I remember then that Igraine had been there in the great hall of council that Night, to see Arthur receive the golden chalice. She and Morganna had come. Never could anyone have suspected what evil Morganna had planned for that Night’s doings!
However, I do remember noting Morganna’s presence... She was leading her vicious Wildcat, Terror, by a silver chain and collar. I remember fearing for Gwyddion’s Owl. But then thinking: “How foolish of me, Gwyddion needs no protection from Morganna.”
Those were the Days of pure naïveté.
Woe and woe... More is this trouble to my heart... I knew she was Arthur’s... Oh, how I need a good Night’s sleep!
On the way to Gwynedd, I thought much of Gwenyfar – delicate, sweet, perhaps fragile – Gwenyfar. Would she be afraid to live amoung people with such different ways? Would she miss the Holy Places and colourful Rites of her Saxon Goddesses and Gods? I must speak with Arthur of allowing a Scald or Priestess of her religion to come to stay with her. Surely Arthur would not mind. The Merlin had taught us that “all the Gods are one,” so why not?
Arthur had made arrangements to allow Gwenyfar to bring whichever of her ladies and Animals she Loved the best to come to live with her in Dumnonia, where he had already set up her apartments. I thought surely she would Love this beautiful place where Arthur and I had spent our childhoods. Jutting out over the Western Sea as it does, the sunsets are magnificent as they gild the Water. Even the Storms are thrilling; with thunderous waves crashing the cliffs. Well, they were for me. But I wondered if this would be so for timid little Gwenyfar.
I wondered, too, if she feared Arthur... and the marriage bed. Although I gathered that he would not impose upon her much in that way – only in so much as he must, to bring forth an heir.
I tormented myself...
“Oh the sorrowful games the Weavers play with us. For, if I had truly been Igraine’s blood son, Gwenyfar would be mine and Arthur could be with Morgan.”
Yes, I knew the depths of my brother’s loss regarding Morgan. He could not hide his tragic Love for her from me.
But, if so, I would be King in Arthur’s stead. Yet the crux of the matter is that there exists not one man who could be so worthy, so honourable or so great a King as my brother Arthur. I am no King – nor would I wish to be. All I can do is to stand at his side, as his most loyal, faithful, and beloved friend – brothers of the heart, are we. This I will do at any cost. No, never could I betray him. I would rather slit my own throat and bleed out my life’s blood, than ever to see a loss of trust in my brother’s eyes toward me.
“Everything has a cost.” This, The Merlin taught to me, early in my life.
Of the Fortress That The Merlin Built...
We, the guards, travelled with great haste toward Gwynedd, as soldiers always do. We arrived at Princess Rowena’s fortress upon a clear Night and a Full Moon. A chill had fallen.
Stern, powerful, and terrible did look the fortress that The Merlin had built for Vortigern. Impregnable and menacing was it. But of course, that was what The Merlin had intended it to be. Well done, Gwyddion!
Inside the Great Hall was a completely different matter. Although not nearly as large as the one in Dumnonia, it was warm, comfortable, and very inviting. We had been greeted at the gate of the outer courtyard and escorted there by Princess Rowena’s guardsmen. We waited... Then without pomp, in strolled Princess Rowena – both beautiful and charming was she. She greeted us and set servants to fetch wine, bread, cheese, and Fruit for our refreshment.
After the protocols of greetings and salutations were observed, we stood gazing around at the Great Hall… Dragons and banners hung from the lower rafters – Stag, Elk, Bear, and Boar’s heads lined one wall. Displays of Vortigern’s swords, shields, and javelins were prominent on another. Colourful, vivid tapestries – probably imported by Rowena from Byzantium – decorated the wall nearest the permanent feasting trestle. At both ends of the long table were three-legged armed chairs, whose backs and arms were heavily carved in Saxon knotwork with intricately entwined Animals and mythic Creatures – they were stunning! Princess Rowena said, “A gift from my Father’s court…”
My eyes then fell upon a most amazing and unique feature: instead of a great round Fire pit in the center of the hall – with a hole in the ceiling far above it to draw much of the heat and most of the smoke upward and out of the hall – there, on opposite walls, were TWO Fires that roared – each in a stonework box against the wall, with a tall column-like feature traversing the distance from it all the way through the ceiling. Each had a square, open front, which was as wide as two men were tall and as deep as could hold the largest of cauldrons, and then some. Like a small chamber, they were. Each held beautifully wrought iron “FireDogs,” with great flaming oaken logs lying upon them. Nearly the height of a tall man were the frontal openings! The stonework encasing the Fire chambers narrowed at their tops to form the square columns, which were hollow, so as to convey the smoke within their confines. The smoke was then drawn all the way upward and through the roof of the hall! Amazing! The heat remained in the entire hall, yet, did very little smoke. Wonder of wonders, Gwyddion! How ever do you think of these things?
