The Red Judge

by Pauline Fisk

  Plynlimon lay behind me, and the river lay ahead. I knew that if I kept on course then I’d be safe. Nobody would ever find me, not even the red judge. I shivered at the thought of it – shivered with excitement. My journey stretched ahead of me all the way to the sea. I felt it waiting like the gateway to a whole new life.

  16

  My Seafaring Father

  The time has come to tell you about my other father. I’m not talking about my real father here, who was dead, or my Fitztalbot father, who was best forgotten. I’m talking about the father I made up for myself when I didn’t have anybody else. The one I called my ‘seafaring father’.

  He’s the reason why, that morning, knowing that the sea lay waiting for me up ahead meant so very much. I made him up when I first moved to Pengwern. Faced with the awful reality of my new Fitztalbot father, I started fantasising about the sort of father that I’d really like. Over time, I polished him up until I got him just the way I wanted. Then – when he was perfect – I believed in him.

  I know it must sound crazy but, for years, he was so real that if I’d met him on the street I would have known him. He was just like me – a rebel too, who hated school and uniforms and being made to keep the rules; someone who ran away to sea when he was scarcely my age, and who understood me so well that when I looked at him, I couldn’t help but understand myself.

  I saw my dreams fulfilled in him. For years, I imagined running away and finding him waiting when I got to the sea, tanned by the wind, dark-haired, tough and wiry, and as handsome as a gypsy. ‘Life’s for living, not keeping shop.’ That was one of his favourite sayings, as made up by me. ‘You’re only as good as the storms you have survived.’ That was another – and he knew what he was talking about!

  My seafaring father had seen it all – waves as tall as skyscrapers, and nights on seas so calm that you couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the sea began. He’d fought with pirates and found treasure islands. Met fabled beasts and ghost ships. Survived storms the likes of which most people could never imagine. His tales were tall and wild – and I always believed them, even though I was the one who’d made them up.

  That’s the one important thing I want to get across. Even though I made him up, I still believed in my seafaring father. It was like believing in the future. Having hope against all odds. One day, I told myself, the two of us would go off together across the seven seas. We’d do battle with wild storms and always win. Drink ourselves silly in every port. Share girls together – legendary lovers, father and son. There’d be nothing I couldn’t achieve with him by my side, and nothing he wouldn’t do for me.

  He was twice as alive as anybody else. He wasn’t like my real father, who had gone and died. And he certainly wasn’t like my Fitztalbot father, who didn’t know what it meant to live. Even as I grew older and stopped thinking about him so much, I still knew that he was out there on the high seas, waiting for the day when I would join him.

  And now that day had come! My head knew that my seafaring father wasn’t real, but my heart told me that he’d be waiting when I got downriver to the sea. Here I was facing yet another unexpected, new and highly uncertain life, and there he was, waiting for me like he always had done.

  Suddenly the journey took on a whole new light. I wasn’t running from something any more, but to something instead. Morning broke across the sky. It lit the tops of all the hills, but I refused to look back. It was too bright a morning for looking back, and the world ahead was too exciting. The air was clear and blue, as if the atmosphere had been stretched out thin. The sun rose in a perfect sky and my spirits rose as well. I felt them soaring through the air. Felt like a bird flying down the river.

  I’ve done it, I thought. I’ve got away. The Cŵn y Wbir won’t catch me, and neither will their master. I’m shaking off his shadow, and I’m free of him. Free of everybody else as well who ever tried to put me down!

  It was a moment of sheer exhilaration. Completely unexpectedly, the future was suddenly bright. I’d tricked the red judge into saving Cary’s life, then slipped through his fingers and got away with it.

  Suddenly I felt free. Old landscapes fell behind me and new ones appeared. Harri and Mari drew the sled down a long, narrowing valley, their muscles working like the Furies underneath their shaggy coats. I didn’t have to drive them, or tell them where to go. They ran as if our destinations were the same.

