The Song of Heledd

by Judith Arnopp

  The meal dragged on and I did not relish the feast although the rest of the company grew boisterous and loud. My head began to ache. I toyed with a compote of berries and every so often concealed a yawn behind my hand. But at last, when most of the platters were empty and Osian stepped onto the dais, the evening began to improve. I pushed the food away, my heart fluttering like a bag of moths and silently let my love fly toward him across the throng.

  He sang a plaintive song of a lone woman, the wife of an exile, pining for her man to return. It was a song full of pain and loneliness and my foolish heart made me feel I was one with the woman, just as lonely as she. Although just a hall full of people separated us, I pined for Osian as if it were an ocean.

  Later when the feast dwindled into sleep, and bodies were spread snoring about the floor, I managed to evade Gwarw’s summoning call, and crept away, running softly around the perimeter of the settlement, taking the long route to the yew tunnel, careful that none should see me.

  As I had known he would be, he was waiting and this time there was no hesitation, no entranced magical exchange of wonder. There was no time for that and we fell upon each other hungrily, hurrying from our clothes and consummating with a reckless passion the lust that demanded easement before it consumed us both.

  A crescent moon peeked through the wind-rocked tree tops as he lay stretched out on the ground with me astride him. His hands were cold on my fevered skin and I leaned my head back, the ends of my hair tickling my buttocks, the night air caressing my body while he bucked beneath me like a man possessed.

  ‘Heledd,’ he gasped, his face pink with exertion and pleasure. ‘Yea gods,’ and he rolled me onto my back, buried his face in my neck, riding me onward, possessing me totally, body and my soul.

  Afterward, my mind blown away by the ferocity of loving, I lay beside him and watched the stars twinkling through the close linked branches of yew. I wished I could linger all night, inhaling the resin from the trees, listening as his breath slowed, the heat on his body cooled and his pulsing heart fluttered against my ribs. I was young enough to think that the moment would last me forever and that if such a moment never came again, I could live on it and be satisfied by it. Such is the folly of youth.

  Four

  Freur and I were at our tapestry when Cynddylan summoned us into his presence. We put down our needles and made sure our tunics were clean. Then, smoothing our hair beneath our veils we made our way to the royal bower.

  We hesitated at the door but before we had time to make our presence known, the portal was thrown open by the King himself. ‘Sisters!’ he cried and kissed us both, his lips wet on our cheeks, his welcome so warm and brotherly that we knew the summons was not from the King but an informal meeting with our brother.

  He sat us upon heaped cushions, plied us with wine and sweetmeats, his conversation merry but all the while he seemed ill at ease, and a few times he began to say something but stopped, distracted by some small diversion. I knew that a deeper purpose lurked beneath his cheer. We rarely came into his private quarters and I watched him, ensconced in luxury, his every need supplied and wondered how it felt to a King, your people’s well-being entirely dependent upon your decisions. For all luxuries that came with it leadership couldn’t be easy. I let my eyes stray about the room, noting that the wall hangings were the richest I’d ever seen, the furniture burnished to a deep red hue by the vast fire that roared in the centre of the chamber.

  Close to the fireside a dark haired woman strummed a harp. She was young and comely and in my newfound awareness of the lure of love, I wondered if she was Cynddylan’s concubine. I felt myself flush as unbidden images of them together crept uninvited into my head and Cynddylan, noticing my wandering attention, sat up to disconcertedly wave her away.

  She stopped playing and stood up. I noted her long legs and high bosom as she placed her harp upon its stand and gracefully turned to bow to her King, a curl of black hair escaping from beneath her veil. We were silent until she was gone from the chamber, leaving the three of us alone.

  Almost immediately Cynddylan began to pace the floor, his hounds at his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, his head down. At last he stopped, lifted his arms and let them fall again and his dogs sat and looked up at him with their ears pricked as expectantly as ours.

  ‘Sisters,’ he began. ‘Heledd and Ffreur, my most precious sisters.’

