‘May’appen,’ Dai agreed but he was still frowning.
Then there was word that two women and a man had been seen travelling the pilgrims’ path over Bwlch Oerddrws. ‘Not pilgrims, Conor, though there’s one of the praying sort with ’em.’ Two women? It couldn’t be them. But it was. The shepherd at the hafoty had recognised them as the ones looked for, and had sent swift word, and so Conor had set out with his men to intercept them, and bring Kazan safe to Dafydd.
‘But you, my friend Giles, have kept her safe all this time.’
‘Of course. I promised you.’ Best kept to himself forever his secret love for bright Kazan. Not even for the confessional. He would confess to God himself, and his crucified Son, and pray forgiveness. Perhaps he was forgiven? To be rewarded with his own Esyllt – surely that was for sins forgiven?
As if Dai had read his thoughts he said, ‘And you found yourself a wife!’
‘Isn’t it astonishing? Kara Kemal would say Allah has decided.’
‘Always room for faith, eh?’
‘Always.’ Giles sighed. ‘So long since we left you. Was it very bad?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am sorry I was not with you.’
‘My dear friend, you did the best that could be done. You got them to safety. You kept them safe. We were relying on you to do just that.’
‘All the same…’
‘All the same…thank the good God for Giles!’ Thomas laughed and, after a moment, Giles laughed with him.
30
Cymer
August 1337
Woe’s me that foul misfortune felled him,
Woe’s me his loss
(Gruffudd Ab Yr Ynad Coch, c. 1282)
That night there was feasting and singing and dancing. Drinking as well. Conor was known as a drinking man and the more he drank the more he sang, off-tune and out of key.
‘As bad as Blue,’ Giles complained.
‘You wrong our man-mountain,’ Thomas said. ‘Blue’s a reformed man. As sober as a Muslim.’
‘A shame this Conor of yours had no dealings with our Muslim friends, Dai.’
‘Each to his own,’ Dafydd said. He felt intoxicated himself but not by drink. If he glanced across at her – as he did now – and caught her eye – as he did now – he rejoiced again and again that she was his, promised to him, and soon she would be given to him in the presence of a good God he had all but ceased to believe in. Who are you to decide what is and what is not to be? Only Allah the all-compassionate, the all-knowing decides. Allah – God: the thinnest of thin gauze between them. Who was to tell which was the greater? Who was to tell which the greater believers? Impossible and useless. Same but different. Different but the same. All he knew was that a great good had led this gold-copper-bronze, golden-eyed girl to him; had given her to him. He gave thanks to all the gods there were for this great joy, and if the priests declared there was blasphemy in his joy, the good God would forgive him. All the gods would forgive him. He smiled, content. Thomas dropped down beside him.
‘Will you stay here?’ he asked Dafydd.
‘I don’t think so. My sister is well married and does not need me.’ He shrugged. ‘Let’s be fair now, I’m an embarrassment to her. If it were known I was come back here, and it’s remembered I was once one of this gang of bandits, it could only do Branwen harm. I could only give Kazan the life of an outlaw. They both deserve better than that. Then there’s Heinrijc. He’s grown old these last years. I owe it to him to go back to Ieper, especially now with this new war beginning.’ He sighed. War. Always war meddling with lives.
‘What does Kazan want?’
‘Kazan wants to be with Dafydd.’ She spoke from behind them, came to stand in front of Thomas. ‘That is all Kazan wants, Thomas. Where he goes, I go. Where he stays, I stay. His people are my people and his God my God. Where he dies, I die, and there we shall be buried. Is that priest talk enough for you?’
Thomas took her hands in his and, turning them, kissed the palms one by one then folded her fingers over them and kissed the folded fingers. ‘More than enough, Kazan, dear sister, dear woman and promised wife of my true friend Dafydd. I give thanks to our good God and his son Jesus that you came to us.’ He grinned suddenly, his serious face vanishing. ‘And I give thanks as well to the good Allah and his son Mohammed.’
Dafydd threw back his head and laughed and laughed. ‘Those friars, Twm, they don’t know what they’re getting now, do they?’
Thomas shrugged and laughed with him. ‘I don’t think they do.’
‘And you, my friend, where will you go now?’
