The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  ‘Tell me of thy home, Tory.’ He sounded far away. ‘Do people get what they want there?’

  An odd question. She paused to think about it. ‘Those who believe they can, do. Much the same as here, I expect.’

  Maelgwn looked at her, his interest aroused.

  ‘For although the civilised world be much larger in the future, it continues to be plagued by crime and war. And thanks to modern weaponry, some nations can destroy entire cities and their occupants without ever leaving home.’

  ‘But thy people must have laws?’

  Tory gave half a laugh. ‘Indeed. But often it be the people who make the laws, who art the ones who break them — organised crime we call it. What the Saxons make a livelihood from here, slaughtering and looting, some do for fun where I come from. That be why I learnt self-defence,’ she concluded with a sigh.

  Maelgwn looked back to the fire. ‘That be why I must learn it too.’

  Tory woke the next day in a state of bliss. She was nestled in a pile of pillows in the middle of the Prince’s huge four-poster bed, and she was covered by a light blanket of soft fur.

  As she dozed, it dawned on her that she couldn’t remember going to bed. Did I really drink that much that I have forgotten, or did I fall asleep in front of the fire? ‘I’ve got to lay off that stuff.’

  There was a knock on the door. ‘Has to be his lordship,’ Tory mused, sitting up.

  Maelgwn entered, followed closely by Fenalla who was struggling with a large tray covered with the season’s fruits, cheese, bread and a large pitcher of water.

  ‘Dost thou ever sleep?’ Tory asked, rubbing her eyes.

  ‘Nay, miss too much.’ The Prince waited for Fenalla to relieve herself of her load then closed the door behind her.

  Tory stared at Maelgwn in amazement. His hair had been trimmed but still fell past his shoulders, and shone like moonlight on water, it was so dark and straight. His clear, ivory skin and his high cheekbones could be appreciated now that his face had been liberated from its hairy disguise. He wore thickly woven trousers and shirt and a gunna of dark brown that belted at the waist with black leather. His boots, made of the same black leather, were bound with laces round his leg up to the knee. A long, black woollen cape hung about his shoulders, partially covering a medallion of the Dragon that was made of black onyx and set in silver.

  ‘So at last we meet, face to face,’ said Tory.

  Maelgwn flashed a cheeky grin. ‘More becoming, I hope.’ He strode over to pour two glasses of water.

  Tory held her head. Is he kidding me? ‘I have no objection,’ she announced sarcastically, mimicking the same regal tone he’d used the night before.

  This made the Prince laugh. ‘Thy wit be clever. Thee must have slept well.’ He handed her a goblet and took a seat on the bed.

  ‘Very well, indeed.’ Then her tone changed to a soft plea. ‘Please, tell me we art staying here.’

  ‘We shall leave as soon as thou art ready,’ Maelgwn answered with regret. Seeing her disappointment he added, ‘Though Degannwy be grand, I assure thee it be no comparison in beauty to my home at Aberffraw.’

  ‘I shall look forward to it then.’ She smiled and climbed out of bed, still dressed in her tracksuit. ‘What should I wear?’

  The Prince was stumped by the question. ‘Doth thou own a dress at all?’

  ‘I do have one dress with me, it might suit.’ She sounded doubtful.

  ‘Fine,’ the Prince resolved, getting to his feet. ‘I have one more thing to take care of, but I shall be back for thee presently. Please eat,’ he added, disappearing out the door.

  Tory’s aches were considerably better this morning, and a glimpse in her hand mirror showed that her bruise was fading. She decided to leave her hair out as, judging from the little she’d observed of the maidens here, this seemed quite acceptable. Still, she wasn’t sure about her dress. Made of black stretch cotton, it had long sleeves, a v-neck and flared to a full skirt that fell in waves to her ankles. If not for the snug fit of the bodice it might have been appropriate. She would have to wear her leather jacket over the top for, although her frame was tiny, Tory was fairly well endowed in the chest department and she was sure this would not go unnoticed. The dress looked a tad ridiculous with her long white socks pushed down around her ankles and her steel-capped boots. They were riding again today, however, and these were the most sensible footwear she had.

  The Prince knocked and strode into the room without waiting for a response, slamming the door behind him. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw her. ‘Heaven forbid,’ he announced with a grin and a laugh.

