A Wounded Realm

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘What does she want?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘For if it is yet another bath I swear I will run away right now and never come back.’

  ‘No, I suspect it is something less traumatic.’ Gruffydd laughed. ‘Like the evening meal.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Gwenllian. ‘I am rather hungry.’

  ‘Good,’ said Gruffydd, ‘but let me give you some fatherly advice. Unless you want your mother and Adele to scrub you with horsehair, I suggest you wash that mud off your face before you approach their table.’

  Gwenllian, flashed her father a beautiful smile, and ran to the nearby horse trough to wash the grime from her face.

  Gruffydd waited as she carried out the task and contemplated what the future may hold for his daughter. Even at six years old she was beautiful beyond compare. She could better any boy her own age in a fist fight and only suffered the boring embroidery lessons from her mother on the promise that the afternoons could be spent learning the arts of swords and bows with her brothers.

  Despite Gwenllian’s age, the king had already received many expressions of interest regarding marriage when she came of age. But each messenger was sent packing with the threat of a beating should they ever broach the subject again.

  ‘What am I to do with you, my girl?’ Gruffydd sighed to himself as she wiped her face on the hem of her dress.

  As if she had heard him, Gwenllian threw him another glorious smile before skipping across to take his hand.

  ‘Ready to eat?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘can I have a tankard of ale?’

  ‘You’re pushing your luck now, girl!’ Gruffydd laughed and swept her up into his arms.

  Later that evening, Gruffydd and Angharad sat at the window, looking out at the lightning bolts illuminating the night sky. The four children were abed and Adele had retired for the evening.

  ‘I’m glad you are back,’ said Angharad across the table.

  ‘Me too,’ said Gruffydd, sipping on his warmed wine, ‘though I have to admit, it may not be for as long as you may like.’

  Angharad sat back in her chair, a look of controlled anger on her face.

  ‘Gruffydd,’ she said, ‘it seems you are away more than you are at home these days. The children grow up in your absence and need the steady hand of their father.’

  ‘I know,’ said Gruffydd, ‘but the demands of kingship are great. No matter what I do, there is always another pressing matter to attend. Surely you accept this?’

  ‘I do,’ said Angharad, ‘but why do you have to travel away so much? Surely those with issues that need your attention can come here. After all, you are only one man.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Gruffydd, ‘and after this next task I swear I will try to stay at Aberffraw much more than I have recently.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Angharad sighed. ‘We have been through so much these past few years, it is not unthinkable to imagine we could spend some time together.’

  ‘And we will, my love,’ said Gruffydd.

  Angharad sipped on her own wine before continuing.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘where do your responsibilities take you this time?’

  Gruffydd stared at his wife before putting down his goblet.

  ‘My love,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I cannot share the task, too much is at stake.’

  ‘You said that last time,’ said Angharad. ‘What is so important that you cannot share it with your wife? Do you not trust me?’

  ‘Of course I do, and I promise that this will be the last time, but there is something I must do that must remain in the strictest secrecy.’

  ‘And you think I will tell someone?’

  ‘Of course not, but if you should slip up and someone overhears you, lives could be at risk.’

  Angharad placed her goblet on the table between them.

  ‘Then tell me this,’ she said, ‘is there killing involved?’

  ‘If everything goes to plan,’ said Gruffydd, ‘then hopefully no one will be hurt. But that is why it must remain a secret. Besides, you would only worry if you knew. Just be gratified that it is a noble task I set before myself and if I am successful, then you will be very proud.’

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘In a month or so. It will take that time to make the necessary preparations.’

  Angharad stood up and started to walk across the room.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

  ‘To my bedchamber,’ she said.

  ‘But the night is yet young.’

  ‘Indeed it is, but if you are going away again so soon, we need to make every moment we have together count. Coming?’

  Gruffydd recognised the wicked smile and stood up to take her outstretched hand.

  ‘Of course,’ he said and followed his wife to her bed.