Twm laughed again, happier than they had ever seen him. ‘I have told Kazan I think perhaps back to Lincoln. There’s a Franciscan house in the town and I may as well be there as anywhere. Close enough to Edgar and Agathi, should they have need of me. We can all travel together, see Giles and Esyllt home, then back to Bradwell, may’appen?’ He was smiling, his dark face handsome and glowing. ‘Or is that not pleasing to two pairs of turtle doves?’
Kazan darted up and kissed his cheek. ‘It is very pleasing, Thomas,’ she said. ‘I so want to see the new barn Blue is building. And Agathi and Ellen must be big with their babes by now. I want to hear what new mischief Niko has he got up to with Oluf.’ She fingered the swan pipe. ‘Perhaps Mehmi and Niko and Joan will let me play with them.’
‘Play for us now, storyteller’s granddaughter.’
‘I do not play so well.’
‘Neither did your grandfather, by all accounts.’ Conor leaned across, grinning foolishly at them through a haze of ale. ‘It was his brother who could coax the angel out of the swan pipe. So my tad said. A better bard than even Ieuan ap y Gof himself, and himself a pencerdd.’ He hoisted his wooden cup into the air, splashing ale. ‘All the same, play for us, savage little thumb-biter.’
She chuckled then fingered the drilled holes in the length of the pipe; her fingers rubbed along its smoothness, felt the scarring marks that had come there in its other life. Then she raised it and started to play, a thread of wavering notes spilling out into a night sky that was cloudless now, and bright with stars that were cut and crumbled from the fat old moon. It was the song of Ieuan ap y Gof, and the men and their women listening felt their hearts ache with sadness for their broken country.
The next morning was as bright blue as Dafydd could have wished. ‘See what it’s like, Kazan, on these blue-gold days!’ he exulted. ‘All the rain and wind and black skies – isn’t it worth it for a day like this?’ He kissed her joyfully ‘I want you to see the Mawddach, the most beautiful river in the whole wide world, and the most beautiful meeting of river and sea.’
She smiled to see his boyish pleasure. It was a Dafydd she had never seen before. And truly, on a gold-blue day like this, it was a different country. Glad summer had returned, and with it swallows that swooped and dived after the milling insects; an invisible lark trilled high in the sky; a pair of buzzards mewed and circled high and higher on warm winds.
They were a small cavalcade: Dafydd and Kazan; Giles and Esyllt; Thomas and a head-clutching, groaning Conor; Sion his brother scarcely in better health; and Sion’s woman Mair, soberly disapproving. They rode over the mountain almost as far as Cymer’s gatehouse then trekked up the steep sides to the very top of the tall crag. There they stopped. And looked. No need for crooked words.
The Mawddach rolled down to a sea that was glittering in streaks of silver and dark blue, and blue and periwinkle and green like new apple leaves. It was a cloth of light. It was beautiful. And this – this – was Dafydd’s country. She stood silent. It was as beautiful as the sight of the glittering blue of the sea far below her when she sat on the highest, loftiest, topmost point of the ruined city close by the yürük summer camp. Far below was Cymer Abbey; nothing grand about it, not even a crossing nor a tower for its church, but sturdy and enduring for all that. Around them rose the mountains. Nothing like the high mountains of her own country, nor the terrifying High Alps,
but sturdy and enduring for all that. Mair said, ‘See that mountain? Cadair Idris, it’s called – the Chair of Idris. Whoever sleeps on that mountain through the night wakes a poet – or a madman.’
‘May’appen that’s what I should do,’ Dafydd said. ‘May’appen a night on the mountain would make a poet out of me.’
‘May’appen a madman,’ Twm said, at his most sardonic. ‘Best keep what wits you’ve got left to you, Dafydd bach.’ He mouthed the Welsh word carefully, making them laugh.
‘Sure, if it got rid of this vile head of mine, I’d be spending the night there.’ Conor rubbed bleary eyes. ‘Pen mawr, thumb-biter, that’s what it is now. Pen mawr.’
Kazan nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘A terrible head. You deserve your pain.’
‘It’s a hard woman you’ve taken, Dai bach.’ But he was smiling. He liked this fiery little foreigner with the sharp teeth and golden gaze. She’d make a good Welshwoman. And if she could shoot as well as Dai claimed…’ There’ll come a day,’ he said, ‘when there’ll be a man to lead us. A man of courage and honour. When that day comes – and come it will – all who long to be free from tyrants, all the little men and women of this country, will rise with him, and follow him.’
