Unable to leave my chamber I grew used to the guard outside the door but I was, nonetheless, afraid. Within my chambers, with only my women and children for company, dread lay like a stone in my stomach.
Each morning I woke wondering if it were my last and each footstep outside my door became that of an assassin. The crime I had committed warranted death and I knew without doubt that Gruffydd would not be lenient.
Under Welsh law Gruffydd could do as he wished with me and there was just one thing stopping him from having me killed or cast off; his dependence upon my father. He could not risk the peace treaty for, the moment the alliance was broken, he knew that Earl Harold and his fighting men would descend upon Rhuddland with the might of England behind him.
Gruffydd was an angry man. The wound that Rhodri had inflicted on him proved to be superficial, although I prayed otherwise, and he had not even taken to his bed. He was soon striding about the llys as if nothing had happened.
Screened by the shutter, I watched him with loathing in my soul. Time would never dim the abhorrence we bore eachother. Instead it grew in strength and when, in my dreams, I relived that last awful night of Rhodri’s life, I would wake to a burning hatred and lie awake, plotting Gruffydd’s death in the dark.
I wanted it to be a long and lingering end and I wanted to look into his eyes as the last vestige of life drained from him. Oh, I knew I sinned and should seek absolution but I was not repentant. There was little doubt that, ultimately, one of us would destroy the other and I had no intention of letting it be me.
Each dawn in fear of the hereafter, I begged forgiveness from God, but every night the dream returned. Father Daffydd warned me against the self-detriment of hatred but I could not help it, I detested Gruffydd with such an all-consuming fever that I could barely contain it. I no longer considered myself his wife; I grieved for Rhodri as his widow, and knew myself to be alone in a frightening world.
Father Davydd was the one male visitor to my chamber, the only man I could now call ‘friend’ and, together, we spent many hours wrestling with the question of my sin. Unknown to me he spoke to Gruffydd, seeking his consent for me to attend my churching. The ceremony was long overdue and Gruffydd, unable to argue against God’s representative, grudgingly gave his permission. I took a deep, shaking breath, quit my seclusion and walked into the outside world.
I did not want to face the people of the llys for I feared they would brand me a whore so we waited until the mid-day meal was over and the household quiet. Then we bundled the children into warm clothes and Anwen accompanied us to the small thatched church in the corner of the settlement.
The children were restive and naughty and I bribed them with promises of a long walk in the fresh air if they were good while I did my business with the priest.
The church door was richly carved with vines, birds and flowers and I stood examining it for some time before I finally pushed it wide and stepped inside.
It was dark within and the sharp contrast with the brightness of the day momentarily blinded me.
‘Ah, here you are, Lady.’ cried Father Daffydd when he heard my step upon the slate floor, ‘Come you in, daughter, and we will pray together.’
My steps dragging, I approached the altar, reluctant for him to see me and, as I had feared, when the light of his candle illuminated my face, his shoulders deflated and he let forth a sigh.
‘The sin is still with you, child.’
‘I feel no sin, Father.’ I had told him this a thousand times in the last weeks but he refused to listen. Crossing himself, seeking forgiveness for my depravity, he continued.
‘Only the most determined of sinners refuse to admit their offence. I cannot believe that you see no sin in incest, in adultery, in wishing for the death of your husband, the king. Come, admit your transgression and seek absolution so I may cleanse you of it.’
Anwen was scolding Idwal for something near the church door, his feet scuffed on the floor as he tried to avoid her clutches.
‘Has God abandoned me then because I loved?’ I whispered, ‘If He truly cares for my soul I do not understand why I cannot feel God’s presence, Father. Why is He not helping me? My heart is sick unto death. Sometimes I cannot breathe for grief. I am suffocating with the guilt and for the hatred I feel for his murderer. I do not understand why He should want me to suffer like this. Should not Gruffydd be here confessing his sin instead of I?’
The priest sighed, looking down upon my bowed head as, on my knees, I wept.