“Amazing, is it not? said Princess Rowena. “And, if you were to climb the stairwell to the next level, you would see another like them in the master sleeping chamber – aah, the warmth on cold Winter Nights…”
Then, we were led to a large opening in the Western wall, and shown a spectacle that was hard for my thoughts to accept. This was as though a window in a cottage, but SO much larger! Sealing the opening was a substance that looked as if it were of great, flat clear Crystal. But, as tall and wide as it was, it seemed no thicker than vellum. I mean that one could see straight through it to view the Mountainside dropping away to reveal the distant Sea.
“Beautiful is it not?” – asked Princess Rowena.
“We are on a high enough Hill, and have a tall enough tower to see the Ocean from here.” It was then that I looked around and noted how much light there was in the hall – surely it was not all from this crystalline opening... I said, “The light? ...”
“Oh, yes – another innovation of Gwyddion’s. There are polished brass mirrors strategically placed in order to reflect and spread the light coming in through the window.
“Quite a splendid idea, yes?” said Princess Rowena.
“Absolutely! I have never seen nor heard of wonders such as these.”
“Oh – did he not tell you? Such is the brilliance of Gwyddion, The Merlin – for he designed and built this fortress for Vortigern while he was yet a boy.
“But, my Lady, I notice that even here – far away from the Fire chambers – the hall is almost as warm as near to them... How can this be?”
“Well, when Gwyddion was drawing the plans for this fortress he remembered something that his Master Brennos had told him... that the Romans had built – in Aquae Sulis, amoung other places – what is called a hypocaust, a means of heating the floors of the great hall by using a Fire pit in a small building just outside of the hall and then forcing the hot Air through lead pipes running beneath the floors, thereby heating them. Here – feel the floor... you see... it is warm.”
“I do see. Tell me – what other fantastic contrivances did he incorporate into his building?”
“Well...” Her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink, she continued, “The privy – beyond the stairwell – has Water running beneath it, to sweep away the... err... you can imagine what a help this is. This Water is carried in a small aqueduct which runs beyond the Hill’s edge and flows down to the Grain fields beyond the pool of the Cows’ and our drinking Water. Of course, it is propelled thusly by the pressure of the Waterfall running off the top of yonder Hill. I will also show you how the fall is split in two so that what is not piped into the aqueduct may continue to flow to the pool.
“Look over here, too...”
“Why, it is a small Well... inside...”
�
��Yes. In the heat of high Summer its cold Water refreshes and puts a constant source of fresh drinking Water to hand. In Winter it adds a bit of moisture to the Air and is quite a convenience when it is cold enough outside to freeze the other Springs and to make the downhill climb to the pool perilous. It is the source from which we keep our cauldron boiling. Vortigern told me that Gwyddion had said that its Water was cleaner and more healthful to drink than that which is in the pool.”
“I see...”
“Come and sit down by the Fire, all of you, and rest from your travels. Let us eat and make merry.”
Just then, two Wolfs ran up to Princess Rowena, danced with her, then fell into her arms as she sat, giving her many kisses, as Hounds will do.
“Have no fear of my companions,” said she… “Only, do not walk within an arm’s length of me. They are good and kind beasts, but very protective. Other than this, they are amenable and will even play with you.”
They were magnificent Creatures, finely groomed and pampered, yet wild and free – so like Rowena herself. Such perfect compliments to her, were they.