  I silently acknowledged the truth of this but Ffreur, ever over-demonstrative, scrambled from her cushions to hug him before linking his arm with hers.

  ‘And you are our most precious brother, Cynddylan.’ She beamed up at him and I could see this wasn’t helping him as he struggled with some as yet unspoken words. As I perceived that the message he had to impart was important indeed, the first rumblings of dread began to stir in my belly. He disentangled his arm, pressed Ffreur back into her seat and emitted a gusty sigh.

  ‘I have some news which concerns you both.’

  Neither of us spoke but waited while he ruffled his hair, placed a hand on his hip and took another deep breath. ‘This is not easy, but you both knew it would come one day and well, the thing is … Cadafael, King of Gwynedd is seeking your hand, Heledd and … and Iestyn has asked for you, Ffreur.’

  I suddenly felt as if all heat from the room had vanished, the flames abruptly extinguished. I wrapped my arms about my upper body, licked my lips and desperately swallowed my instinctive resistance to his words. I could not give myself away. Cynddylan was right. I had always known this would come one day. Ffreur turned and placed a hand on my knee.

  ‘Oh, Heledd,’ she cried, her face pink with joy, ‘a double wedding. How lovely that will be.’

  My chin threatened to nobble into tears but I was Heledd, I was a princess and Princesses of Pengwern did not cry. They never cried. I fought back the dread, smoothed a smile across my face and squeezed her hand in return although I did not yet have the capacity to speak. My own desires must be thrust away. I would not let myself think of Osian.

  Through the pain I lifted my eyes to my brother.

  ‘And when is this double wedding to be?’ I asked him, as if my heart were not breaking.

  I tried to recall Cadafael’s face but all I could remember were his large hands shredding the flesh from the bones of his mutton before placing it between my stiff lips. I had not really paid attention to his face or his bearing and so all that remained was a vague impression of an oversized, grasping man. Why had I found favour with him when my manner had been as frigid as I could make it within the bounds of politeness. How could I ever wed with him? Misery crept upon me like a death shroud and I could not warm myself although, once back in our bower, I wrapped the warmest fur I owned about my shoulders. I waded through so deep a dread that I could not contemplate the future, although I tried to for duty’s sake … and for Ffreur’s.

  That night at supper my heart was as heavy as a stone and I could not force a morsel between my lips. When the stripped bones were cleared away and the lighter course about to be served the bards had begun to tune their harps. But when Cynddylan banged his fist on the board for attention the music dwindled into discord and the babble of voices lessened to attend the words of their King.

  ‘Good People,’ he cried, a cup held aloft in his outstretched hand. ‘I should like you to join me in thanks for a forthcoming day of happiness and celebration when my sisters, the princesses Heledd and Ffreur, will be joined with King Cadafael and his brother, Lord Iestyn of Gwynedd.’

  A brief lull was replaced by a storm of applause. I summoned a watery smile and blinked away the tears that had been just below the surface all day. When I could bear it no longer I dragged my eyes reluctantly to where Osian stood, unmoving, at the back of the hall.

  His jaw had fallen open and his face was drained of colour and my heart broke afresh when I saw, in every curl of his hair and each despairing bead of sweat on his brow, that he was as crushed by the news as I. Across the revelling crowd our souls clasped
and as our eyes locked I feared I would drown in his swimming eyes. And then he turned from me and slipped away quietly into the dark.

  Ffruer went to her marriage bed blithely, relieved to have been given a husband both young and handsome. I, on the other hand, approached the joining with loathing, unable to accept that those moments with Osian had been our last and that I must give myself to another. Once wed to Cadafael I would be forced to live for the rest of my life on those fleeting happy memories with Osian and I knew now that they would never be enough. On the eve of my wedding day I knew I would crave him for every hour, every minute, every second of every day until the time of my passing.

  The dowries cost my brother dear and in the weeks that followed, a fine hoard of precious objects were collected together and piled in the strong rooms. Gold, silver, jewels, tapestries and furs, and in the water meadow grazed a herd of fine cattle that had been recently raided from across the River Taff.

