The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  Maelgwn was amused by her misconception. ‘Thee need not fear. Inauguration be a test of the spirit. The task I am requested to perform be usually of a political nature, rather than a show of strength. Besides, I am the heir to the throne, dost thou really think my men would see me killed, when they have dedicated their lives to keeping me alive?’

  Tory saw the sense of this, yet her frown did not waver. ‘Doth this ritual in any way involve thee having sex with another woman, fertility rites, that sort of thing?’

  Maelgwn couldn’t help but laugh, as he was stunned by her directness. ‘Well I … I do not think so,’ he answered, as he’d resolved to play naive.

  Tory folded her arms, waiting, showing that she needed more assurance than this.

  ‘My father was the last King of Gwynedd to face this initiation, so I have never witnessed it myself. However, I have survived a similar ritual —’

  ‘The Dragon, right?’

  ‘Aye.’ He seemed surprised that she knew. ‘And I did not have to perform any such rite then.’

  This was not the entire truth; following this quest, Maelgwn had returned to Dumnonia to celebrate the dragon’s departure with the overjoyed King Catulus. It was the feast of Beltaine, and the young Prince had lost his virginity to a willing young maiden by the bonfires.

  ‘Thou art the Goddess who awaits me at the end of my quest, and the Great Houses have stated such.’

  ‘That be good news, indeed,’ Tory warned, and within seconds had him pinned to the ground. ‘Because if thee should ever sleep with another woman, I would make thee wish that thou had wed Vanora.’

  The thought of Vanora made him shiver. ‘Nay, thee and I shall lovers die,’ he said with zeal, and when she still didn’t release him he added, ‘I swear to thee.’

  ‘Not good enough.’ Tory was in the mood to play. ‘Swear by the elements for me.’

  Maelgwn laughed again. ‘Where art thou getting all this from?’

  Tory let him go, and knelt up. ‘Lady Gladys made me swear by them.’

  The Prince sat up, pulling Tory towards him. ‘And what did thee swear to exactly?’

  Tory wrapped her arms around his neck and straddled her legs to take a seat in his lap. ‘That until we art wed, I shall withhold my favours from thee.’

  Maelgwn’s expression grew more mischievous. ‘And thou art doing a fine job of it, too,’ he said.

  Tory was enjoying the opportunity to arouse him a little. We deserve it, she thought to herself as the Prince caressed her neck with his lips. ‘How would thee define favours exactly?’ Tory asked him.

  ‘Um …’ He could barely think for the distraction of her body. ‘I would say that as long as I keep my clothes on, we art safe.’ Tory went to hit him, so Maelgwn wrestled her into a more manageable position beneath him; he noted in the process that Tiernan was heading down the stairs towards them. ‘Could I come and see thee later tonight, perhaps?’

  ‘I think that would be highly dangerous.’

  ‘I shall behave, I swear.’

  Tory procrastinated over the answer for so long that Tiernan had reached them before she’d had the chance to reply. Maelgwn climbed off and gave Tory a hand to her feet, explaining their position to his knight. ‘Training.’

  ‘I can hardly wait to get started.’ Tiernan grinned and bowed to them. ‘I am sorry to disturb thee both, but I bear grave news.’

  ‘Not more,’ Maelgwn said, his mood darkening. ‘What hast happened now, another death?’

  Tiernan gave a slight nod.

  ‘Please Goddess, not Sir Gilmore?’

  ‘I am very sorry, Majesty.’ Tiernan felt for the young leader, it was a cruel stroke of fate indeed to lose another trusted adviser so soon.

  Tory looked at Maelgwn, who appeared as if he might explode. She quietly wrapped her arms about him tightly. The Prince, after a moment of resistance, crumpled into her embrace and she felt he would have burst into tears had Sir Tiernan not been present.

  The King’s cremation ceremony was held the next day in the traditional burial grounds just outside the town limits. The Prince tried to dissuade Tory from attending the funeral as she was not of the faith, and he feared she would only find the ritual gruelling. But Tory was determined to learn more about the culture and knew that Calin would be in attendance. She so desperately wanted to speak to him, or absolve him, or whatever the hell it was she had to do to have his friendship back.