“Princess Rowena,” said I...
“Oh please, my dear boy, simply call me Rowena whilst in companionable conversation. Save the formalities for functions of state...”
At her words, I completely forgot what I was about to ask... But answered, “As you wish, my Lady.”
She smiled...
We, weary travelers all, greatly appreciated Princess Rowena’s warm hospitality. We ate and drank, then bathed in the heated Roman-style bathhouse – another of The Merlin’s fabrications. Then came a much-needed slumber. As was the usual custom, all guests slept along the walls of the great hall.
Everyone, it seemed, had slept well and long through the Night, except for me – fretful was I with anticipation of seeing Gwenyfar in the morning – and cursing myself for my desire. I thought it never to happen, but sleep finally came.
I was awakened by a bustle of clamorous activity in the great hall, by the noises of seven tables and benches being readied for the breaking of our fast – and by the exotic aromas of foods, the like of which we were unaccustomed to being served. Thick Saxon-style round loaves of bread had been baked in Stone ovens and would be served with cheese, honey, butter, and ale. These loaves were not at all like the hard, flat breads we Britons ate. All of the Teutonic peoples were known to be great feasters.
I ran my fingers through my hair, wiped the sleep from my eyes, splashed Water to my face from the jug offered to me, bit my lower lip, and waited.
Vortigern, cousin of Ambrosius Aurelius and of the one later called the Pen Dragon, had married Hengist’s daughter, Princess Rowena, not long before his Death. He left her with child. Their daughter, who was one half of his blood and one half pure Saxon, was about my age, or perhaps four years older by this Time, yet still unmarried... She was a beautiful woman with golden hair, light glowing golden skin, and bright blue eyes. She was clever, too – well-spoken and poised – very like her Mother. Her name was Ribrowst Ardora.
Rowena presented her daughter to us first... “May I introduce Ribrowst, my beloved daughter and sole heir,” said Rowena, with just a touch of challenge in her voice.
“It will be very hard,” thought I, “for any man who craves Rowena’s wealth and thinks to acquire it through a marriage with Ribrowst!”
Princess Rowena, being the astute Politician that she was, awaited the perfect moment for Gwenyfar and her ladies to enter the great hall to be presented.
My breath caught in my chest when she entered our company. Her hair had been meticulously braided and tied with pale blue ribbons. Her gown was a slightly darker colour. It was surprisingly simple. But then, why would she need ornament? Her beauty could not find its match in complement. The only thing she wore as adornment was a small strand of pearls, hanging just at the bottom of her neck.
Gwenyfar had the same effect upon each one of the Royal Guard as she had on every man. Her beauty; her slender, graceful body, the haunted – was it sad? – look in her pale blue eyes, her pale skin, and her shy demeanor – was it all of these things, or was it some other inexplicable Enchantment about her that turned every man’s knees to butter?
What is the word to describe Gwenyfar – ethereal, perhaps? Could we see right through her like the Twyla Y Tag – the Faery Folk? Or mayhap, a she-Spider’s gossamer web. She seemed barely there. No... but real flesh and blood was she.
Then she spoke...
“I welcome and honour each of you, companions and Guard of Arthur, the King. I thank you for coming to provide a safe and comfortable journey to Dumnonia for me and my ladies.”
So it had been a memorized speech...
Was there a question in the words ‘my ladies’? Of course! It was my responsibility to tell her that Arthur would welcome any of her ladies or pets to Dumnonia. So I stepped toward her and told her so. A look of the greatest relief passed over her visage. She grabbed the hand of the girl standing closest to her, who seemed as thrilled at this news as was Gwenyfar.
The girl’s name was Branwen, which means White Raven in the tongue of the Clans. She was a redheaded girl with creamy white skin and golden eyes.
“Good,” thought I, “then dear Gwenyfar will not feel all alone.”
Procession to Dumnonia...
It was one full Moon’s Dance before the wedding, on a beautiful Day in the warmest month of Summer, when the procession of the Royal Guard, Princess Gwenyfar, her ladies, and her Greyhounds – Günter and Greta – left Gwynedd, to travel toward Dumnonia.
