Crown of Passion

by Jocelyn Carew

  Owen and Rhys were much the same kind of man — strong of body and will, possessed of a powerful sense of justice, and able to dream of noble endeavors. A quiet authority exuded from each.

  She realized that her grandfather had been a different kind of man. These two were full of dignity, and held their emotions under control. Her grandfather had been more emotional.

  Prince Owen received the ladies with grave courtliness. Nesta, who had been sulking during the last half of the ride, now unfolded like a blossom in the sunlight. But after Prince Owen had seen that Princess Nesta was quartered well, that her servants had all they needed, and that her ponies were unpacked, he turned to his other visitors.

  When Gwyn was presented to him, he bowed over her hand and said, “You are much like your mother. I saw her once at Port Madoc. It does not surprise me to see you leading your own men, for word has reached me of the terrible havoc that befell Port Madoc. I learned of it too late to render any assistance, but when I find the raiders and learn who they are, they will not live to see the daylight.”

  Gwyn felt her eyes fill with tears, and she murmured something in gratitude.

  Gwyn sat in the place that Prince Owen indicated, at his right hand. “For you must know,” he said in apology to Princess Nesta, “that this lady is like my own granddaughter. Her kin and mine have been allies and sworn friends for generations.”

  The conversation turned to Ludlow. The Ludlow raiders under de Lacy had crossed the border into Wales time and time again. “Naturally,” said Owen, “we have in our time returned the visits. We cannot rest until the Normans are removed from the valley, or until there is an end to the ceaseless raiding. Our people cannot raise grain, raise stock, but what the Normans take all. And they attack our people, too. Sometimes they are taken off into slavery, and there is a chance for us to get them back. But they are usually slaughtered, and all we can do is bury them.”

  They spent the rest of the day in counsel with Owen’s chief men.

  At dinner that night the mood of the chief men of the tribe, and of Rhys and his men, was jubilant. After the roast sheep had been devoured and the men had at last satisfied their vigorous appetites, then came the toasts. Gwyn eyed Nesta askance. If the princess became drunk, Owen’s opinion of South Wales would sink even lower. But Owen, true to his ancestors, paid little attention to the women around him.

  At length, the duties of hospitality fulfilled, Owen stood up, ready to speak. A hush fell over the crowd, for they all recognized that the outcome of the afternoon’s conference would be revealed to them.

  Owen’s preamble, covering details they all knew, was nonetheless stirring. Even Gwyn, with many injuries of her own to remember, seeing in her mind’s eye the total devastation that had been inflicted on Port Madoc, was moved by Owen’s narration of what happened to those along the Western Marches.

  He spoke of blood, of scalding injustices, of wives watching their husbands dragged away screaming, never to see them again, unless they came upon a hacked body thrown aside for the wolves.

  “We are not alone in our endless fight against the foe. Prince Griffith of South Wales has sent his men to aid us, and his beautiful sister to serve as a pledge of his alliance with us. And most welcome to us is Rhys ap Llewellyn, from Clwyd. Our neighbor to the north, Rhys Llewellyn has come to aid his brothers in the mountains, and he knows well what the Normans can do. He is by the far the most experienced man we can put in the field — and I have decided, after due consideration, and following the example of Prince Griffith to the south, that we will unite together under the Red Dragon and put ourselves under the generalship of Rhys ap Llewellyn, Lord of the Western Marches!”

  A mighty roar burst from the throats of all those assembled, so stirred were they by the realization that they were no longer alone in their struggle against the invader. The Cymry were burning for revenge, and with Rhys at their head, they had some hope of victory.

  Taran glanced around him at the men from Port Madoc, then rose to his feet. “I bow to the counsel of Prince Owen, but I want to say that our purpose is not to fight Normans. Our people have been sorely tried, and we know our enemy. Until that enemy is wiped from the face of this earth, we shall not change our purpose.”

  Prince Owen twisted his goblet in his gnarled fingers and did not look up. But Rhys said, “The time for blood feuds is past, else we all fall, tribe by tribe, into the Norman maw.”

  Taran said, “It is easily said, Lord Rhys, to forgive. But those who have lost all — son, grandson, chief, old friends — we cannot forget.”

