Peaceweaver

by Judith Arnopp

  ‘What in God’s name goes on here? Am I come late for the Christ’s mass or is it ever your habit to make so merry in my absence? You, minstrel, shut up and get ye from my sight and you, cook, fetch me that platter. I am starved and have journeyed all the way from hell only to find you all revelling, drinking my mead and feasting upon my best hogs. Where the hell is my wife, bring her forth to me.’

  It was the first time I had seen Gruffydd since our wedding night and I was reluctant to face him; in fact I realised now that I had, for the last few hours, been trying to pretend he did not exist. Slowly I raised my head from beneath the table, my veil askew and nervously made my presence known.

  ‘God’s teeth, madam!’ Gruffydd roared, ‘What do you beneath the table? Are you in your cups?’

  ‘N-no, my lord, I did but lose my slipper,’ I stammered, my throat dry. He was filthy, his cloak coated with the mire of the road and his face black with soot. He approached the table and threw himself in the chair beside me.

  ‘Straighten your cap.’ he said, taking a huge bite from a shank of meat, ‘Ye have servants to fetch your slippers for you now and don’t be getting too comfortable in my chair.’

  It seemed to have grown colder in the hall, the music was stilled and the company muted; even the fire, it seemed, burned less bright. Llyward took his place at Gruffydd’s side and engaged him in conversation so that my husband’s back was turned from me. His companions, as travel stained as he, slotted themselves in where they could along the board and dove into the remaining food. They talked loudly about the settlement they had burned and the men they had slaughtered. Along the table Rhodri no longer looked in my direction but studied his trencher and I saw Anwen hurrying from the hall in the direction of my sleeping quarters.

  The faces that had beamed up at me a short while since now no longer glanced my way and heads were kept low. The bards stood idle and, taking my courage in both hands, I cleared my throat, interrupting Gruffydd’s conversation.

  ‘My Lord, can we not ask the bards to strike up again? They sing so fine a song.’

  Turning to me with a scowl he replied curtly.‘If the bards play I will not hear Llyward’s report.’

  ‘tis a shame to break up the party though, Lord, I was enjoying the entertainment.’

  He swivelled back, his frown more quizzical than before.

  ‘Your party, Madam, is inappropriate. You can make merry another night, this night my men and I talk of war.’

  ‘The festivities were not planned, my Lord. We did not expect you. I thought not to look for you until Thursday.’

  ‘Obviously,’ he replied, hawking and spitting into the rushes. ‘Unfortunately for you I completed my business early, burned the Saes in their beds and gained myself two days o’ idleness, although to be sure, I’m a stranger to the luxury. I meet with your father again come Tuesday.’ Expanding into his favourite subject Gruffydd raised his voice to encompass the whole company.

  ‘While I harry the borders, Ælfgar and Magnus will invade the eastern coast. Harold and his lap dog, Edward will know not which flank to defend against us.’ He laughed horribly before taking another draught from his jug, then he rose and, after wiping his mouth on his sleeve, grasped my wrist.

  ‘Anyway, the night is over, your mistress and I are to our bed. I’ll speak with you further on the morrow, Llyward.’

  Gruffydd, with a curt jerk of his head, sent Anwen scurrying from the chamber; she gave me a compassionate look before leaving me to Gruffydd’s mercies. Looking about the room, I saw it was warm and the bed piled with furs, there were even a few books on the table set close to the fire and a lyre propped against a chair. Wine and wafers were on the night table and a single torch burned, illuminating the room just enough to shield my blushes. Maybe tonight would not be so bad, I thought, perhaps the discomfort of the dwelling had prevented him from showing gentleness the last time.

  Gruffydd pulled off his boots and flung himself backward onto the bed, letting out a gusty sigh. I began to loosen my braids and, as I did so, risked a shy smile at him over my shoulder.

  ‘God’s grief, madam. Would you stop fiddling with your hair and get yourself over here, I don’t have all night.’

