Peaceweaver

by Judith Arnopp

  ‘There will be none of that for the next few months Anwen. I am to have another child, perchance in February but … maybe in early January.’ I blushed as she dropped the bundle and hobbled across the room to take my hands,

  ‘Oh Lady, tis a good thing, twill keep that man from your bed and restore some of the lost apples to your cheeks an’ that’s the main thing. We must be grateful he has ploughed your furrow so soon or twould have been the devil’s job to explain.’

  I paused, considering the implication behind her words.

  ‘Do you think I will go to hell for what I have done, Anwen?’

  She sat on the edge of the bed, still gripping my hand.

  ‘Nay, Lady, do not worry over such a thing. What you have done is not really a sin, not in my book. You have just done what we are put on earth to do. Celebrated your youth and love of life with someone you love. ‘Tis surely no sin to celebrate God’s gifts and, if no one finds you out, no one shall suffer, so where is the harm? My mam always said that love spreads love and joy spreads joy and, judging from your face these last few weeks, misery spreads misery too.’

  Although she believed what she said, I knew she was wrong. I had sinned and in the depths of my mind I knew that punishment awaited me, in one form or another.

  ‘I need to tell Rhodri; he should hear it from me. Oh, in truth, Anwen, I just need to see him and tell him face to face. I do not want him to hear of it from others. Oh, if I cannot see him soon I think I will die.’

  Anwen put down the sheet she was folding and came to me, rubbing at the top of my arms, bolstering my courage.

  ‘Well, nobody ever died o’ wanting, Lady, but just to be sure, I will arrange a place for you to meet but we must be cautious; even though you and Rhodri are loved far more than Gruffydd.’

  That night after dinner, Anwen and I, muffled against the night chill, made our way to the stable where Rhodri was changing the poultice on Glimmer’s eye. When he heard us he dropped what he was doing and regardless of Anwen’s presence took me straight into his embrace.

  ‘I have missed you, Cariad. I thought I should perish of misery if I did not see you soon. How are you, really? You are so peaked looking it breaks my heart to see you so miserable and alone.’

  Holding my face in his hands, he kissed me long on the lips and then, as he pulled away, let his hands trickle over my torso, skimming my breasts and hips.

  ‘Rhodri, I have something to tell you,’ I murmured, trapping his hands so as not to yield to desire.

  ‘What is it, Sweeting?’ he mumbled, his lips buried in my neck.

  ‘I am with child, Rhodri.’

  His head snapped upright, his jaw tensing and the lazy lust of his eyes instantly extinguished. He pulled away,

  ‘The bastard lost little time.’ he snarled.

  Behind us Anwen’s feet rustled in the straw as she twisted and turned, keeping a look out in all directions. Reaching out to him again, I stroked his cheek.

  ‘My lord,’ I whispered, half laughing, half crying at his ingenuity, ‘the deed may well have been yours.’

  He seemed so young as I watched reality drench him like cold water. Stillness fell upon the stable; the only sound the rhythmic chomping of the horses at their hay.

  ‘Oh God, what have we done? Oh my Cariad, if he should discover it …’

  ‘How can he, Rhodri? He has been busy upon me every night. He is no midwife, only we shall know the truth. If the child comes in January it will be ours and I can claim ‘tis but come early but … if ‘tis later… ‘twill be his.’

  Rhodri looked down at my stomach and placed a hand upon it.

  ‘I am torn. I want to be glad. I want it to be mine. I want it so badly. Oh, Cariad, ‘tis hard to sit back and watch that man play husband to my sweetheart, let alone father to mine own son too.’

  Anwen stirred in the doorway, ‘We must go, Lady, before the watch is set,’ she warned.

  I looked down upon his dark head as he placed a wet kiss upon my wrist close to the place where my heart’s blood pulsed beneath the surface.

  ‘Take care, Cariad,’ he said, ‘I will be hereabouts, waiting and watching, but I know not when we can be together like this again.’

  ‘Think you we will ever meet like this again?’

  ‘Oh, do not doubt it and, in time to come, these troubles shall seem as nothing. When ‘tis all over and the child is here, we must leave, take the young ones and ride away from all this and make our lives elsewhere. We will go to Ireland, we cannot live like this any longer.’

