A Moment in Time

by Bertrice Small

  "No! I want to learn how to do it! Will you teach me? Ohhh, Madoc! It was you all those years watching out over me. It was you to whom I poured out all my secrets. It was you!"

  "Aye, Wynne, it was me. I never meant to intrude upon your privacy, dearling. At first I was merely curious as to how you were growing. I wanted to make certain that you were healthy and happy. Then it became more. I needed, it seemed, to be near you. I could not be happy unless I was. There were times when my own concerns kept me from you for days and weeks on end, and I would grow irritable with my need for the sight of you. And the year I went to Byzantium! It was torture! After several months I was so desperate for the sight of you that I feigned illness in order that I might have the time and the solitude to cast a powerful spell enabling me to see you for a few brief minutes."

  "There was a year in which the raven was missing," Wynne said thoughtfully. "I was eight, I think." She looked at him. "Has this always been a part of you? The magic, I mean. In other times?"

  "Nay," he said. "Only in this time and place."

  "But how did you learn it? You were only a child when your father died." She took his hand and led him to a bench before the fire.

  As they sat down he said, "My father was murdered, Wynne. It was his brother's hand that struck him down, no accident. My uncle was seen perpetrating the foul deed. The witness was my grandmother, but my grandmother was only a woman. She could do nothing, and so she told several trusted servants and swore them to secrecy. Then she spent the rest of her life protecting me from Cynbel.

  "I had the knowledge to destroy when I was seven, but my father had taught me that life is sacred to the Mother and the Father. I had gone with him into his pharmacea from the time I could toddle. When he died I taught myself from his secret books which were hidden from my uncle, who would have taken them for himself, even though they would have done him no good. He always believed if he could find those books he could change the fate his own father had ordained for him and for those of his descendants who followed him."

  Madoc sighed. "My uncle was such a warped soul, Wynne. He married my mother in order to have Raven's Rock, but he could not. After Brys was born, his madness-for it was madness-grew even worse. He was determined his son should have what was mine. He taught Brys early how to hate. The envy and jealousy that oozed out of him was absorbed into Brys's very pores. Of course, with my grandmother and the servants watching over me, my uncle had no chance of harming me. He turned my brother against me for nought, but once the deed was done, there was no changing it. Brys attempted his rape of Nesta because he knew how very much I loved our sister. In his warped mind her violation was to be a mortal blow at me."

  "But once again he failed," Wynne said softly, "and in failing, found himself exiled from Raven's Rock, which but increased his bitterness and his anger toward you."

  Madoc nodded sadly. "After that there was no real hope of a reconciliation between us, although I did try for our mother's sake that once when Brys's father died."

  "Has he married?" Wynne asked, curious.

  Madoc laughed harshly. "Nay! He has found what he believes to be the perfect avenue of revenge. The Church. Brys took orders several years ago, and then when the old bishop of Cai died two years ago, my brother shamelessly bought his office. He is one of the youngest bishops in the Church. He attempts to destroy me by claiming my powers come from the devil. There are some fools in King Gruffydd's court who fear my influence and would like to believe it so."

  "Then your marriage to me cannot fail but be an advantage, as I am related to the king," Wynne said thoughtfully.

  “ 'Tis not why I betrothed myself to you, dearling," he replied.

  "I know that," she answered him. "I have no fear of your motive, Madoc. I trust you, but enough of your brother! I want to become a shape-changer as you are."

  He chuckled and said, "Why, I believe that you love me for my knowledge of magical arts, Wynne. I am not sure I should not be offended."

  "I am not certain why I love you, Madoc," and the words out of her mouth, Wynne looked even more astounded than the man by her side did. "Ohhhh!" she said, her green eyes wide with her own surprise.

  "You love me?" His voice was slightly strangled.

