by Troy A Hill
That was Emlyn’s warning to slow down. He was right. We needed to let the young lord burn energy off.
We saluted each other again. This time I slowed enough to keep Cadoc in the fight. After we spun and danced for several minutes, I slowed a touch more, as though I was tiring, and gave him an edge in the fight. He even got one blow through an opening I knew I was giving him. Like Emlyn, he pulled the blow enough to only tap me.
I stepped back and saluted in recognition of the success.
“Continue,” Emlyn barked.
No rest for us.
Cadoc and I continued our sparring. Even though the day was overcast, I could sense the connection to my goddess humming, giving me power.
Another hour drifted by. Emlyn allowed us to break once so Cadoc could drain a mug. Emlyn handed me an almost empty cup he had poured himself.
Sawyl waved his men back towards the keep. “Back to duty with all of you,” he said and gave a short bow to me, Cadoc, and Emlyn.
Cadoc stood, nursing his mug, staring down at the keep as though he was imagining what Enid was going through. Emlyn and I stepped away and gave him some space.
“I’ll need more refreshment tonight,” I said. I tilted the cup back as if I were actually drinking from it in case anyone down below glanced our way.
“Already?” he asked. How quickly he forgot. Since I rotated through feedings with Gwen, Rhian, and him, Emlyn probably wasn’t aware of exactly when I’d need to feed.
“The sun is up, even though it’s cloudy.” I looked at the grey skies.
“Even with the clouds?” he asked. “That means there is less light?”
“It’s not the light. The sun in the sky fatigues me,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. “I can feel it when it rises, and every minute it hangs there, pulling at me.”
“And what we do in bed doesn’t fatigue you?”
“Silly,” I said. “I can go all night. Can you?”
“Ah, no…” he said and blushed. I smiled and raised my cup again. He shifted his gaze down to the keep.
“You’re not likely to ever…?”
“Six centuries of being dead, and I haven’t yet.” I slid my arm around his waist and leaned into him. “Can you imagine me with a child? Better yet, can you imagine us with a child?”
I felt his chuckle as it echoed in his chest.
“My nephew’s children will be more than enough for me,” he said.
“Any word from the continent yet?” I said to change the subject.
“Your second sword?”
“Of course.”
“None yet,” Emlyn said. “Perhaps late this summer we’ll have confirmation that we were able to find Emilius’s master smith.”
“If his sons have continued their family trade,” I said. “Why didn’t you let me send the inquiry? My factor in Sussex can get word to the continent and have our agents in every port start seeking him.”
“That is exactly the type of attention Emilius doesn’t want this family to have,” Emlyn added. “The only reason he’s been able to maintain their relationship for generations is that he keeps their masterwork secret.”
“And he told you where to find them?” I said. I knew I shouldn’t grump at Emlyn. Aemi had never shared the information with me. He would have. We had no secrets, however, I never thought to ask. That was a task my brother handled. Ordering blades.
“Still, you didn’t need to sneak behind my back about it,” I said, refusing to let my snit drift away. The tension of waiting on the babies was getting to me too.
“Rhian and Bleddyn wanted a surprise for you,” Emlyn said. “After what you sacrificed for us, for our people, Rhian could think of no better gift.”
“Family, friends, you and Gwen,” I said. “That’s all the gift I need. Penllyn is home now, and always shall be.” I leaned into Emlyn, enjoying the warmth of his body, the rough musky odour he had, mixed with the scents of oil and steel that always clung to him.
“Cadoc!” Emlyn called after a moment. Always to business with him, and weapons were his business.
The young lord turned our way. Emlyn tilted his head towards the field. “You take the spear. Show me what you learned.”
7
Visitors
Another hour passed us on the field. Each time we broke for a drink, Cadoc filled his cup and stared down at the keep, and Emlyn and I gave him space. The people of Caer Penllyn kept finding reasons to drift into the great hall even though we were between meal times. Baby excitement was on everyone’s minds.
