The Bwy Hir Complete Trilogy

by Lowri Thomas

  ‘Anwen! No-one is judging you!’ Nerys gasped, as she tried to catch up. ‘Anwen, wait and talk to me before you do something stupid!’

  ‘No!’ Anwen yelled back, ‘I’m done listening. I want to speak to my dad!’ She quickened her pace and began to canter towards home, icy raindrops lashed at her face, the wind tugging unkindly at her hair. Nerys could not hope to keep up, so she stopped to catch her breath, watching her niece run headlong into disaster.

  Dafydd was just finishing off on the roof of the barn. He cautiously set his foot on the ladder, careful not to slip on the rungs slick with rainwater. Looking out from his vantage point he noticed Anwen hurrying up the lane lengths ahead of Nerys. Oh no he thought they’d fallen out again, just when they were getting on so well.

  With a sigh he climbed down and set the ladder on its side to rest under the eaves to keep it as dry as possible before returning his tools to the inside of the barn and closing its heavy new doors.

  Anwen arrived in the yard looking insubstantial and lost. Her shoulders were hunched and her head hung low like a battered dog. Her hair was soaked to her scalp and her face was ashen. She looked terrified.

  ‘By god, Anwen,’ Dafydd said, as he put a protective arm around her and led her into the house, ‘what on earth has happened to you?’

  He helped take her coat off and pushed her gently into the kitchen where she stood shivering and gulping for breath. Dafydd was so worried, what could have happened to reduce her to this? He dragged a chair over by the Aga and sat his daughter down before fetching a blanket and covering her shoulders. He knelt down in front of her and wrapped her tiny hands in his calloused paws. ‘Now tell me Anwen, what’s the matter? Have you and Nerys had a fall out?’

  Anwen tried to speak but her bottom lip trembled, her voice snagged in her throat and the tears began to fall. Nerys finally stormed into the kitchen, her huge chest heaving, her face blotchy and red, her hair was no less soaked than Anwen’s.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ Dafydd demanded as he stood up to confront Nerys.

  ‘It’s probably best she tells you.’ Nerys spoke between gasps.

  ‘I’m asking you!’ Dafydd raised his voice, ‘What the hell have you said to her?’

  ‘This isn’t about me, Dafydd!’ she yelled back. ‘You must ask Anwen.’

  ‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on?’ Dafydd spoke to the ceiling.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Anwen whispered.

  ‘What’s all your fault?’ Dafydd asked gently, kneeling back down to Anwen as he spoke. ‘What’s so bad it’s brought you to this?’

  Anwen swallowed and looked into her father’s eyes, ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake, Dad,’ she whimpered.

  Dafydd looked to Nerys, but she stood stock still watching Anwen, her face unreadable.

  ‘Cariad,’ Dafydd said patiently, ‘tell me what happened and maybe I can help. Has someone upset you from the church? If they have I can go and have words ...’

  Anwen shook her head, ‘It’s not them, Dad … I’m in trouble.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ Dafydd was becoming frustrated. ‘What’s happened?

  Anwen could see her father was becoming angry and that made her feel worse. She covered her face with her hands and began to sob, great wracking sobs. Dafydd was at a loss.

  ‘Where’s Gwyn?’ he shouted to Nerys. ‘Does he know what’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know where he is,’ Nerys replied calmly, ‘but I don’t think he knows.’

  ‘Nerys, for the love of light, what’s going on?’

  She watched Anwen’s shaking sobs and realised Anwen was in no fit state to explain herself, and so with a huge intake of breath Nerys spoke three momentous words: ‘Anwen is pregnant.’

  The pause in the room was like the eerie calm before a storm, the moment before the clouds envelop the sun carrying the fury of the tempest amidst the billowing blackness.

  Dafydd let the words echo in his head, Anwen is pregnant, Anwen is pregnant, your little girl is corrupted, Anwen is pregnant, it taunted. Dafydd heard the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall keeping time with the taunts, he heard the rain coming down in earnest against the window pane and he could hear the desolate sobs of his daughter all merging together to push at his head in a cacophony of pressure. Anwen is pregnant, Anwen is pregnant.

  Dafydd put his hands to his head to contain the chaos spinning in his skull, he closed his eyes as the rage swelled up inside him. ‘No!’ he roared, slamming his fists onto the kitchen table, ‘No!’

