The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  ‘There is a God,’ Tory remarked in jest. ‘Do go on, I am listening.’

  ‘After your union with the Prince you shall wear red, the colour of the warrior. This day is for tournament, the quest for the Queen’s Champion amongst other competitions.’

  Tory wasn’t too sure how she felt about that. What do I need a champion for, she wondered. Still, she’d never seen a tournament, it could be interesting.

  ‘And no, you can’t compete.’ Taliesin knocked that question on the head before she’d even thought of it.

  Tory rolled her eyes as if to imply it had never entered her mind. ‘The third day?’ she prompted.

  ‘Black. The colour of the enchantress, the wise woman and third face of the Goddess. This shall be your first day in court with your advisers and officials. A perfect time, if I may say so, to present your proposals concerning the women of this land.’

  ‘You truly know everything, don’t you?’ Tory looked at him surprised. ‘But I thought, in all fairness to the Prince that, as this proposal was a condition of our wedding, I should really present it to him on day one.’

  ‘Why? Maelgwn will agree, I do! And I shall be present to support your cause. After all, is it not in the best interest of the Goddess? A bit more respect for women would certainly not go astray around here.’

  Again he surprised her. Remarkable.

  ‘Thank you.’ He gave a smile. ‘Now, where was I? Ah yes, the fourth and final day — a dress of green, the colour of the land, the triple Goddess and Mother Earth. This day you shall be crowned Queen before holding conference with all the Kings of Britain, bar Chiglas of course.’

  ‘What! What am I supposed to say to them?’

  ‘When the time comes, you will know, trust me.’

  ‘Trust you! Taliesin, that’s a lot of faith. I don’t want to look foolish —’

  ‘Tory please, I can’t discuss it with you as the Prince wishes to first. But you will be well briefed, I promise.’

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll try to relax,’ Tory resolved, feeling it wasn’t going to be easy. ‘One more thing. Where are these dresses coming from? I hope I’m not expected to make them, I’m hopeless on a sewing machine.’ Taliesin laughed and Tory caught on to his amusement. ‘Needle and thread, you know what I mean. I’m hopeless!’

  Taliesin didn’t appear too worried about it, gesturing over her shoulder. ‘With many thanks from the Goddess and her folk.’

  Five beautiful garments suddenly materialised behind her.

  ‘Oh my stars,’ Tory gasped as she rose to her feet. She circled the garments, thinking them too beautiful to touch, let alone wear.

  The fifth dress was of white with a sash of green, red and black that draped over the right shoulder and fell in a long train behind. Taliesin explained this was for her bridesmaid, and Tory knew Katren would simply die when she saw it.

  ‘Thank you Taliesin, they are exquisite.’

  The Prince was near frozen by the time the dragon landed in the courtyard of Castell Dwyran, in Dyfed. Needless to say, the court’s soldiers were quite alarmed and would have attacked the great beast if Maelgwn hadn’t emerged from its shoulders to prevent them.

  ‘I am Maelgwn, Prince of Gwynedd, and this be the pet of the Goddess Keridwen. I am unarmed and bring a message from the Goddess for Vortipor, the Protector of Dyfed. Will he grant me audience or doth he wish to bring the wrath of our Otherworld forefathers upon himself and his kingdom?’

  The Prince was soon led to Vortipor’s private chambers, with the assurance that the beast of the Goddess would not be harmed. Maelgwn found his Roman-appointed counterpart reclining by a fire with a couple of maidens tending his every whim. When the Prince had been formally announced, he bowed deeply to his adversary before stating his business. ‘I have but two questions to put to thee, Vortipor of Dyfed. Dost thou still hold true and honour the ways of the Goddess in thy Kingdom? And dost thou hold any allegiance to Chiglas, King of Powys, or the barbarian invaders that raid our land?’

  Vortipor gave a hearty laugh, brushing away the attentions of the women. ‘My dear Prince of Gwynedd, do slow down. I can hardly follow a word thou art saying.’ The ruler sat up to address the Prince, who appeared even younger than himself. ‘It be so rare that we art honoured by a legend, do sit for a moment and have some wine. It be imported from Italy, compliments of King Aurelius Caninus of Gwent Is Coed, and be truly a treat.’