  She’d shown Maelgwn the photo of her brother and tried to explain to him how much Brian had meant to her. The Prince began to understand her strange predicament, and so had apologised for his jealousy and for ever doubting her love. This had not been her main concern, however. Tory wanted the Prince to make amends with Calin, or at least to try. After she explained that she would sooner leave than come between two friends of such long standing, Maelgwn agreed he would see to the matter before he left for his inauguration two days hence.

  Calin stood not far from Tory, yet not once throughout the ceremony did his eyes turn in her direction. His head remained bowed low in mourning and his expression was solemn.

  The punishment is rather severe for nothing more than a proposition, Tory thought. If I had been any other woman he could have raped me and been deemed a hero. This was part of their way too, she supposed. And, as this did not seem the right time or place to attempt a reconciliation, she resolved to let the matter rest.

  The overcast sky enhanced the darkness of the occasion. As the King’s body was set to flame, Taliesin recited:

  I saw death approaching

  down the corridor of time,

  where it has loitered since my birth,

  waiting to accompany my spirit back

  through the ethers to the Otherworld.

  With the touch of the divine,

  I see the sum total of my life, my deeds,

  all I have done, that which I leave undone

  and shall accomplish upon my returning.

  I mourn my loved ones among the living,

  whom I will watch over and protect

  from my place at the side of the Goddess,

  until such time as we are united in the Otherworld,

  or in the next earthly life.

  Once the day of the burial had passed, the sorrow which had overshadowed the house lifted, and all began to look forward to the great celebration that lay ahead. For the next few days Tory resumed her normal routine: training with Maelgwn in the morning, lunch with Lady Gladys, music with Selwyn in the afternoon, and more training with the maidens in the evening after supper.

  The Prince hadn’t spoken again about coming to see her at night; perhaps he had also decided it was too risky. Still, Tory needed to see him before he embarked on his adventure. So on the day before his departure, she requested that he join her in the north tower that night. ‘To talk,’ she said, to stress the innocent intent.

  It was some ungoldly hour when Maelgwn quietly made his way across the open wall-walk to Tory’s tower, carrying a large basket.

  He found Tory dozing on her bed. After whispering an apology for his tardiness, Maelgwn tipped up the basket and showered her with fresh flowers. He then tossed it aside and climbed onto the bed next to her.

  Tory sat up, enchanted with his gift. ‘Maelgwn, how lovely.’

  He ran his hand down her bare arm and, taking hold of it, gently urged her to lie back next to him. ‘Aye, now what did thee wish to discuss?’

  Maelgwn’s lips enveloped her own, and before Tory could stop him, he was on top of her. His attentive kisses slowly moved down her neck, as his hands slipped the straps of her singlet from her shoulders. She felt a twinge of guilt as Lady Gladys’ voice resounded through her brain. Thou hast sworn by the elements and art bound by life itself to comply.

  ‘Maelgwn, I am required to take offence if thee continues along thy current course of action,’ Tory said, but she made it clear by her playful tone that she was reluctant to do so.

  His kisses had reached her
breastbone and he gazed up at her, smitten as a schoolboy. ‘Thee would not deny me but a small taste of thy pleasures to see me through my quest?’

  Tory smiled, yet one of them had to be responsible. ‘I am afraid I must insist.’

  ‘But it be tradition to bed one’s intended wife a week or so before one weds her.’

  Tory laughed, ‘I do not believe thee for a second, Maelgwn. How gullible dost thou think I am?’

  ‘It be true: Thus a man be assured his betrothed will not back out on him for fear she hast fallen with child.’

  Tory sprang up at the suggestion and grabbed her wrap from the end of the bed to cover herself. ‘Thou hast no need to worry about that. Thy mother warned me that if thou had any of thy father in thee, keeping thee at bay would not be easy.’

  ‘Thou hast spoken with Sorcha?’ The Prince sat up, intrigued by her words.