  I had always known that marriage would come one day but now the time was here I felt betrayed, cheated by the gods. Why had I been shown the joy of love only to have it snatched away again? It did not seem fair. I no longer found any pleasure in anything and for the first time was truly miserable and wished I was any woman other than a princess of Pengwern.

  Ffreur and I, in both body and spirit, were freaðuwebbe, traded by my brothers to forge a treaty of peace between the two Kingdoms. As long as the marriages held, so would the peace and as long as the peace held, so would the marriages and what Ffreur accepted as a blessing, I regarded as a curse.

  I knew little then of war. Although the men of our halls rode frequently into battle, Ffreur and I took little interest. Only when someone precious was lost did we mourn and then not for long, for grief sits lightly on the young. Every month some aunt or uncle was laid beneath the sod of Pengwern and just as frequently, the young women were taken in childbed or shortly afterward by the fever. Every adult I knew had suffered the loss of a child and too many tiny hollows marked the resting place of an infant that had failed to thrive in the harshness of our world. We were accustomed to these things, and although we felt the sorrow, we accepted that death was part of life and treated it accordingly. So why could I not accept my duty as a royal daughter of Pengwern? My marriage to a stranger was as inevitable as death, and just as welcome.

  Unlike our brothers who had travelled the length and breadth of the land, Ffreur and I had never left the enclosing walls of Pengwern. It was our home, our security, all we had ever known and the prospect of leaving heaped further bitterness upon my troubles.

  ‘At least we will be together,’ comforted Ffreur, when she finally came down from her pinnacle of joy and realised I was not happy with the match. ‘It would be worse were we parted.’

  I nodded absently. ‘I will get used to it I expect,’ I lied, and hoped that she would never know that, for me, leaving Pengwern was worse than death. It would be better for me to die now than to suffer interminably, perishing in slow, despicable misery.

  I had not seen Osian since the night of the betrothals and was not even sure if he remained in Cynddylan’s hall. He no longer sang in the firelight but was replaced by a young man with corn coloured hair whose songs did not touch me. As a result, our long suppers became intolerable and the nights long.

  And the days were little better. I could find no solace in my young siblings as I had used to and the chatter of even the smallest ones merely jarred my enduring headache. And worst of all, there was no one I could confide in and for the first time in more years than I could count, I craved the comfort of my long dead mother. I was surrounded by kin: uncles, aunts, cousins, brothers, sisters, servants, yet for all that, I was alone and trapped. Helpless.

  Five

  November 644 AD

  It was of the finest cloth and decorated with the richest beads but the gown I wore for my marriage to Cadafael lay heavy on my shoulders. To testify our purity Ffreur and I wore our hair long, a thin band of yellow gold balanced upon our brows and while she had every right to do so, I knew myself to be a hypocrite. But we made a handsome pair; my sister was a head shorter than I and small boned and fair beside my tall, sturdy darkness.

  While we were still dressing Cynddylan marched into our bower, loudly demanding to see his fair sisters and, when he saw us, he stopped in his tracks, lifted his arms and dropped them again, pretending he was made speechless by our beauty. ‘Well, look at you, Heledd, and you, Ffreur, the finest looking princesses in Powys.’

  He came forward planting kisses on our cheeks, his beard tickling as the comforting aroma of horse and leather filled our noses. It was an aroma that no amount of unseasonable bathing could eradicate. Ffreur spun around, thrilled with her new tunic.

  ‘I am so happy, brother,’ she reached up, kissed his beard but I stood a little apart, sombre but resigned and trying to pretend it would not really happen.

  Cyndyylan, sensing my sorrow, returned Ffreur’s kiss before saying gently, ‘I would speak with your sister, Ffreur. Go on ahead and we will follow.’