  Maelgwn was relieved that the two leaders knew each other, and Vortipor appeared quite a civilised fellow. Although shorter than Maelgwn, Vortipor appeared of sturdy build and a warrior to be reckoned with.

  ‘Thy hospitality be most generous, sir, but I regret that I must decline. I am to be wed in a few days, and must complete this errand for the Goddess before then. So, if thee could answer my questions, I shall be on my way. I still have Aurelius Caninus to see before I may return to my bride.’

  Again Vortipor laughed but with greater understanding. ‘Now I see what drives thee so. Could I not offer thee some relief, perhaps?’ He motioned to the two lovely young maidens in his company, who appeared more than eager to oblige.

  ‘Thy women be truly tempting, but I must again decline, as only my due bounty shall bring me any solace, I am afraid.’

  ‘If thou insists on being so damned official.’ Vortipor clapped his hands and the maidens left the room. ‘Thy bride must be quite a prize. Come and seat thyself, friend. I shan’t keep thee from her any longer than necessary.’

  Their talks began over lunch and finished over dinner. Sharing the same age, the same beliefs, education and ideas, made it very easy for the two to agree on most subjects. Maelgwn informed Vortipor of the attack on Degannwy, of Chiglas’ growing forces and of Powys’ alliance with the invading savages.

  Vortipor found the information fair cause for concern. He could count on little support from Rome, should such a situation arise in Dyfed, as they had plenty of battles of their own to contend with. Thus he had good reason to unite with other kingdoms against Chiglas, and was delighted to agree to attend Maelgwn’s wedding and the gathering, called in the name of the Goddess.

  ‘Allow me on the morrow to accompany thee to the court of Aurelius Caninus,’ Vortipor suggested. ‘Not that any harm might befall thee, mind. It be more that the King, no longer a young man, could keep thee detained for days with his damned procrastinating. I have been dealing with him for years, he trusts me and tends to follow my advice.’

  So they sat drinking wine by the fire in Vortipor’s private chambers until well into the wee hours.

  At dawn the Prince woke his new companion, eager to get on the move. Vortipor, somewhat amazed by Maelgwn’s powers of recuperation, dragged himself from his peaceful slumber, not wanting to miss out on the adventure. Times had been quite blissful in the Kingdom of Dyfed since the Desi had assumed power. Till now, Vortipor had only to send troops to the aid of Gwent Is Coed to hold back the encroaching Danish and Saxon raiders. Chiglas in Powys, however, was a threat that was much closer to home. If he’d indeed made a pact with the barbarian bastards, they could pass right through Powys and ravage Dyfed directly.

  The allies entered the courtyard of the huge fortress to find Rufus peacefully curled up asleep. The locals all gasped in awe at the dragon as they went about their daily business, trying to avoid the huge obstruction.

  Vortipor stopped in his tracks and roared with laughter. ‘When my men told me thee had arrived on a dragon, I thought them exaggerating. Thou art a truly wondrous soul, Maelgwn of Gwynedd.’

  The dragon opened one eye to observe the Prince. Like I have nothing to do with it, I suppose.

  ‘Ah Rufus.’ The Prince ignored its comment. ‘This be Vortipor, the Protector of Dyfed.’

  The dragon turned his one open eye to view the man as he stepped forward and politely bowed. A big brawny Scottic man, yum, yum!

  ‘Now that be enough of that,’ the Prince insisted, and Vortipor took a step backwards, wondering what the dragon had be
thought his affiliate. ‘I believe Vortipor will be of great assistance to our quest. Would thee mind if he accompanied us to Gwent Is Coed?’

  Depends. What does he have to offer one in the way of breakfast?

  Maelgwn turned to Vortipor, a mite embarrassed by his travelling companion’s hideous taste in cuisine. ‘I hate to ask, but dost thou have any grievous criminals lying about that thee might want to be rid of? It would seem Rufus here be a bit hungry, and thou art appearing a bit too appetising to merely transport.’

  ‘I see, well we can’t have our Otherworld friend going hungry now, can we?’ He addressed the dragon directly, ‘Would a couple of fat thieves do? Unfortunately most of our more grievous offenders have grown rather thin, and would not be very appetising, I’m afraid.’