  ‘Aye, thee might say that. I hear her whispering little messages sometimes, in my head. And thy father has spoken to me also, the day he died. That be why I asked thee here.’ Tory took hold of his hand. ‘He left thee a message. Caswallon said that the two of thee had not been very close since thy mother’s death. Thee claimed, according to thy father, that the only time he had ever trusted thee was when he had been chained in prison with no other choice.’

  Maelgwn raised an eyebrow, recalling the incident of which she spoke. ‘I did.’

  ‘He confessed that he had never thanked thee or Taliesin for freeing him from Cadfer’s imprisonment, or for the salvation of his kingdom. This was his deepest regret in passing, Maelgwn, for he knew he owed thee much. He was terribly distraught following Sorcha’s death, and he did not consider how thee might be faring without her. He believed the reason thee hid in a monastery for so many years, was to escape his remorse and narrow-mindedness.’

  Maelgwn looked rather surprised. ‘My father said that?’

  ‘Aye. He realised he had been a fool for not listening to thee more often, and he was pleased that he had trusted thee to contend with Chiglas’ attack. His last words came in the form of a prophecy, I suppose: When Maelgwn be crowned King of all Gwynedd, the land shall unite and prosper. Goddess blessed, he will be hailed as one of the greatest leaders among Britons.’ Maelgwn appeared doubtful as he pondered her words, so Tory added as verification, ‘The history books say the same.’

  His eyes met hers. ‘Thou art aware of everything that shall befall me, art thou not?’ He changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on his father after the events of the past couple of days.

  ‘Some things.’

  ‘Doth thou know if we will have an heir?’ His siren mood returned and he was all hands.

  She smiled, placing her fingers on the pressure points at the top of his arms to paralyse them. ‘Do I have to ask thee to leave?’

  The pain forced him to control himself. ‘Forgive me, thou wast going to say?’

  Tory, in all honesty, was a bit perturbed by the question; this heir business obviously meant a lot to Maelgwn so she felt she should put his fears to rest. ‘Aye, his name be Rhun. He grows to be a fierce warrior and a rather notorious womaniser, so they say.’

  This made Maelgwn tremendously happy. ‘I can hardly wait to return to thee so that our life together may begin. I do miss thee already.’ He leant towards her.

  ‘Maelgwn, art thou up there?’ Lady Gladys’ voice echoed up the stairwell.

  ‘Damn that woman,’ Maelgwn whispered under his breath, and Tory’s chuckle gave them away. ‘I had best go.’ He kissed her quickly.

  ‘Maelgwn!’ His aunt called again in warning.

  11

  THE QUEST

  The Prince’s party left at noon the following day. Tory was present to see them off, as were most of the household. Brockwell seemed to be having no trouble ignoring her, so she returned the favour.

  As additional penance, Brockwell was to remain at the house to attend to the training of the men. Sir Cedric had been appointed to Sir Gilmore’s old position as trainer, and Sir Percival, Caswallon’s accounts’ keeper, would be arriving from Degannwy to resume the administrative work of the court. With Gilmore’s death, Percival was the last of King Caswallon’s advisers, and Maelgwn needed him close at hand. The Prince also considered that Aberffraw was a much cosier environment for the aging scholar.

  All knights and lords of high rank in Gwynedd were to accompany the Prince to Llyn Cerrig Bach for the ritual. The only outsider permitted was King Catulus. Over the years, those of the Roman faith had discouraged him from maintaining the old ways and beliefs of his people. Yet since the King had met Maelgwn all those years ago, he’d become rather fond of him. Catulus was inspired by the ancient mysteries in which his young friend believed, and so he was thrilled to be along for the ride.

  Brockwell’s decision to stay behind can’t have been easy, Tory considered as she glanced in his direction. A king’s inauguration was a rare and esteemed affair for the male members of the court, and it was a great honour to have earned the right to attend.

  Tory kissed Maelgwn goodbye, knowing that he would come back to her triumphant and unharmed. ‘I shall see thee at the altar then.’

  ‘Thee may be sure of that.’ He left in fine spirits to join his men, who were all mounted and eager to depart. The knights raised a riot, spurred on by the cheers of the crowd, as the Prince led them charging off through the open portcullis.