  Dinefwr Castle

  April 22nd, AD 1105

  In Deheubarth, life had improved for Gwladus ferch Rhiwallon. In the five years since she had killed Merriweather, the people of Dinefwr had repaired the main structure of the castle overlooking the valley and those local lords who had been loyal to her husband had paid her a combined allowance large enough to maintain a respectable household. In addition, although the manor house at Carew was in disrepair, the lands were quite extensive and she retained ownership of all the estate. She was as comfortable as could be expected in the circumstances, but her heart was still heavy and it was on stormy nights such as the one currently raging outside the castle walls when the memories hurt the most.

  Her husband was long dead and though she missed him terribly, it was the absence of her children that still caused her heart to ache. Hywel was still missing, Tarw was growing into a fine young man in Ireland and Nesta, well she hadn’t heard from her daughter in several years and she could only assume she had at last settled down at the royal court.

  The storm was easing when someone knocked loudly on the doors of the main hall. Gwladus looked over to Emma, who was sitting in a chair before the fireplace darning a blanket.

  ‘I wonder who that could be at this hour?’ said Gwladus, standing up from her own chair.

  ‘It always makes me nervous when people call during the hours of darkness,’ said Emma, standing up and retrieving an oil lamp from the table. ‘I’ll go and see.’ She approached the door and called out loudly. ‘Who is there?’

  ‘Marcus Freeman,’ replied a voice. ‘I need to speak to the queen.’

  Emma glanced over at Gwladus who nodded her agreement. The servant slid back the two large bolts and stood back as the castle steward walked into the heat of the hall.

  ‘Here,’ said Emma, ‘let me take your cloak.’

  The ex-soldier handed over the sodden garment and walked over to face the queen.

  ‘Majesty,’ he said, with a slight nod of the head, ‘please accept my apologies for the lateness of the hour.’

  ‘You are always welcome, Marcus Freeman,’ said Gwladus with a smile. ‘Come closer to the fire and dry your clothes.’

  Marcus did as he was told and for a few minutes, exchanged pleasantries with the queen.

  ‘So,’ said the queen eventually, as Emma handed over a tankard of warmed ale, ‘what makes you knock on these doors so late at night?’

  ‘My lady,’ said Marcus, ‘I have ridden all day to bring you grave news. There is an English army encamped beneath the castle walls at Carmarthen and it seems they intend to make their way south towards Kidwelly.’

  ‘An English column?’ said Gwladus, her brow lowering with concern. ‘Why wasn’t I made aware of this before? Surely the king of Powys would have sent word of any such force coming through his lands?’

  ‘It seems they did not come from the east, my lady,’ said Marcus, ‘but landed a great fleet at Pembroke to reinforce the garrison. Within days they had marched inland and stopped at Carmarthen to reinforce the castle.’

  ‘Why have they done that?’ asked Gwladus. ‘Do you think there is going to be a campaign in Deheubarth?’

  ‘I think not,�
�� said Marcus, ‘for in truth we offer little threat and would fall before them should they decide to wage war against those of us who are left. However, I made enquiries before I left Carmarthen and the rumour is that King Henry has ordered that a fortress be built at Kidwelly as soon as possible to guard the coastal routes to Pembroke. It looks like he has selected a location near the Gwendraeth river and the column may be intended to protect the builders from any uprising during construction.’

  Gwladus sat back down in her chair and stared into the fire.

  ‘Another English castle within a day’s ride of Dinefwr,’ she said quietly, ‘it seems we will soon be surrounded by such things.’

  ‘My lady,’ said Marcus, ‘there is more. I also heard that whilst the main army will be headed for Kidwelly, a smaller column has already set out with Dinefwr as its destination.’

  Gwladus’ head turned quickly at the news.

  ‘Here?’ she gasped. ‘What possible reason could they have to come to Dinefwr?’

  ‘I know not, my lady.’

  ‘But we offer no threat?’

