The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  As Brockwell made his way to the kitchens, he conceded that he was quite pleased with the way things had turned out. His King and Tory were most likely in the throes of marital bliss, and if Katren was in the mood to show him some favour, all would be rather grand this night.

  The huge kitchens of the house were a hive of activity, as they would be for the next three days. Brockwell found Katren sponging Bryce’s face clean, preparing the exhausted youngster for bed.

  ‘Sir Brockwell.’ Bryce became excited and Katren turned with a smile to greet him.

  ‘Bryce, thou art my brother now, thus thee must call me Calin.’ He lifted the boy from the bench and relieved him of the tedious task of being bathed.

  ‘Wow! Will thou teach me to be a great knight like thou art, Calin?’

  ‘Aye. And in years to come, thee shall grow to be the King’s Champion.’

  ‘Thou art going to win on the morrow, I know it.’ Bryce placed a small hand on Brockwell’s shoulder in support.

  ‘I shall certainly pursue the title to the best of my ability, and thou art coming to watch, of course.’

  ‘Aye, I have never been to a tournament before,’ Bryce exclaimed, jumping up and down, unable to contain himself.

  ‘Then thee had best get to bed where thee should have been ages ago, or thou shalt surely sleep in and miss all the action,’ Katren teased, taking up his hand.

  ‘Nay.’ Bryce withdrew his hand from hers. ‘My brother will take me.’ Bryce looked at Brockwell, who shrugged at Katren as he tossed the boy over his shoulder.

  ‘Do not go anywhere, I will be back,’ he advised her over Bryce’s squeals of delight.

  Upon his return, Katren was fussing about preparing trays of food.

  ‘Katren!’ Calin took hold of her hands. ‘Leave this to the servants, thou art a lady now and the last place thee belongs be in a kitchen. Come with me for a stroll through the grounds instead.’ He raised his brow in anticipation.

  ‘Some fresh air and exercise before bed would be good,’ she supposed, wrapping the long train of her dress about her shoulders and accompanying Calin outside. ‘Thou hast done very well this day, Calin.’ Katren made polite conversation as her escort had gone rather quiet. ‘Thy lady love married another, and still thou hast not touched a drop of mead all day.’

  He turned to her, somewhat alarmed, sorry now that Katren even knew of his feelings for her mistress, as she would think his sudden change of heart just a ploy to seduce her. ‘I am overjoyed for my King and sister. I feel no need to drown my sorrows, believe me.’

  Although well pleased to hear this, Katren didn’t show it. She maintained an expression of interested concern as they resumed their stroll.

  ‘I have not indulged, as I wished to see if my wanton thoughts were provoked by drink alone.’

  ‘And were they?’

  ‘It would seem not.’ He turned to face her again, his expression torrid.

  Here it comes. Katren prepared herself. Stay in control.

  ‘I know this confession will sound volatile, Katren, but I have seen no one but thee this day. Thy beauty be a revelation to me.’

  To her great relief, she was not set swooning. Katren felt she held a kind of power over him, and she had the royal consent to use it. ‘How awful for thee, Calin, for I fear that I can only bring thee more torment.’

  A submission or flat denial he had expected, but this response was not anticipated. ‘Nay Katren please, thou hast not pledged thy love to another?’

  ‘Nay.’ She was pleased with his dismay and began to spin her tale. ‘Though I have sworn an oath of celibacy.’

  ‘Katren! To whom?’

  ‘To the Goddess, of course.’

  ‘Tory,’ Calin spitefully concluded.

  ‘Nay, the Goddess herself. I have no husband and no deep desire to keep or obey one. Thus, I have spoken with Taliesin, and he feels I would make a fine priestess.’ Calin was completely taken aback, and Katren played on this. ‘Be it not truly wonderful? Me, a priestess of the Honey Isle.’

  Brockwell sat down on a long garden bench, disheartened.

  Katren let her excitement wane a little. ‘What be the matter?’ She took a seat beside him.

  ‘I thought thee, I mean, I felt sure …’ He was tongue-tied a moment.

  ‘That I was attracted to thee?’

  ‘Aye!’ he acknowledged.