  One finds this acceptable.

  The Prince gave his friend the nod and Vortipor clapped his hands together. ‘Splendid! I shall have them brought to thee at once.’

  Rufus threw down breakfast in seconds flat, and was then more than happy to make haste with the Prince and his new ally to Caerleon.

  Vortipor was so exhilarated by his first experience of flight that he gave the Prince a sterling introduction and recommendation to Aurelius. He ranted and raved about their journey, the Prince’s great quest, and his invitation from the Goddess.

  At first, the old King appeared rather caught up in the excitement of his younger colleague. But when it came down to Aurelius agreeing with Vortipor, his procrastinating began.

  Known as ‘the dog’, King Caninus reminded Maelgwn of an old hound that had lost the scent and couldn’t decide which way to go. The Prince was quietly driven insane by the King’s unwarranted fears and delays, as he impatiently watched the day slip into night. He thanked the Goddess for Vortipor, if not for him they may well have been stuck there for months.

  By the end of supper the King had agreed to attend the wedding and hear what the Goddess had to say. Maelgwn was satisfied to have accomplished this much, and on the morrow he would return to his men at Llyn Cerrig Bach. There he would celebrate with them, as he had a day to spare, before he would, at last, wed his lady.

  12

  UNION

  The mist vanished from the land the day before the set wedding date, and Tory was advised that the Prince had most surely returned from his quest, successful. She waited all day and late into the evening for his arrival, but fell asleep while finishing off her proposal for the court, to be delivered three days hence. Not that they were allowed to see each other before the wedding; this superstition existed even then. A good thing too the way Tory saw it, as her hair was wrapped in long tight rags which were not very flattering.

  She awoke the morning of her wedding to find Katren at her side, waiting to serve her breakfast. Fresh flowers covered the bed and Tory cringed. ‘Please tell me that Maelgwn did not see me like this?’

  ‘Nay,’ Katren giggled. ‘The flowers be from thy Prince, though. He asked that I deliver them to thee, and instructed me to give thee this.’ Katren passed Tory a note, which she opened and read:

  We strangely met,

  like not so many,

  yet still my love

  be true as any.

  In the Old One’s choice,

  my soul does rejoice.

  And no gift could express

  the love for thee I do possess.

  So love him in thy heart,

  whose forever joy thou art.

  And our love will know no end,

  my dear and sweetest friend.

  After reading it to herself, and taking delight in the lovely verse, Tory read the note out loud to Katren, knowing she would well appreciate it.

  ‘If only every man were so true and could express himself so beautifully, every woman would know thy joy this day, Tory.’

  ‘Every woman in Gwynedd shall by the time we finish with the men here. Mark my words Katren, thou shalt know this joy and in the not too distant future.’

  ‘Be that a prophecy, Goddess?’

  ‘It be a promise, provided of course that thee can stick to our plan. I know how persuasive Calin can be, it will not be easy to resist him, especially when thou wilt be wearing that dress!’

  ‘If thee can do it, I can do it. Anyway, no one shall even notice me for the beauty of my lovely mistress.’

  They had the good part of a day to prepare as Maelgwn’s crowning, which none of the women bar Lady Gladys were permitted to attend, would run well into the noon hours. They also had every woman in the household waiting to assist them, so there wasn’t really any need to rush.

  Rhys, Tiernan, Selwyn, and Taliesin were all present to attend the Prince as he prepared for his crowning and union with the Goddess. This was fortunate for Maelgwn, as he had a mild case of the premarital jitters. His support team did their best to calm him, filling him with mead and assurances while they near drowned him in a hot bath.

  Selwyn was having a fine time trying to scrub away the fairy folk’s artwork from his Majesty’s torso and arms, whilst Rhys poured the drinks for everyone and pointed out the advantages of wedlock. Tiernan was no help, as a confirmed bachelor he was constantly contradicting Rhys with his point of view.

  Rhys turned to Tiernan. ‘Thou shalt die a very lonely and bitter old man, sir. And if thee insists on being a hindrance, thee can leave.’

  The Prince panicked. ‘Where be my gift from the folk for Tory?’