There was silence after he finished speaking then Giles said, ‘You must have slept on that mountain already, friend.’ He gestured down the steep way they had come. ‘One of your abbey friends, from the look of it.’
Dafydd’s gaze followed his pointing finger and fixed on the lithe, brown-clad figure scrambling up a steep gully. He shook his head. ‘Not one of the white monks,’ he said. His gaze narrowed. The figure had stopped, was crouching behind an outcrop, peering cautiously out from behind it, looking back towards the abbey. Then he was coming on again, rapidly – too rapidly for such a steep climb.
‘That’s Ceri!’ Conor craned closer. ‘Wynn’s boy.’ He grunted. ‘One of the abbey’s now – went as one of the lay brothers last summer.’ He exchanged looks with Dafydd: two friends with a history of dangers shared. ‘Those wits left to you – sharp today, are they?’
‘Sharp enough. Your own?’
‘Grinding, bach, grinding.’ No time now for penmawr. Time now to be sober. Time now to be alert. He turned back to the small group. ‘Best keep out of sight – keep those horses silent till we know what young Ceri’s about. Might be nothing. Might be all holiday with him, and his Father Abbot in the dark.’ He nodded to Dafydd and the two men stealthily tracked downwards to where they could see the boy again crouching and peering. Close enough to hear him panting for breath. Perhaps he sensed their presence because his gaze swung round and up, searching the crag side with fearful eyes. ‘Conor?’ It was the faintest of sounds, the breath of a name. ‘Conor?’
Conor’s hand came warningly on Dafydd’s. He jerked back his head and Dafydd nodded and edged closer into the rock shadow. Conor moved cautiously into the sunlight. ‘What do you want with me, Ceri bach?’ His own voice hardly stirred the air.
The boy sighed with relief. Half-grown, not yet old enough for even faint fuzz on his face, but agile as a mountain goat and as skilful at keeping himself hidden… That’s what Father Abbot had said. Just the one to go up the crag to find them. ‘Brother Aiden saw you ride by,’ the boy said, breathlessly, ‘so we knew where to look for you.’
‘And why would you be after looking for us now, bach?’
‘Soldiers, Conor, soldiers coming for you and Dafydd ap Heddwyn ap Rhickert.’
Conor nodded him back into the niche of the rock, nodded to Dafydd to join them. ‘Trouble?’
‘Might be.’ Conor nodded at the boy. ‘Better tell us what you know, and quickly.’
‘Father Abbot had word from Lady Branwen. From your sister.’ The boy glanced at the brown man sitting so close to him. He’d never thought to be so close. He’d heard the stories about the man but he’d never seen him. ‘Her husband knows you are here. A Sais servant who has never trusted her betrayed you both. He told Lord William of your visit to your sister and she had no choice but to tell Lord William who you are. No – she is safe, and the child – but she tells you she is sorry to betray you, and the Father Abbot. She told him, you see. Father Abbot knows where the bandits have their camp. She says her husband is determined to have you all in one sack and make a present of you to the King himself. She begs your forgiveness and hopes you will escape to safety.’ He stopped. The hastily memorised message was ended.
Conor and Dafydd measured looks. Lord William had soldiers well trained for war – ready for war with France. Armoured knights on horseback; foot soldiers well equipped; war dogs; tactics for dealing with peaceful monks. For sure they would find their way to the camp. May’appen they were there now. May’appen they knew the men they searched for were above them on the crag.
As if in answer to the unspoken question, the boy added, ‘There’s more. I crept out quiet, like Father Abbot told me, and round by the back of the abbey wall. That’s when I saw them – Lord William and his men.’ His eyes were wide with the remembered sight of the fierce-some company, their helmets and armour and lances and swords sheathed but ready, and the morning sun glinting off the metal so it seemed they rode in fire.
‘Foot soldiers?’
The boy shook his head. ‘All on horseback but they had a pack of hounds with them.’ He hurried on. He’d seen Brother Luke standing, waiting, talking, gesturing up the crag…and he had hurried as fast as he could, this goat-boy who knew the steepest, shortest, quickest ways up the crag, listening, always listening, for the clink and jingle of armoured men and horses. For the panting, padding, treacherous, fierce dogs…
‘There’s a way we can take,’ Conor said. ‘Dai, remember the hollow way we used in the old days? They never did find it, these Sais.’ They had re-joined the rest, were making hasty plans. Ceri was gone, promising he would be safe – he knew another way down the crag; too steep for most, and for horses, but not for him. ‘Remember the hollow way?’
