by K. M. Ashman
‘Who speaks for you?’ roared the man in the tabard.
‘I am he,’ replied Broadwick stepping forward, ‘and who is it who interferes with the business of the king?’
‘I’m Lord Goronwy of Powys,’ replied the other knight, ‘and demand to know why you are set about killing innocents on my land.’
‘That man is no innocent,’ said Broadwick pointing at the prisoner being helped from the river, ‘he is a fugitive from the law.’
‘Whose law?’ asked Goronwy.
‘Henry’s law,’ shouted Broadwick, ‘and as such I demand his return immediately.’
‘Our treaty clearly states that Henry’s jurisdiction ends at this river,’ said Goronwy, ‘and as such, the fate of these people now lays in my hands.’
‘Three you can keep,’ shouted Broadwick, ‘but the prisoner amongst them belongs to the throne of England, and I demand his return in the name of the king.’
‘I do not recognise the king’s law on this side of the river,’ roared Goronwy, ‘and what is more, I demand you leave this valley forthwith before I forget where we are and have my army cut you down as the murderer you clearly are.’
Broadwick was seething, but despite his anger he knew he had been bettered. If he raised the ire of the two kings opposite, he and his men would be dead in moments. Without another word he turned away and mounted his horse. Finally, he turned back and faced the two armies.
‘You haven’t heard the last of this, Goronwy,’ he roared. ‘Henry will make you pay with blood for your insubordination.’
‘For the sake of a mere prisoner, Sir Knight?’ shouted Goronwy. ‘I very much doubt it. Now be gone before I lose my patience.’
Broadwick and his men turned away and headed back to Hen Domen. Goronwy watched them go before riding to where his soldiers had formed a circle around those they had just rescued. He dismounted and pushed his way through before looking at the scene before him. To one side, an emaciated man was sat with a blanket over his shoulders while Tarw knelt at the side of Gwladus. Goronwy’s heart sank as he saw the woman’s dress was sodden with blood.
‘How is she?’ he asked no one in particular.
One of the soldiers looked up and shook his head.
‘The bolt passed straight through, my lord, but she has lost a lot of blood. I fear she has only moments to live.’
Goronwy walked over and kneeled beside Gwladus.
‘Who are you, good lady?’ he asked. ‘And what awful events have brought you to this fate?’
‘Her name,’ snapped Tarw, ‘is Gwladus ap Rhiwallon, wife of Rhys ap Tewdwr and once queen of all Deheubarth.’
Goronwy turned to stare at Tarw in shock.
‘This is the wife of Tewdwr?’ he gasped.
‘Yes,’ said Tarw, ‘and a purer soul has never walked God’s earth. She took an arrow in the back to save a man, even though she didn’t know whether or not he was her son.’
Goronwy looked over at the emaciated prisoner. His mind working furiously as he realised the implications and he turned back to Tarw.
‘If that is Gwladus, who are you?’
‘I am her youngest son, Gruffydd ap Rhys, otherwise known as Tarw, prince of Deheubarth.’
Goronwy stared in astonishment. ‘God moves in mysterious ways,’ he said quietly, staring down at the dying woman.
‘It seems that God is a cruel master,’ hissed Tarw, fighting back the tears. ‘Why would he send an army to help save my brother only to take my mother in his stead? What sort of God plays such tricks?’
‘Don’t judge the Lord, Tarw, lest you be judged yourself.’
‘Let him do what he must,’ said Tarw, ‘for I have no time for him this day.’
‘I only wish I had arrived sooner,’ said Goronwy. ‘A few moments earlier and they would both have lived.’
‘The fault is not yours,’ said Tarw without taking his gaze from his mother’s face. ‘It was the result of a tyranny we Welsh have put up with for far too long, and one that I swear I will one day bring to an end.’
‘There is fire in your words, Tarw,’ said Goronwy, ‘but now is not the time or the place. Look to your mother and see that her last moments are blessed with the love of her family.’
Tarw saw the queen’s eyes flicker open.
‘Mother,’ he said quietly, ‘lie still, the pain will be less.’