  Nesta drained her goblet again. She might have been dwelling in a world of her own — a world clouded by alcoholic fumes, thought Gwyn — for all the heed she paid to the weighty matters filling the air around her. But still some light flickered in her mind, and she grasped the knowledge that Rhys, her promised bridegroom, was to take the place of honor at the head of an army. She began to preen herself.

  The long moment when Taran and Rhys glared at each other was broken. Nesta said, clearly and too loudly, “Thank you all for your loyalty! I shall see that you are all rewarded, most suitably to your station!”

  It was clear that Nesta already saw herself as Queen of Wales, with Rhys as a necessary accompaniment to her own great power.

  Later that night, when the ladies were preparing for bed, Nesta’s maid accidentally pulled her hair. Nesta was immediately furious. “I do wish that Siôned had not run away, for I need her. It was most selfish of her to go, when she is the only one who can do my hair the way I like it.”

  She eyed Gwyn speculatively. “I suppose you wouldn’t care to take her place?”

  Gwyn shook her head. “I am not handy with things like that.”

  Nesta pouted. “I suppose I was wrong to suggest that you take her place, when she is taking yours. Oh, I should not have said that, should I?”

  Gwyn turned weary eyes to Princess Nesta. “What do you mean?”

  “Since Caerleon has deserted you for another woman, I quite understand why your mood is so dark these days. Sara would have it that you are plotting to take Rhys away from me.”

  “Sara is wrong.”

  “I never believed her. Surely no man would want a woman whose husband cast her off.”

  “It was not quite like that,” began Gwyn, but Nesta was no longer listening.

  “How does it feel, I wonder, to have one’s husband run away with another woman? I shall never know.”

  Nesta had one more word to say on the subject. At bedtime she lay down on the pallet and pulled up the coverlet. She said kindly, “Try to get some sleep, Gwyn. I know you must feel terrible. About Siôned, I mean.”

  Gwyn replied insincerely, “Oh yes, I do.” She hardly gave Caerleon a thought these days, but she knew what Nesta wanted to hear. Nesta would keep at any subject until the right answers were given.

  *

  The next few days were taken up with preparations for the punitive expedition to Ludlow. The journey there was exhausting. But in the end Ludlow saw no great battles that winter.

  Rhys and Owen and their men skirmished with some Norman raiders and were fortunate enough to capture one. He turned out to be Robert de Lacy, and in fear of his life, de Lacy gave his word that all attacks from Ludlow would cease for a period of six months.

  It was not the decisive battle that Gwyn and Rhys and Owen had hoped for, but it meant more than just a little. De Lacy’s word was good.

  The little groups — Owen’s men, Rhys’s men, and Gwyn’s Welsh followers — made their weary way back to Brecknock, Griffith’s stronghold. Would Gwyn be forced to stay near Rhys forever? And would they never get a chance to fight the Normans? Was her life to be nothing more than anguished remembrances … and endless waiting?

  Nesta soon found that she was not as anxious to marry Rhys as she had been. She had it in mind that she would be queen, but still there had been some doubts planted in her mind. Whether it was the constant talk of battles or something else wa
s not clear. But she said to her brother, “I do not wish to be a widow. And I should like to see Prince Rhys back, a conqueror, before I marry him. For if I wed him, and he dies, then it will be harder for me to get a husband who will bring me castles.”

  And so, to Rhys’s undisguised relief, the wedding was postponed. Only a few days after that Siôned rode in. She was alone, on a broken-down pony, and her face looked drawn and gray. Her arrival, surprisingly, was heralded by the sentries that Rhys had insisted upon setting. Siôned’s story, in Nesta’s own rooms, was quickly told. Caerleon had cast her off.

  “Where is Caerleon?” demanded Gwyn. “Is he dead?”

  Siôned smiled slightly. Seen at closer range, she did not appear quite so wretched as Gwyn had at first thought. “Do you care?” scoffed Siôned. “He told me how you set your people on his little force, and he barely escaped with his life.”