  I dropped the comb and hurried to stand before him. He looked me up and down before pulling me onto his knee and burrowing his face in my breast, inhaling my scent. Gasping at the shock of his rough face against my skin I hardly had time to compose my thoughts before he picked me up and dumped me onto the bed, pulling my nightgown up to my chin. His attentions were brisk and thorough but mercifully short. I lay rigid beneath him until he rolled onto his back and began to snore, leaving me to fight back tears.

  I awoke in the morning in an empty bed. Outside my window the mist lay heavy, obscuring both sea and mountains. I dressed myself and crossed the yard to the cooking hall where I found Anwen gossiping with the other servants, when she saw me she leapt up from her stool before the fire.

  ‘Oh, my pardon, Lady, I thought you to be sleeping still. I was fetching your breakfast and got talking,’ she said handing me a cup of spiced mead,

  ‘Careful now ‘tis very hot.’

  ‘I thank you, Anwen,’ I said, sipping the hot, sweet liquid, ‘Mmm, that is most welcome.’

  Drawing closer to the hearth, I held out my hands to the flames. A young servant girl dandled a baby on her knee.

  ‘Tis a dank and dark day. I for one won’t be sorry to see the end of winter. I can barely recall what the summertime feels like.’ Leaning forward I poked the babe experimentally in the tummy and pulled a face at her; she grabbed for my hand and gurgled up at me, a bubble of milk at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Aw, dear lil’ one,’ gushed Anwen at my side, ‘Maybe you’ll have your own young ones soon, Lady.’

  ‘Mmm, maybe,’ I replied and, wondering if a babe would result from the indignities of last night, I dipped my face into my cup to hide my blushes.

  ‘And a grand day that will be too.’ chimed in Envys the cook, chopping a large onion and tossing it into a pot, ‘tis long since we had any little princes running around our feet. Why young Rhodri’d be the last I do believe.’

  ‘Rhodri was a child here? Where are his parents now then, are they still in service here?’

  ‘Why L-Lady.’ stammered Envys in confusion, ‘He… he is the Lord Grufydd’s son, did no one think to tell ye so? He was the last child born to my Lord’s first wife, she died in childbed giving life to him. ‘tis a miracle the poor wee bach survived at all for they rarely do without their mam… rarely do.’

  She shook her head sorrowfully at the plight of all motherless babes until, astounded, I blurted out.

  ‘Rhodri … is Gruffydd’s son?’ I could scarce believe what I was hearing. ‘You mean the Rhodri that was my escort here from the coast?’

  The two men were nothing alike, Gruffydd was so rough-edged and worn and cross and, Rhodri so kind.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  I looked from Tangwystl to Envys, half suspecting that they played some jest.

  ‘Course I’m sure, Lady, didn’t I help raise him when he was left motherless… and his brothers too?’

  ‘Brothers?’ I repeated dumbly, ‘He has brothers? How many brothers?’

  ‘Two, Lady; the Lords Owain and Meurig, they that rode in with your husband last evening. Did you not know about them?’

  Plumping down on a stool I looked up at them all.

  ‘No, I did not. It seems I know nothing at all about my husband or his family. Please enlighten me.’

  I pulled up a stool and indicated that she should sit beside me and she lay down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron before joining me at the hearth. Her bottom overflowed the tiny seat and she folded her arms beneath her ample bosom before embarking upon her story.

  ‘Well, Lady, ‘tis a long tale to be told and I shall try to tell it well for you. Jiw Jiw. Fancy you not knowin’ you’d inherited a full-grown family. Now then, let me think. Years ago,
oh I know not how many, my Lord Gruffydd rode with his army to war against Hywel ap Edwin of Deheubarth. Well, one day he burned the stronghold at Pencadair to the ground, slaying the villagers and any they found alive there. Hywel managed to escape with a few of his followers but his wife was taken hostage and they do say that when she was brought before Gruffydd, instead of slaying her, he fell instantly in love with her instead and took her for his own. Bronwen the Fair they called her, begging your pardon Lady, if it should offend you but she is long dead now and no threat to you at all. This all happened when Lord Gruffydd was younger and…different. Ah, he was a pleasant man then, fond of the lyre and the harp; he often sang at gatherings in the hall. Oh, he’d the voice of a god, Lady.’

  The stories were growing more unbelievable as they went on.