I had to give Cadoc credit, though. Once we were on the practice field, weapons in hand, he kept his mind on the task. Emlyn’s influence on him as a fighter was evident. Once he got over that first bout, he stayed focussed on our sparring.
“Dearest,” Gwen’s thought interrupted me as I shifted my weight and dodged just out of line of Cadoc’s overhand strike.
“Babies?” I asked.
“Two fine and healthy babies,” she sent. “You can send the father down.”
I knocked Cadoc’s next blow out of line, then stepped back two quick steps. I raised my spear into a salute position.
“Lady Gwen invites you to meet your heirs,” I said.
The young lord’s eyes went wide, and he turned towards the keep. He took one step, then turned back towards me. “Thank you, Mair, for keeping me occupied.” He nodded at me and raised his main sword to salute. After he swooshed it to the side, he gave Emlyn a nod. The penteulu reached for the practice weapons. Cadoc passed them over, then ran down the hill.
“Planning on a round yourself?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he replied, shifting his gaze towards the main gate. The guard there had just raised a pennant to signal. I knew the colour codes now. Riders from another cantref coming in.
“Expecting anyone?”
“Spring is about here,” he said, his eyes on the gate. “Time for trading. Could be any of the other Cymry lords looking for horseflesh.”
Riders came in. From here I could see many of them sported thick beards. Most were dark or light haired. With the facial hair, I expected more reds and auburns, like Ruadh’s. Next to me, Emlyn watched them with interest.
“Recognise the colours?” I pointed towards the banner one man carried. Half a score riders had come in, and each, save one, was peeling off their baldrics and passing their weapons over to the guards at the gate.
“One of Penda’s thanes, Cenric.”
“Should I know who that is? Lord Cenric, I mean…”
“Penda’s got three layers of thanes under him,” Emlyn said. “Cenric is in the middle layer. High enough to have Penda’s ear, but he better not waste the king’s time. Come on. I imagine my brother is still having family time. We’d better greet them in his place.”
“Bleddyn’s my brother, too,” I said and slapped his shoulder.
“Good that we’re both adopted into the family, then,” Emlyn said. “I may have to call you ‘sis’ tonight in bed.”
“You do and I might not stay around long enough for you to have fun,” I teased. We were still far away from anyone else and keeping our voices quiet.
“You’ll stay,” he said and shot a grin at me. “Your eyes were getting their red cast in that last bout. Emilius wanted to feed when his eyes glowed.”
“Merda! Even though Cadoc knows about me, do you think he noticed?”
“With babies on his mind, I doubt it.” Emlyn kept his strides long. Without the confines of a skirt, I could move fast enough to keep up with him. I liked trousers better than a dress.
“I doubt you’ll need to use your other titles, unless you meet Penda himself,” Emlyn added. “With any of Penda’s thanes, being sister to Lord Penllyn should be more than enough of a title to keep their respect.”
“Other kings Penda supports, and a few close thanes.” Emlyn raised a hand in greeting to the grey-haired man leading the entourage. He was the only who kept his sword out of all the men. “A few war leaders
. Men like Afon, willing to sell their skills and knowledge out. Afon has tales of one man he fought under. Wanted to retire to be a monk.”
“Men of war rarely live long enough to become monks.”
“I met the man once,” Emlyn chuckled. “Don’t recall his name. He had the look. I recognised it immediately. He had the weariness, too. The slump of the shoulders that told me he was ready for the quiet life. He had seen his last battle.
“Emlyn!” Lord Cenric bellowed. He strode forward, his arm out and a broad smile on his face.
The two men clasped arms and leaned in to pat each other on the back.
“Lord Cenric, my sister Lady Mair,” Emlyn said, turning towards me.
The thane’s eyes went wide. He bowed low for a man of his station. I must have impressed him.
“The Lady Mair of Penllyn,” he said as he rose. “I am honoured beyond measure, milady. Penda himself has asked me to extend an invitation for you to visit him.”
I wanted to curse. I knew, however, to keep my courtly manners.