  ‘Thee could have waited.’ Tory crossed her arms in front of her chest. She couldn’t believe she was actually embarrassed, and blamed this on the fact that she had to wear a dress. She simply hated looking feminine, it always made her feel vulnerable. ‘I am going to wear the jacket over the top,’ she explained, reaching for it.

  ‘No hurry,’ Maelgwn assured her, doing his best to wipe the smile from his face.

  Tory paid him no mind as she put on the jacket and zipped it all the way up.

  ‘Art thou ready to leave?’ she asked him.

  ‘Aye,’ Maelgwn said as he picked an apple from the platter. ‘I have spoken to my men and we have decided it best to keep thee a secret for the time being.’

  ‘How dost thou plan to do that?’ Tory motioned to her outfit.

  Maelgwn smiled, having thought this through. ‘I shall tell whoever might dare inquire that we found thee wandering in the south. Thou art from a faraway land — Australia.’ He recalled the pronunciation. ‘In a shipwreck perhaps, thee lost thy memory and can only recall certain things.’ He seemed quite pleased with himself when he’d finished explaining.

  Brockwell knocked and entered, striding over to join them. ‘We art ready to leave, Sire.’ He looked at Tory with a smirk on his face. ‘Art thou a woman today?’ He referred to her dress.

  Uncanny, he’s every bit as annoying as my brother. ‘I was a woman a day ago when I flattened thee,’ Tory retorted, making for the door with her bags.

  Brockwell chuckled, amused that he had struck a chord.

  ‘Let us be off then,’ Maelgwn resolved. He was pleased that Brockwell no longer appeared strongly opposed to Tory’s presence. Now his mind was at ease, for Brockwell was his constant companion and Maelgwn had feared there would be a problem.

  Only a small party would accompany the Prince to Aberffraw: Brockwell, Cadogan, Madoc, their squires, and Selwyn.

  Tory was given her own horse to ride. ‘I preferred being chauffeur driven,’ she commented to Maelgwn as she made herself comfortable in the saddle.

  Maelgwn caught her meaning. ‘It will be an easy ride, I promise.’

  It was a fine day, and only little puffs of cloud scattered the azure sky. As they moved out of the citadel into the village, they were escorted by a guard of a dozen soldiers that would accompany them as far as the Isle of Mon. They were to crew the boat that would tow a barge carrying the Prince’s immediate escort across the Menai Strait from Bangor.

  As the party made its way through the village, the Prince pointed out his father’s refortification plans to Tory. For such a confused and barbaric period in history, she thought, the layout of Degannwy’s little community was extremely organised. Tory had a huge urge to go shopping as they passed through the marketplace, but under the circumstances this was totally out of the question.

  Crowds lined the road through the village, some people hung out their windows and doors. The locals called out their thanks and praise to the Prince and his men for their protection and good fortune over the seasons past. While Maelgwn and his family had been in power there hadn’t been any serious threat to this town. The goodwill his people held for Maelgwn was obvious, as was the genuine regard he felt in return. The Prince and his knights shook hands with the men, and were hugged and kissed by the young women as they passed.

  Once they’d cleared the merriment of the villa
ge the riders picked up their pace a little, heading into the outlying farmland of the common.

  Tory watched the workers in the fields that lined their route. They appeared happy as they went about the chore of harvesting the yearly crop. As she was taking everything in, Tory had dropped back a little behind the others. It was then that a cry for help reached her ears.

  She saw the door of a small farmhouse swing open and a young girl was propelled out into the yard, sobbing and screaming uncontrollably. An older man of unkempt appearance followed. He reached down, pulling the girl to her feet by her hair then brutally punching her back to the ground. The girl’s next scream was loud enough to draw the attention of the entire party.

  Tory jumped from her horse and yelled at the attacker. ‘Oi!’ she snarled, slogging him fair in the face. The unsuspecting man was sent hurtling back against the wall of the cottage. ‘Pig! What right hast thee to strike this girl?’ Tory demanded, outraged.

  ‘Tory, no!’ the Prince protested, turning his horse around.

  The young girl staggered towards Tory, falling in a heap at her feet, blurting out her thanks between sobs. Tory watched the man stand up, and she prepared to strike again if the need arose.