‘Bring him to me,’ she whispered.
‘Mother, I know not if it is him,’ said Tarw, ‘he could be anyone.’
‘Bring him to me,’ she said again, her words hardly audible.
Behind Tarw, Marcus marched over to the prisoner and dragged him to his feet, pulling his face close to his.
‘Now you listen to me,’ he hissed, spittle splashing on the prisoner’s face. ‘That woman over there is dying. She saved your life hoping you are the son she hasn’t seen for many years. There is no time to establish the truth so you will go over there and make her last moments on this earth as happy as they can be, even if you have to lie. Understood?’
The man nodded and turned away, walking slowly to where Gwladus lay. He dropped to his knees and took her hands in his.
‘Mother,’ he said quietly, after a glance over at Tarw, ‘I am here.’
‘Hywel?’ asked Gwladus, her eyes opening again and struggling to focus on the face above her. ‘Is it really you?’
‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘I am here for you. We are together again.’
Gwladus breathed deeply several times before speaking.
‘If it is truly you, my son,’ she said then answer me this. ‘What is the name of the only other woman who loved you as a child? Tell me truthfully and I will go to my God with a pleasure greater than I have ever known.’
Behind them Marcus stepped forward to intervene but was restrained by Goronwy. ‘Leave him,’ he said.
The fugitive started shaking and tears rolled down his face at the sight of the dying woman. Tarw looked at the sobbing man, unsure if the emotion was real or as a result of the suffering he had endured in his life. Their eyes met for a mere moment and instantly, Tarw knew the truth.
‘Tell her,’ Tarw said.
‘Nesta,’ whispered the man through his sobs, his hand reaching out to stroke his mother’s hair. ‘Her name was Nesta ferch Rhys and she was my beautiful little sister.’ His body shuddered with grief as the memories came flooding back. As he cried, Gwladus used the last of her strength to lift her arms and embrace him.
‘It’s all right, Hywel,’ she said gently, ‘your mother’s here. You are safe now.’
And as Hywel ap Rhys collapsed into his mother’s arms, Gwladus ferch Rhiwallon died from her wounds, knowing that both her remaining sons were by her side at last.
The Outskirts of Brycheniog
October 10th, AD 1105
Goronwy rode over to Tarw, reining in his horse beside that of the southern prince. His army had escorted them southward through brigand-held territory and had eventually caught up with Nesta and the wagon the previous day. They had camped overnight near a local village and after finding a priest, took the opportunity to bury Gwladus in the cemetery of a nearby church.
‘This is as far as we go, Tarw,’ said Goronwy. ‘From here on, the princes are loyal to Wales and your journey should be event free. Not even Belleme will pursue you this far south. With good fortune and fair weather you should be back in Dinefwr Castle within a few days.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Tarw, ‘your protection was much appreciated.’
‘How is your sister?’
‘Surprisingly strong,’ said Tarw. ‘I’m sure that deep inside she grieves in her own way but outwardly she is just concerned about Hywel.’
‘Perhaps that is a good thing,’ said Goronwy, ‘and in time, the grief will come. So what lies before you now?’
‘First we have to make my brother well again,’ replied Tarw. ‘Believe it or not, I have never met him in the flesh and we have a lot to catch up on.’
‘I
think he will recover well,’ said Goronwy, ‘but take your time for his injuries are of the mind as well as the flesh.’
‘I know,’ said Tarw, ‘and my sister will ensure he has the best of care.’
‘And what of you, will you return to Ireland?’
‘I don’t know yet. My head says I should for I have a good life there but my heart burns to stay in Wales and fight for that which is lost.’
‘That is a lifetime’s commitment,’ said Goronwy, ‘and a decision that should not be taken lightly.’
‘Did you know my father?’ asked Tarw.
‘Alas no,’ said Goronwy, ‘though I am told he was a good man.’
‘Yet he left no enduring legacy.’
‘Let the memory of what he did at Mynydd Carn be his legacy,’ said Goronwy, ‘for that day, alongside Gruffydd and against overwhelming odds he stopped Wales becoming absorbed into the English nation. No man can claim a better memorial.’
