by Speer, Flora
It was only a little past mid-day, but the winter sun was already low as they reached the forest. It slanted through the bare tree branches, making patterns on the snow-covered ground, but providing little warmth. By the time she and Thomas finally reached the cave, Meredith thought she would never be warm again.
“Come to the fire, both of you,” Rhys invited. Meredith thought he looked like a wisp of grey smoke, he was so thin and frail. When he raised one hand to beckon to them, she half expected to see the firelight shine through his insubstantial flesh.
“Here, Lady Branwen.” Thomas offered her the basket of food he had been carrying. Meredith noticed her aunt did not hesitate to accept it. Indeed, there was such ease between Thomas and Branwen that Meredith was certain the boy still managed to make regular visits to the cave. Having delivered his gifts, Thomas sat down close to Rhys. Gwyn the cat ran to him to be petted, rubbing her sleek white head against his stroking fingers.
“Has Lady Isabel’s new maid finally arrived? Is that why you’ve come home?” Branwen asked. Meredith turned her head as she reached out her hands to the fire. She heard Branwen catch her breath and knew her aunt had seen her swollen cheek. “Who did that?”
“Later, please.” Meredith’s voice was barely a murmur. She inclined her head slightly toward Thomas, who was talking to Rhys, and Branwen nodded, understanding in her eyes.
Thomas stayed only long enough to warm himself.
“It grows dark so early,” he said. “I’ll try to come again tomorrow or the next day.” He picked up the empty basket and left.
“Now,” Branwen ordered, “tell me what Norman has dared to strike you.”
Meredith explained.
“It’s just the sort of thing I would have expected,” Branwen said. “You should never have gone to live at the castle. I warned you about the Normans.”
“I’m home now.” Meredith had taken Thomas’s place next to Rhys. Forgetting for a moment how fragile he had become, she leaned her head against his shoulder as she used to do when she was small, and felt his arm around her, his hand stroking her forehead, comforting her. “Teach me all you know, Rhys. I am a healer and I will never be a servant again. I want to go back to my life’s true work.”
Meredith put aside the green woolen gown she had worn at Afoncaer, folding it up with the other clothes she had acquired while there, and once more donned a loosely belted grey robe. She spent her days working with Rhys, trying to absorb all he knew of the ancient healing arts. He had more than enough time to teach her. Few people came to them for help any more. Afoncaer was fast becoming the focus of life for those who lived in Lord Guy’s domain, even those who claimed to hate the Normans. In this borderland between England and Wales, loyalties were often divided and people lived in great insecurity. More and more folk, farmers and artisans alike, recognizing the justice and fairness of Lord Guy’s rule and his indisputable strength, were resettling, either in the new town or just outside its walls.
“It won’t last long,” Branwen said scornfully. “They think they’ll be safe, putting themselves under Baron Guy’s protection. They don’t stop to think what will happen to them should he go to war or if he’s attacked by someone jealous of his growing power. And just wait until those poor fools discover how little a barber and a priest can do to help when they are sick. They’ll come back. I am glad you are here with us again, Meredith. You belong here.”
But it was not the same as it had once been. The cave, formerly a warm, safe home to Meredith, now seemed small and cramped, the life they lived in it hard and without any comfort.
Meredith knew the change was in herself. She had been beguiled by the ease and luxury with which, even in temporary quarters, Lady Isabel had surrounded herself, by silken fabrics and silver drinking cups, fur-lined cloaks and highly spiced foods. She had even learned to eat meat, a fact she did not reveal to her present companions. Most of all, most dangerous of all, she had been charmed by the daily presence of the baron of Afoncaer, a presence that fed the golden flame in her bosom that had been lit the first day she had ever seen him. She knew that fire would never be extinguished, but how lonely, how cold she was, separated from him. The pleasure of seeing and perhaps speaking to him was now denied her, and all she knew of him was the occasional report carried by Thomas on his infrequent visits to the cave.
