The Oath

by A. M. Linden

  Not about to be kept from his father by a Saxon boy who was not much taller or older than he was, Arddwn clenched his fists, determined to prove he could hit as hard he’d been hit himself. And he would have if Caelym hadn’t appeared as if from nowhere and stopped Arddwn’s fist mid-swing, saying sternly, “This cannot be my son who has been away from me so short a time and yet has forgotten all manners, raising his hand against one to whom he should be forever grateful and having no proper greeting for his father!”

  Wrenching free from Aleswina’s grasp, Arddwn launched himself into Caelym’s arms with a force that would have knocked a weaker man off his feet, sobbing “Ta! Ta! Ta!” as if he were a baby even younger than Lliem.

  Aleswina had no memory of her own father and if she had, it would only have been of making timid little curtsies in his presence or peeking out at him from behind nearly closed doors. Nothing in her experience at the palace or in the convent had prepared her for the sight of a grown man giving passionate hugs and kisses to a half-grown boy. Nervously, she looked at Lliem to see if he was going to follow his brother.

  Equally bewildered, Lliem looked back and lifted both his arms up to her. Acting out of instinct, Aleswina picked him up and hugged him to her breast, again filled with a wave of fierce, protective love for the too-thin boy who clutched at her neck and felt so warm and fragile in her arms.

  Still holding Arddwn, Caelym saw Aleswina picking up Lliem and experienced an irrational surge of jealousy mixed with heartache at the sight of his son embracing a woman who was not Feywn. Reminding himself of all he owed Aleswina for hiding him from his pursuers, nursing him back to health, and now bringing his sons to him, Caelym did not tear the boy away from her. Instead, he drew in a long, calming breath before he put Arddwn down, rushed over, and reached for Lliem, saying how much he loved and missed him—only to have the little boy shrink from him and cling tighter to Aleswina.

  Arddwn saw the problem at once and assumed a knowing tone as he explained, in Celt, to his father, “He does not understand you, Ta. He only speaks English, for we were beaten if we spoke Celt, and he is a stupid little brat and has forgotten how, even though I told him he must remember.” Then he added, with no small air of pride, “You may say it to me, and I will tell him for you.”

  “Ah, now I understand, and I thank you for this kind offer, but I myself am now somewhat learned in the use of English and so will speak for myself.” Pausing a moment to nod solemnly at his older son, Caelym went on in a firmer tone, “And I will not ever again hear you call your own dear brother a ‘stupid little brat,’ knowing as you do that he is your closest and most beloved kin.”

  After kissing the tips of his fingers and touching them to Arddwn’s lips to take the sting out of his rebuke, Caelym turned and edged slowly, almost timidly, over to where Aleswina was standing with Lliem, who was clinging to her like a limpet to a rock. He stopped a pace away, bent down low enough to be eye level with the quivering boy, and spoke in careful English.

  “Greetings, my son. I see you do not remember me, for it has been now two years since we parted. I, however, remember you well and am most pleased to see you once again. With your kind permission, I will call you Lliem, the name your dear mother and I gave you with the blessing of our people’s greatest bard.”

  Still clinging tightly to Aleswina, Lliem gave a barely perceptible nod.

  Caelym returned it with a nod of his own and continued, “Now I will tell you that while my usual name is Caelym, I am hoping you will do me the honor of calling me ‘Father’ or ‘Papa’—or, if you wish, ‘Ta,’ for that is the name that Arddwn gave to me before he could say ‘Papa,’ and he has used that name ever since out of fondness and affection.”

  Too overcome with relief to be annoyed with Caelym’s speech-making, Annwr stayed sitting in the grass, drinking in the sight of Aleswina hugging Lliem and rocking him in her arms.