  In a great flurry of excited waiting women our younger sister left us alone. I heard her merry laughter as they hurried out into the fresher air. I moved across the room and stood at the brazier, looking down at my hands that I held as close to the flames as I could bear. The day was not cold but sometimes it seemed I would never be warm again. Cynddylan came closer.

  ‘You do not share her happiness?’

  I was silent, unable to explain or even to think of a credible excuse. I did not welcome the marriage but I could not tell him so and it did not occur to me to refuse it. My duty had been drummed into me since I was an infant and I knew that my happiness came a poor second to the stability of my homeland. It did not matter that my own heart was breaking. My own needs were unimportant. I had to give myself to the Gwynedd King and saw little point in pretending it could be otherwise but all the same, I could not be happy about it.

  When I made no answer Cynddylan cleared his throat, a silent order for me to raise my head and look him in the eye. He was my brother but that role always came second, first and foremost, he was my King. But just for that moment it changed for a short space and I knew that he expected me to speak as openly as if he were not my monarch. It was time to be honest, or as honest as it was wise to be.

  ‘Nay, Brother,’ I replied. ‘I am sorry, I cannot be happy at this match but you need not fear I will shirk my responsibility.’

  His face fell and he took my pink-tipped fingers in his, our faces were level, his cool grey eyes bored deeply into mine.

  ‘Ah, little sister,’ he murmured. ‘I had no fear of that. There are aspects to marriage you cannot yet know but there is some pleasure to it.’

  I dropped my gaze, felt heat glaze my cheek and prayed he would never guess my lack of innocence. ‘And I suspect that frightens you but you will be happy in time. I understand our mother was a reluctant bride but she was well content once her young ones came. She was a well-contented woman, wasn’t she?’

  I nodded, the illicit knowledge of the love I had shared with Osian and how delighted I would be were the match to be made with him, clanging like a bell in my head. The image of him that sprang before my vision; his golden hair, eyes that shone with love of me brought a flaring of pain and moisture stung my eyes. I closed them quickly, trapping the tears and suppressing the misery.

  I blinked to clear my vision and tried not to dwell on the memory of those wonderful intimacies. I knew I must soon allow Cadafael similar liberties and my heart quailed at the thought. I envied Ffreur. She was lucky in her ignorance of all that marriage entailed but when I imagined another man’s hand where only Osian’s had been, or thought of another’s lips where his should be, it made my stomach twist with revulsion. I had no idea how I would get through it but in a vain attempt to dispel the fog of negativity, I shook myself and smiled a brittle smile for my brother’s sake.

  ‘Of course, Brother, I am just being mawkish. I cling to childhood that
is all. The preparations have tired me and I am ungrateful. I should be more appreciative of good fortune when it finds me.’

  Fooled by my deceit, Cynddylan cheered up, offered me his arm and we left the bower together. The people of the settlement were already streaming down the hill toward the river where a strange ceremony to a new god that we still but half understood was to be held. We trod the carpet of greenery to the small wooden church of Jesus, whom Pengwern worshipped now, and the gnarled old man in fusty robes that was the settlement priest came out to greet us.

  Our King decreed that we must worship this new foreign god but secretly many of our people, and I was one of them, clung obstinately to the old ways, unconvinced by the power of a man-god who had been nailed up by the hands and left to die.

  The church had been erected at the old gathering place where the waters burst forth from the land, a place where some said the ancient water sprites dwelt. It was November and evergreen branches had been spread upon the path, both as a wish for fertility and to take up the cloying mud from underfoot. Come spring the naked limbs of the trees would be bowed down with may-blossom but on that cold winter morning they were adorned only with tattered offerings our people had made to the old gods.

  The hopes and wishes of Pengwern hung in the branches of those trees, tiny hopeless prayers that had never been granted, and although we were supposed to be Christians now, nobody was brave enough to take the offerings down. I saw a string of shells that I had left there one far off summer in hope that our mother would recover from the fever, and I recognised a braid of ribbon I had tied there just a few weeks ago to beg the gods to save me from marriage and make Osian somehow become mine.