  Silently, with tears tearing at my throat, I nodded and then, clutching Anwen’s arm, we hurried back to the hall through the lilting rain.

  My body was cumbersome but, freed of Gruffydd’s attentions, my spirits were better than they had been. Four months into my pregnancy, my relationship with Rhodri was restricted to polite conversation and eye contact. We shared no intimacy but, sometimes, the silent messages that he sent across the crowded hall were so loaded with meaning that I wondered others did not intercept them.

  The brimming mead cups probably helped, for the evenings were riotous and the entertainment grew more ribald as the year progressed. Without the activity of war to quell their spirits, Gruffydd’s men grew fractious and undisciplined. The sound of debauchery that wended its way to my sleeping bower often kept me awake into the small hours but I was able to lie abed for as long as I wished in the mornings so it did not rob me of sleep. I preferred to break my fast in my chamber, for, in the mornings, the hall often remained littered with the debris of the previous night and the stench was nauseating.

  The night that the end began is difficult for me to speak of, the terrible memories are clear in my mind but the words are reluctant to be spoken. However, I will try to explain.

  I woke from a light slumber and sat up, groping for the cup that was usually at my bedside. It was empty and, when I called to Anwen, she was not there and I remembered that she had been summoned to help with a difficult birthing. Wrapping myself in a cloak, I quit the chamber in search of a drink. I don’t know why I did not call out for someone, I just didn’t think to, so used was I to Anwen being close by. I ducked through the doorway into the hall and began to make my way through the debris, stepping over comatose bodies, careful to avoid the puddles of puke.

  One of the wolfhounds came to sniff at me but I ignored him and he soon slunk away again. The cooking fire was deserted so I made my way to the food hall beyond. As I picked my careful way over sleeping bodies and discarded mead cups, a familiar sound startled me and, instantly alert, I looked across to the far corner.

  There, in the dim light, my husband was engaged with two females. I can find no way to describe what I saw without resort to some indelicacy, but he was busy between the legs of a young girl and another knelt at his feet.

  I tried to back away, to creep off, hoping my intrusion would go unnoticed, but then, I recognised the black head that was buried in his lap.

  ‘Heulwen.’ I gasped, and staggered backward, seeking an escape. My head was reeling and, disorientated, I stumbled into the table, sending jugs and plates crashing to the floor.

  The hounds leapt up barking. The sleepers in the hall began to stir and Gruffydd scrambled up, his women grabbing for their clothes while my husband struggled with the lacing on his breeches.

  For a heartbeat we all stood staring speechlessly at each other until, bending forward I let loose a stream of vomit into the rushes. Heulwen burst into tears, clutching her gown to her bosom … the bosom that had nourished my sons, and fled. The other girl, who appeared to be scarcely out of childhood, was slower to quit the room and Gruffydd was forced .to hasten her sulky departure with his boot.

  ‘Well, Madam, why are you prowling about at this time of the night?’ he demanded. Momentarily speechless, I soon found my voice.

  ‘What do I do?’ I hollered in tones to match his own, ‘What do I do? I do but fetch a drink, what is it that you do, my Lord?’

 
‘Tis none of your business what I do woman. Now, get ye back to your bed, I owe you no explanation.’

  ‘Oh, yes you do, Gruffydd. That woman, that seemed so engrossed in your genitalia, is in my employ. She works for me as a nurse to your children. How dare you place my sons at jeopardy by keeping her from her duties. I care not what you do, my Lord, in fact I am glad for you to take your satisfaction anywhere just so long as it isn’t in my bed, but do not think to intrude upon the queen’s household again. Find your whores elsewhere.’

  Our voices were loud and people had begun to gather by the hearth.

  ‘I am the king here and you, Madam, are here to do as you are bid. You are my property, bequeathed by your father into my care.’

  ‘And you call this care do you, Gruffydd? Inflicting your nauseous attentions on me, your unwashed stench would offend a pigmaid and in the bedchamber your lack of finesse is nothing but a chore. I am glad to be done with it.’