“I’m not as free as I once was,” Thomas said to her one day. “Geoffrey and Brian have me practicing with my weapons and riding every day, and Walter always has some task for me to do. I don’t like Walter very much. And now the new falcons have been trained and Uncle Guy says he will hunt more often, and I must go with him. Hunting parties will come into the forest, Meredith. You and Branwen should be careful to stay away from them. Uncle Guy won’t let them come here; he’ll keep his promise to leave all of you undisturbed. I’m glad Rhys seldom leaves the cave, though I’m sorry he’s not well.”
“He will be better when spring comes,” Branwen spoke up. “Warm weather is easier for him than cold winter.”
Meredith was not so certain Rhys would recover. Having been separated from him for more than four months, she could see clearly how fragile he had become. She supposed Branwen, who had been with Rhys every day, had not noticed his gradual decline. About Rhys, Meredith felt a sense of urgency that never left her. She wanted to learn all she could from him while there was yet time, and she knew his time was growing short.
“If you keep working and learning as you have been doing,” Rhys told her, “you will easily surpass me in skill long before you are my age. You already know nearly as much as Branwen. You have a natural talent, Meredith. Do not neglect this calling. It is what you are meant to do.”
“I will never stop healing, no matter what happens,” she promised, reminding herself for the hundredth time that she must cease thinking of Guy. She had not seen him since leaving the castle. One part of her heart knew it was better thus, but another part wanted, yearned, ached, to see him and hear his voice. However hard she tried to dismiss his image from her mind, his face was the last thing she saw each night before she slept. She toiled through longer and longer days, trying to forget him through work.
Rhys did seem more comfortable when warmer weather came. There was color in his face and he moved with greater ease, not rubbing at his left shoulder and arm so much. Branwen steadfastly insisted her medicine was working and that Rhys would recover completely in time.
Meredith doubted this, but she encouraged Rhys to leave the cave and walk about without tiring himself. She accompanied him on a short walk one afternoon. They reached a sunny clearing, and Rhys had just sat down on a smooth, flat rock, when Thomas appeared.
“I was going to the cave to visit you,” Thomas said. “Rhys, you look much better.”
“Come sit beside me,” Rhys invited. “We haven’t seen you for more than a week.” Rhys stopped speaking suddenly as a black-clad figure, sword in hand, came crashing into the clearing behind Thomas.
“Brian,” Thomas cried, running toward the man and placing himself between Brian and Rhys. “You’ve been following me.”
“Indeed I have, lad. This part of the forest is forbidden, Father Herbert says, because wizards live here, yet I see you come here all too often.”
“You have no right to follow me,” Thomas declared angrily.
“No?” Brian put out his free hand and moved Thomas’s slight form aside, brandishing his gleaming, silver-blue sword in the other. “Who are these people, if humans they be? If you folk mean any harm to my young lord here, I’ll – Meredith? What are you doing here?”
“This is where I live, Brian,” Meredith said softly. “There is no danger to Thomas. Put away your sword.”
“And this creature?” Brian pointed the blade at Rhys, advancing a few purposeful steps toward him.
In a flow of grey robe, Rhys rose, one hand holding his long staff, the other held out toward the black-clad knight in a gesture of openness. Meredith saw Brian stop dead, his eyes
going wide. His sword point wavered, then the weapon was lowered as his right arm fell to his side.
“You are welcome here,” Rhys said, “but put away your sword.”
Brian stood a moment longer, staring at Rhys. Meredith saw awe and respect on Brian’s battle-scared face. The knight’s sword slid quietly into its scabbard, and then he knelt before Rhys, whose pale, thin hand touched Brian’s shoulders and then his forehead.
“Rhys is not a wizard,” Thomas said stoutly.
“I know.” Brian stood. He was shorter than Rhys. Lines crinkled about his dark eyes as he smiled up at the older man. “So this is where you have been coming, Thomas.”
“You shouldn’t have followed me. You must never show the way to anyone else. It’s a secret.”
“I understand, lad.”
“Norman!” Branwen came into the clearing. “You! What are you doing here? Have you come to take Meredith away again?”
“No, no, Aunt Branwen.” Meredith hurried to Branwen’s side, putting her arms around the trembling woman’s waist. As Brian approached them Branwen shrank back against Meredith, shaking even more violently.