  Cliffs started closing in on us, and the sun disappeared. We entered a gorge with heavy woodland on either side. Shadows fell across the sled, but I didn’t feel cast down by them. I felt safe, as if the cliffs were strong arms holding the world at bay.

  Even when Harri and Mari stopped at last, and couldn’t go any further, I still felt safe. In front of the sled lay a jumble of boulders, fallen tree-trunks and plates of ice, frozen together to create thick wedge-like steps. There was no way forward, apart from picking our way down them slowly, but I didn’t care. The gorge was too beautiful to mind slowing down. In the icy morning, it was like a treasure chest stuffed full of jewels.

  I could have rummaged through it for days, marvelling over silver branches, frozen leaves, ferns laced with snow and cobwebs beaded like pearl necklaces. Every one of them looked priceless – a treasure beyond measure. By the time the river smoothed out again, I was sad to say goodbye. The cliffs fell back and the end of the gorge was in sight. I felt the sun on my face again, and looked up to see it high in the sky.

  The day was moving on – and so must we. I climbed back on to the sled, and Harri and Mari started running again. The gorge fell behind us and I caught a glimpse of a winding road that I recognised as the Rhayader road. Usually it was busy with Land Rovers and trailers taking sheep and cattle to market, but today it was snowed over.

  Even so, I didn’t want to go through Rhayader. I was afraid of being recognised as Grace’s grandson, and even more afraid that the word might be out and the town would be looking for a murderer. Before I could do anything about it, however, Rhayader was upon me. It was busy too, the riverbank crowded with people enjoying the whitest Christmas holiday for years. The park was packed beneath the ruined castle, and crowds walked along its paths, marvelling at what the freak weather conditions had done. Nobody who’d seen how fast the river flowed around this town could quite believe that it had frozen over. And nobody who knew how dangerous it could be would ever venture on to the ice.

  ‘Hey, you!’ they shouted when the sled glided into view. ‘Get off that ice! Stop mucking about! Stop playing the fool!’

  They waved at me, as if they thought I couldn’t hear, and a couple of them even threw stones. I was being irresponsible, they shouted, risking the dogs’ lives as well as my own. I couldn’t get past them quickly enough, and neither could Harri and Mari. They broke into a trot and the sled shot round a long bend in the river, following the line of a wooded cliff until the voices faded at last.

  I’m glad that’s over, I thought as the sled slowed down.

  But it wasn’t over yet. Before I had the time to savour my relief, a tall stone bridge appeared. It stood high above the river and was crowded with yet more people who, at the sight of us, all started shouting too. We disappeared under its arches, and came out the other side to a chorus of cries of ‘Get back!’ and ‘Mind the edge!’

  But what edge? Harri and Mari pulled the sled across a frozen pool of water that had formed itself into a perfect skating rink, with nobody on it except for us. They couldn’t see any danger, and neither could I. ‘Mind the edge!’ people shouted again, but we still didn’t see anything – not until it was suddenly too late. One minute we were hurrying along, looking forward to getting away, and the next we were tumbling over a short but rocky waterfall that separated the high town from the lower one.

  It wasn’t a long fall, but it certainly wasn’t a pleasant one. The dogs went first, shooting down a series of icy gullies and landing on the frozen river at the bottom. Then the sled came after them, crashing with such force that I don’t know
how it stayed in one piece. Then I came last of all, slamming on to the ice and lying there in pain, dimly aware that I could hear myself crying.

  I couldn’t move, and at first I thought I must be unconscious. But then I remember seeing our provisions scattered all over the ice. They were out of reach, and I didn’t know what to do about them. I lay there feeling helpless, watching Harri and Mari pick themselves up as if crashing down waterfalls was all in a day’s work, shake themselves down and somehow manage to right the sled, untwisting its harness and getting ready to set off again.

  They were amazing. All I had to do was get to my feet, gather up what provisions I could and get back on board. Then we were off again, hurrying away before anybody came rushing down from the high town to see if we were all right. We were sore, but at least we’d survived. We’d got away with it, no bones broken and the sled intact.