  ‘I have it,’ Taliesin answered. For the wedding, Maelgwn was fitted out in a shirt of the purest white linen, and his trousers, gunna and long cape were pitch black, like his belt and boots. Taliesin placed the medallion of the Dragon over the Prince’s head, and it sat on his chest as the perfect finish to a majestic outfit.

  Lady Gladys knocked and entered, followed by Cara and Alma who were carrying large baskets of freshly cut flowers and vines. The three women were dressed to the nines in new creations of their own, that they had been working on since the announcement of the wedding. Lady Gladys’ dress was of dark green, in honour of the Goddess, and it had been created to enhance her favourite pieces of the family jewels. The earrings, bracelets, necklace, and tiara of gold were set with emeralds and diamonds, and had been a wedding gift to her grandmother from the folk.

  ‘My dear boy,’ Lady Gladys took up Maelgwn’s hands, standing back to view him. ‘Be he not the most handsome man in all Brittany?’ she asked the girls who would have become rather coy at the question only months ago. Since their frequent association with Tory, however, Cara, the older and gamer of the two, was more than happy to step forward and voice her opinion.

  ‘Aye Lady Gladys, it be a sad day for the womenfolk of Gwynedd.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Alma nodded in complete agreement.

  It was seldom Maelgwn blushed, but feeling the heat rising in his face, he bowed to them. ‘Thou art too kind, ladies. And may I say that thou art all the very picture of the Goddess this day.’

  ‘Here, here.’ Tiernan held up his goblet in agreement.

  Lady Gladys beamed with pride as Maelgwn kissed her hand. ‘Well, enough chatter, it be high time we got thee crowned and out of here, so that these ladies can prepare the chamber for thy wedding this night.’

  This brought a round of whistles from the men present, embarrassing the poor Prince yet again.

  ‘A definite advantage of wedlock,’ Rhys commented with cheer, looking at Tiernan.

  ‘I cannot argue there, my friend,’ the bachelor was pleased to admit.

  Katren gazed into the mirror with disbelief; she didn’t recognise herself. ‘Thy talents be truly endless. I never imagined I could appear thus.’

  Although she seldom bothered with them herself, Tory carried a few cosmetics when she travelled and certainly knew how to use the array of colours to their best advantage. ‘My mother was vain to a fault, being in the public eye all the time,’ she explained. ‘I’d learnt how to do a complete make-up by the time I was ten.’

  The white dress of the maiden made Tory feel
and look every bit the feminine Goddess. Its neck draped across her shoulders in soft folds, as was the Roman fashion. The silky fabric drew in tight to fit her tiny waist, dropping to a V-shape at her hips. The skirt then fell in gentle waves to the floor and to a long train. The sleeves were transparent and flared wide from the elbow, with the underside dropping by her side almost to the floor.

  Tory’s mass of long golden ringlets had been smoothed back tight to her crown. Combs, laced with tiny white flowers, held in place a shimmering veil, so sheer and delicate that it appeared almost as if it were not there at all.

  As the bell of the south tower tolled to inform all of the King’s crowning, Lady Gladys arrived to fetch the pair. She held out her hands, glowing with happiness as the girls approached her. ‘I swear thou art more breathtaking than even Sorcha. Thee and Maelgwn art a most handsome match, indeed,’ she told Tory as they all linked hands. Her eyes turned to Katren. ‘And I foresee a double victory for us this day. We art counting on thee, child.’

  ‘Fear not, Lady Gladys,’ Katren said with confidence. ‘I will not fail thee in this.’

  Tory walked through the courtyard arm-in-arm with Lady Gladys, listening carefully to her last minute words of wisdom. The balmy aroma of her beautiful bouquet of white flowers, thankfully seemed to be calming her nerves.

  Katren moved quickly ahead of them to meet Brockwell, who was the only member of the household who still remained outside the Great Hall. He was wearing a blindfold, having decided he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to look upon Tory this day.

  ‘My dear Sir Brockwell, I was joking when I said thee would have to be blindfolded. It appears more like thou art going to an execution,’ Katren said.

  ‘Be she here yet?’ he asked, catching a most beautiful scent in the air.

  ‘Nay, I have been sent ahead to prepare thee,’ she informed him, reaching up to untie the blindfold.