  "I seem to have said so, haven't I." Wynne bit her lower lip in vexation and then continued carefully, "I suppose I do love you, Madoc. I should not have said it otherwise, but I was certainly not aware of it until the words popped unbidden from my mouth. When could such a thing have happened? I acknowledge that I desire you, for I surely do, but love you? Well, I have said it, and I seem to feel no great desire to deny it, so it must be. It does not change, however, whatever it is between us from that other time and place which must be concluded. Perhaps now, though, we will be able to settje our past difference, as my heart obviously has a tendre for you."

  For the first time in his life Madoc of Powys found himself at a loss for words. He knew he should say something, but he feared if he did, whatever it was he said would drive her away again. Wynne quickly solved the problem for him.

  "Now that we have agreed on that, my lord, tell me when you will begin to teach me how I may learn to change my shape as you do."

  Somehow he managed to find his voice. "It is a simple matter, Wynne, but it can be dangerous. The world in which you and I live is no longer the world of our Celtic ancestors. I am called a sorcerer by many, though my reputation exceeds my actual deeds. Yet the knowledge I possess was once greatly respected and appreciated by our people. There is no evil to it except in the hands of evil men, but that has ever been so. Now, however, that knowledge I possess is said to spring from the devil. So I must conceal what I know for the most part from those around us, lest I be considered the devil's disciple. Still, my reputation persists because of the history of the princes of Powys-Wenwynwyn. A history forever being reinvented and embroidered upon by my brother, Brys, for the delectation of the ignorant, the foolish, and the superstitious."

  "The knowledge you have must be passed on, my dear lord," Wynne told him quietly. "It is a part of who we are. Not just yesterday, but today and tomorrow."

  "Perhaps today, but I am not certain about the morrow, dearling. Nonetheless, I will endeavor to teach you what I know. However, before I teach you the secret of changing one's shape, you must learn other things. You had a small pharmacea at Gwernach. I have one here within the castle. Tomorrow we will adjourn there together. I will see how far you have gotten with your potions, and then I will teach you what you must know. We will have to work very hard, Wynne, and I warn you I am not an easy taskmaster."

  "Nor I one to be satisfied with poor work, Madoc," she told him.

  He smiled at her pride and, taking her hand, drew her to her feet. "It is late, dearling. Past time that we sought our beds." Then he kissed her mouth lightly.

  In the morning, when Wynne had arisen and washed herself, Megan came to her with a tray upon which was a freshly baked cottage loaf, a bowl of hot barley cereal, a slice of ham, a crock of sweet butter, a honeycomb, and a goblet of sweet, watered wine. "When you are ready, my lady, I am instructed to take you to the prince."

  As excited as she was, Wynne ate slowly, and she ate everything upon the tray. She did not know how long they would remain in Madoc's pharmacea this day, or when she would have the opportunity to eat again. When she had finished, Megan brought her a basin of scented water that she might wash her hands and face again. Then she held out a garment of grass-green to her mistress.

  "What is this?" Wynne asked, for the gown was quite foreign to her.

  "The master asks that you wear it to please him," Megan responded.

  Wynne put it on and found the garment to be a floor-length gown of silk with a simple round neckline that followed the shape of her body. It had fitted sleeves to the wrists. Over it she added a grass-green brocade robe with three-quarter-length sleeves that ended just below her elbow. The robe lay open from neck to hem. A three-inch band of gold embroidery done in a swirl
of Celtic design descended from the top of the garment to its bottom, around its neckline edges, hem, and sleeve cuffs.

  "If you will sit, my lady," Megan said, "I will do your hair."

  Wynne sat upon a stool while Megan carefully removed the sleep snarls from her long black hair, brushed the ankle-length tresses until they shone, and then braided her mistress's thick hair into the single braid that Wynne favored. When she had finished, she placed a plain, narrow circlet of Irish red-gold about Wynne's forehead and, kneeling, slipped soft felt slippers upon Wynne's feet.

  "You are ready, my lady. If you will follow me, I will take you to Prince Madoc." Megan arose and moved with fluid grace across the room and through the door.

  Wynne followed her maidservant as they moved swiftly through the castle, down the corridor lit by flickering torches, and up a flight of stone steps into a tower. At the top of the staircase was a door, and Megan stopped before it.

