A Cup of Blood

by Troy A Hill

  "Gwen and Mair," Nesta said to us after the guests had been served. "You should be eating." She finally had her own plate and cup in her hands and moved to hand Gwen the food.

  "Nesta, you are most kind, but we've snacked on the food as it came out," Gwen said. She had tested a piece of roasted meat off each platter or sipped out of spoons in the kitchen before she announced that a stew was ready.

  “Honestly, I could not eat another bite,” I chimed in. Nesta looked at me. Gwen, knowing my nature and my diet, tried to hide a smirk. Nesta couldn’t quite figure out the humour in what I said. After a moment, she laughed.

  “Oh, Mair. I am grateful that you have found your way to us.”

  “As am I, Nesta,” I steered her toward her table. “But, these men need another lady with them to keep them from drinking themselves silly before the night is over.”

  “Dear, if my presence alone could do that,” she said as we rounded the table, “the abbot would nominate me for sainthood.”

  “You are a delight, dearest,” Gwen said as Nesta moved away. “I am pleased that The Lady has brought you into my life.”

  I smiled at her words. This place and the people had seemed comfortable after only a day at Caer Penllyn.

  We followed Nesta’s suggestion, though. Gwen dropped a few pieces of meat on our plates, along with some bread slathered with jam. She declared that was enough to get her through the night, and the next day if she had to eat it all.

  “I can pass the leftovers to Ruadh later on, or the abbot.” I winked at her. “He seems to like me, and would find room in his tunic for more of the feast.”

  We sat on a quiet bench near a shed while Gwen dined. We had declined seats for us with the Lords and Ladies, for which I was glad. I can maintain my charade better when I’m not in a prominent spot among the top guests.

  I made motions as though I were eating, and Gwen nibbled off of my plate and her own.

  At several spots around the courtyard, girls played melodies on the harps. In the yard's centre, small children giggled and laughed as they danced before the bridal table.

  Enid barely got a chance to eat as well-wishers stopped by. I watched the poor girl raise food to her mouth three times, only to set it down uneaten as another guest came by to offer congratulations. A smile seemed locked into her cheeks. Cadoc fared none better. He often rose to grab the arm of yeoman or landholder and pull them in for an embrace. He did manage to engage one man in discussion long enough that Enid could get several spoonfuls of stew and take a long drink from her cup before another landholder stopped to offer their congratulations.

  I kept an eye on Lady Seren and her poor excuse of a husband through the meal. Several times I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. Sure enough, Dewi glared at me but shifted his eyes away as soon I looked his way.

  “What’s gotten into him,” Gwen said after noticing. I stayed silent.

  “Dearest…” her tone was firm.

  I used our mind speak, and filled her in on how he accosted his wife, and how I stepped in to stop him. I finished with Seren’s request that I remain silent, so as not to cause a war.

  Gwen was quiet for a moment, lost in her own thoughts.

  “It’s not Bleddyn, nor Einion, I worry about,” she sent. “But Emlyn. He’s very protective of his family. If he were to find out, the best Dewi could hope for would be a fast death.” She sighed. “If he killed or harmed Dewi, then Lord Mechain would retaliate. Bleddyn wouldn’t give up his brother for punishment, and there would be war. Which is what the enemies of the Lady would want, for our own internal squabbles.”

  Two men carried in a large wooden case and set it in the yard's centre. A smiling man, dressed in a beautiful woollen tunic, decorated with Celtic designs watched as they opened the case. Most of the children stopped playing and surrounded the trio watching them. The numerous small eyes were wide with anticipation. The third man wore an expression that mixed pride with almost religious concern as he leaned in and pulled out a large bundle wrapped in oiled leathers. He and the other two men unwrapped those. Underneath that was soft cloths wrapped around the object within. They carefully revealed a harp. The bard had arrived.

  Children watched with a sense of awe as the bard took up his harp. The bard’s assistants closed the case, covered it with the wrappings. Only then did the bard set down his instrument. I tried to remember the name I had heard yesterday.