“I know you.” Brian looked hard at Branwen. “Yes. You were at the castle with Meredith one day. Now I know why you refused to let me escort you home. In fact, you ran away from me.”
“This is Brian, Aunt Branwen. Surely you remember him. He is one of Lord Guy’s knights.”
“What will you do, Sir Brian, kill us all?” Branwen asked. Meredith could still feel the quivering of her aunt’s body. She was astonished at her aunt’s reaction, the more so since she was certain from her first cry that Branwen had recognized Brian. Why so exaggerated a reaction to Brian’s appearance?
“I mean you no harm, lady. I was only concerned for Thomas’s safety. I never expected to follow him to a Wise Man.” Brian turned back to Rhys. “Now I know where Thomas learned those old tales he sometimes tells Geoffrey and me. From you.”
“We talk,” Rhys said. “Branwen and Meredith are my true pupils.”
“I see.” Brian eyed the basket of plants still slung over Branwen’s arm. “Yes, I do see. This is where Meredith learned her skills. Where do you live?”
Rhys started to point toward the cave, but stopped to clutch at his left shoulder. He sat down on the boulder in an abrupt movement. Before Meredith or Branwen could reach him, Brian was there, supporting Rhys with an arm across his back.
“I’m all right,” Rhys assured them. “The pain only lasted an instant. It has gone now.”
“Leave him alone,” Branwen said fiercely, glaring across Rhys’s thin form at Brian. “I’ll take care of him. We don’t need you.”
“Gently, Branwen.” Rhys managed a smile. “I will sit here until my breath comes more easily, and then you and this kind knight will both help me back to the cave.”
“And let him see where it is? Never.”
“Aunt Branwen,” Meredith said, “You are upsetting Rhys. Brian already knows near enough where we live. Give me your basket, the herbs are spilling out. Thomas and I will go ahead and prepare for Rhys. You will want to be propped up, won’t you, Rhys? I know you breathe more easily that way. And I’ll have your medicine poured out and waiting. Come along, Thomas.” She caught the boy by the hand and pulled him after her toward the cave.
“Go away.” Branwen glared at Brian across Rhys’s body. She could feel tears pricking at her eyelids. It was fear for Rhys that made her want to weep. She wished this Sir Brian would stop looking at her as though he recognized her very soul. He smiled at her and, oddly, she felt a warmth at her heart, a faint melting sensation.
“Branwen, I’m a friend,” Brian said. “I know what Rhys is. My mother told me enough about her own people for me to understand that much. I honor Rhys for his wisdom. I will never betray him – or you.”
“Believe him, Branwen.” Rhys’s voice rustled between them like a dry autumn leaf falling from its tree. “Trust him.”
“But you are part Norman.” It was a last, feeble protest before she gave in to what some deep, primitive instinct was telling her about this man.
“It disturbed my mother, too,” Brian replied, still smiling. “I wish I were all one thing, but I’m not. I am only myself.”
“You will not tell anyone where we live?” She had to hear him say it again.
“No, my dear lady, I will not. I have promised.”
“Then stay, and I will thank you for your help to get Rhys back to the cave.”
“And I would thank you both,” Rhys said, standing up with surprising energy, “if you would not speak as though I were a bundle of old rags with neither mind nor speech of my own.”
“You are feeling better, I see,” Brian noted. Behind Rhys’s back, he and Branwen shared a conspiratorial smile before each put an arm around the old man to help him walk. All the way back to the cave, Branwen was aware not so much of Rhys’s thin back as of the manly strength of Brian’s arm, joined with her own to give support to her cousin and teacher.
“Will Rhys be all right?” Thomas asked anxiously as he and Meredith hurried to the cave. She could see he was frightened. “I know I startled him, coming upon you unexpectedly, and I suppose Brian upset him too. Oh, Meredith, I am sorry.”
“It’s nothing you have done,” Meredith assured him. She put an arm around his shoulders to give him a hug and felt him cling to her. “This happens often now, sometimes when he is just sitting quietly in the cave. Rhys is growing older and he’s not well.”