  ‘Sang? The Lord Gruffydd sang? I do not believe it. What more surprises have you for me this morning.’

  ‘Oh, tis all true Lady, he has not always been as he is now. In his youth he was much like young Rhodri, genial and kind … and handsome too; ‘tis the harshness of life and its disappointments that have made him seem cruel. Why I remember, in his lady’s time, the hall full of music and gaiety, ‘twas a happy llys then when the children were small … until Rhodri’s birthing that is. Everything changed then.’

  ‘I see,’ I murmured, trying to picture Gruffydd in the manner Envys described him. I failed for I had never seen him so much as smile pleasantly, let alone sing and the word ‘pleasant’ just did not fit the Gruffydd I knew.

  ‘Twas a sad day, the day she died. The morning had dawned with sunshine and blue skies so, after breaking his fast, my Lord Gruffydd announced he was going to take advantage of the weather and go off for a days hunting. Soon after he rode away my Lady’s pains began and, by the time my Lord returned at nightfall, his Lady lay dead and her newborn child despaired of.’

  I passed a hand across my forehead, at once able to understand Gruffydd’s misery the better. ‘We feared he’d run mad at first, Lady. He rode out from the llys at once and nobody saw him for days and days and, when he did return, he was like a wild man. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, just drank jug after jug of mead and spoke not a civil word.’

  ‘And has spoken scarce few since I’ll be bound.’ spat Anwen, who had tended my bruises and formed an ill opinion of my lord. ‘All these tragedies were long ago and, King of all Cymru or not, ‘tis no excuse to treat my Lady as he does.’

  Fidgeting in my chair I frowned,

  ‘Hush, Anwen. I thank you for telling me Envys. I feel better for knowing of his sorry past and, although I know him not and cannot begin to replace his first wife, perhaps it will cheer him if more children do come, for all men want as many children as they can get, do they not?’

  The women drifted back to their chores leaving me to stare into the flames wondering about the long dead woman who had stolen Gruffydd’s heart. Looking down at my own dumpy figure I imagined her to be tall, elegant and fair, the complete opposite to myself. I did not love my husband and could not imagine ever doing so but he was the only one I had and my mother had made sure that I was well schooled as to my duties as a wife. My primary role was to provide sons for my Lord. Childbirth was a risky business and the begetting of children unpleasant in the extreme but it was a task that I was, nonetheless, determined to fulfill.

  More than once during the next few years I was forced to remind myself of that vow, for Gruffydd continued to prove an uncompromisingly harsh partner. As my grasp of the Welsh language improved so I began to settle in better. Refusing to resort to my native Saxon I persevered and, with Anwen always there to prompt me or supply a new word, I soon found myself beginning to join in fully with the gossipy afternoons when Gruffydd was away.

  For the majority of the time he was away campaigning against the Saxon, Earl Harold of Wessex and, during his absence, I was able to relax into my new life, secure in the certainty of an undisturbed night’s sleep. I had few household duties to perform for Llyward and Tangwystl ran Rhuddlan perfectly so all I had to do was endorse any decisions or changes that they proposed. Most of our grain, and that of north Cymry, was shipped in from Anglesey and the land about the stronghold was tilled for oats and turnips. Inside the enclosure we farmed pigs, sheep and poultry. Although the usual effects of illness and cold took its toll it was, by and large, a happy settlement, well run, affluent and secure. Should outsiders threaten us those living or working outside piled into the safety of the llys; outside dangers were scarce however and during my time there we saw no trouble and war kept away from Rhuddlan …until the end.

  While their Lord was away the children of the llys came out of hiding and ran tumbling in the rushes that were strewn upon the great hall floor. I liked to see them scampering about and gathered the elder siblings about me to teach me the most popular welsh songs and poetry. In the long winter evenings when the meal was over we gathered about the fire and listened to stories. Sometimes the marvellous tales of Arthur, or the Dream of Rhonabwy, or sometimes the tales of the old princes and the history of the land of which I was now princess. Rhodri’s white face gleamed in the torchlight as he told of a fearful battle that had taken place here in Rhuddlan, hundreds of years ago, between the Welsh under Caradoc, king of north Cymru and the Saxons under Offa, King of Mercia. Rhodri leaned close, relating in hushed tones the sorry tale of a battle lost.