  “Ilar,” Gwen said quietly. “The Lady gifted him with a talent for poetry and music, and I helped Rhian notice him fourteen or fifteen years ago. Penllyn hadn’t had a bard for a few generations and relied on a few that travelled Powys and Gwynedd. She insisted that Illar study at the Bardic college and paid his expenses to do so. After he finished his studies, he returned to Penllyn.”

  "Bards are not just musicians?" I said and recalled my time in the Gallic areas several centuries ago.

  "They are our historians, and keep our past alive with verse and melody," Gwen said. "Although tonight will be more about music and merry-making. Once he begins his music, the hilltop will be his. No one interrupts a bard."

  “Not even Fadog?” I asked with a grin.

  “That would be the excuse Bleddyn needs to toss he and his men from the feast,” she replied, her voice merry but quiet. “Whatever his motive for being here, even Fadog knows not to interfere with a bard.”

  The children stepped forward as Ilar struck the taut wire strings. He adjusted the tightness of each as needed. The young girl who had sprinkled flowers around Gwen and I earlier seemed to be the boldest. She stepped closer to look at the harp. Ilar squatted down in front of her. His blue eyes danced with amusement as he listened to her stammer a question. She gave a quick squeal as he let her take a step closer to his ornate instrument.

  The girl reached out and laid the tips of her fingers onto the oiled wood of the harp's frame. He touched her hand and guided it to the strings. Her face glowed with excitement, and he pulled her fingers along them. Her touch released the angelic voice of the instrument in a short ripple. Ilar then showed how to strike the strings to get a resonating voice from them. Her eyes were wide as he took the time to encourage her. She squealed with joy and ran back toward her mother.

  My gaze found Fadog and his men. They had taken over an area near the back corner, closest to the path to the main gate. They were loud and well into their ale, but, so far, they had provoked no confrontations. Emlyn's guards kept a discrete distance but were alert. Bleddyn had set a few of his cup-bearers, young men tasked to keep cups and mugs full of ale, to cater to Fadog's party.

  Ilar had wandered near one of the girls, perhaps a dozen winters old, who played one of the keep's harps. It was similar in size to the one the bard had unveiled earlier, which now sat on its case near the bard's two assistants. Ilar watched her, his smile grew as he listened, and began to sing along with her tune. Her eyes widening as she saw him, but she kept her tune going. Together, the duet drew the attention of most of the festival goers. The song was a sweet one of a young maiden's love, and how she set out to be noticed by the bravest of the Lord's men. By the time they reached the final verse, where the man and his girl were married, the entire hilltop was quiet. The two voices wove in and around the melody the girl's fingers found hiding in the harp's melodic voice.

  At the end, as the last note of the harp drifted off on the summer breeze, Ilar pulled the girl to her feet. Cadoc banged his cup on his table as did many of the guests. Others stood to applaud. Ilar slid an arm around the girl's waist and got her to bow with him toward then head tables. One of the Penllyn guardsmen slid in behind Bleddyn to whisper in his ear. The Lord nodded and rose. Gwen's hand crept onto my arm and gave a squeeze.

  “Keep your face calm and do not move until I say.”

  “Why?”

  “Trouble just showed up. Brace yourself for the worst.”

  40

  Unwanted Guests

  My heart sank. A sudden urge to run, just like I had in the woods, washe
d over me. I wanted to be far away by sunrise. My legs shivered with the need to move. To flee.

  I sought my new bond with Gwen’s goddess. The cord between us lit up with a comforting presence. A warm glow flowed into my body. I felt her divine presence around me and in me. My urge to flee diminished.

  “Take a breath, dearest,” Gwen’s thoughts intruded on my panic. I released the breath I held back. Gwen kept her hand on my arm. I sensed that her own contact with The Lady was active.

  “Bleddyn is leading them up here,” her mind told me. “Can you follow my lead?”

  “I think so,” I replied.

  My eyes skimmed across the crowd in the courtyard, from where Fadog and his men laughed, to where Enid and Cadoc were still greeting well-wishers near the keep’s front porch.

  “Turn your head and look.”

  Bleddyn escorted two men toward the courtyard. One man had light blonde hair and appeared to be in his middle years. The other was older and bald with grey hair and stooped shoulders. He carried a dark wooden staff capped with a familiar symbol. The iron nails twisted into a cross, ringed with a silver crown of brambles. Both men wore similar medallions on cords around their necks.