  But, after that, nothing felt quite the same. I kept telling myself that it could have been worse, but I no longer felt like the person who’d set out that morning. I wasn’t fearless any more, as if nothing could get me. I didn’t feel quite so free. Round every bend, I realised, you could never tell what would happen next.

  I started looking behind me, as if afraid of being followed, then searching the riverbanks ahead of me for evidence of the sea. I knew I shouldn’t expect the river to be tidal yet, but I couldn’t help myself. The sun began to sink, and Harri and Mari started slowing down at last, their fabulous energy finally wearing thin. We stopped to eat, and I discovered how many of our provisions I’d left behind on the ice. I counted what was missing and cursed myself for my stupidity. There was only enough food left for the next day – two at the most.

  ‘We’ll have to carry on,’ I told the dogs. ‘I’m sorry, but we can’t afford to stop. We’ve hardly anything to eat, and it’s got to last until we get to the sea.’

  We started off again, heading downriver in the darkness. A little wind got up, moaning behind us like a police-car siren on a murder hunt. I told myself that I was imagining it – that the night was playing tricks. But I felt as if the shadow of Plynlimon was reaching out for me.

  I shivered on my high bench-seat, pulling as many blankets round me as I could reach. Slowly we drew round a great bend in the river until a few lights came into view. I looked at them, wishing that they could be the lights of Pengwern, and that the last few days could have been a dream and I could have my old life back again.

  Suddenly I wanted everything back the way it had been before Cary came home with that light bulb stuck to her head. It mightn’t have been the best of lives, but at least it had been safe. I wanted Cary to be her old self. I wanted my mother. I wanted our house on Swan Hill. I wanted my bed.

  Oh, how I wanted my bed!

  Crouching on the high bench seat, shivering despite the blankets, I thought of flannel sheets and feather pillows, pyjamas warming in the airing cupboard, cocoa and hot-water bottles. I thought of radiators throwing out obscene amounts of heat, curtains pulled against the night, bed socks and furry slippers, dressing gowns and electric blankets.

  And, suddenly, it was too much for me. I can’t go on, I thought. I can’t do this. I’m not a seven seas adventurer. Not ready for a new life. I want to stop this happening. Turn back the clock. Open my eyes and find I’m back in Pengwern!

  By now we were level with the lights, which belonged to a tiny hamlet. I looked at cars on drives and smoking chimney pots, streetlights, pub lights and glimpses between curtains of television screens. And it was only a short distance, in my mind, from wanting Pengwern back again to thinking that I’d got it.

  ‘I’m home,’ I told myself. ‘I’m back. I know I am. I can see it. I’m not imagining it. Not making it up. I’ve returned to Pengwern. This is what I asked for. It’s what I need. Now I can put the past behind me. Start again. Start afresh. It’s time to pull myself together. But, first of all …

  ‘It’s time for bed!’

  I tried to steer Harri and Mari off the ice but, as if they knew that I’d gone funny in the head, they refused to budge. They were heading downriver, and nothing could persuade them to change direction. Even when I promised them a good hot dinner in my mother’s kitchen, they wouldn’t budge. Even when I promised fire and bed.

  So I left them where they were – stuck there on the ice – and headed home alone.

  17

  Llewellyn’s Cave

  It didn’t take me long to realise that I’d got it wrong about Pengwern. I didn’t find my bed, for all my trudging through the snow, but I did find something else and, after all this time, I still remember it as clearly as ever.

  I found it on the far side of the hamlet, in a moonlit field bordered by trees. I’d been following a road that ended on a dead-end track, and was trying to work my way back to the river in the hope of catching up with Harri and Mari. Streetlights glimmered in the distance, but I was so cold and confused that I couldn’t figure out how to get to them.

  It was a stupid muddle to get into, going round in circles on the sort of night when anyone with any sense was tucked up tight indoors. I pulled Pawl’s coat tightly round me, but it made no difference. I was so cold that I couldn’t even breathe without pain. My legs dragged, my arms hung like lumps of lead and nothing worked properly any more – especially my brain!