  If she’d ever admitted to having disappointment in Aleswina— which she never would have—it would have been the girl’s apparent inability to care for anyone besides Annwr herself. Caelym, of course, would have added that to his reasons to disparage the innocent child who’d lost her own mother so young, but now the womanly warmth Annwr had always hoped Aleswina had inside her seemed to flow out and swirl into a warm cocoon that enveloped her and the younger of Caelym’s sons. It was a moment she would keep in her heart to her dying day, one that pulled all the more on her heartstrings because Caelym had never thought to mention that Lliem had curly red hair just like Cyri’s.

  She would have been glad to have that moment last forever, but moments never do. Blinking back the tears that burned her eyes and swallowing the lump in her throat, Annwr got to her feet and herded the lot of them off the road and into the cover of the underbrush.

  Once they were safety out of sight of any passing travelers, she explained what they would to do next, speaking in English so that little Lliem would not feel left out.

  “Now that we are all together”—here, Annwr couldn’t help putting out her hand to stroke each of the boys on their cheeks—“we can go back across the bridge and up the road to where we left our packs. From there, we will have to find a road or track that will take us to Llwddawanden without going through Derthwald.” She intentionally left out anything about finding a convent for Aleswina, hoping that Caelym would see how unnecessary that was.

  If she’d been paying closer attention, she would have noticed that—although he was making small, agreeable-sounding grunts and nodding his head as she spoke—Caelym’s eyes were fixed on the bushes behind her in an unfocused gaze, suggesting that his mind was somewhere else.

  Chapter 44

  No Unnecessary Risks

  While Caelym was looking down from the ridge top, he’d had time to survey the features of the lands below him. His map was in the bag Annwr had taken from him and given to Aleswina, but he could see its every detail in his mind—the coiled dragon in the upper left corner, the three giants towering over snow-capped mountains, the dancing figure of a man with a stag’s antlers leading the line of woodland creatures along the side of river, and the maiden standing at the edge of the lake, waving farewell. He had, of course, always understood that the greatest value of the map was in its symbolism, all of which was now clear.

  He himself was the dancing man. The badger (an animal known equally for its bad temper and fierce defense of its young) nipping at his heels was Annwr. The two fox cubs skipping after the badger were Arddwn and Lliem. And the maiden waving goodbye to them all was Aleswina.

  Caught off guard by the unexpected twinge of regret that accompanied this last realization, Caelym was, for one brief moment, cast back through time to the day Herrwn unrolled the map before him.

  He’d been seated then, as he was now, with his knees drawn up—tense, poised to spring into action. It had been three days since the horrific events of the winter solstice. On the verge of leaving to search for his sons, he’d come to the classroom, the place that had been the center of his world during his years in training for the priesthood, to receive his teacher’s blessing for his quest and to hear any final words of wisdom Herrwn might have for him.

  The room’s shelves, once brimming with sacred vessels and paraphernalia, were stripped bare. Only a handful of embers glowed among the last of the coals in its hearth. Herrwn had a heavy woolen shawl layered over his winter cloak and there was a bluish tinge to the tips of his fingers. They’d sat at the intricately inlaid table where Caelym had eaten his boyhood meals, the parchment spread out between them.

  “Any quest,” Herrwn told him, “is as much about overcoming the flaws within yourself as climbing mountains or slaying dragons.”

  Keenly aware of his teacher’s penetrating scrutiny, Caelym looked long and hard at the three giants leering down at his illustrated self, assuming they represented the three flaws—pride, impulsiveness, and craving attention—he’d battled all his life.

  He had not considered lust.

 
As a priest in the service of the goddess of fertility, Caelym did not view lust as a flaw—at least, not so long as his erotic passions were exclusively directed toward Feywn, as they had been from the first time he’d seen her passing by, swathed in shimmering robes so finely woven they were almost transparent.

  Shaking his head to dismiss any feeling about Aleswina other than a benevolent concern for her welfare, Caelym returned his attention to the broad plain beyond Benyon’s manor. Forced to conclude that Herrwn’s map, for all its insights into his spiritual journey, was of no help in picking out what route to take through the maze of tracks and trails below him, Caelym had traced what seemed like the most promising way—a path that appeared to have good coverage of brush for most of its course, and which skirted a sinister cluster of barricaded buildings and came close to the edge of the forest before veering off to join a wider road to the east. He’d just finished committing the last of its several bends and turnoffs to memory when the front door of Barnard’s manor swung open.