‘Everyone saw Rhodri strike Gruffydd first, I cannot condemn a man for striking another down in self defence, I should have half the country doing penance were that the case. Your sin is not an uncommon one, child, but a sexual union unblessed by God and His church is fornication, no more, no less and you must first confess and ask absolution.’
‘And what of Gruffydd’s fornication, Father, with his slaves and kitchen sluts? Does that not require absolution too?’
‘That is between your husband and his confessor; he does not come unto my church. My concern is with you, child, I can help you if you will only admit the error of your ways.’
I let my head drop onto my hands, I had heard all his arguments before. I was tired of hearing them and, today he was determined to override my protests. He was aided, perhaps, by the unseen presence of God in that small dark cell, for suddenly I weakened, unable to fight him any longer, and gave in.
‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,’ I whispered, my voice hoarse with relief.
Father Daffydd let out a gusty sigh.
‘And what is the nature of your sin, child?’
‘I loved another, not my husband, I took carnal pleasures with him, my actions brought about his death and now I wish my wedded husband, his murderer, dead.’
‘I absolve you, child, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit; now, go home and love your children and make peace with their father.’
I looked up at him, startled at such leniency, ‘Is that all, Father?’
I had expected a harsh penance. He patted me on the head, ‘You have suffered enough, child, and so have I with the hearing of it. You are a good girl and ill-equipped to deal with the trials God has seen fit to send you but, remember, He sent them for a reason. In your future life, my child, love moderately. Those that love moderately, love long.’
Relieved to be let off so lightly, I sent up a hasty prayer before the altar and left the church, Anwen limped along with Nesta swaddled in her arms and I slowed my pace to match her halting one, allowing the children to stop to examine small curiosities on the way. I felt in some way lighter since I had made confession, as if the heavy burden had been relieved a little.
Back in my prison I spent my time thinking. As the nights began to draw in, a deep sorrow began to replace some of the sharp pain of loss. The bitter north wind began to blow and the trees gave up their leaves to collect in corners about the settlement. They were dark days and although it was cold, I longed for the outdoors, to feel the wind in my hair and the rain on my face. The tolling fear that I had beat within me at the beginning of my confinement receded, leaving only tedium in its place.
Bored with inactivity, I began to believe that had Gruffydd intended to bring retribution against me he should have done so by now. I railed against my incarceration, no longer fearing death and wishing only for my freedom, I leant from the tiny window, drinking in the brisk winter air and wished I were a bird so that I could fly away. Sometimes it seemed that even execution would be better than to spend my life like a rat in a trap, there were days where the misery became so acute that I longed for death. And then, like a blow in the dark, came news of my father’s death.
I remembered the father I had once loved but I did not mourn him. Dutifully I knelt and prayed for him at my lectern, lost myself in the memory of my childhood, the warmth of my father’s hall. So, when I heard the door close softly, I was startled and spun around to find Gruffydd standing in the shadows.
&
nbsp; It was the first time we had faced eachother since that night and now I knew he had come to kill me. I said nothing, my heart hammering against my ribs, making my breath grow short.
He looked haggard in the leaping torchlight and, for the first time, I realised that the events of the past months might have been as cruel to him as they had me. We stared at eachother for a long moment, our mutual hatred shimmering like a livid thing between us until, from behind the curtain that screened off the sleeping platform, Nesta stirred and whimpered in her sleep. I made to go to her.
‘Be still,’ Gruffydd snarled and I froze, my eyes riveted to his face.
He began to pace about the room, picking up items from my table and putting them down again, his movements deliberate and slow. At length he came and stood close before me, so close that I could smell his tainted breath. I averted my face as he leaned nearer.
‘You, Madam, are now without a father’s protection,’ he gloated. I kept my gaze on the window, my chin high and made no reply. He began to walk in circles around me, looking me up and down, his loathing of me apparent in every movement.