“What have I done to reach the ears of His Grace?”
“Word of the battle of Penllyn’s abbey.” Lord Cenric grinned large enough for his teeth to break through the grey streaks in his dark beard. “His Grace would love to meet Emlyn’s prize student.”
“Deodamnatus!” escaped my lips. So much for a quiet life in Penllyn.
Emlyn snorted.
“Not your student?” Cenric asked.
“It’s more complicated than that,” Emlyn said. “We don’t need her reputation to go beyond the walls of this caer.” Emlyn waved, and Talian headed our direction.
“Take these to the armoury.” He passed the practice swords to the young man, then pushed my spear on him. Talian bowed and hurried off without a word. Cenric waved his men towards the fenced area where the stables were being rebuilt after last autumn’s battle.
Emlyn waved us towards the keep. The path was big enough for three of us to walk abreast.
“What brings you to Penllyn?” Emlyn asked.
“Trade, and a small favour,” Cenric said. “Is Cadoc running the negotiations for horses?”
“You’d better talk to my brother,” Emlyn said. “My nephew is welcoming his two new children into the world. Your arrival was perfectly timed.”
“Perhaps I should speak to Cadoc, then. He might be feeling generous.”
“How many head are you after?”
“Depends on the price. I’m approved to negotiate for up to two score.”
“War coming?”
“Perhaps.” Cenric looked off to the north-east for a second. “You never know about Oswiu. Penda’s son Paeda was just named king of Middle Anglia. His Grace wants a suitable gift. King Paeda may be wed by summer’s end. How about you? Did a woman take your heart yet?”
“Married?” Emlyn asked. “Why does everyone want me married off?”
Cenric chuckled. “Paeda has journeyed to see Oswiu about obtaining his daughter’s hand for betrothal,” Cenric added.
“Oswiu’s daughter?” Emlyn laughed. “After Penda’s visit to Deira last year, I suspected that you’d need a full werod riding with Paeda. We heard about Penda’s bonfire at Oswiu’s gates.”
“One of King Penda’s daughters married Oswiu’s son last fall,” Cenric said. “That’s when you were having your troubles here with… Fadog, was it?”
“And that guild of Witch Hunters,” I added. “They’re not welcome in most of Cymru now.”
“Penda allows priests of any religion within his lands,” Cenric said. “As long as they minister to the sick and follow through on their word.”
“These guilders are more interested in finding heretics and burning them, or worse.” I looked towards the abbey on the next hill. “Unfortunately, they usually accuse the innocent. Especially when they get a large enough donation from that party’s enemies or jilted suitor.”
“Do you expect Oswiu to want to marry off another of his children to Mercia?” Emlyn asked.
“Frankly,” Cenric said, stroking his beard as he considered the question, “I doubt it. Oswiu is more about dynasty and spreading the faith of his clergy. Your Cymry priests at Hye have his ear. His wife, however, is letting in the Roman priests of the Anglos. Paeda follows the gods of his ancestors, so I doubt that Oswiu will be in favour of such a union.”
“You mentioned a favour?” Emlyn asked. “What can Penllyn do for our friends from Mercia?”
“My youngest son, Dunstan”—Cenric pointed to one of the young men who had ridden in with him—“and two other youngsters need to earn their swords,” Cenric said. The three young men, beardless and with seaxes, not swords, on their hips, were pulling saddles and packs off the other men’s horses. “Sons of my best men. They’re ready to start their beards. They need a trial or two to prove their mettle.”
“Rights of manhood?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what the customs were in the Saxon lands.
“They passed those last spring,” Cenric said. “This is to test their mettle as warriors. They’ve asked to join Penda’s guard, his werod. Lord Ludló requires that I administer a test of bravery and ingenuity before he’ll take them as apprentices.”
“What have you in mind?” Emlyn asked. “Not combat against me, I hope?”
Cenric laughed. “Only if one misbehaves. If we could use one of your caves at the back of the hill. I seem to recall there’s a deep one Lord Penllyn showed me a few visits ago.”