  Nothing made sense. I couldn’t figure out where I’d come from, and I certainly couldn’t figure out where I was heading – not until I discovered a set of footprints in the snow. They could have been mine for all I knew but, to my confused brain, they looked like a map pointing the way. So I started following them, telling myself that I’d be all right because somebody had gone this way before me.

  I was desperate for company. That was the thing. Desperate for somebody to take charge of me and keep me safe. I wanted someone now, and the footsteps gave me hope.

  I followed them across first one field then another. But I didn’t find anybody, and all too soon I was in a state of collapse. Then it started snowing again – great white flakes that covered everything, including me. I crossed a frozen stream and started up the slope of a low, wooded cliff. Then the footprints disappeared, and I didn’t have even them any more.

  It was in this state that I saw the cave. Suddenly there it was in front of me, its rocky entrance half-hidden by trees. I almost fell into it with relief. My head banged on its roof as I stooped to enter, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was that I’d found a place of shelter.

  I worked my way into its darkness, looking for a draught-free corner where the wind wouldn’t blow in and the snow wouldn’t cover me. The cave roof got lower all the way down, and I ended up crawling on hands and knees. But I found the corner that I was looking for, and even found a bed of leaves. It wasn’t exactly the bed that I’d hoped for when I’d left the river, but it was better than nothing.

  Finally I gave myself permission to collapse. I didn’t expect to sleep, but exhaustion overwhelmed me and I dropped straight off. I even managed to dream – although I rather wished I hadn’t, because I found myself being chased by half the people I’d ever known, including my Fitztalbot relatives headed by my grandmother, who might look like a wizened old prune but, boy, could she run!

  I woke up in a panic, shot up with a jolt and bumped my head. At first I saw stars but, after they’d gone, a source of light still remained. The cave walls flickered, and I realised I was warm and wasn’t shivering any more.

  What was going on here? I looked into the light, only to discover that I was no longer alone. A figure sat in the cave’s entrance, feeding a camp fire with twigs and leaves. His head turned slowly, and our eyes met. I looked at slits of silver, and a face so tight and tired that it could barely keep awake. But his smile was warm and genuine, and it made me feel safe.

  ‘You all right?’ said a lilting voice that, as far as I was concerned, could only be Welsh.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said. And suddenly I felt fine too. I hadn’t died of hypothermia, as I could so ea
sily have done, and my bad dream had gone. I even had a fire to keep me warm, and the company that I had craved. Things could definitely be worse.

  I lay down again and fell back to sleep. Every time I awoke throughout the rest of the night, the figure was still there, sitting in the cave entrance where nothing could get past him, staring into the night as if keeping the darkness at bay.

  In the morning, however, he was gone. I awoke to find the fire burned out, leaving only ashes. I crawled outside to see if anybody was there, but the cliff was empty and there weren’t even any footprints. I returned inside, to check that nothing had been left behind, and it was then that I saw the writing on the wall.

  Daylight shone into the cave, and I saw it clearly. Some of it had been graffitied with spray-cans and felt-tips, but some of it was older and had actually been engraved into the rock. I put my face up close and made out words that stretched off down the cave until they disappeared. ‘We won’t forget you,’ they said, and ‘In respect,’ and ‘Goodnight, God bless,’ and ‘Your kind will never live again.’ Then there were dates that went back centuries, and I noticed that some of the messages were written in Welsh.

  ‘Ein tywysog olaf,’ one of them said. And ‘Tywysog Cymru,’ said another.

  And I mightn’t know much Welsh, but – thanks to Grace – I knew what they meant.

  Last Prince of Wales.

  That’s what they said – and then it all made sense. Of course it did, for I was Grace’s grandson and I knew her stories, especially the one about the last real Prince of Wales, Llewellyn ap Gryffudd. I knew the castles that he’d built and the battles that he’d fought and I knew that, when he’d died, he took the hope of Wales with him. I also knew that his last night upon earth had been spent in some lonely cave, facing northwards into darkness.

  Some lonely cave beside the Afon Gwy.