A Whisper of Darkness

by Troy A Hill

  I looked at the dresses laid on the bed. Green was Gwen’s colour, and Thea was correct that I preferred midnight blues and deep burgundy in my wardrobe.

  “The dark red should be fine for tonight. How long until we’ll be summoned?”

  “Probably an hour, milady.” Thea slid a delicate hand under the bed linens. “Would you like to join me here?”

  “Perhaps later, Thea,” I said and waved towards the wine pitcher on the sideboard. “Pour yourself a cup and sit. I’d like to tap your well of knowledge about who I’ll be encountering tonight.”

  “Politics and intrigue? My speciality,” she said. After she filled her cup, she looked at me and raised the pitcher. I waved off the invitation and continued to roll the cup I held between my palms.

  An hour and three cups of wine for Thea later, she helped me slide into my dress. The wool was just as fine as any in Rhian’s closet, though the embroidery across the neck and sleeves was less Celtic in design. Still, Thea had a good eye for sizing.

  “Her Grace, Cynewise, is about your height. She passes dresses she does not care for down to our coffers.”

  “Will she be offended if I wear her cast-off?”

  “She’s more offended by those of other religions,” Thea said with a chuckle. “Cynewise married a pagan, however, one who became king. She’s had to mellow her desire to convert others.” Thea tightened the laces across the bodice and arranged the fabric to fit my chest better. I was smaller in this area than Penda’s wife.

  “Inter-marriage among faiths,” I said. “How is that working in Mercia?”

  “The churches are always seeking Cynewise’s ear. Right now she favours Canterbury,” Thea said. “Penda, although he pays service to the old gods, seems to favour the Cymry monks, so there is tension amongst the clergy. Penda keeps all faiths on an equal footing and arguing against each other.”

  “No favourites?”

  “He maintains his allegiance to Woden and Thunor,” she said and gave a small grin. “Penda is pragmatic, and Mercia is at the crossroads of several faith systems. He uses the faiths more than he allows the church leaders use him.”

  “The best kind of king,” I said. “One who keeps religion at arm’s length. Still, I suspect my Cymry Church connections will fare better here?”

  Thea tapped her lips with an index finger while she considered it.

  “Do you have church ties?”

  “Are you familiar with Lady Gwen?”

  “Who isn’t?”

  “My connections are the same as hers,” I said. That would get back to Lord Chamberlain, but I was certain he already knew it.

  “Exactly?”

  I nodded.

  “The Cymry Church would be best, then.”

  “Pass me the wooden cross, dear,” I said and waved towards the sideboard. I had found it in my sling bag. I remembered the day Abbot Heilyn had given it to me. The day after Cadoc and Enid’s wedding.

  Once I had the cross on my chest, I reached for my sword belt, then hesitated. Without Soul and her scabbard, the leather belt wasn’t the right accessory.

  “Perhaps a sash?” Thea held up a length of embroidered black fabric. This one boasted Celtic designs.

  “Perfect,” I said and raised my arms so she could tie it around me. She secured it behind me, but I had her slide it so the ends hung down my left hip, where my sword would have ridden.

  A rap sounded at the door to Bleddyn’s room. I gave a nod, and Thea opened the door.

  “Ah, Thea,” Bleddyn said with a grin. “I was wondering if my sister would be blessed with your talents.”

  “You could have warned me,” I said.

  “And ruin the surprise?” Bleddyn winked at me. “Emlyn’s idea, actually.”

  “You know I’ll return the favour to both of you,” I said with a mock frown. “Thea and I have agreed that she’ll aid me with information while I’m here. And she won’t have to go to the beds of Penda’s overbearing unwashed thegns.”

  “You are skilled in courtly politics,” Bleddyn said.

  Thea raised the pitcher of wine towards him. He waved her off.

  “Perhaps a walk around the halls?” Bleddyn suggested.

  “Anything else I need for dinner tonight?” I asked Thea.

  “No. Should I send for food afterward?” she asked. “The women try not to be seen eating at these events.”

  “Diolch, but no,” I said. “My stomach is still unsettled from the riding and Cenric’s idea of camp cooking.”