  ‘Calin, I was.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘Indeed.’ She stood to finish her address. ‘But any woman who believes herself capable of keeping thee faithful to her and her alone, be truly fooling herself, and I am no fool. Thou art a free spirit and that be fine, most men art by nature.’ She smiled, very sincere in her intent. ‘The kind of love I seek, I fear I shall be hard pressed to find. So, that be why I have chosen to devote all my time to pursuing the greater mysteries of this land and leave the lesser ones to other women who wish to be subjected to the frustrations of seeking and holding a husband. I have been there once, Calin, it be not for me.’

  ‘Thee listens to Tory too much.’

  ‘Calin, please give me my due. I had thee figured all by myself.’ She remained very cool, which frustrated him all the more.

  ‘How do women do that? Feel that way for someone and just walk away?’ Brockwell rose, angered that all wasn’t going to plan. What was wrong with him lately? Was he losing his charm, or were the women becoming more difficult?

  ‘Not how do women do it, Calin, but why? Women do not have the choice.’ As Calin appeared sceptical and bored by the answer, Katren continued. ‘Ask Bryce’s mother, the price she paid for her choice was dear. But thee had a good time, right?’

  ‘She sought me out.’

  He obviously thought this justified his part in the incident, which served to anger Katren all the more. ‘She was just a child.’

  ‘So was I!’

  ‘And thou still art.’

  ‘What can I do about it now, Katren, I beseech thee?’

  Katren glared at him. ‘Grow up,’ she suggested, and left.

  Much to the new King’s amazement, he had overslept. He snuggled closer to his wife, deciding that married life was going to do him the world of good. He could have snoozed blissfully on all day, and probably would have if Lady Gladys hadn’t woken them politely with breakfast. She informed them that it was fast approaching noon, when the tournament was hailed to begin.

  It was the red dress of the warrior that Tory proudly paraded this day. Of a similar cut to the first, this garment was made from a heavier fabric that did not shimmer like the silk of the maiden’s gown. Its sleeves came in tight at the wrists and it had a high neck. The dress sat well in her opinion, but it was the accessories that excited her most. Made of fine chain mail, the belt hung in a V-shape following the waistline. The neck piece had a wide band that fastened tight around her throat, then spread out over her shoulders. The two matching rings that slid onto the middle finger of each hand, featured the same fancy chain mail, running in a V from the ring to a band that fastened about her wrists. Tory truly adored this outfit, it felt powerful to wear and made her look every bit the proud warrior.

  The guests were feasting in the sunshine and making ready for the tournament in the inner bailey. The crowd sounded with fine force as the King and Tory entered the courtyard, clinging to each other to endure the jests from the men in regard to their tardiness.

  ‘Majesty, how grand that thee could join us,’ Rhys said, in very good spirits. ‘Dost thou wish to compete for Gwynedd this day? Vortipor of Dyfed hast suggested that instead of single competition, we should have teams that art allowed five men-at-arms.’

  Rhys spoke of the general competitions that were held as entertainment prior to the main event — the battle for the title of the Queen’s Champion. The heats for the Queen’s event would continue until only four warriors remained. These final competitors would do battle before the guests in the marquee, in the final three duels of the day. The runner up, if still alive, bec
ame the King’s Champion, as the Queen was supposed to require the greater protection. This competition was for the locals only, though the other games gave the visiting legions a chance to be involved in the festivities. It was left to Tory to nominate the mode of battle for her title. The games that preceded this event were swordplay, archery and, of course, jousting.

  ‘Very tempting indeed,’ Maelgwn smiled, rather keen on the idea until Tory raised an objection.

  ‘Hold on, I would still like thee in one piece tonight.’

  ‘Never fear, Goddess,’ Vortipor came forth, claiming her hand for a kiss. ‘I shall leave all the important parts intact.’

  ‘My dear Vortipor, how gracious, but it be thy own safety that concerns me. For if thou was to harm my husband in any way, I would have to beat thee most grievously — hardly the way I wish to treat such an honoured guest.’

  Vortipor laughed, delighted by her wit.