The Woods and fields were covered with lush Wildflowers, with each village and cottage garden filled with Herbs and bursting with fragrance and colour, all ready to be harvested.
Princess Rowena had commissioned her Smiths and Craftsmen to make a beautiful canopied wagon for Gwenyfar. It was fitted with great silk pillows and curtains of green, lavender, and golden coloured silk cloths, which Princess Rowena had purchased at great cost for Gwenyfar’s comfort, as well as to protect her lovely fair skin. Gwenyfar’s wagon was followed by other pretty wagons for her ladies and all of their belongings. These were surrounded by the rear Guard, to insure a safe trip to my Lady Mother’s fortress.
I, as Commander of the Guard, and two other of Arthur’s Companions led the caravan. I rode beside Gwenyfar...
All things needed had been provided. In our caravan were enough nuts, Fruits, ale, pickled eggs, breads, honey, cheeses and Spring Water to last the trip for the whole company. Only must we hunt for fresh meat. It was said by all that I was the best archer in Briton. Whatever the case, I Loved to hunt and my hunting was rarely in vain. So, there was a good Time had by all the men as well as the ladies.
At her insistence, we left Princess Rowena in Gwynedd to have the final touches added to her sister’s wedding gown. Rowena would come later, in Time for the wedding – probably un-attended and riding her own war Stallion to Dumnonia! The thought of her fearless independence made my heart smile... I liked Rowena very much.
We stopped often to rest and while away the Days in pleasant games, hunting, and conversation. This was a very different sort of travel for me, for Warriors always keep a swift pace.
Much too soon for my heart, we saw the towers of my home looming above the Dumnonian Forest.
Arthur and my Lady Mother – for thusly will I always think of Igraine – greeted Princess Gwenyfar and her company.
After all the introductions, I kissed Igraine and excused myself.
I felt it only proper that I bid hello to the woman and man who were my true blood parents.
They lived in a fine house adjacent to Igraine’s fortress. I cannot say why it was so awkward to stand face to face with them, but at the first it was. And not only for me, it seemed, but for them as well. This discomfort had probably been caused by the fact that we had not seen each other since we had all learned of Gwyddion’s switching of Arthur and me upon the Night of our births. What an entanglement!
Yo
u see, while I was a child, Tangwen and Marcus were a great part of my life. They and the Bear lived in Igraine’s fortress and were considered of our household. I had known and truly cared for them. Tangwen had always seemed to like and treat me well and goodly. I was their son’s – as they had believed the Bear to be – best friend. Markus had taught the Arts of war and of hunting to me. Tangwen, thoughtfully and lovingly, always had something savory simmering in the cauldron or a sweet-scented pastry baking in the ovens for the Bear and I to eat once we had finished our games – for all of which I had been exceedingly grateful. Almost as a son was I treated by them... almost. But in everyone’s thoughts in those Days, I was regarded as the young master of Igraine’s fortress.
There we stood, each not knowing what to say to the other. But of a sudden, a flood of childhood memories, of the Times we had all shared, washed over me. I suppose they felt the same, for we all smiled at each other in wonder of how oddly twisted life can be. From that Day forward an understanding stood between us. Arthur would always be the son of their hearts – as Igraine would hold me to hers. And all was good.
Gwenyfar and her ladies settled in. She had insisted – which of itself seemed odd for her – that Branwen have her own private chamber and that it be very close to Gwenyfar’s. Igraine felt this a small indulgence that she was happy to extend to Gwenyfar. The two young girls had grown up together just as had Arthur and I. It was good that they not be separated now. So, Igraine had their chambers changed to the only two in the fortress that opened onto each other by a door. Of course Igraine had first asked Arthur if he minded having his bridal chamber that close to Branwen’s. Arthur seemed absent from their conversation and said, “Oh no, Lady Mother, whatever she wishes – I do not care.”
The Village...
Knowing of Arthur’s trepidation over his upcoming marriage, I thought it would be a splendid diversion for us to ride to the village, which was not far from our home, to drink and wench together. I knew that my loins ached for a woman. As for Arthur... It was high Time for him to live as a man – as well as a King.
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