  Thea laughed as Bleddyn and I headed out into the corridor. I swung the door shut and slid my arm through Bleddyn’s. He had on a fine green tunic with Celtic stitching. His trousers were grey. He had kept his plain leather belt instead of something more ornate.

  “Do I need to caution you about Thea’s connections?” Bleddyn asked as we strolled the wide corridor.

  “She works for Lord Chamberlain, and he is in the business of gathering information.”

  “Exactly,” he said, lowering his voice. “Even in here, in these corridors, the walls have ears.”

  “Do you have any suggestions on what I should listen for tonight?”

  “Nothing special,” he said. Most of the doors along the hallway were closed. Ahead of us, the corridor opened out to a large hall. We had passed through it earlier. “Ahead, some thegns will have already gathered. Even the servants will report to Lord Chamberlain all they hear.”

  “Does anyone not know that?”

  “I doubt it, so they will guard their conversations.” He paused in our stroll, a good ten paces away from the common room. “How can I help with your… Um…”

  I knew what he meant, and neither of us wanted to say—my need to hide my special diet.

  “You heard Thea,” I said. “Will you be drinking wine?”

  “Mead,” Bleddyn said. “Penda knows my preference.”

  “Mead for me as well, then. When you can, set your cup close to mine,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. “I will take care of the rest.”

  “Excellent. I always knew you were the smarter sibling.” He winked, then lead me into the common room.

  Several other men, perhaps a dozen, stood around in groups of three or four. Wooden cups in hand, I could smell the ale.

  A cup steward walked forward, pulling a jug off the sideboard. His tray had several wooden cups on it, matching the others in the room.

  “Your mead, Lord Penllyn,” a steward said in the Saxon language. “And for milady?”

  “Mead, please,” I said.

  “Diolch,” Bleddyn said once we had our cups.

  “Lady Meron,” a man called out behind us, using a name I hadn’t used since before I came to Penllyn. “I never thought to see you alive again,” he said in Cymry.

  15

  Old Friends

  An older monk with familiar eyes leaned on a walking staff. The cross on his chest was an ornate Celtic carved affair. One I suspected had come from Iolo at some point.

  My eyes went wide, and a smile crinkled my cheeks. He reached his hand towards me in greeting. I pulled him in for a hug instead.

  “Brother… Mihangel, is it not?” I said when we parted. “I must thank you for your aid that evening on the road.”

  “It saddened me that I couldn’t find you afterward.” His hand rubbed the back of his head. “One of those pious priests from Canterbury ambushed me so they could avoid any real work, such as aiding a lady in need.”

  “Your aid was enough help, my friend. Only one pursued me, and I avoided his clutches. May I present…” I turned towards Bleddyn.

  “Penllyn. How are you these days?” Mihangel said before I could finish.

  “Not bad, considering this past year, Mihangel,” Bleddyn said. “I haven’t seen you for almost a decade now.”

  “I was hoping to find your brother and inquire after my friend Afon,” Mihangel said. “Instead, you bring me an unexpected friend.”

  “Emlyn stayed behind at Caer Penllyn,” Bledd
yn said. “My son and his wife just welcomed two babies into Cymry. Emlyn is staying behind to make sure the cantref doesn’t fall apart while Cadoc learns how much work twin babies are.”

  Mihangel chuckled, but a voice called out Bleddyn’s name.

  “Will you excuse me, Mihangel?” he said with a nod. “I’ll leave you to catch up with my sister. Would you help her meet some of Penda’s men? I trust you still remember who is who?”

  “Sister? The one at the Battle at the Abbey?” Mihangel’s eyes slid towards me with a question that flicked to realisation.

  Damn! My reputation must be getting around after that battle.

  “Not to worry, Penllyn. She’s in good hands. Go make your bargains and alliances.”

  He waved towards some chairs at one end of the hall. “My bones are getting too old to stand for long, milady,” he said and pushed my elbow towards the seats.