  ‘You and I know that,’ said Marcus, ‘but perhaps they need to see for themselves. After all, you are still a Welsh queen and as such could provide a rallying call to any potential rebellion.’

  ‘My days of warfare are behind me, Marcus. All I want now is to rule what is left in Dinefwr in peace.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Marcus, ‘and if I had an army of note I would ride out to block their path but alas, those days are also far behind me.’

  ‘Fret not, Marcus.’ Gwladus sighed. ‘For in truth there is little we can do. Let them come and just hope that their purpose is peaceful. When do you think they will be here?’

  ‘They travel slowly,’ said Marcus, ‘and I passed their overnight camp a few hours ago. I reckon they will be here by midday tomorrow.’

  ‘At least that gives us some time,’ said Gwladus. ‘Have the garrison stand to and ensure our stores are as full as they can be.’

  ‘You intend to close the gates against them?’

  ‘I do,’ said Gwladus. ‘Once we have established that they come in peace then I will gladly welcome them as guests but until we know that is their intention, then I see no reason to offer them Dinefwr on a platter. If they want to take this castle by force then they will have to fight their way in. We may be light on numbers, Marcus, but the defences are sound and the men are stout of heart. Lock it down, my friend; remind us of how it used to be.’

  For what was left of the night the castle was a hive of activity. All stocks of arrows were drawn from the armoury and located around the battlements while barrel after barrel of water was brought from the river and used to top up the cisterns within the castle walls. Riders were sent out to the local farms and despite the pouring rain, by mid-morning the following day the castle stores had been enhanced by dozens of chickens, several pigs as well as a small herd of sheep and several barrels of dried fish. Finally, any civilians who wanted to seek the protection of the castle were welcomed through the gates and by the time the English column appeared on the horizon, the drawbridge was up, the portcullises down and every man stood on the battlements, their hearts racing with anticipation.

  ‘Here they come,’ said Marcus, wiping the rain from his face. Gwladus stepped up alongside him and watched the riders approach as she pulled her own hood closer about her.

  ‘Marcus,’ she said as the four riders approached, ‘look at the two standards, they’re not the same.’

  Marcus stared at the flags carried by two of the riders. The first was red in colour, emblazoned with two golden lions, one above the other, each with a raised paw. Marcus immediately recognised it as the flag of King Henry, adopted from the colours of William the Conqueror. But the other standard made the steward look at his queen in confusion.

  ‘A single golden lion, rampant on a field of blood,’ she said quietly. She turned to face Marcus. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, ‘why are they carrying the colours of Deheubarth?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Marcus, ‘but take care, my queen, it could be a trick to make you open the gates.’

  ‘Well, we are about to find out,’ replied Gwladus as she looked down from the battlements at the cloaked riders come to a stop, their progress halted by a stake-filled moat.

  ‘Who goes there?’ shouted Marcus. ‘State your names and your business.’

  One of the riders rode forward and removed his hood. He looked up through the pouring rain, his head protected by a chainmail coif.

  ‘My name is Godwin of Bristol,’ said the messenger, ‘and I am here on behalf of Gerald of Windsor, Lord of Pembroke by Henry’s grace.’

  ‘And what is it that the great Gerald wants of us,’ asked Marcus, ‘that needs the support of a strong army?’

  The messenger glanced back towards the column on the far side of the river.

  ‘The soldiers are there as escort only,’ said the messenger, ‘and as you can see they have held back so as not to offer concern.’

  ‘Then what is your business?’

  ‘My master embarks on a building programme,’ said the messenger. ‘You have probably heard that there is to be a castle built on the banks of the river in Kidwelly. But in the meantime, he seeks shelter for his lady from the ravages of the Welsh weather.’

  ‘But why seek shelter here? I understand Pembroke Castle is far better suited to the life of a lady.’

  ‘My mistress has expressed a preference to visit this castle,’ said the messenger.

  ‘What is your lady’s name?’ asked Gwladus, stepping closer to the perimeter wall.