  The Witch Hunters were here.

  Gwen squeezed my arm with a firm grip. My eyes darted to where Ruadh sat. Other than Gwen and I, Ruadh was the other person with secrets we didn’t need the guild to learn of. The old bear glanced my way, his eyes crinkled with worry, although he appeared calm and jovial.

  Bleddyn and the two witch hunters had entered the large courtyard. The abbot rose to meet the men. His smile was just as broad and jovial as when he greeted us earlier. I wondered if he had ever met a person he didn't like.

  The blond guilder's outfit was a dark leather jerkin over a dark tunic. He wore his yellow blond hair long but tied behind him. Grey had streaked his hair, making it almost silver in the torchlight. Unlike the Cymry men, he and he companion were clean-shaven with no facial hair. The cursed silver medallion hung high on his chest, its bright metal a dark contrast on the guilder's clothing.

  The other wore a long and dark robe. He, too, had a silver medallion upon his chest. His own hair was grey with age but cut in a tonsure more like that of the European monks.

  “Blessings upon you!” the jovial abbot said. He held his hands out to grasp theirs.

  “Peace be upon you, father,” the blond guilder said, his voice sweet and enticing. Several gold and silver rings adorned his hands. He was taller than the abbot, and thinner. He wore the attitude of one used to commanding authority. The chain for his medallion appeared to be silver. The cord that tied his long hair back seemed to shimmer. Was it woven with the same silver thread that Onion Breath and The Hunchback had used on me?

  “We arrived at your abbey about an hour ago. One of your monks was quite put off we dared ring the gate bell and interrupt his sleep.”

  “Ah, I pray you’ll forgive Brother Hew,” Abbot Heilyn said. “I tasked him with baking for a few hundred of our townsfolk and guests. Being around that much sugar makes him rather sour.”

  “Can you stay here if I leave for a moment? I want to warn Rhian,”

  That was a good question. My connection to the goddess still hummed. I glanced back at Ruadh. He was stoic. Waiting.

  “Yes…” I sent. I didn’t want to, but I could.

  Gwen rose and beckoned to Rhian while the men conversed. Lady Penllyn nodded and followed her to the outskirts of the festivities. I focused my attention on the men before me. They had stopped past where me, so I was out of the guilder's line of vision. Mud stained their boots and the bottom of the old one's robe.

  “We were just at Oswalt’s Cross,” the Witch Hunter said, “to investigate the reports of miracles there. The villagers said your monetary was the closest church site to the scene.”

  “Ah… those miracles,” the abbot shook his head. “I’ve sent my Prior to investigate each one. So far they’ve been about as much of a miracle, as curing a gassy ox by inducing it to belch.”

  “That is what we are here to decide. Our guild is tasked by the Bishop of Rome himself to seek miracles, and flush out heretics who claim to act in the church’s name. That is why we came this way, to seek your assistance in such matters.”

  "And, you could invite yourself to a feast," the abbot said. He adopted a more formal stance and tone. "Please forgive me, I forget my manners with all the celebrations. I am Abbot Heilyn. Welcome to our humble parish."

  “Thank you, Father Abbott,” the blond witch hunter said. They didn’t even bother with a nod of recognition, let alone a bow toward his title. Witch Hunters didn’t seem to think much of any church authority other than their own. The blond one’s gaze surveyed the courtyard. His demeanour shifted to one of annoyance. Perhaps a lowly abbot wasn’t who he expected to greet him here?

  Around the courtyard, the tables were still full of boisterous revellers. Some of Fadog’s men sang, and very off key, while the cup-bearers, with pitchers of ale, did their best to refill the mugs the men waved as they sang. The guilder found no one else of higher rank to present himself to.

  “I am Seeker Bechard, and this is Lecerf, also of our guild. We ask your hospitality while we are here on guild business.”