  Just then Gwyn burst through the door followed by a dripping Bara who immediately began to growl and snarl, responding to her master’s fury.

  Gwyn had seconds to process the unanticipated scene: Anwen was sitting sobbing, his father was furious and Nerys looked frightened … this was bad. ‘What is it?’ Gwyn asked nervously. ‘What’s happened?’

  Dafydd was leaning on the table as if his life depended on it, his head down to his chest, panting with the strain of mastering his temper. Anwen was hunched into a ball crying into her hand. Nerys obviously wanted to console them both but remained where she was, her hands pressed to her cheeks.

  ‘How long have you known, Nerys?’ Dafydd’s voice was icy iron.

  ‘Not long,’ Nerys replied calmly, silk and steel.

  ‘How far gone is she?’ Ice and iron.

  ‘Maybe six weeks or two months. These are questions for Anwen.’ Again, silk and steel.

  ‘Anwen is pregnant?’ Gwyn’s voice was high pitched, his eyebrows nearly touched his hairline he was so shocked, ‘Who did it? I’ll bash his brains out!’

  ‘That won’t solve anything.’ Nerys clicked her tongue. ‘In fact it would make it worse.’

  ‘Who is the father, Anwen?’ Dafydd raised his head and faced his daughter. ‘I said who is it?’ He slammed his fists on the table again and Anwen flinched, curling herself tighter.

  ‘She doesn’t have to tell you!’ Nerys yelled flying to Anwen’s side, shielding her from her father.

  ‘I have a right to know!’ Dafydd snarled. ‘I will find out one way or the other, but I want to hear it from Anwen. Who has she been dallying with? Who did she make herself a whore for?’

  Anwen tore her tear streaked face from her hands and shot a glare so full of hatred that even Gwyn took a step back. ‘You want to know, do you? You really want to know?’ she screamed at her father.

  ‘Anwen,’ Nerys warned.

  ‘No!’ Anwen spat. ‘If he wants to know whose whore I am, I’ll tell him.’ She stood up to defiantly face her father, shrugging off the blanket he had so tenderly placed around her shoulders. ‘The father is Taliesin ap Aeron Ddu!’ she shouted triumphantly before Dafydd slapped her face.

  ‘You lie.’ Dafydd’s voice was flat and cold as he stared at his daughter in disgust. ‘I don’t know where you heard that name but you lie.’

  Anwen held her stinging cheek in shock; her father had never laid a hand on her, not ever. She stared at him disbelieving – he hit me, he just hit me. She slowly turned away from him and accepted the protective embrace of her aunt. Anwen felt numb as she rested her head against her aunt’s chest, she felt numb and hollow, her tears spent.

  Gwyn was dumbfounded, my dad’s just slapped Anwen! He couldn’t believe what he’d walked into, but this was madness, madness. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on – who is this man then, do we know him? Dad, do we know him?’

  ‘Taliesin ap Aeron Ddu is not a man. He is not the father. Anwen lies.’ Dafydd’s voice was hard and full of conviction.

  ‘She does not,’ Nerys contradicted. The silk had vanished leaving only the steel.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about Nerys, so I’d thank you to keep your nose out of this. Nobody asked for your opinion,’ Dafydd barked.

  Gwyn was dumbstruck. Who was this man disguised as his father? His father was many things, but not cruel, not violent, his father was a kind man, not the brute standing bef
ore him. ‘Dad, Nerys is just trying to help, what’s got into you?’

  ‘Into me? Into me?’ his father was yelling again. ‘It’s not what’s got into me, it’s what’s got into her!’ He stabbed a finger towards Anwen’s stomach, his lips pulled back bearing his teeth.

  ‘Dad!’ Gwyn was distraught, his loyalties divided. ‘Let’s all calm down, talk this out. We all need to calm down and stop shouting at each other.’

  Dafydd twisted his head slowly to face his son. ‘There’s one way to sort this out. You will stay here Gwyn and watch your sister. She does not leave the house and you let no-one in … no-one, you understand.’

  Gwyn nodded, confusion twisting his face. ‘Where you going?’ Anwen pulled her head away from Nerys and they all stared at Dafydd.