  ‘Alas, I am not at liberty to say, for if your hospitality is denied us, then it is better for all if it was never known she was here. If you let us in, perhaps we can discuss this in more comfortable circumstances.’

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Gwladus, turning to Marcus.

  ‘It could be a trick,’ he said, ‘just to get inside the castle.’

  ‘Yet the army holds off,’ said the queen. ‘What possible problem could four men cause us?’

  ‘Very little, I suppose but this situation is so strange, my hackles are raised with fear of treachery.’

  ‘Sometimes we have to take a risk,’ said Gwladus, ‘and I would see no lady taking shelter under a tent in these conditions. Allow them in, Marcus, for if they tell the truth then bloodshed is easily avoided. I will receive them in the hall.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Marcus. As Gwladus returned to the main building, he had the drawbridge lowered.

  Several minutes later the visitors’ horses had been led away and the riders walked out of the pouring rain into the warm hall.

  ‘Please remove your cloaks,’ said Gwladus, ‘and I will have warm food provided, unless of course you want to get back to bring your master’s lady as soon as possible.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said the first messenger.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because,’ said the second person, removing her hood, ‘I am already here.’

  Gwladus stared in shock and her hand flew to her mouth in astonishment as she recognised the beautiful young woman beneath the cape.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ gasped Gwladus, ‘can it be true?’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ said Nesta with a wide smile. ‘I’ve come home.’

  Gwladus threw herself into her daughter’s arms, sobbing with happiness and relief. For an age, both women held each other until finally, Gwladus released her embrace and stood back at arm’s length.

  ‘Nesta,’ she said, ‘I wasn’t expecting you. You look so well. Why didn’t you let me know you were coming and what is all this about you being married to Gerald of Windsor?’

  ‘I am not married to Gerald, mother, at least not yet. I know you have a multitude of questions and I will answer every one but for now, do you mind if we just send for my wagon and my servants?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Gwladus and she turned to the man who
had accompanied Nesta to the castle.

  ‘Sir Godwin,’ said Gwladus, ‘may I thank you from the bottom of my heart for bringing my daughter home.’

  ‘The doing was not mine, my lady, for as I explained, my master is engaged on the business of castle building in Kidwelly and the lady Nesta asked to be brought here as soon as possible. Now we know she is safe and will be well looked after, the rest of the column can join Gerald at the river Gwendraeth.’

  ‘Oh, she will be more than well looked after,’ said Gwladus smiling at her daughter. ‘Have her things sent over and leave the rest to me.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Godwin, and he turned to say his goodbyes to Nesta.

  ‘I shall pass news of this to Sir Gerald,’ he said, ‘and I’m sure he will pay a visit shortly. In the meantime, fare ye well, my lady.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Godwin,’ said Nesta, ‘travel safely.’

  When he had gone, Gwladus called Emma and instructed her to prepare a guest room for her daughter.

  ‘You need to get out of those wet clothes,’ said Gwladus. ‘Unfortunately, my dresses are far too big and would not do you justice. I know that Emma has a nice dress you could borrow, unless of course you think that would be beneath you?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Nesta laughed. ‘And besides, my cart will be here soon enough. Let me go and change and then we can talk.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ said Gwladus quietly as Nesta followed Emma out of the hall.

  ‘Well,’ said Marcus, from the doorway, ‘that was unexpected.’

  ‘It was,’ said Gwladus, ‘and I have a thousand questions.’

  ‘I wager you do,’ said Marcus, ‘one of which has to be, how come she is betrothed to an English lord who has waged war across Deheubarth for so many years?’

  ‘I’m just as intrigued as you, Marcus,’ said Gwladus as she turned to face him, ‘the last time I saw her, I thought she was destined to marry a prince.’

  Half an hour later, Nesta was talking to Emma in the hall when Marcus put his head around the door and announced that her cart had arrived. Nesta grinned wildly and turned to her mother.