‘So are you going home?’ asked Tarw.
‘I am. Though there be treaties in place with the king, the Marcher lords are just as dangerous as ever. Besides, I need to report back to Gruffydd about what has taken place these past few days.’
‘Then travel safely,’ said Tarw, ‘and one day, when my kingdom is restored, I will repay this debt a thousand-fold.’
The following day, the column rode through Brycheniog, heading westward towards Deheubarth. Hywel lay in the back of the cart, tended by Nesta while Marcus rode alongside Tarw and Connor. As they neared a bridge, their path was blocked by a single rider.
Tarw held up his hand and the rest of the column drew to a halt.
‘And who may that be?’ asked Connor.
‘I don’t know,’ said Tarw. ‘Go ahead and find out.’
Connor urged his horse forward and talked to the lone rider before coming back to speak to Tarw.
‘It’s one of Owain’s men from the assault on Hen Domen,’ said Connor. ‘He says Owain hopes that everything went as expected but now waits upon his purse.’
‘A fair expectation,’ said Tarw. ‘Where is Owain now?’
‘There,’ said Connor and he pointed up the nearby hill where a solitary man was sat upon a log.
‘Why does he have to be so dramatic?’ Tarw sighed. ‘That man really annoys me sometimes.’
‘Who?’ asked Nesta, walking over from the back of the cart to see what the delay was.
‘Owain ap Cadwgan,’ said Tarw. ‘He has the personality of a snake, the morals of a rat and the cunning of a fox. What women see in him I’ll never know.’
‘What does he want?’
‘He seeks the cost of his involvement,’ said Tarw, ‘and in truth, Hywel would not be here without Owain’s aid.’
‘Then we should pay him the agreed cost. Where is the purse?’
‘In the strong box in the cart. Bring it to me and I will pay the man.’
‘No,’ said Nesta slowly, ‘let me be the one to hand over the blood money. I am intrigued to see what man causes so many women to fall at his feet.
Tarw looked at Nesta and then up at Owain before returning his gaze to his sister.
‘I don’t see why not,’ he said with a grin, ‘it would be good to see the man meet his match. Marcus, go with her, you never know, he may just need protection from my sister, methinks he has never met a woman as strong-willed as she.’
Nesta returned to the wagon and brought a satchel of money from the strong box before borrowing a horse from one of the soldiers.
‘Come on then,’ she said, ‘the quicker we pay our debt the quicker we can get Hywel home.’
‘Marcus Freeman,’ said Owain as the man walked up the hill to meet him, ‘we meet again. And who is this beauty at your side?’
‘Greetings, Owain,’ said Marcus, ‘this is Nesta ferch Rhys, the sister of the man we released from Hen Domen.’
‘Lady Nesta,’ said Owain getting to his feet and taking her hand. ‘It is an honour to meet you. Please accept my deepest condolences about your departed mother.’
‘Thank you,’ said Nesta withdrawing her hand. ‘She was indeed a special lady.’
‘I never had the pleasure of knowing her,’ said Owain. For a few moments there was silence between them until finally Nesta spoke.
‘So, I believe we have some business to conclude?’
‘We do,’ said Owain, ‘but before we continue, I feel obliged to make my feelings clear.’
‘In what way?’
‘I had heard rumours about your incredible beauty,’ replied Owain, ‘but I pity the man who told me for he was obviously blind. You are far more beautiful than even he described. Had I known then perhaps I would have made an effort to meet you sooner.’
‘Thank you,’ said Nesta, ‘but I have come here to pay a debt, not to listen to a scoundrel with words sweeter than the honey of a bee.’
‘Ordinarily I would see that as a challenge,’ said Owain, ‘but there is something about you I have never seen before.’
‘And what is that may I ask?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Owain, ‘only to say I am enchanted.’
‘Then un-enchant yourself,’ said Nesta holding out the satchel, ‘and take what you have earned.’
‘How much is in there?’ asked Owain.
‘The full amount,’ said Nesta, ‘we are an honourable family and pay what is promised.’