  Once we sat, he gazed at me for a moment. Quiet. I raised my cup to my lips enough to wet my lips, and then made a swallow, though no mead made it into my mouth. Appearances. I needed plant the idea that I drank into people’s minds.

  “So you didn’t need my help when those bandits attacked?”

  “Your aid was most appreciated,” I said. “I hope that the harm done to you because of me was minimal.”

  “I woke in the care of a nice young woman.” He shook his head as if the memories were fuzzy. “A week with her and I was right as rain. She said you had escaped unharmed. How came you to be adopted by Penllyn and his family?”

  “A long story, my friend,” I said.

  “Tell what you want,” he said and raised his own cup. “Less than half of Penda’s men are here. We’ve got time.”

  I shared a safe version of running away, meeting Gwen, and accompanying her to Penllyn for the wedding.

  “The one with the ghosts? Where Lady Gwen called the Holy Mother’s magic to save everyone?”

  “Actually, it was me who used her magic,” I said. “The Holy Lady worked through me that night.”

  “Weren’t those Witch Hunters there?” he asked. “Isn’t that supposed to be their specialty?”

  “How much of that story has spread?” I asked.

  “A wedding, especially one between two cantrefi like Penllyn and Meirionnydd, attracts a lot of attention. I’d wager that at least half the thegns here tonight have heard of the wedding ghosts.”

  I sighed. Word of my deeds and abilities was spreading faster than I wanted. I couldn’t do anything except grin and bear it. Bleddyn wouldn’t have brought me if he didn’t have my back.

  “So it was you helping Emlyn at the Battle of the Abbey.” He made it a statement instead of a question. I paused, raising my cup. His eyes were probing. “Don’t throw horse dung, milady. I know weapons and battle. Were there really walking corpses there?”

  “I owe you the truth,” I said and set my cup down. “Yes. There were three or four hundred dead that walked and fought. Mostly old Roman and Cymry skeletons. Some newer dead. Spears and clubs. A few with a gladius or sword.”

  “First ghosts, now walking dead corpses.” He closed his eyes and crossed himself.

  “Are you a true believer?” I asked. There was something different about Mihangel. I felt my cord to the goddess humming. Not with a warning. This was a song. More like a note of recognition.

  “I wanted a quiet life,” he said, raising his own cup. “A monk’s vows were about the only way to keep Penda from calling me back for every battle he fought, and for my family to stop trying to marry me off.”

  “The god in front of you is the best god?”

  “Exactly,” he said. “I’ve listened to the cries of too many dead and dying. I understand that the gods don’t care.”

  “The one I’ve met does care,” I said, my voice quiet. “She’s got her own fight brewing, and I seem to be stuck in the middle of it.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but I was seeing double when I looked at him. Another old friend hovered, somewhat misty, behind him. Grey fur and yellow wolf eyes looked back at me. Aw warm sensation as growing in my belly. One friend telling me to trust another.

  “The walls here have ears, girl,” Mihangel said. “Be careful what you say.”

  “I understand courtly politics.” I nodded towards a steward drifting through the crowd, filling cups. “Lord Chamberlain will hear all said here before the end of the night.”

  “That battle in the graveyard.” Mihangel looked me in the eyes, then glanced down at my hip where my sword should be hanging. “Most women wear their knots to the front or back. Yet yours is on the side, where a sword should ride. You’re comfortable with a blade on your hip.”

  “Emlyn and your old friend had my back in that fight,” I said.

  “Why you?” he said. “I expected Emlyn would have led.”

  “The men behind the army of the dead…” I paused, trying to decide how much I wanted Penda to learn from his chamberlain. “Those men included a Seeker of the Witch Hunters and an old one posing as his assistant. The old one was in charge. Both of them wizards. They wanted the Sword of Light.”

  Mihangel let out a low whistle. “That sword broke when Arthur fell a century ago.”

  “And it broke again that night when I smashed it into the old wizard’s staff. He was using it to raise the dead for his army.”

  “You held Arthur’s sword?” Mihangel’s eyes were wide. “I’ve seen it once before. In the hands of a lady I met when I travelled with Afon. How did you get it? Where did you find it?”