  Verpa Dei! The Seeker, the ranking officer of the Guild on this island, whom I needed on avoid at all costs, stood right in front of me. My legs twitched as I recalled the memories… the musty smell of Onion Breath’s feed bag over my head… I wanted to run. I closed my eyes to quell the thoughts, but that was no better. I remembered the sound of Onion Breath’s wheezing as he carved into my thighs with his silver knife. The pain I had endured fell heavy upon me. I jerked my eyes open. My legs trembled. My gaze darted toward where the main gate of the keep stood open. If I ran now, I could have a good head start.

  I felt The Lady’s touch warm my soul. The cord that connected me to her hummed. Love flowed up that connection, again. The twitch in my leg quieted though not entirely. I swallowed hard. Just stay quiet, I told myself. They won’t notice you.

  By now the sun had dipped below the horizon, and torches were being lit, and small fires set in pits scattered throughout the courtyard. Even the wrought iron baskets around the weapons practice field had fires in them. The flickering lights fought against the dark of the descending night. This battle of lightness and darkness wrapped around the two guild members and highlighted the light and dark on their faces.

  “What,” the abbot asked, “does your order do with heretics when you find them?”

  “Guild business,” the seeker said. “We will explain our mission to the Bishop of this see when we meet him.”

  Abbot Heilyn smiled at the Seeker, then belched once. Our friendly abbot appeared to be several cups of mead into his quest to keep up with Ruadh. Still, he had a sharp glint in his eyes that made me suspect there was more to his demeanour with these guilders than he let on.

  “Very well, milords,” he said as rubbed his belly. “If you will excuse me, I have festivities to resume.” He turned away without a bow and returned to his table.

  I felt Gwen behind me. Rhian approached the men and laid her hand on Bleddyn’s arm.

  “Gentle sirs, you are welcome at our feast,” she said. She wore a formal smile. One I recognised from many courts. The smile that a noble wore when they wanted nothing to do with the person in front of them — except, perhaps, to have then drawn and quartered or tossed into a prison cell — but could do little more than follow rituals of court hospitality, instead.

  “We thank you for our hospitality, milady,” Bechard said. “Is there a seat for us?” He made a pointed glance toward the table for the Lords and Ladies behind the bridal couple.

  “Oh, sit anywhere you can find room.” Rhian tightened her grip on Bleddyn’s arm. He kept his mouth shut. “We are casual tonight.” She pointed at the almost empty meat trays, and the few baskets of bread, and other dishes still out on the tables where the servers had long since abandoned their po
sts, and folks helped themselves to food and drink. “You are welcome to prepare yourself plates from whatever is left. We’ve had quite the crowd this evening.”

  I could tell the Lady of the land seemed to enjoy herself as she took these two down a notch or two in their expectations. Bleddyn let a look of confusion escape as Rhian took charge of the conversation. But he covered it in a heartbeat.

  A few notes sounded from Ilar’s impressive harp. Rhian’s eyes darted back toward the centre of the yard. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen, the bard is about to begin.” She inclined her head, barely a nod, and led her husband away. A few feet away, Ilar plucked at the strings to let the nobles know he was ready. Lord and Lady Penllyn headed back toward the head table. The Witch Hunters stood, alone, in the yard's centre. Ilar plucked again as he glanced at the two men. The implication they should move away was clear.

  41

  Enid’s Story

  “Lady Penllyn seemed rather annoyed with the Witch Hunters,” I projected to Gwen, who had her hand laid on my shoulder. “What did you tell her?”

  “Oh, just what the guild members do to women they find alone in the wilds of Mercia,” Gwen chuckled. “I only told the vaguest of stories about what you endured. But it set her blood to boiling. Had she not been required to offer hospitality due to custom, she would have sent them off.”

  Ilar, the bard strummed his harp and invited the festival goers to sing several songs with him. Even Fadog and his men sang along. I wondered if they were drunk enough to cause a ruckus of some sort. When I could, I kept my eyes in their direction. I also wanted to watch the Witch Hunters but didn't want them to notice my attention. Fadog gave me a good distraction.

  Gwen excused herself again and drifted toward the head table again. She moved to sit behind the abbot and began a quiet conversation with him. Was she sharing my secrets again? There was little I could do, but go along with her opinions on whom to trust, and how much. Once I had more time in Penllyn and the other cantrefi, I'd rely on my judgement. But, for now, I had to trust Gwen.