  ‘My good man, she be quite serious.’ Maelgwn told him. ‘My people have not hailed Tory as the War Goddess without good reason. Besides, I have been looking forward to a day of leisure with my fair wife. Sir Cedric shall fight in my stead.’

  Maelgwn was the first interesting challenge Vortipor had come across in quite some time, both mentally and physically, and there was no way he was going to give up so easily. ‘Come my friend, humour me. We art going to keep points, so the challenge be nothing more than a game. It will not be any fun if thou dost not compete.’

  Maelgwn’s men voiced their agreement with Vortipor.

  ‘What, outrageous! Maelgwn must compete!’ Catulus protested as the news reached him. ‘I have a wager on thee boy, thee cannot let me down.’

  Maelgwn laughed at the King. ‘Surely thou hast thine own representatives, Catulus?’

  ‘Aye, but I know too well how the Otherworld favours thee, thou hast never lost. Thus I put my gold on Gwynedd,’ he chuckled, turning to appeal to the bride. ‘Thee will have a whole lifetime to be together, lady. Could we not steal Maelgwn for the afternoon?’

  ‘Alright, if he wishes. But be warned, gentlemen, I shall hold every one of thee responsible if any dire harm befalls my King.’

  ‘Understood, lady, thou art most gracious.’ Vortipor bowed to them both. ‘May the best team win.’

  Maelgwn greeted the rest of his guests, before accompanying Tory to a large marquee, that opened onto the view of the battlefield. Chairs, rugs, cushions and refreshments had been placed in the shade of the tent for the honoured guests and family. Selwyn strummed a blissful tune on his harp, creating a very pleasant ambience. Similar shelters had been erected on the upper green of the outer bailey, around the main arena, to accommodate the visiting lords and their kin. In the main arena, one could view Dyfed as they thrashed Dumnonia in the first round of the challenge, which was archery. The King kissed his bride then left her to join Rhys, Angus, Tiernan and Brockwell for the challenge.

  ‘Lady Goddess, come quick.’ Bryce came racing up to Tory. ‘The men will not let Ione enter.’ He took hold of her hand and raced away with her to the lower green, where the initial heats were about to commence.

  Tory strode up to address Cedric, who was in charge of the proceedings. ‘Sir Cedric, I have been informed that thee forbids Ione to enter my quest. May I ask why?’

  ‘Lady.’ He bowed slightly, surprised she even knew the crazy woman. ‘To compete one hast to be a knight of Gwynedd, or be nominated by a knight or one of nobility. And with good reason! This prevents those unready to meet the challenge from being able to enter and be unduly harmed.’

  ‘Do I qualify to have an entrant, Cedric?’

  ‘Why, I … I guess.’

  ‘Good. Then I shall nominate Ione as my representative.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Taliesin slapped a hand on Cedric’s shoulder. ‘The fee shall be on me, and here be the fee for my own entrant.’ The money went into a pot, and ‘winner takes all’ were the stakes. Taliesin motioned to a short but well-built knight as he dropped the gold pieces into Cedric’s hand.

  The knight was quite unlike any warrior Cedric had ever seen, and wore no armour. He was dressed totally in black, even his face was covered by a tight black balaclava. Dark glasses covered his eyes, and black gloves concealed his hands. The only trace of him that could be seen at all, was the long brown braid that fell over his broad shoulders to his waist.

  Cedric was disgusted by all this; first a woman in the tournament, and now a demon or the like. ‘What manner of knight be this, High Merlin?’

  ‘Why, he be the Black Knight, of course. Every tournament hast to have one.’

  ‘His Majesty will have to consent, I do not have the authority —’

  ‘What art the two of thee doing to poor Cedric?’ Maelgwn, having caught the last part of the conversation, relieved the knight of his woes. ‘Whatever they ask be fine, Cedric. What my lady wants this day, my lady gets.’ Tory squealed as the King lifted her high in the air. ‘What mode of contest shall proceed this day, as if I did not know?’ he asked her as he brought her back to earth.

  Tory returned his knowing smile, holding up her fists to confirm. ‘But there art rules. Gather the competitors and I shall enlighten everyone.’