  “Getting noticed by a goddess can make a girl feel special,” I said. “Especially when the goddess sends a sword like that to me right before a battle.”

  “I see why you led, then,” Mihangel said and crossed himself again, then looked at me. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I shouldn’t…”

  “The Lady doesn’t seem to care which god you worship,” I said. “Just that we work to protect the people and Cymry itself.”

  “And she sent you Arthur’s sword?” Mihangel shook his head in disbelief. “I mean no disrespect, milady.”

  “No worry, my friend,” I said. “Believe what you are comfortable with.”

  “You said Afon was with you?” he said, changing the subject. “How is he?”

  “He is well, though he’s convinced he will die by the sword,” I said, mimicking his tone.

  “He started saying that right before we parted ways.” Mihangel laughed. “Lord Emlyn and he had just met. It didn’t go so well for Afon.”

  “He told me the story,” I said. “Afon spoke fondly of his time under your command. He’s got a deep respect for you. If only I had known his old friend was my friend as well.”

  “He’s too cocky for leadership,” Mihangel said. “Emlyn would be wise, however, to let Afon take the lead in battle. That boy has a great head for where to be in the midst of a melee. You just have to keep him calm the rest of the time.”

  “Llinos is working on that,” I said and let a grin spread across my face. “She might even get him married this year. He’s convinced that if he commits to a marriage, he’ll die and leave her a widow.”

  “Wait… he’s found a woman? One that wants to put up with him long term?” He chuckled. “Is she a widow looking for another husband?”

  “No, Llinos said you and he found her family when Afon was trying to catch up with Emlyn after the…” I paused, searching my memory for what Afon had called the creature that was bedevilling him.

  “Pwca,” Mihangel said. “I remember. The girl had a limp. Afon charged in when some bandits had them at sword point. One was trying to tie up the girl. Had they gotten her back to their camp, she would have been lucky if her womanhood was the worst they took from her.”

  “Brother Mihangel,” a deep voice said from the side.

  “Ah, you found me, good brother.” He rolled his eyes before he turned towards the newcomer. We both stood.

  “Lady Mair of Penllyn,” Mihangel said. “May I present my a
ssistant, Brother Twm? He’s young, energetic, and believes I spend too much time talking and not enough time praying.”

  16

  Brother Twm

  Brother Twm was young. Perhaps a winter or two older than Talian. Like all Cymry men, he sported a dark moustache above his lip. His head was shaved as those of the monks at Penllyn’s abbey were. Bare from forehead to ears, then left long in the back. A different tonsure than the monks from the Roman Church sects.

  “I had a most interesting chat with a priest from the monastery at Hye,” Brother Twm said. He wore an expression like a child about to tattle on a sibling. “He is one of four priests who King Oswiu has sent to accompany Paeda.”

  “Hye, eh?” Mihangel cast another pained look my way, then motioned to an empty seat. “Have a seat and tell me what you’ve learned.”

  The young monk did so and cast an eye at me.

  “Are you sure I should discuss church business in front of her ladyship?”

  “Do you remember Lady Gwen? We met her this winter.”

  “Of course,” Brother Twm said. “She was most pious, and our abbot deferred to her in all matters. Though I wonder why since she is a…” A flush crept into his cheeks. “My apologies, milady.”

  “Perhaps if you married,” I said with a grin, “you’d learn that women are partners and not servants.”

  “Lady Mair is a servant to the Holy Mother,” Mihangel said. Not in chastisement, but it was a tone not unlike one might use to educate a child. He glanced at me in an invitation to explain.

  “The Holy Lady had declared me to be Lady Gwen’s protector and sister in service.” I hoped that was enough explanation.

  Brother Twm’s eyes lingered on the wooden cross on my chest. His own was a simpler version of the Celtic cross. Evidently he hadn’t met Brother Iolo yet.

  “You’re of the same order as Lady Gwen?” Twm stated more than asked. “Very well. I learned that Penda’s son Paeda, now king of the Middle Anglos, has returned from visiting Bernicia, and he converted to our faith. He is pagan no longer!”