Dafydd nodded. He remembered. It led into the wild country beyond Cymer. An escape route where they’d never been – never would be – caught. But the track was halfway down the crag. ‘Best be moving, then,’ he said.
Conor laughed softly. ‘Unless it’s wanting to say boreda to them, now?’
Kazan shuddered, suddenly reminded of Father Heinrijc’s stories of the Clauwerts against Leliaerts and the brutal goedendags. No prisoners taken.
Dafydd shook his head, his glance taking in the three women: Esyllt trying to hide her fear; Mair sturdily prepared to defend her man; Kazan, who had already suffered so much, ready to suffer more. Get them to safety. ‘Too few of us, too many of them, Conor bach.’
And Dayfdd still so weak it would take all his strength to use that peasant sword of his to any purpose, thought Thomas.
Conor nodded. ‘There may still be time to warn them at the camp.’
‘If we get to the hollow way, Conor, I know all the short cuts.’ Sion’s glance at Mair. Enough. She knew what must happen.
‘We can use the short cuts,’ she amended. If they reached the hidden hollow way in time.
‘Then go but keep a good look out. Keep out of danger. If the camp has been found…’
If it’s hopeless, Conor meant, but how could he mouth the words? They hurried back down the crag, leading their horses, keeping as low as possible and slowly, so slowly, picking their way. They were almost to the jagged outcrop and shattered oak that marked the start of the hollow way when there was the glint of sun on metal shields and swords and helmets. Conor turned to Dafydd. ‘They truly are well armoured, these Sais soldiers,’ he said. ‘A fierce-some sight for the French but not best for these hills of ours. Heavy-going. Dogs, now, there’s different. Best you go fast, Dai bach. I’ll hold them up long enough. Get to the river and follow it down a way – shake off your scent.’
‘Leave you?’ Dafydd asked.
‘Yes.’
Dafydd shook his head. ‘No. Of course I do not leave you, cyfa
ill calon.’
‘You stayed behind in Venezia, Dafydd,’ Twm said. ‘Now it is your turn to leave.’ He nodded. ‘I’m staying with Conor.’
‘Leave you both in danger? No.’
‘Remember?’ said Conor. ‘The track leads down the stream bed. You’re hidden by the earth banks and tree roots.’
‘No.’
‘The bushes and trees are well grown enough to hide you all. Then it’s marshy land, remember, so go carefully.’
‘No.’
Thomas said carefully, ‘You are not recovered, Dafydd.’ He watched for a moment the troop of disciplined soldiers advancing slowly, steadily, up the track towards them, dogs straining at their leashes. As yet, they were unseen, unscented. ‘Too few of us, too many of them, as you said. You must get Kazan safe away, Dafydd.’
‘No, Twm.’
‘Don’t argue. You’re wasting time.’ He said in desperation, ‘You have Kazan and Rémi and Father Mertens to look out for. Giles has Esyllt and his family. Sion and Mair must get back to the camp. Me? There is nobody for me.’
‘You have us. We are your family.’
‘Dafydd man, do you think I want you to die with me? Kazan and Esyllt to die here? For the good God’s sake, for Mary Mother’s sake, for Father Mertens and Kara Kemal and all those we love, go, Dafydd. Go!’
‘No.’
‘So stubborn. Your conscience will kill us all.’
Conor said, ‘Sure, it’s sorry I am for this, Dai bach, but Twm’s in the right of it.’
Hardly a blow – not even a tap – but Dafydd collapsed in a heap. That tough brown man downed with less than a tap. ‘But it’s feeble he is now,’ Conor grinned as he hoisted Dafydd’s inert body across Sadık the Faithful’s broad back, ‘and this is our way.’
Thomas remembered how he had seen Dafydd do the same to Blue, so long ago now – a whole year ago – when the big man was reeling drunk and ranting abuse. He’d collapsed mid-word and so did Dafydd now. Thomas sighed with relief. ‘Get them to safety,’ he told Giles. ‘Get them to safety.’
The Heart Remembers Page 31