‘If I recall, the price was more than a minor lord would see in an entire lifetime.’
‘Almost a king’s ransom,’ said Nesta. ‘Now do you want it or not?’
Owain stared at Nesta and she felt his eyes burning into hers. For the first time she could see how attractive he really was and the confidence of his manner made her breath harder to draw.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Owain, ‘I’ll make you a deal. You give me a single kiss and you can take that money back to your family.’
‘What?’ gasped Nesta, lowering her arm. ‘There is a fortune in this bag. Why would you give it up for such a small thing?’
‘Money I can get,’ said Owain. ‘A kiss from someone as beautiful as you is a far more precious award.’
‘This is nonsense,’ said Nesta. ‘I am a married woman. What makes you think I would kiss you?’
‘Because I suspect your family could use the money,’ said Owain, ‘and in return, all I ask is one simple kiss. Surely your husband would forgive you that.’
Nesta stared at the man, her pulse racing. His eyes still pierced deep into her soul and she could feel herself blushing.
‘Well?’ he said as she wavered.
‘You are right,’ she said eventually, ‘my family needs this money more than you could ever know, and yes, my husband would forgive me, for he has forgiven much worse. But it is not about him, or my family, it is not even about you. This is about me and my self-respect.’ She threw the satchel towards him and he caught it easily with one outstretched hand. ‘So take your money, Owain ap Cadwgan,’ she continued, ‘and no, you will not be getting your kiss, today or any time in the future. I have a family to repair and a kingdom to rebuild.’
Without another word she turned away and made her way back down the hill, closely followed by Marcus.
‘Travel safely, Lady Nesta.’ Owain laughed. ‘But know this. Before my days are over I will have that kiss, no matter how long it takes. And when I do, it will be with your blessing.’
‘Ignore him,’ said Marcus as they continued to walk.
‘I am trying,’ hissed Nesta, ‘but he is so damn annoying.’
A few minutes later they reached the wagon and Tarw looked at his sister.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘how did it go?’
‘Just get us home,’ snapped Nesta walking straight past him and climbing into the wagon. ‘We have work to do.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Tarw asked Marcus.
‘I don’t think it went quite as well as she had planned,’ said Marcus, and with a l
augh he spurred his horse forward to cross the bridge.
Back in the cart, Nesta tucked a blanket around the sleeping Hywel, but as the column resumed its journey she sneaked one last look up the hill, and was strangely disappointed to see the log empty. Owain had gone.
Dinefwr Castle
October 29th, AD 1105
Tarw walked slowly around the deserted bailey of the castle alongside Marcus. Over at the gate, Connor waited patiently, holding the reins of two horses, each loaded with enough rations for a week’s travel.
‘So,’ said Marcus as they walked, ‘you are going back to Ireland.’
‘For now,’ said Tarw. ‘I have to sort out my affairs there but once that is done, I will return and try to salvage what I can of our estates.’
‘How long do you think that will take?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Tarw, ‘perhaps a couple of months, perhaps a bit longer. But while I am away, I want you to run this place for me. I have a little money left, enough for you to engage some staff and run the estate until winter. Once that is gone, you will have to earn a living some other way but this will always be your home.’
‘A castle of my own.’ Marcus laughed. ‘Oh, how I’ve come on in the world.’
Tarw smiled. ‘My mother would have liked it,’ he said, ‘she was very fond of you.’
‘And I was fond of her,’ said Marcus, ‘and if truth be told, I was always envious of your father for marrying the best-looking woman in the south. I only regret that she never knew the affection I held for her.’
‘I think she had a good idea,’ said Tarw. ‘Anyway, what news of Hywel?’
‘I left Pembroke Castle just yesterday,’ said Marcus, ‘having spent a few days there with Nesta.’
‘And?’
‘Hywel recovers well and already gains fat about his bones. He suffers badly from nightmares but at least he is regaining his health.’
‘That’s good,’ said Tarw, ‘by the time I return, perhaps he will be well enough to ride alongside me and together we can rebuild what was once ours.’