  He struck me then, hard across the cheek and I fell on hands and knees onto the soiled rushes. Wiping the blood from my mouth, I glared up at him, letting him see the full force of my contempt.

  ‘How brave you are my Lord…’ I began but a kick deprived me of further speech.

  There was a deathly silence in the hall, nobody dared move or interfere but, suddenly, Anwen was there at my side, helping me to rise.

  ‘Shame on you.’ she cried at Gruffydd, ‘What man are you to rend your Lady so?’

  He ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken and, shaking with anger, I stood before him with Anwen at my side. The top of my head barely reached his chin but, looking him in the eye, I gritted my teeth, almost choking on my loathing.

  ‘I will be quitting your hall, Gruffydd, just as soon as horses can be made ready.’

  Drawing back his fist, he made to assault me again but he found his arm pinioned from behind.

  ‘Strike her again and I will kill you.’ came Rhodri’s voice, deadly calm in the silence.

  Gruffydd twisted free of his grip easily and stood unwary, his puzzled eyes flashing from my bloody face to Rhodri’s ashen one.

  ‘And what business is it of yours, you ill-born piece of shite?’

  Rhodri flinched at the insult and, as if to test the situation further, Gruffydd grabbed me by the hair, forcing my head down close to his fetid crutch.

  ‘What if I should strike her again, Boy? What if I should kick and punch her, rape her here in the hall before this company? What would a half-baked brat like you do about it, eh? What would any of you do?’

  There was no reply. The company stood sullenly. He glared at his son. Rhodri did not move.

  ‘I would kill you,’ he said, ‘without hesitation and without the slightest displeasure.’

  Gruffydd leered a dreadful smile.

  ‘And you can fight me can you, boy? You would risk your life defending my woman because I choose to beat her a little?’ he laughed, looking about, trying to rouse some support from the tense crowd. Nobody moved until Rhodri spoke again.

  ‘She isn’t your woman, Gruffydd, she is my woman and the child she bears is mine also.’

  Movement flurried about the hall but still nobody dared to intervene. Gruffydd loosed my hair and I stood up, a hand pressed to my aching back as I inched away from what had become a murderous situation. His bloodshot eyes flicked about the room and I saw that none but Gruffydd was taken by surprise. Although we had thought ourselves so cunning, our relationship had, all along, been common knowledge among our friends at Rhuddlan.

  I felt my face scorch red and my heart hammered as my eyes swivelled back to the drama. The situation was fraught with danger. Gruffydd was staring at me, a tremor of anger in his jaw; he had recognised the truth of his son’s words too.

  ‘You bitch!’ he cried, lashing out full-fisted and smashing my teeth together. Bright lights flashed in my head and the world about me grew dark.

  Through a fog of semi-consciousness, I realised that Gruffydd and Rhodri were fighting, I could hear their grunting breath punctuating the clash of their swords. Clutching at a table for support, I staggered to my feet and, shaking my head to clear my vision, focused on the scene before me.

  Gruffydd’s men were grouped at one end of the hall, watching the fight with some pleasure. The rest of the household were huddled at the other end. Tables had been overturned and the dogs barked from the perimeter of the room. Anwen tried to restrain me but I shrugged from her arms and staggered forward,

  ‘Gruffydd!’ I cried, ‘My Lord, stop. Think what it is you do.’

  ‘The time for thinking has passed, Madam,’ he panted, swinging his blade and bringing it down with stunning force to meet Rhodri’s. My sweetheart was no swordsman; his father had always denied him the instruction that was his due. His face was pale, his hair wet with sweat and, with a wrench of fear, I saw that blood was seeping through the sleeve of his jerkin. He was hurt. I licked my lips, frantically thinking of a way to calm the situation.

  ‘Please.’ I cried again, ‘think what you do, Gruffydd. We have not injured your heart. ‘Tis but your pride that is hurt, nothing more. Punish him no further, punish me instead.’

  Attacking with a flurry of short, swift blows which Rhodri just managed to block, Gruffydd growled, ‘That pleasure will come later, woman,’ and deftly parried a thrust, leaping just in time, clear of Rhodri’s sword.