  ‘I told you. I’m going to find out the truth, one way or the other.’ Dafydd pushed past his son and grabbed his coat, pushing Bara away from the door with his boot. He left the house and vanished into the rain.

  ‘God help us all,’ Nerys whispered. ‘This will not end well.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Dafydd battled against the barrage of squalling rain as he slipped and slid through the fields towards the forest. He was buffeted on all sides from gusts of callous, cold wind as he headed towards his destination.

  The relentless beating of wind and rain upon the old oak tree roared in his ears as he passed, he twisted his head sideways to protect his eyes from the downpour and saw a small flock of Ty Mawr’s sheep huddled despondently under the oak’s leafy shelter. Under the tree was dry and a mist of condensation hung over the sheep as they pressed together for warmth. For a moment he too thought of sharing the shelter, but knew his presence would spook the sheep back into the storm and so he battled blindly on until he reached the protection of the forest.

  It was well past dusk when he entered the forest and the gloomy sky was turning from murky grey to inky black quicker than he had anticipated.

  Struggling to stay upright, he slowly picked his way through the maze of gnarled tree roots that threatened to send him crashing to the undergrowth. The wind was only a blustering threat as it brushed through the forest’s crown about him, the rain only falling in narrow breaches in the canopy, forming silvery pools on the pathways.

  By the time he reached the clearing he was exhausted, stumbling and swaying like a drunken man. The rain fell heavily upon the Cerdd Carega, the canopy above too sparse to offer protection or shelter from the deluge.

  Raising his hands to his mouth he called at the top of his lungs over and over again, the wind snatching his voice and carrying it away. Again and again he called, struggling to keep upright, his voice becoming weaker and weaker until he dropped to his knees and let out a wail of anguish. I struck my daughter. I slapped her face. He sobbed, wiping rainwater and tears from his face with a sodden sleeve.

  How long he remained on his knees he did not know, but a brief flash of light similar to a streak of lightning filled the clearing and when his vision cleared Awel was bent down in front of him, lifting a lantern to his face. She looked worried. ‘Dafydd is that you?’ She leaned down and lifted him to his feet. ‘You should not be here, come, you must leave.’

  ‘No!’ Dafydd struggled away from her grasp, his knees threatened to buckle but he stood his ground.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, man?’ Awel shouted about the din of the storm raging above them.

  ‘Is it true?’ he yelled at her, ‘is it true?’

  Awel stood up straight, peering down at her furious little friend. ‘Is what true?’

  ‘Anwen …’ he stumbled, ‘Anwen and Aeron’s boy!’ he bawled up at her.

  Awel looked left and right before heaving Dafydd off his feet and carrying him to the quiet of a small hollow a stone’s throw from the clearing. ‘What are you talking about?’ she hissed.

  ‘Anwen, she’s pregnant!’ He pulled his arm out of her grasp and yanked his jacket straight indignantly.

  Awel stared at him for a long time. ‘You came all the way here in a storm to ask a question like that?’

  A second flash cut through the forest and Awel placed a hand to her lips signalling silence. She left him in the hollow, taking her lantern with her. He could see no more than an occasional flicker of light from the lantern from between the undergrowth but he could hear an exchange of feminine voices, harsh and urgent.

  A second globe of light traversing through the trees to his left caught his attention and for a moment the female voices stopped short, they had obviously noticed the light too. A few moments later he heard a third voice, a masculine voice and Awel say one name: Taliesin.

  With a burst of fury Dafydd sprung from the undergrowth and with a guttural roar threw himself at the cloaked figure standing facing the two women. As they collided, Dafydd felt his shoulder crack and his teeth jar as his head connected with Taliesin’s chest. The next thing he knew he was lying sprawled on his stomach, pine needles digging into the side of his face, the taste of blood filling his mouth. He felt a strong pair of hands on his shoulders and he was gently pulled onto his back.

  ‘What were you thinking, you foolish little man?’ Awel’s voice was gruff but filled with concern. Another two faces filled Dafydd’s blurred vision, one was the face of the incredibly beautiful Queen of the Summer Realm and the other was Taliesin. Both expressions were identical: astonished.

  ‘You are Dafydd Morgan of Ty Mawr, one of the Chosen?’ the beautiful face of the queen asked.