  By this time Brockwell and Maelgwn had arrived on the scene. Upon seeing them the man refrained from retaliating and bowed deeply to the Prince. ‘She be my wife, Majesty,’ he managed to blurt out. ‘Married this very day.’

  ‘And how dost such a poor example of manhood like thyself end up married to a beautiful young girl like this?’ Tory asked, as she crouched down to see if the girl was alright; one side of her face was already a mass of bruises.

  ‘It be completely legal,’ he assured the Prince. ‘She refuses to …’ The old man winked at Maelgwn and Brockwell, ‘…fulfil her wedding vows.’ He laughed, sure that they’d understand. ‘That not be justice. I paid good for her.’

  The Prince closed his eyes, bringing his hand up to his forehead; he could feel a headache coming on.

  ‘Thee bought her?’ Tory stood to question the man, who nodded in response. ‘He bought her!’ She turned to the Prince, demanding an explanation.

  ‘’Tis quite common in the lower classes.’

  ‘Aye,’ Brockwell added. ‘If she had been born at court, her father would have to pay this man to take her off his hands.’

  Tory was pacing now, furious and shocked. ‘And thee fails to see anything wrong with this?’ She turned to Maelgwn, unable to believe the man whom she thought was sensitive condoned what was taking place.

  ‘It be none of my affair,’ Maelgwn told her calmly. ‘Thee knows much about the future but little of our ways. This girl will die without this man to support her.’

  ‘She would be better off, goddamn it!’ Tory gave up, bending down to address the girl. ‘What be thy name?’

  Still shaken, the girl raised her tear-stained face. ‘Katren, lady.’

  ‘Dost thou love this man, Katren?’

  The girl shook her head violently. ‘Nay, I do not. I swear.’ She clung to Tory’s legs, bursting into tears once more.

  ‘Get out of that,’ her husband hissed, moving to drag her away.

  ‘Do not even think about it, slug,’ Tory warned, wound up like a coil and fit to burst.

  Her tone was so harsh that the old bloke froze. ‘But she be my wife!’ he implored the Prince.

  ‘How much did thee pay for her?’ Tory interjected.

  ‘Two head of cattle!’ He made it sound a lot, grinning broadly when he realised where the conversation was heading.

  Tory was so disgusted she had to laugh. She twisted a gold ring from her finger and showed it to the man. ‘Will this cover it?’

  He nodded vigorously, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree as he snatched the ring from her. ‘Take her then, good riddance.’ The man bowed to the Prince. ‘Highness.’ He staggered back inside the farmhouse, shutting the door behind him.

  Poor Katren collapsed from relief. ‘I be so indebted to thee, lady,’ she mumbled through her tears.

  Tory bent down to help her up. ‘I would have done the same for anyone, and I be no lady.’

  ‘Thou art right there,’ Brockwell said.

  Maelgwn was worried by all this; how was he going to keep Tory under control? Word got around fast here, and this kind of news would spread like wildfire. Lucky for him that none bar his men had witnessed the incident.

  Tory led Katren to her horse, past Brockwell and Maelgwn. She looked at the Prince, holding her tongue to save angering him further.

  Though the Prince was displeased, he did not have time to deal with her at present.

  Brockwell could barely believe that Maelgwn said nothing. ‘Great, what art thou going to do with her?’ he asked Tory.

  ‘Thee all have squires, well now so do I,’ Tory told him, helping Katren onto her horse.

  Brockwell looked back to Maelgwn.

  ‘We will discuss it later.’ The Prince’s stern expression rested on Tory.

  ‘Thee can count on it,’ she replied, every bit as annoyed.

  By early afternoon they’d met the barge at the Menai Strait, and the Prince was busy organising his men for the crossing.

  Tory used this time to take Katren aside and clean her up. She found a shirt that the maid could wear over her dress to hide the rip that ran all the way down to her navel. The girl had hardly said a word except ‘Thank thee,’ or ‘Thou art too kind.’ She appeared to be in her mid teens and was only a tiny little thing. Tory thought her face almost angelic, despite her bruises. Her features were small and pointed and her large round eyes were icy blue. Once unknotted and brushed, Katren’s hair fell to her waist in large ash-brown waves.