  “He lies!” cried Gwyn, suddenly shaken. In her mind’s eye she saw yet again the slaughter of her people — Caerleon’s men making the village into a world of violence. She reached out blindly in protest but Siôned only laughed and went away. Gwyn leaned against the wall, her knees quivering.

  Siôned was returned to Nesta’s favor. “Now,” said the princess, “I can have my hair done quite properly. Gwyn has no talent for this.”

  “Nor,” said Siôned slyly, “for many other things. At least, so I have heard.”

  Nesta was kind to her. “For no one, you know, has been able to do it the way you do,” she told Siôned. “Gwyn wouldn’t even try.”

  Siôned sent Gwyn a strange look, one that Gwyn could not read. Perhaps Siôned had realized at last the terrible perfidy of Caerleon.

  Gwyn sought Rhys out. “So that’s the story of Siôned,” she finished, after telling him all that Siôned had said.

  Rhys studied Gwyn’s face and said, “But you don’t believe her.”

  Gwyn said, “No, I don’t. I don’t know why, but there’s something that doesn’t ring quite true to me. I think she’s a spy for Caerleon.”

  She could not tell Rhys how she knew that Siôned had joined them with evil intent. But she knew — how well she knew! The reason lay deeply etched in her mind. Everything Caerleon touched was fouled, one way or another. She herself lived with horror, even yet. But Siôned bore no physical marks of Caerleon’s brutality. Therefore, Gwyn reasoned, it was evident that Siôned was still Caerleon’s woman — and capable of doing anything for him.

  Rhys watched Gwyn, and she felt the weight of his gaze. “You think I speak as a jealous woman?” she demanded. “I can assure you —”

  “Assure me nothing,” he interrupted. “I thank you for your warning.”

  Rhys had begun to put Brecknock in readiness for battle with the Normans. Apparently the Normans had decided that winter could be battle time as well as springtime and summer. The Welsh were no longer safe behind the climate of Wales. And word came that Prince Henry was encamped nearby.

  The waiting was hard. Rhys at last found Gwyn alone. “I’ve been trying to see you alone for a long time,” he said. “I want to thank you for telling me about Siôned.”

  Gwyn nodded. She knew Rhys well enough to realize that there was something else on his mind. Finally it came out. Rhys said, “No matter how hard I try, no matter how you put me off, I cannot be indifferent to you.”

  Gwyn said nothing. “No matter what has happened between you and Caerleon, yet it is mostly my fault. And I cannot turn my back on you.”

  With a muttered cry, he took her into his arms and kissed her. To his great joy, she responded. She could not help herself. His touch was enough to send little flames licking along her blood, and she reached up to encircle his neck with her arms.

  Her simple gesture told Rhys more than she had meant to. The feeling for him that she had kept hidden all these months, even during her marriage to Caerleon, came to the fore now in a great tidal wave. She could not stand against it. So forceful was her response, and so overwhelming was Rhys’s embrace, that the two of them stood locked together, oblivious of the world.

  Neither one saw Siôned, lurking in the shadows, her eyes glittering with spite, licking her lips maliciously.

  4

  When she arrived at her room, she found Siôned waiting for her. Gwyn came down to earth with a thud. She made no secret of her dislike of the woman. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Siôned said slyly, “Waiting for you. You dallied long with Lord Rhys, and I almost gave up.”

  Gwyn eyed her narrowly. How much had she seen? “Where did you leave Caerleon?” she demanded. “Is he still alive?”

  “He still lives. And is still your husband, although I doubt you will honor your vows long.”

  Gwyn scoffed. “Longer than Caerleon did. As you know, Siôned. Did he throw you out?”

  “Not Caerleon,” smirked the other. “I am no milk-and-water maid, to tremble at sight of a naked man.”

  “I suppose you are echoing his words. Haven’t you found out yet that he lies as easily as he eats? I feel sorry for you, Siôned.”

  Siôned’s scowl darkened. “He’s too good for the likes of you.”

  “Maybe so, but at least I am not losing my soul to do his bidding.”

  Startled, Siôned exclaimed, “What do you mean by that?”

  “I am no spy for him, to betray my friends.”