‘You, madam,’ he continued, ‘are a slut and a whore and I will break you. Rest assured, your death will be both prolonged and painful.’ I swallowed, disdaining to let him see I cared. ‘When the screaming stops and you are finally dead, madam, you will receive no Christian burial. No, instead I will hang you high, like the traitor you are, and watch as the crows of my kingdom strip the flesh from your rancid bones. I will have your women and your children watch you die, and while your bones bleach in the sun, I will poison their memories of you. I will sell your bastard into slavery and I will make your sons hate you and feel shame for having been cursed with such a mother.’
It was difficult to draw breath. I could feel it rasping through my closed throat, sobbing tears not far away. Hatred tore at my mind so that I wanted to scream at him to stop, to take my dagger and thrust it deep into his gut, to claw out his eyes and laugh as the carrion feasted upon his remains.
‘What say you to that, my fine whore?’he whispered, gripping my chin and pulling my face up to his. I closed my eyes against him, refusing to allow him to see my dread.
My lack of response was too much for him and he suddenly changed tack, thrusting me hard against the wall and wrenching my head back by the hair, his face inches from mine, his breath full in my face.
‘I asked you a question,’ he roared. I felt my neck would break; his body was thrust against mine in a grotesque mummery of our former intimacy.
Opening my eyes, I returned his stare and, my voice croaking through the restricted air passage, I spat the words at him.
‘I say, that as the life drains from me, I will curse you Gruffydd. So that all that is now yours will perish, your strongholds will fall, your treasures will be lost and your people will turn from you. Your country will founder and never again rise to power; your countrymen will be vassals forever more. That is my curse, Gruffydd ap Llewellyn, and I will die willingly that it be so.’
His eye twitched as he drew away from me, the blood draining from his face and I knew I had penetrated the very nub of his superstitious fears.
He let go of me so abruptly that I dropped at his fee and, before he quit the chamber, he drew back his foot dealt me a stunning blow in the side.
He walked and as he slammed the door behind him away I managed to sit up and let loose a bitter laugh. A laugh that eddied and echoed about the room, spilled from the window and followed him into the night.
I harboured no doubt that he would keep his word and I found that, although I had so lately wished for death, my life was precious after all.
My prayers altered and I begged God to allow me a just a few weeks longer with the children. I had no hope for reprieve for who was there to save me?
Nest was fidgety with a head cold. She constantly rubbed at her nose with her fist, spreading the snot round her face and creating the additional problem of chapped cheeks.
One after the other the children had been ill. It was the coldest winter for many years and we spent as little time as possible away from the warmth of the fire. Prolonged confinement made the children argumentative and tetchy and, more than once, I regretted the self-imposed ban on nursemaids.
I asked Tangwystl to examine the young girls of the llys to see if there was one to whom I could entrust the children. She brought many girls too me but none were suitable until, in the end, she introduced me to one named Maude.
She was a timid child, extraordinarily plain and hampered with a palsied left side and, therefore, unlikely to attract male attentions. Her strange sideways gait meant she was awkward around the chamber but I liked her cheerfulness and admired her refusal to be inconvenienced by her crippled state.
Maude had steel in her heart and I knew that together with Anwen they would make formidable guardians of my children after my death. Idwal and Maredudd were wary of her at first but, once they had listened to her stories and realised her affliction wasn’t the result of a devil’s curse, they took to her and I gained some time to myself.
My life had shrunk. Wrapped against the cold in woollens and furs, a tear never far below the surface, I felt dead already. Although I was but eighteen years old and had scarcely begun to live, my time on Earth was almost over.
With my demise imminent I realised that I had never really lived, life had just happened to me. Apart from those few nights in Rhodri’s arms I had made no choices, never been allowed to decide my own path. There were so many regrets, so much left unsaid, deeds left undone, places left unseen. Aching to live, each night I dreamed of Rhodri, felt his touch and his warm lips upon my skin, and in the morning, woke again bereft.