  Losing my control and letting the full force of my contempt show in my voice, I said clearly,

  ‘And what would Bronwen say? Would she cheer you on as you seek to splice her son in two? ‘tis vengeance for her death you truly seek, isn’t it, Gruffydd? You never could forgive him could you? You were never man enough to overcome that misfortune. Leave him alone. You are a coward. For God’s sake man, he is your son.’

  Sweating heavily and using all his strength, Gruffydd shoved Rhodri backward, sending him tripping over benches and onto the floor; then he turned and strode across the room toward me.

  When I saw him coming I cowered, on my knees, certain that I breathed my last. A gasp snaked about the room and it seemed an age that I crouched there with my arms clasped over my head, praying for my soul … but the expected blow never fell. Just as I thought my life ended, Rhodri leapt up and, speeding across the room, raised his weapon and drove his blade into his father’s back.

  I saw the look of stunned surprise on Gruffydd’s face but, the blade had glanced off and not stuck fully home. He twisted around to face his assailant.

  Rhodri’s sword clattered to the floor and I watched as he stood, unarmed, before his father’s wrath. Ignoring my screams Gruffydd raised his weapon and, with a furious cry, plunged his sword down deeply into his son’s heart.

  The horror of that December night sent me whirling into a nightmare of grief. For a long time I wanted to die too and, had I been so offered, I would have exchanged all of my tomorrows for just one more chance at yesterday.

  I raged against fate until Anwen despaired of my sanity and my own body, traumatised by my anguish, was forced to expel my child early from the womb. The birth was sharp and fast; the suddenness of her arrival thrusting my women into a whirl of activity.

  My heart, that wished only to cease beating, was salvaged from utter despair by the timely arrival of a daughter.

  On that cold morning when, through the curtain of my grief, I examined her nailess fingers and wrinkled skin, I knew she was not premature. She was no daughter of Gruffydd, she was Rhodri’s.

  Her hair lay dark upon her tiny skull and her damp lashes were like ebony stars upon her cheek. There was nothing of my husband in her and I was fiercly glad. All of Bronwen the Fair’s sweet charm had passed into Rhodri’s daughter and I knew she would be like him in every way.

  Each pull at my breast tightened the strings that she wound about my heart, her tiny request for attention drawing me back from death and giving me a reason not to die …not just yet.

  I nursed her myself for as long as I cared to; from now on I could look to m
y children’s needs. Anwen told me, with no little satisfaction, how she had slapped Heulwen soundly and sent her squawking back to her father’s house in disgrace.

  ‘You are a good, loyal friend to me Anwen,’ I said, ‘I thank you. That trull will get no good word from me.’

  Without my endorsement Heulwen’s days would probably end in whoredom but I was too raw to care or to realise that she had probably been given her little choice in her actions. Confined to my chamber, I shut out the world and clutched my children tight, for they were all I had.

  Idwal and Maredudd were both intrigued and bemused with their sister and sat on the bed to watch as she nursed. It was her Christening day and they were thinking of suitable names.

  ‘Angharad?’ Awen suggested.

  ‘That was Gruffydd’s mother’s name, but I feel it is too much of a mouthful.’

  ‘Call her Anwen.’ cried Idwal, and Anwen began to tickle him,

  ‘Sweet talker.’ she cried, unhindered by his screams, ‘you can’t name a princess after a servant.’

  ‘Oh, Anwen,’ I cried, shocked out of my lethargy, ‘you are more than a servant, you are my very best friend.’

  Our eyes met over Idwal’s head.

  ‘Thankyou, my lady.’ She murmured, cradling my son on her knee, her chin resting on his head.

  Life goes on, as I have since learned, but with the soreness of loss still livid even fleeting contentment filled me with guilt that, in the small consolations of everyday living, I should come close to forgetting Rhodri. When the children were sitting quiet again, I shifted the babe to my other breast, watching as the fresh supply of milk trickled from her lips.

  ‘I have a name for your sister already,’ I said, ‘I believe I shall call her Nesta.’

  ‘Oh, Lady, tis a lovely name, a good Welsh name, a name fit for a queen.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed and the children’s voices faded as my mind drifted away to a tranquil place, where the April sun had beaten down upon a nest of sand.