  "Knock once and enter, my lady," she said.

  "You come no farther?" queried Wynne.

  "Nay, my lady. No one in the castle but the prince is allowed into this room. It is a special place, sacred to the old ways of our people. For someone such as I to violate that chamber's sanctity would be a great sacrilege. You, however, are one of the special ones like the prince. We all know it, else he would not have chosen you for his wife."

  For a long moment Wynne stood silently before the oak door listening to Megan's footsteps as they echoed and retreated down the narrow staircase. Finally raising her fist, she knocked once. His voice came quite clearly through the thick wood, bidding her to enter, which she did.

  "Good morning, dearling," he said to her as she stepped into the room. "I trust you are ready to work hard." He smiled.

  He was garbed even as she was, but that his costume was violet. About his neck he wore a heavy silver chain from which hung a silver pendant in which was imbedded the largest moonstone she could ever remember seeing. It was fully as big as one of the small apricots Madoc had sent her as a treat the previous summer. The silver diadem that restrained his unruly dark hair was studded with moonstones of a smaller size. He somehow seemed larger than life in this place, and Wynne suddenly considered that she should possibly be just a little afraid of him.

  She bowed politely to him, never revealing that thought and hoping he had not read it. "I am ready to learn all you would teach me, Madoc, if in the end you will teach me how to change my shape as you do."

  "In time, dearling. Do not be impatient with me," he told her.

  Wynne looked about her with frank interest. "Where are we?" she asked him.

  "This is the east tower of Raven 's Rock," came the reply.

  "It is one of the round towers," Wynne returned. "The original tower of the keep, I would venture." She looked about her. In the curve of the wall was a small fireplace in the shape of an inverted U. A peat fire burned brightly upon its hearth. There was a large L-shaped, slate-topped table and a similar table formed like a T within the room. Set on each table was a stone mortar and a pestle.

  There were shelves hollowed from one wall, and upon them were an assortment of vials, bowls, and beakers of various sizes, shapes, and colors, as well as glass and stone jars holding quivering liquids, pastes, and other dried substances whose origins she could not fathom at this point. There were several charcoal burners set upon each of the tables, and from the walls of the room hung bunches and sheaves of all manner of herbs, roots, and dried flowers.

  It was actually very much like her own little pharmacea at Gwernach, where she had mixed her own medicines and salves to help doctor her people. The room was very well-lit by small torches affixed in their iron holders which were set into the wall. They were quite necessary, as through the tower window she could see the day was grey and overcast. Set upon a tall, three-footed stand beneath the window was a thick manuscript.

  "This is a wonderful room," she said with sincerity.

  "You will note," he said with his dry humor, "there are no small horned demons lurking in the corners ready to do my evil bidding; nor is there a single cat, black or otherwise, that I use as my familiar. I am afraid I should greatly disappoint those who consider my arts to be those of the devil. I seem to lack all the necessary accoutrements."

  "I suspect that if such things were really necessary to your talents, Madoc, that they would not be readily in evidence for all to see," she mocked him. "It is a strange world in which we live that denies such a wonderful part of our heritage. Still, I understand the need for caution and will act accordingly."

  He nodded. "It is sad, Wynne, that we who were once the lords of this earth have had to learn the fine art of compromise. Compromise is confining and stifles the fires of talent. Still, we must survive within this new and righteous world in which we find ourselves… But enough of this idle chatter, dearling. You have come to learn, and I will teach you. First, however, I must ascertain just how much you actually know. Use the L-shaped table and show me how you would make a love potion. You do know how to make a love potion?"

  Wynne raised her eyebrows at him. "I would not be much of a healer if I did not know how to make a love potion, Madoc." Then she turned to face the storage shelves and, seeking carefully amongst the jars and beakers, removed precisely the ingredients she needed, placing everything neatly upon the table. Skillfully she measured out amounts of each substance, placing the ingredient first into the mortar, where she ground it to the desired fineness before adding it to a larger bowl, into which she would finally combine the mixture. When she had finished, Wynne looked expectantly toward Madoc. "Well?" she demanded.