  Now, torn between elation at having his sons back and fury at knowing what they had suffered, Caelym was only half listening to Annwr’s nattering about going to get the packs.

  It took him a moment to realize she’d finished and was waiting for some answer from him. Setting Arddwn down, he raised his dagger so that it shone in the afternoon sunlight, proclaiming, “We will go nowhere before justice is done. I will go and do it and will return with the traitor’s head as a trophy.”

  Except for Arddwn, who jumped up and down and yelled, “Yes, Ta! Yes! I’ll go too! I’ll hit him and I’ll kick him, and then you can cut him up in pieces!” the response to his valiant declaration was disappointing.

  Annwr snorted, “And just how stupid do you think he’s going to be? You think he’ll unbar the door and invite you in to cut his throat?” while Aleswina whimpered, “Oh, Caelym, no! You mustn’t! I think he’s repented! He gave me both boys and all of the money he had and says he loves Jesus!”

  None of this would have stopped Caelym if he hadn’t seen Lliem shrinking away from him, terrorized by his rage. Sheathing his knife, he turned to Annwr and asked in a soft voice what she thought they should do—meaning, what she thought they should do to wreak vengeance on Benyon.

  Missing his point completely, she went back to talking about going through the village and over the bridge to get their packs.

  Caelym had no intention of ever again setting foot in that accursed village, where everyone had known what his sons were suffering and no one had lifted a hand to help them. As to crossing back over the bridge, risking his sons being recaptured just to get packs that were too heavy to carry on the long and arduous path that lay ahead—there was as much chance of that as of him dousing himself with honey and spending the night in a bear’s den.

  Mistaking Caelym’s silence for assent, Annwr looked around for the staffs and bowl. In the rush to get to Aleswina and the boys, she must have left them on the bluff. Rather than climb the hill herself—and leave Caelym unwatched—she sent him to get them, breathing a sigh of relief to see him stride up the trail with Arddwn scrambling after him and then smiling when they came marching down, Arddwn proudly thumping the smaller of the staves into the ground exactly as Caelym was thumping the larger one.

  It was all going much better than she expected. She gave another relieved sigh, then said, “Well, we’ll be off, then, and if anyone in the village asks about the boys being with us, we’ll say—”

  “There will be no need to say anything, as we are not going back through the village, we are going that way.”

  Caelym—who seemed to have forgotten what Annwr had explained, or else hadn’t been listening when she said it—was pointing straight across the plain to mountains that were fading into a dark blur in the rapidly failing light.

  Clearing her throat to be sure she had his full attention this time, she repeated, a little louder, “We have to go back to get our packs. From there, we can follow the river through the woods and then—”

  “We have no need of the packs and will not risk going back to get them. I have chosen the path we will take. We will start as soon as it’s dark, so we can travel without being seen. Meanwhile, there is time for me to . . .” Caelym glanced at Lliem and went on in a mild tone of voice, “make a brief visit to the manor down the road and repay its proprietor for the tending he has given to my sons.”

  Loath to argue in front of the boys, Annwr moderated her tone as well. “As much as you may wish to settle your account with your loyal and trusted servant . . .” Fully intending her dig to remind Caelym that his judgment was hardly what they should go by, she allowed a long, significant moment to go by before finishing, “We must take no unnecessary risks, especially as we now have your sons’ safety to consider.”

  By the time she realized she’d stepped directly into the trap Caelym had set for her, it was too late—he’d already burst out, “Oh, Annwr, most excellent of midwives, whose wisdom and counsel are my guiding light in this dark and dangerous world, I see how right you were in saying we must take no unnecessary risks, especially as we now have these boys’ safety to consider, and I know you will agree that we will do nothing so reckless as returning through an enemy town or crossing over that watchfully guarded bridge for the sake of a few blankets and a cooking pot.”