  Dafydd nodded dumbly.

  ‘The father of Anwen Morgan of Ty Mawr?’ She spoke again with a querying note in her lovely voice.

  Dafydd nodded dumbly.

  ‘And you wish to fight my son?’ She sounded astounded, confused.

  Dafydd struggled to his elbows and spat a clump of moss and dirt from his mouth. ‘Anwen is my only daughter, she’s so young, she’s …’

  ‘As big a young fool as he is,’ Awel said, poking a thumb at Taliesin, ‘but what is done is done, and you thrashing around like a speared boar will mend nothing. Now get to your feet and let us find somewhere drier to confer.’

  Dafydd refused to be helped to his feet, pushing away offered hands and brushing himself down. He irritably followed them deeper into the forest and remained standing while the Bwy Hir found comfortable lodgings under the shelter of a stand of pine.

  Awel set her lantern down in the middle of their shelter, the flickering light casting haunting shadows over the faces of the small assembly. She took a seat among the soft blanket of dry pine needles with Mab and Taliesin taking their seats to either side of her. Dafydd planted his feet and folded his arms across his chest, refusing to meet Awel’s gaze.

  ‘You can decide to sit with us as equals or you can kneel as a supplicant, either way I will not tolerate your stubborn footing.’ Awel’s voice was very matter-of-fact and she meant what she said.

  Dafydd lifted his chin defiantly for a moment before angrily dropping to the floor, folding his mud covered boots under his knees. He kept his arms folded and glared at Taliesin, muttering under his breath.

  ‘This is an awkward, unprecedented state of affairs, I must say,’ Awel began, as she cast her gaze around the leafy refuge, meeting everyone’s eye.

  Mab opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, watching the strange creature as he scowled at her son. Mab was fascinated with the little man sitting opposite her. She did not usually have anything to do with the world of men, she only ever saw them from a distance during the Solstice and took little note of them. Men were the responsibility of the Druids. She didn’t think any of the Bwy Hir had much to do with the Chosen either, other than accepting their offerings, all except Awel of course, and her fascination had already put her in hot water.

  Mab wasn’t quite sure what to make of Dafydd ap Morgan, Chosen of Ty Mawr. She was intrigued by his brashness, his anger, his passion, his lack of fear. Were all the Chosen men like this? She studied him from top to toe, his bizarre clothing, the lines
creasing his rugged, drawn face, his calloused dirty hands. She guessed he must be much younger than she and yet he looked so old, so worn.

  ‘Why do you stare at Taliesin so, why are you so angry, Dafydd of Ty Mawr?’ Mab inquired, leaning forward and tipping her head to one side, scrutinising Dafydd’s every action.

  Dafydd unfolded his arms, leaning an elbow on one knee he leant forward and rubbed his stubbly chin with a grubby hand, thinking his words through before speaking. ‘With all due respect to you and yours ma’am, I don’t know how you do things in your world, but in mine it’s not right to get a girl knocked up and then bugger off, leaving her high and dry to face the shame. Women who go around having children willy-nilly out of wedlock aren’t thought well of on my side of the fence and your son had no right to ruin a good girl like my Anwen, so I want to know what you intend to do about it, ma’am, it’s not right what he’s done, I’m not so sure it’s even allowed, is it? Will my Anwen be in trouble now, because I’m blaming him if she is?’ Dafydd jabbed a finger towards Taliesin without taking his eyes off the Queen of the Summer Realm.

  The three Bwy Hir blinked in silence at Dafydd’s torrent of strange words, his strange turn of phrases was unintelligible and confusing, his delivery uncouth. Had Awel not understood that the term ‘ma’am’ was considered a respectful title to the Chosen and their ilk, Dafydd would have received a severe dressing down for his tone, never mind his brashness.

  ‘Dafydd ap Morgan, your babbling is bewildering, slow down, we cannot keep up with you!’ Awel tutted and shook her head. ‘Am I to understand you are unhappy your daughter is with child?’

  ‘Well of course I bloody well am!’

  ‘Yes or no will suffice and you remember to whom you are speaking,’ Awel warned.

  ‘You are right, Honourable Awel.’ Dafydd dipped his head humbly. ‘I speak out of turn and I apologise, please forgive me.’