The cold that crept through the wattle walls of my chamber froze my frigid spirits further. My world was ice locked, the water left in my rooms for washing was solid each morning and the roaring fires and braziers did little to combat the cold that gusted beneath the doors, stirring the tapestries and snuffing the candles.
Most nights there was feasting in the hall but I was glad to be excluded from it. I was unwilling to be in Gruffydd’s company, even at some remove. The bitter hatred that had pervaded the llys since the night of the killing was so strong that you could almost taste it. Discontent ruled at Rhuddlan now. I ate separate from the household. Food was brought to my apartments and I was grateful that Envys smuggled the choicest morsels beneath a cloth to tempt the colour to my cheeks. The gesture of support was great comfort and I wished I could thank her personally. I could only hope that the empty trays that I sent back to the kitchen hall evidenced my appreciation.
Nest was almost a year now and gloriously chubby; she pushed her food into her mouth, munching each morsel with stolid dedication.
The boys at three and two years old were becoming a handful but their noise at least leavened the loneliness a little. Christ’s mass arrived and, for the first time, I was to be absent from the feast. Gruffydd instructed Anwen to accompany the boys to the table and they were in high excitement as they donned their best clothes, chattering about the bards and tumblers who would be present.
I listened to their footsteps pattering away and, faced with a solitary Christ’s mass eve, memories of past celebrations flooded back, making the festive fayre stick in my throat.
The lilt of the harp found its way through the walls to where I lay on my bed and I could not help but recall Rhodri’s skill with the instrument and remember his rich, Welsh accent as he sung for us all.
Despite the pain it brought I remembered the scene; as he told his tales of Carodog while the company did their best to drain Gruffydd’s mead hall dry. Finding some comfort in the misery I travelled further back in my memories to other feasts in the far off days at my father’s hall; the loud, jubilant revellers stripping the flesh from the roasted sucking pigs, the wine that had flowed and the riotous games and dancing that had followed. But on this night I could only hear the music of the revels and was allowed no part of it
, just as I was allowed no part in life.
When the sounds of the roistering grew torrid I knew that Anwen and the children would soon return and, almost as the thought passed through my mind, the door opened and the children, protesting loudly all the way, were herded into my chamber.
The boys were rosy from over-indulgence and exertion; excitedly they related the events of the evening to me as we readied them for bed. They were joyous from the revel but, as I leaned over to kiss Idwal, he took my hand and held it fast in his.
‘We missed you, Mother,’ he said. Tears swam in his eyes and I realised with a jolt that he knew far more about my circumstances than I hoped. Mustering a cheery smile, I ruffled his hair.
‘Oh, I had a fine time here in the warm with the babe,’ I lied before bidding him good night.
His heavy eyes soon closed in sleep but I lay awake, listening until peace fell at last and I knew that Gruffydd and his men lay drunk about the hall.
Screams tore into my dreams, wrenching me from sleep. I sat up in my bed, reaching for my wrapper and yelling for Anwen, who was already leaping from her pallet. We hurried from the chamber together, colliding with Tangwystl who was tearing along the corridor in her night shift.
‘What is happening, Tangwystl?’ I cried.
‘We are under attack, Lady, you must gather the children and prepare to leave. My Lord Gruffydd has ordered the household to flee to the western mountains.’
‘Flee the Llys? Leave Rhuddlan? Are you sure? Who is it attacks us?’
‘They say tis Harold o’ Wessex, Lady, they are already upon us and have fired the stables and the grain store. Hurry, Lady, and get thee to the horses.’
That name sent the blood draining from my body as I grabbed my fur cloak, tying it with shaking hands over my nightclothes. Anwen was already bundling the children into their outdoor things and Maude was flinging our clothing into a sack.
‘Come,’ I cried, ‘we must away. Forget the clothes.’ Then, grabbing Nesta, I fled the chamber with the women and children in my wake.
Peaceweaver Page 9