  "How do you administer it?" he asked her, neither approving nor disapproving her work.

  "A pinch in a goblet of wine usually does the trick," she said.

  "It would do even better if you added…" He paused, his dark blue eyes flickering quickly over the shelves until, finding what he sought, he drew it forth. "Three violet flowers ground medium-fine. Remember, 'tis the flowers, not the leaves you want; and a pinch of orris root. The potion is far more binding and, therefore, more effective with these two elements added. Made like this, you can also infuse the entire potion into red wine. It should be heated just to the boiling point, but never beyond," he cautioned, "for it loses its strength then. The treated wine can then be stored safely for some months in a stone bottle and not lose any of its potency. Just one small spoonful mixed into a goblet of cool wine or into a cup of ale will work quite well.

  "Come, we will grind your ingredients into a fine powder. Then I will show you just how much wine to use and demonstrate how to heat the mixture properly. Once you have done it successfully, you will not forget it."

  "Can I trust you with so potent a potion, Madoc?" Wynne teased him.

  "I need no love potion to bind me to you, dearling. My devotion is one that has endured through the centuries. Soon, I hope, you will remember that."

  Wynne grew pink with the compliment, but said nothing more. Instead she set to work pestling the mix she had made into a smooth powder; while Madoc lit one of the small charcoal burners and set it near him on the slate-topped table. They worked together, side by side, for some time; he, requesting one compound after another; Wynne, showing him what she knew, and her knowledge was vast for a girl so young. She had gained her learning early from her own mother, a skilled healer. When Margiad had died, Enid had completed Wynne's education. Wisely, Wynne had never been loath to listen to the remedies offered by some of the old women at Gwernach. The elderly had a vast fund of wisdom and it was foolish to discount it.

  Now as she worked with Madoc she realized how much more she could learn. It was another bond she hoped would tie them together and perhaps even help her to remember the past that had separated them. Sometimes, as with the love potion, he improved upon her own mixture. Other formulas he left alone, nodding quickly in approval of her methods before disposing of some of the mixtures and storing others.

  The hours sped by quickly and the day
waned. Finally Madoc called a halt to their labors, saying, "This table and this room are open to you whenever you desire to come here to make medicines and salves for our people."

  She nodded and then said, "Tell me why, of all the beautiful birds in the world, you chose to become a raven?"

  A slow smile altered his serious features. "It is true that I might have been something else, but think, Wynne. The raven is a plain and common bird. People pay little, if any, attention to it. In flight it has no enemies, for the birds of prey will not bother a raven who minds his own business. The raven is like an ordinary face in a crowd of people. One is very much like another. On the whole it is a safe bird to be. When I alter my own shape, it is not to put my life in danger."

  "What is the secret to changing?" she begged him.

  "Not yet, dearling. You have more to learn, and as I would not put myself at risk, I will certainly not put you at risk. Eventually I will teach you magic, but not yet."

  She sighed but wisely accepted his decision.

  "Are you tired?" he asked her solicitously as they returned to their apartments.

  "Aye," she nodded, sighing.

  "There are but the two of us, dearling. Let us bathe and rest and then have our supper here in my reading room before the fire. Would it please you?"

  "Aye, I should like a bath and the informality of our chambers," she admitted. "Have the meal brought and set by the fire to keep warm. Then dismiss the servants, for we do not need them. I will serve you, my lord."

  Megan, as efficient as ever, had already drawn Wynne's bath. She undid Wynne's braid, brushed it free and then, wrapping hanks of her mistress's hair about her hand, pinned the loops atop Wynne's head with her golden hairpins. Disrobing her lady and helping her into the great oak tub, Megan was surprised to find herself dismissed for the evening.

  "I can wash myself," Wynne told her. "Spend your free time driving my Einion to distraction, as you seem to have been doing of late. It is a most humbling experience, and actually quite good for him I believe." Wynne chuckled. "He quite has his own way with the ladies as a rule."