  Cedric appeared rather bothered by this break in tradition, as he watched the King and Tory make their way to address those concerned.

  ‘By jove, I am having fun! Be this not truly exciting?’ Taliesin implored Cedric with a slap on the back.

  Cedric managed a meagre sneer as they followed the royals.

  Maelgwn called for the attention of everyone and thanked the competitors for their participation. Then Tory came forward to make the announcement they had all been waiting for. ‘Warriors of Gwynedd, thee will compete this day with naught but what the Goddess gave thee at birth,’ she decreed, before going on to explain the rules.

  Anyone who failed to comply with them would immediately forfeit the match to their opponent. Tory had four large circles marked out on the lawn with long pieces of thick rope. Each circle would yield, after a series of knockout rounds, one of the four finalists. If one could force their opponent out of the circle, it was worth a point. If one wrestled their opponent to the ground and held them for a count of five, it was a point. A clean, undefended punch would also fetch a point, but one’s opponent must refrain from retaliation until the point was awarded. Any combination of these, for example, forcing one’s opponent out of the circle with an undefended punch, was worth two points, and so on. No biting, hitting below the belt, or head butting was allowed, and the first to gain a lead of three points won the match. This form of challenge was fast, effective, and comparatively less harmful than some of the alternatives she could have chosen.

  Not only were these rules to Ione’s advantage, but they gave Tory a chance to investigate any undiscovered talent that she could train as one of her masters — who would, in turn, become her trainers for the masses.

  She already had her female contingent, and had spoken to the King about training Rhys, Tiernan, Calin, Angus, and perhaps Cedric, over the autumn and through the cold seasons. This would mean that the knights and their families would have to stay in the house at Aberffraw throughout the long cold spell (known as sleep or burgeoning) instead of returning to their own estates. Of course, this would be their choice.

  In the first clash of the knockout competition, Sir Cedric thought he was being smart when he matched Ione to fight against Sir Rhys. The poor knight was subsequently humiliated when he lost three points to naught. Sir Cedric, after bearing witness to the unfortunate occurrence, didn’t sacrifice any more of his valued knights to her fury so early in the competition. If this woman did manage to make it to the finals, she would be weary and one of his finer champions, Brockwell or Tiernan, would surely finish her.

  Ione silently basked in her win. She waited in the circle, arms folded, eager to take on the next challenger. The wind blew the long, brown strands of her hair about the striking features of her face, and she looked rather f
ine dressed in men’s attire. In fact, she quite reminded Tory of one of the proud women of ancient Gaul.

  Tory kept the company of Bryce and Taliesin for most of the afternoon. On the lower green they witnessed their representatives go on to win their heats, and make the final four who would compete for the title and the pot of gold.

  Taliesin’s entrant, whose fighting style was quite like that of the Queen’s, had all speculating as to what Otherworld ancestor the Merlin had conjured up to compete on his behalf. Or perhaps he was a warrior from the future or the distant past? But the Merlin was tight lipped and refused to comment.

  The Black Knight became the third of the final four, and Ione the last. Calin and Tiernan had won the first two placings, managing also to aid Gwynedd to victory against Gwent Is Coed in the challenge.

  Things had looked bad for Gwynedd at first, as the knights from Gwent in the south, who were constantly plagued by seafaring attacks on their harbour ports, had won the archery competition. The warriors from Gwynedd, who were more accustomed to ground assault both on foot and horseback, triumphed in the end, however, winning the greater points in the jousting and swordplay events.

  As Dyfed had only just defeated Dumnonia in all three trials, Vortipor had got his wish and would compete against the legend of Gwynedd. It was plain to all that the two young leaders were greatly looking forward to the match, as they raised a goblet of mead to each other’s success and wellbeing.

  Once again, the boys from the south clenched the greater points for archery, and although Maelgwn shot much better this time round the more experienced bowmen from Dyfed won out in the end.

  Tory found the jousting and swordplay hair-raising, yet after Angus, Rhys, and Tiernan had won their heats it was plain to all who the greater horsemen and swordsmen were. Dyfed, having seen little hostile action of late, found their battle skills in this area somewhat lacking.