  ‘After a drawn-out battle our armies were defeated with dreadful slaughter and Caradoc and many chieftains were slain. Such of our people as escaped the Saxon swords perished in the marshes from the influx of the tide and those who were taken prisoner were massacred, without any regard to their age or sex.’

  He picked up his harp and began to stroke his fingers over the strings. The sound shimmered around the hall and we all leaned our cheeks upon our hands and settled down to listen to his stirring song.

  Whilst Mother Wales, as she tears her wild tresses,

  Weeps o'er the urns of her mightiest sons.

  Beauty's rose dies at Caradoc's disaster,

  Terror and panic his battlements climb;

  Whilst his arch-minstrel, lamenting his master,

  Makes Morva Rhuddlan our dirge for all time.

  Saxon though I was, I empathised with the moist eyed company as they heard again the tragedy of Caradoc and his people, unleavened by time. The ties of kin are strong in Cymru, every door is open to a countryman in need and everyone seems related to each other either by blood or marriage. Hardship was a trouble shared and every household held a croeso for those facing misfortune and in all my time in Wales I never saw a single beggar.

  The fire had sunk low in the hearth and a servant struggled in with logs and tossed them on to replenish the flames, sparks leaping into the air. Tangwystl signalled to a girl to refill the cups and I took a long draught of mead, leaning back in my chair.

  ‘Ah,’ I said ‘how rich we are to live in a land where the brotherhood is strong.’

  ‘Tis not always so, Lady,’ said Llyward, ‘why even in your good Lord’s youth there was strife. When Lord Gruffydd reached manhood he suddenly decided to leave his father’s house. From the innermost reaches of Cymru’s heartland he began to attack and harass all those who ruled about him. He did not stop until he had slaughtered all who stood before him. Once in a position of real power, he attacked, like a marauding bear, the neighbouring princedoms until all of Cymru was beneath his rule. Your Lord is the first to unite all of Wales and, since overthrowing the kings of Deheubarth, Gwent and Morgannwg, he had every right to call himself a king.’

  I wondered at that; for all Gruffydd’s power he was nevertheless known only as Prince. It slowly became clear that, sickened by the division of his country into small, undefendable cantrefs, he had vowed to unite the land as one nation, the better to fight the Saxons. For all that, his people did not love him; they were loyal because he was strong. His uncompromising ambition made him impossible to love and Gruffydd was a man with no real friends. In my time
with him I learned that even his sons, Owain and Meurig, feared rather than loved him and Rhodri, I am certain, felt nothing at all.

  Shortly after discovering Rhodri’s true status I had teased him about it. ‘Rhodri.’ I called with a giggle when I saw him enter the hall, ‘Come and kiss your mother.’

  In truth, my adolescent fancy meant I was only glad to see him and sought to share his company but, to my dismay, he walked stiffly toward me, bowing coldly over my hand and leaving an empty kiss on my wrist.

  ‘You are not my mother, Lady,’ he said, so that none but me should hear, ‘and I would thank you not to pretend to be such.’

  ‘Rhodri.’ I exclaimed, ‘I did but jest; of course I am not your mother nor should I want to be. I just thought it amusing that my stepson should be just a few years my senior. I imagined you would share the joke with me.’

  His eyes were shuttered.

  ‘There are some things, my queen, that I cannot jest about and my lady mother is one of them.’

  ‘Oh, do forgive me, Rhodri.’ I cried, close to tears, ‘I did not think. I am ignorant and have been ill-prepared for this marriage. It came as no little surprise to learn I had step-sons. Why did someone not sit down and tell me of the family I was to marry into?’

  Rhodri warmed slightly, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.

  ‘I don’t know, ‘tis just Gruffydd’s way. He expects everyone to do just as he says whether they like it or not. He probably thought it immaterial that you be told anything. Anyway, I wish you not to think of me as your stepson, nor even as Gruffydd’s son. He has never openly shown me any acknowledgement. I’m more like his groom than a son and that’s the way I’d rather it stayed.’