  ‘Much better.’ Tory sat back to view Katren, giving her a wink.

  ‘Did thee mean it when thee said I could be thy maid?’ Katren asked, timid as a mouse.

  ‘No, thou dost not have to do that.’

  ‘But I want to, lady.’ Katren went down on her knees, pleading. ‘It would be an honour, a dream come true!’

  ‘Thee need only be my friend,’ Tory assured her, but was forced to resign herself to having a maid when Katren’s desperate expression didn’t change. ‘Alright, if that be what thee truly wants,’ she announced, caught up in Katren’s excitement.

  ‘Oh thank thee, lady.’ Katren bowed a few times, still on her knees.

  Tory couldn’t cope with this a second longer and placed her hands on the maiden’s shoulders, pulling her up to look her straight in the eye. ‘Listen to me, Katren. Unless thou art addressing royalty, never bow before anyone. From this day forth thou art thine own master.’

  ‘But I may still be thy maid?’ Katren asked before getting too excited.

  ‘If his lordship agrees.’ Tory held up her hand for a high-five. ‘Now, hold up your hand.’

  The Prince turned to see the two girls slap hands before hugging each other.

  ‘It would seem they get along.’ Brockwell chuckled, walking over to get them moving. ‘Thee will have a whole harem soon.’

  Maelgwn considered this statement to be not too far from the truth, as his intended bride was probably on her way to Mon by now.

  Once they’d reached the isle, the soldiers returned with the barge to the mainland and only the royal party rode on to Aberffraw.

  The island’s terrain was flatter than the rest of Gwynedd, which made for an easy ride. They passed over miles of common, scattered with farms and cottages, before they finally arrived on the outskirts of the estate.

  The Prince brought the party to a halt, and his knights and squires gathered around him to hear his instruction. Tory quietly advised Katren to hang back a little, as Maelgwn had not said a word to her since their run-in this morning.

  The Prince looked to Cadogan. ‘As soon as we arrive I want thee to take Tory straight to the northern caphouse.’ This was one of the chambers to be found at the top of each of the house’s four towers. ‘Selwyn, thee will see to it that Katren finds t
he maids’ sleeping quarters.’ Selwyn nodded. ‘Madoc, keep Gilmore distracted, and Brockwell …’ Maelgwn looked to his champion, who was eagerly awaiting his task. ‘I will need thee to help me with thy mother.’

  Brockwell’s mother, Lady Gladys, had charge of the household at Aberffraw, as she was sister to the King. The Prince’s mother had been slain in the uprising of his uncle, and Lady Gladys had assumed the responsibility in her stead.

  ‘I would like to speak to her of Tory before they meet,’ the Prince explained.

  Brockwell nodded, understanding this reasoning.

  The royal house at Aberffraw was situated on the coast of Mon overlooking the ocean. High stone walls ran between its four towers and the inner bailey courtyard was located within the walls of the house. The outer bailey pathways led off in opposite directions to stables and to a great hall, which Tory presumed to be the army lodgings. Another large stone wall encompassed this huge area, its buildings and grounds, beyond which lay the village and the common.

  The Prince and his company were met with a grand welcome from the locals as they made their way through the village. Tory noticed a beautiful woman sitting outside one of the cottages. The woman had drawn her attention because, unlike all the other women Tory had encountered thus far, she seemed quietly proud. She was obviously poor, judging from her dress, and her expression was one of deep malice. Tory noticed her spiteful glare resting on Cadogan as they passed.

  When they reached the inner court of the grand Roman castle, Lady Gladys, along with a couple of young ladies in her care, and the servants of the house, were waiting to greet the Prince and his party. Sir Gilmore, the King’s representative at Aberffraw who ran the estate and trained the men for their ever-expanding armies, was also in attendance with a small guard.

  Madoc kept Sir Gilmore distracted, exchanging greetings during their long-awaited reunion; they had become firm friends during their many years of service to King Caswallon, but had not seen each other for some time.

  The Prince and Brockwell tried to distract Lady Gladys while Cadogan went about the Prince’s bidding. As overwhelmed as she was to see her boys safely home again, Lady Gladys didn’t miss a trick. ‘Where be Sir Cadogan taking that girl?’ She gestured after him, waiting for one of them to offer an explanation.