  Annoyed with herself for being tripped up by what she should have recognized as a ploy, Annwr sputtered, “Our packs have no more than the bare necessities for the journey ahead of us. Without them, what will we do for drinks and food? How do you propose we cook our meals and keep warm at night?”

  “I will hold my sons to keep them warm,” Caelym shot back. “We will drink water from streams, catch fish for food, and roast them without the need for a pot.”

  “And how will you light the fire without a flint?”

  “We have my satchel. Did you think that I traveled to your door without flint or tinder?”

  “And do you think that is all we will need? Your sons are dressed in rags! What in your satchel will serve to make them clothes, or—”

  She was cut off as Caelym spread his arms out as if he were invoking deities of the forests and rivers to answer her question. Then, with flourish of his finger and a toss of his head, he undid the ties of his robe, lifted it off his shoulders, and swirled it around him. Shifting it from one hand to the other, he twirled it lower as he sank to his knees and let it settle in a semi-circle on the ground. Then he held one hand out to Aleswina, saying, “My bag, if you please.”

  Clearly dazzled by the display, Aleswina shifted Lliem to one side, slipped the bag off her shoulder, and gave it to Caelym.

  Arddwn crouched down at the edge of the cloak, and Lliem loosened his grip on Aleswina’s neck to watch.

  Annwr pursed her lips. Of course he was putting on a show to impress the boys—but with no way to stop him without appearing to be contrary, she joined Aleswina and the boys as they gathered around Caelym’s cape and watched him set his satchel down between his knees, unlace the straps, and slip his hand inside.

  In a theatrical gesture, Caelym pulled out the bags Aleswina had gotten from Barnard and opened first one then the other, spilling a stream of glittering coins onto the cloak.

  As the gold and silver disks flowed out, his eyebrows rose.

  So Aleswina was right. Benyon had “repented,” and—believing her to be the servant of a Christian priest—must be sending this trove in lieu of confessing his sins. That, to Caelym’s mind, merely added insult to injury, since his sins had been against Druids and were not a matter over which any Christian priest had authority! At this added affront, his rage, along with his resolve to exact vengeance, returned.

  He was about to say as much to Annwr, when, in the final spatter of coins, a circular silver ornament fell onto the top of the heap.

  While it was roughly the size and shape of a mid-size coin, this was no crudely struck token of exchange, but a perfectly round disk inlaid with gold in the shape of an oa
k tree, so skillfully executed that each tiny branch and each infinitesimal leaf was distinct.

  It was a one-of-a-kind object, and Caelym recognized it instantly as the centerpiece from a necklace he had carried reverently in his hands as his sacred offering to the Goddess at the spring equinox when he was seventeen. As he reached out, picked it up, and felt its cool, smooth surface between his fingers, he knew he was holding the answer to the mystery of where Benyon had come by his vast wealth.

  The seething rage that had risen in his breast receded, leaving only a sense of regret that he wasn’t going to have the satisfaction of wringing Benyon’s neck or cutting out his liver. The wretched fool had robbed the sunken trove of the Goddess Herself, and by that act he had surely doomed himself to a fate worse than a mortal could devise for him. She had, no doubt, merely held back the dread force of her fury until Arddwn and Lliem were out of harm’s way.

  With that heartening thought, Caelym added the gold and jewels from Aleswina’s pouch to the pile of coins and flashed a smile in Annwr’s direction.

  A grim look on her face, Annwr answered his unspoken challenge with a sharp retort. “A great wealth we have indeed, only we cannot cook gold or eat emeralds.”

  Equally adamant that they would take the path he chose, Caelym scooped up a double handful of coins and let them trickle out from between his fingers. “Nor would we risk our teeth trying. I think, however, this will buy such food and clothes as we need, with some to spare. Especially”—he offered a sweeping bow to the bedazzled Aleswina—“as we will have ‘Codric’ to barter for us.”

  With that, he turned his attention to separating the gold from the silver and the jewels from the coins and scooping the piles back into their respective sacks.