  Once the party had left, the gathering of well-wishers dispersed and Tory turned to Katren. ‘Ready?’ Katren gave a firm nod. ‘Lead the way.’

  Katren had been moved out of the servants’ quarters and into a room with Cara and Alma in the main wing. Her participation in Gwynedd’s victory led her to be deemed a lady by royal decree, and she was therefore eligible to pursue a knight’s affections. Together with Tory and Lady Gladys, she had been devising Calin’s entrapment, and he’d become the major topic over lunch. The three women agreed that Katren and the other girls would go into intensive training this week while the knights were away. If Brockwell wanted a challenge, then that was exactly what they would give him.

  Katren and Tory strolled slowly across the great lawn of the sunny outer bailey, observing the training taking place there and remarking on the more skilful or handsome of the soldiers. Brockwell was not far off, overseeing a large group of men being put through their paces. He spied the women walking towards the outer-bailey portcullis, and moved at once to inquire as to their intent. After all, he was in charge, and their safety was his responsibility. Though he was forbidden to speak with Tory, he could ask Katren. Lady Katren in fact. Brockwell considered that she’d done rather well for herself. ‘Lady Katren, where art thou going this day?’

  ‘Why Sir Brockwell, we art —’

  ‘Nay Katren. Why should we answer to one who hast chosen freely to ignore me,’ Tory said as she stormed off ahead.

  Katren’s soft blue eyes looked up at Brockwell full of sympathy. ‘She misses thy company, sir, that be all. We art only going to see the tradesmen in the village about a wedding gift for the Prince.’ She smiled but did not linger to chat.

  But again the knight stopped her, ‘Lady Katren, I need to ask thee a great favour. I know I am in disgrace and thou hast no —’

  ‘There be no disgrace in the truth, sir … if thou dost not mind me saying so.’ Brockwell’s eyes were so intense as they heeded her that Katren began to blush. ‘I would be honoured to help thee, what doth thou require of me?’

  Tory wandered round the marketplace meeting the local merchants while waiting for Katren. She asked directions to the workshop of a wood carver and a goldsmith, as she had a commission for them to carry out. The men were most helpful, and very proud to be entrusted with the creation of the wedding gift for their future monarch.

  Instead of exchanging rings, as is done in modern ceremony, the Britons exchanged gifts. Tory, knowing Maelgwn to be a great thinker, decided to have a chess set crafted for him; after all, chess became known in later centuries as the gam
e of kings. Tory supplied the gold and silver for the pieces, courtesy of Lady Gladys, and selected oak and white willow for the board. She paid the craftsmen handsomely for the many hours they would have to put in to finish the gift in time, and they both set to work immediately, carefully following the drawings she’d given them.

  Katren had caught Tory up by this time, and the pair ambled back through the centre of the village. As they walked, Tory noticed that they’d attracted a few children on the way. The throng of excited youngsters trailed along behind them, interested to know what a Goddess was really like. When Katren became aware of the curious group she initiated a game of chase, so Tory stood aside to watch and ponder their plight. It would take little effort to educate these youngsters, she thought.

  ‘Be Prince Maelgwn going to slay another dragon, Lady Goddess?’ A young boy, maybe five years old, had plucked up the courage to approach her.

  Tory, rather amused by his title for her, was stunned when she looked down at him. This boy was the very image of Calin, the piercing blue eyes, dark curls, dimple, and all. ‘The Prince never killed the dragon, he befriended it. Nothing can be learnt from death and destruction.’

  ‘I am going to be a knight,’ the young boy told her with zeal, despite the mocking laughter of the other children.

  ‘His mamma was nothin’ but a whore!’ one of the older boys sneered.

  Tory, seeing the boy’s embarrassment, went down on one knee to address him. ‘And what be thy name, soldier?’

  ‘Brockwell.’

  His answer nearly knocked her over.

  One of the older girls ran forward and clasped a hand over the boy’s mouth. ‘It be jest, his mamma claimed Sir Brockwell was his father, and when she died in birthing old Hetty nicknamed him thus. But he be really known as Bryce, lady.’

  Katren also found the resemblance rather striking, and was filled with sympathy for the boy. ‘Hast thee no kin?’