you all right?’

  The queen was visibly shaken at the sight of the necklace and once again ignored Emma as she looked up at Marcus.

  ‘Did he give a name?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘He did, my lady. He said his name was Dylan, a farmer from the west coast.’

  Gwladus gasped as her suspicions were confirmed and her hand shot out to steady herself on the back of a chair.

  ‘My lady!’ exclaimed Emma. She stepped forward to help support the visibly shocked queen.

  ‘Let him in, Marcus,’ said Gwladus eventually, her hands shaking, ‘he is welcome at our hearth.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Marcus with a slight bow, and he left the hall.

  Emma helped Gwladus to a chair and knelt in front of her, her face filled with concern.

  ‘My lady,’ she said, ‘what has caused you to feel so? Who is this knave who has such a terrible effect upon you?’

  ‘He is no knave,’ said Gwladus, ‘on the contrary, twenty years ago, this man saved my life.’

  ‘But if that is so, why do you seem so upset?’

  ‘Because he brings with him memories of an act so heinous, I have banished it from my mind in fear of madness.’

  ‘What act can be so terrible that it has this effect after so long a time?’

  Gwladus looked at the girl who had become not just her maid but her closest confidante. For a moment she considered sharing her story but knew she did not have the strength to say the words after so many years of silence.

  ‘It is a terrible tale, Emma,’ said the queen, ‘and perhaps one day I may share it. But today is not that day. Now, please ensure we make this man as welcome as we can. He once helped me greatly and I consider him a friend.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Emma standing up, wondering what had happened to affect her queen so much. ‘As long as you are all right.’

  ‘I will be fine,’ said the queen, ‘now, let us greet our guest properly.’

  A few moments later, Marcus escorted a rain-soaked man into the hall, before returning to his duties.

  ‘My lady,’ said the man, as he knelt before the queen, ‘it has been a long time.’

  ‘Get to your feet, Dylan,’ said Gwladus gently, ‘you are amongst friends.’

  ‘You will always be my queen,’ said Dylan, standing up, ‘and the queen of many others in Deheubarth.’ He paused and looked around at Emma replacing the bar across the doors. ‘Majesty, I have come with news for your ears only and request a private audience.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Gwladus, ‘and we will talk soon enough, but first come to the fire and warm your bones. Our table may be lean but our hospitality is warm.’

  ‘Thank you, my queen,’ said Dylan, and he walked over to the flames.

  ‘Emma, please prepare some food and drink for our guest.’

  ‘Will bread and cheese suffice?’ asked Emma.

  ‘That will be fine,’ said Dylan. He sat in an offered chair near the fire. For a while he made small talk with the queen as they watched Emma toast the bread. Finally, she served it covered with melted cheese and the two women waited as Dylan enjoyed his humble meal. When he finished, Emma took the platter away and replaced it with a tankard of ale.

  ‘Thank you, Emma,’ said Gwladus, ‘please give us some privacy. I will call you if required.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the girl, and she left the room.

  ‘So,’ said Gwladus, turning to Dylan, ‘it seems you have come a long way to discuss something you swore would never pass your lips again.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Dylan, ‘and I have kept that oath for many years but I have news that needs to be shared with you.

  ‘Then share it, Master Dylan, for my ears hunger for that which makes an old man travel halfway across a kingdom.’

  ‘My lady,’ said Dylan. ‘A few years ago, I came across the man who committed that hideous crime upon your person. At first I wasn’t sure if it was him so asked questions amongst the taverns of Kidwelly and Pembroke and soon found out it was indeed the same man.’

  ‘But why, Master Dylan. What did you hope to achieve?’

  ‘My apologies, my lady, but despite my promise to you, the knowledge of his hideous crime still lays upon me like the heaviest manacles and knowing that he still lived amongst your people with impunity, kept me awake at night. At first it was sadness but that soon grew to anger and if it wasn’t for the fact my wife was ailing, I would have taken it upon myself to seek retribution on your behalf.’

  ‘That was a noble thought, but would have been foolish,’ said the queen.’

  ‘I realised that and the thought of my wife suffering her last years without me there to protect her, should I have fallen, ultimately stayed my hand. By the time you returned to Dinefwr, he had disappeared once more so I maintained my silence.’

  ‘Do you know where he went?’

  ‘I heard he had travelled north and thought that would be the last I saw of him. Alas, I was wrong and I have found out that the knave returned to Kidwelly a few weeks ago.’

  Gwladus’s face fell and she turned to stare
into the fire. It was as she expected, and the memories of the day she had been raped came flooding to the fore.

  ‘Why would this interest me after all this time?’ she asked eventually. ‘It happened a long time ago.’

  ‘These were also my thoughts,’ said Dylan, ‘but I thought you should know the varlet lives not five leagues from this very spot and has a loose tongue.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Already there are rumours that he sells his story in return for free ale and though many men turn away from his foul mouth, there are some who listen with interest. Especially when he claims to be the father of your son.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Gwladus. ‘But Tarw was born months earlier.’

  ‘Dates have no meaning for this man,’ said Dylan, ‘and he alters his tale to say that not only did it happen a year earlier, but you participated willingly in return for coin.’

  ‘But surely no man would believe such a lie.’

  ‘Ordinarily no, but his trick is to carry the Bible and swear an oath upon it that he once lay with you. Oh, he is careful with his words and during his oath does not refer to the question of willingness, but by then the tale is told and there are some that believe his words. Surely we must do something, for this man besmirches your honour.’

  ‘It is not my honour that worries me, Master Dylan,’ said Gwladus, ‘but the fact that he is claiming to be the father of my son. If this rumour is allowed to continue then when Tarw returns from Ireland, as one day he surely will, his claim to the throne of Deheubarth could be challenged.’

  ‘Then we cannot allow this rogue to spew his lies a moment longer. He must be stopped.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘do you think he will listen to reason?’

  ‘Do you?’ responded Dylan. ‘The man is a rapist and a brigand. He does whatever he has to do to survive.’

  ‘What about if we paid him to keep his mouth shut?’

  ‘Once he has been fed, he will be back for more. This man is the lowest of the low and will stop at nothing to feed his greed.’