“Send them in to retrieve a trinket and scare the piss out of them?”
“If they piss themselves, they don’t get their swords.” Cenric waved towards the armoury, where Talian was unlatching the door. “Have any youngsters you need to send through?”
“Not him,” I said. “Talian proved himself last fall.”
“Battle will do that. You Cymry need to grow beards so we know who has earned their swords.”
“Cymry are prettier than Anglos,” Emlyn said with a grin. “We don’t need to cover our faces with hair.”
Cenric gave him a look. “Something has changed in you, old friend. I don’t recall you ever smiling.”
“Age,” Emlyn said. But he glanced at me.
8
Into the Dark
Emlyn and I stood with Bleddyn and Sawyl at the outer reach of the campfire. I had invited Talian along. He stood near me, hand resting on the hilt of his own sword.
“Our fathers and their fathers all faced trials,” Cenric intoned that night.
Cenric’s men ringed the three beardless youths kneeling before the fire. Talian could have fit in with that crowd. The youth were his own age, perhaps a year younger.
“All of them stood tall, all of them overcame their fears. They joined the werod because of their bravery. Will you stand tall?”
“What is a werod?” Talian whispered.
“The thegn’s war band, like our teulu,” Emlyn said.
“We will,” the three said. Their voices were solid, their backs straight. But each of them let their eyes drift to the shadows of the cliff behind Cenric. They jerked their heads back as he spoke again.
“Take a single candle. One of you will carry it and shield its flame. Do not allow it to extinguish.” He passed a single taper to one youth. Then he handed two wooden clubs as thick as my wrist to the others.
“Guard the flame bearer and protect the light in the darkness. Search until you find Lord Penllyn’s chest. Inside it are three bags of coin. Lord Penllyn requires that you retrieve them. Take not for yourself, and show honour to your ancestors. Inside the cave, you will face and overcome your fears. You will find trials and tribulations. Only the stout of heart, and men of true character, worthy to join the Fyrd, will succeed. “
“We will honour our forefathers,” each of the youths intoned together. Two of them swallowed hard. One, Cenric’s son, hefted his wooden rod and slapped it into his palm. He nudged the youth next to him.
“Light the wick and let’s get this done.”
“What’s the treasure?” Talian asked.
“Coin to pay Penllyn for the horses,” Emlyn said.
“Half,” Bleddyn said. “We’re not dimwitted enough to allow the boys to have access to the full amount.”
Cenric drifted back towards us. His men moved to the cave entrance and cocked their heads to listen.
“You drive a hard bargain, My Lord Penllyn,” Penda’s man said. “Those two new babies must be starving if you had to ask for both coin and wagons of grain.”
“Rebuilding our caer and the abbey is hungry work, Cenric,” Bleddyn said. “But I’ve agreed to an extra six steeds of my own choosing as a gift from Penllyn to Penda’s son.”
A muffled thump and a cry of surprise echoed from within the cave. The Mercians laughed.
“Your men seem too skilled with sneaking and surprise.” Cenric was smiling. “I’ll thank them for their efforts when the lads return.”
“Afon was taking wagers on how many would piss themselves,” Emlyn said.
“I’ve wagered on only one,” Sawyl said. “That Dunstan is too much like me. Cocksure and ready to get into trouble. He’ll either be the best or the first to wet himself.” He glanced at Lord Cenric. “My apologies, milord. No offence meant against your boy. I wagered he would not wet himself.”
“None taken, good man.” Cenric clapped him on the arm. “My son is still learning to find his inner warrior. And he is larger than the others, so he gets teased something fierce.”
Cursing, then several thuds, and more distant cries sounded in the cave. Bleddyn chuckled.
“Afon is as ornery as a pwca,” he said.
“Pwca?” Cenric cocked his head like he was searching his memory. “Ah, one of the fae spirits. Pranksters.”
“They can be,” Emlyn said. “I first met Afon when he was being harassed by one. I had to give him a couple of scars to remind him to behave.”