  She waited for Siôned to deny the accusation, but the woman merely frowned and threw out a weak taunt. “It seems too bad that Princess Nesta cannot trust the ladies in her own suite. She will be most unhappy when I tell her what I saw. You have already caused so much trouble!”

  Gwyn was aghast. “How can you say that? It was Caerleon who massacred my people. After eating their salt.”

  Siôned said, “But it was your fault to begin with. If you had not run away from the court, none of this would have happened. Prince Henry is coming to fetch you back to where you should be. Back to your legal guardian. The King can annul your marriage to Caerleon, and you will be back in his hands.”

  Gwyn became suspicious. “How do you know all this? Are you in touch with Prince Henry yourself? That is the act of a traitor!”

  Siôned sneered, “Caerleon is Henry’s ally.”

  Gwyn laughed. “Henry is too powerful a leader to welcome an ally with only twenty men.”

  Siôned backed out the door. “All the trouble that’s going to come is going to be on your head, for only you can avoid it.”

  Suddenly, out of a deep need to know, Gwyn said, “Siôned, why does Caerleon hate me so? He has massacred my people, stolen my grandfather’s gold, nearly killed me — and yet he still wants to punish me. It can make no difference to him if Henry takes me back to court, unless he rejoices in my misery. Why, Siôned? Why?”

  Siôned looked at her rival pityingly. “You really don’t know, do you?” Gwyn slowly shook her head. “Because you preferred Rhys to him. From the beginning. And Caerleon cannot be second to any man.” She hesitated, conscious of the unexpected moment of compassion for Caerleon’s fool of a wife. She added, “But he will be satisfied when William annuls your marriage and frees him for me. I shall keep him occupied. Then he will have no more time to think of you.”

  All the happiness that Gwyn had felt in Rhys’s embrace was gone now. Nothing was permanent in this world. Not happiness. Not even misery. At length, after hours of lonely deliberation, she sought out her men. She told them Siôned’s story, which they received with varying degrees of disbelief. “I think I must ride out to Henry and give myself up.”

  As with one voice, the men said, “No!”

  Dewi finally explained their thinking. “It is more than your safety, Lady Gwyn. It is Wales forever. We must fight the Normans, send them back, teach them that Wales will be independent.”

  Gwyn wished it could be so. “But if Prince Henry has come to get me, then I must go to him.”

  But Dewi said forcefully, “You will do no such thing, lady. I myself will tell Lord Rhys, i
f you persist. For none of us will believe Caerleon’s woman.”

  Gwyn’s spirits sank to their lowest ebb. Even atonement was denied her. She must stay in this limbo, neither wife, widow, nor maid, belonging to no one, and unable to expiate whatever sins she had committed. Would she wander forever in her lost thoughts?

  Taran, however, had vengeance to wreak — the deaths of his son and the unborn grandson he would never know — and he was a practical man. Reared in the tradition of blood feuds, he gave only lip service — and not always that — to the doctrine of forgiveness. Let those who have small wrongs to forgive do so. The sins against Taran were too horrendous for anything but blood to wipe them out.

  So, the Lady Gwyn had said that Caerleon was with Prince Henry. This was good news, for if Caerleon rode with Henry’s Normans, he would be easy to find. Taran made his vow: Before Caerleon died, the villain would remember the things he had done. Remember, and die screaming.

  It was June before Prince Henry arrived within sight of the walls of Brecknock. Rhys set sentries along the wall, the towers were manned with lookouts, and the great gates were closed day and night. Only those approved by Daffyd, Rhys, or Dewi, were allowed to enter. If Siôned were trying to send a message out to Prince Henry, or to Caerleon with him, she did not succeed, as far as anyone knew. An unobtrusive watch was set on her. She was never alone at any time.

  Prince Henry settled down, within sight of the walls but out of arrowshot. It looked like a long siege, one that might last through the summer. And yet within a couple of days, Prince Henry, always impatient, sent word that he wanted a parley. After some discussion, Caerleon came, followed by Prince Henry, under a flag of truce to a spot within earshot of the walls. Henry’s message was simple. Gwyn was to come out and be restored to King William. “If this is done,” he said, “the armies will leave, and Brecknock will be left in peace.”