“Will he die soon?” Meredith met Thomas’s round, frightened eyes, and nodded. There was no point in lying to him. He could see Rhys’s condition for himself.
Thomas said nothing more, but helped Meredith to roll a pallet into a bolster and prop it against the wall of the cave, for Rhys to lean against. He watched intently as she poured out the thick green herbal brew that was Rhys’s medicine.
They had just finished their preparations when Rhys appeared, supported by Brian and Branwen. Brian assisted Rhys until he was comfortably settled. When Meredith brought the cup with Rhys’s medicine, Brian took Branwen’s arm.
“I would speak with you,” he said.
To Meredith’s surprise her aunt did not protest, having apparently given up her earlier anger at the intruder, but left the cave with Brian’s hand still on her arm. Meredith stared after them, bemused. Rhys was watching her. She heard him chuckle. The sound reassured her that Rhys was better.
“I don’t really need that,” Rhys said, indicating the cup Meredith still held. “Well, I’ll drink it anyway. It can’t hurt.” He sipped at the medicine.
“The pain is gone now?” Meredith asked.
“I never had any pain,” Rhys said, and chuckled again at her astonishment.
“Your aunt has been like a daughter to me,” Rhys went on, answering Meredith’s questions before they were asked, “and she has been like a mother to you. For years she has had little thought for herself. She was not born to hardship, yet she has endured much in patient silence. Now her time for happiness has come. It will be brief, but long enough.”
“Rhys, what are you saying?” Meredith sank to her knees beside him. “Brian? And Aunt Branwen?”
“Brian is a goodly knight,” Thomas broke in. “Why should Lady Branwen not have a knight to do her service?”
“Why not, indeed?” asked Rhys with a knowing smile.
Meredith, thinking hard, said nothing. She never doubted that Rhys knew Branwen’s innermost heart, her secret desires, and had foreseen whatever would happen between Branwen and Brian. Rhys had told her once that his foreseeing had to do with observation rather than magic. Now she recalled Brian’s intense interest and her aunt’s blushes on the day the two had first met, and concluded that she had been so involved with herself and her feelings for Sir Guy that she had been blind to what was happening right in front of her.
She observed her aunt closely when Branwen and Brian returned to the cave a while later. Branwen seemed perfe
ctly composed, agreeing with Brian that it was time he and Thomas returned to Afoncaer, consenting when Brian suggested he might return in a day or two to see how Rhys was, offering her hand as he took his leave, then blushing just a little when Brian kissed her fingers before he turned to go. When had Branwen ever been so agreeable to any man but Rhys? Meredith saw Rhys looking at her with amused grey eyes and knew he had read her thoughts.
She was not at all surprised when Brian returned two days later bearing food and warm blankets for Rhys, and then went off with Branwen while she searched for edible greens. Three days after that Brian was back again, and then, as summer deepened toward harvest time, his visits became a regular occurrence.
“You will be missed at Afoncaer if you stay away too long,” Branwen told Brian as they sat together on a moss-covered rock. She had been collecting wild berries, which she would dry for winter use, and Brian had said he would help her, but they had done more talking than work. Her basket, only half full and temporarily forgotten, lay on the ground beside the rock.
“I am not so important that anyone would notice my absence.” Brian leaned closer, until his grey woolen-covered shoulder touched hers.
“I would miss you,” Branwen whispered, nearly overcome by his nearness. She did not know how Brian did this strange thing to her. The grappling between male and female had meant nothing to her when Alfric had used her body. For all his gentleness, it had been a distasteful business, devoid of passion on her part, something she owed him because she was his wife. As for what Sir Edouard the Norman outlaw had once made her feel, that was a shameful episode best forgotten, and after nearly twenty years, seldom recalled.
But Brian had changed her. Sitting beside him on the rock, aware of a compelling need to have his arms around her, she knew the time was near when they would have done with talking and would at last begin to know each other in the most intimate way of all. It had taken them a long, slow summer of frequent meetings to come so far. If not today, then the next time they met, or the time after that, but it would happen soon.