That evening, just to be sure, I left my bed and waited in the shadows near to Cadafael’s chamber. I drew my cloak about me and wriggled my toes to keep them from going numb for the night was cold.
Whether I wanted them to be guilty or not, I could not tell but my belly churned in nervous anticipation as I waited for their footstep. The sounds of drunkenness in the hall began to grow less ribald and the hour grew so late that dawn was a pale stripe in the east but, just as I decided to return to my bower after all, I heard a light footfall and the murmur of voices. I flattened myself against the wall and waited a little longer.
My husband made unsteady progress along the passage, walking with the careful step of a drunkard. His arm was slung about the shoulder of his page, and when the boy threw open his chamber door Cadafael thanked him politely, dropped his cap on the floor and thanked the boy once again when he retrieved it for him. Then, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder he pushed his face too close. I saw the boy pull away from his wine-laced breath.
‘I am lonely, Gwidion, my wife doesn’t like me. Are you ever lonely?’
I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle, wanting to hear the boy’s reply but his voice was muffled as he half carried Cadafael to his bed. As they lit the candles a sliver of light showed beneath the door and as I crept away I could hear Cadafael singing a bawdy song about a priest and a ploughboy.
I was surprised to see him so maudlin, his usual brash confidence fuddled by the mead he had drunk. I thanked the gods that he had never come to my chamber in that state. He was repugnant enough without being totally pickled in mead.
I had just a few hours left in which to sleep and once safely back in my own apartments, I slid between icy sheets. It took a long while before the feeling returned to my toes and, thinking of Ffreur tucked up with her husband in the warmth of their marriage bed, I envied her afresh.
Isolation crowded in on me. I crossed my arms about myself and held on tight but it did nothing to alleviate the loneliness. These days I seldom allowed myself to dwell on him but, as a bitter-sweet treat, I allowed my thoughts to return to Osian. I closed my eyes, remembering his golden smile, his downy soft kiss, his skilled hands, and just for a short while, curled in the centre of my lonely bed, I felt a little warmer.
Four
A few days later Cadafael rode out with the teulu. I watched the dust from the horses’ hooves dwindle before I summoned Angharad to my presence. Then, wanting to appear relaxed and in command, I settled myself at the hearth with my needle.
After a while there came a slight scratching at the door and she was there, meekly dipping a greeting, her head bowed. The sight of her in her drab tunic reminded me that she was just a slave and I should not fear her so, assuming a queenly expression, I beckoned her forward. In the corner my attendants craned their necks, eager to know our business but I waved them back to their chores and invited Angharad to join me.
‘Sit,’ I said and she hesitated only briefly before perching uncertainly on Gwarw’s stool. ‘Would you hold this for me?’ I offered her a skein of wool and she took it, held it taught while I began to wind.
Initially I spoke of trivial things, obtaining monosyllabic responses. It was hard work, making friends with a scullion. I looked at her and wondered how to bridge the gulf between us. She was seated lower than myself as befitted her station and I could see her scalp gleaming white where her hair parted in the centre. The hands that clutched the wool trembled. It was apparent she believed herself to be in some trouble and I felt a sudden rush of guilt. I had taunted her long enough. I decided to be blunt.
‘You please me, Angharad,’ I said and she looked up, and blinked a few times before she spoke.
‘Pleased you, Lady, how have I done that?’ Her voice was softly questioning. I sat back and smiled at her smugly,
‘By pleasing My Lord King.’
It gave me a twinge of pleasure to see her turn so pale. She swallowed and blinked rapidly, unable to look me in the eye. The ill-will of the queen meant certain torment for a slave and when her trembling visibly increased, I put out a hand and touched her knee, offering friendship but she flinched and ducked her head.
‘I don’t know what you mean, Madam,’ she whispered and my answering laugh rang out merrily, rousing my attendants from their chores. I curtly signalled that they should mind their business.
‘Yes, you do, girl. I know he likes you. Have you lain with him yet?’
Her face grew flaccid with fear and, taking pity, I reached out a hand to her again. ‘Angharad, it does not displease me. In fact, the prospect delights me and I want to make you a gift.’
I had her attention now. She looked at me as if I were moon-mazed. Like an animal in a trap she did not move, her wide eyes glistened darkly and a small vein pulsed in her neck as she awaited my next words.
Fumbling at my girdle, I drew forth an arm ring. It was not a costly piece, just a trinket crafted by the smiths of Pengwern but, to Angharad, it represented unimaginable wealth. She stood up, spilling the wool onto the floor. ‘Madam!’ she cried, stepping away from me. ‘I cannot take that.’
I grabbed her hand and pulled her back onto the stool.
‘Of course you can.’ I smoothed her hair, almost crooning, determined to lure her into my pay. ‘I want us to be friends.’
Our faces were close, sweat glistened on her skin and great diamond drops hovered on her lashes before over spilling onto her cheek. She was so nervous I could smell the scent of her body, sweet and musky. I pushed the bracelet between her brown fingers. She sniffed and shook her head from side to side. ‘I don’t understand,’ she whimpered.
I leaned toward her.
‘Do not cry, child. Just as long as you keep my husband from my bed, I will be your friend and continue to reward you. You must make yourself … irresistible.’ I pushed the arm ring over her hand. ‘There, isn’t that fine?’
The golden band was delicately traced with knots and studded with small gems. I stroked the smooth, golden skin on her arms and turned her hands up in mine. They were work-worn and reddened, the nails broken and …they were the hands of a child. A squirm of guilt stirred in my belly. It was wicked to tempt innocence into whoredom but I pushed the thought away and smiled a blithe smile. The girl was a slave, fated to live miserably and die young, so what difference would it make to her. By alleviating her poverty I was doing her a favour.
‘I look forward to seeing you again soon, Angharad. You may go now. You know what you have to do. I will be watching.’
Her mouth worked as she sought the correct words but in the end she could not find the right thing to say. She turned away, pulling her sleeve over the arm ring to conceal it and left the chamber with her head bowed. I sat back in my chair, and watched her go, biting my lip and hoping I had done right.
Five
Shortly after that, as I had hoped, Cadafael’s visits to my chamber decreased. A few nights later, I waited again in the passage near his chamber. This time I had taken the precaution of wrapping a warm fur about me and burying my feet in thick boots. The llys was quiet, only the gentle rumblings of a community settling for the night. A dog barked and I heard someone yell at it to quiet then, as peace settled again, I tucked my hands beneath my armpits and waited.
At length, two shadowy figures came, arms linked, along the corridor. They made little sound but I could tell by the way my husband leaned heavily on his companion that he was drunk again. He had never come to my bed drunk and I wondered whether he intentionally remained sober when he planned to spend the night with me. The door was thrown open, the torches within illuminating the features, not of his page this time, but of Angharad.
I smiled grimly at my victory.
As the portal closed behind them, I stood very still and heard Cadafael give a sudden shout of laughter and her answering giggle … then silence. I strained my ears but after a few moments I realised that I was eavesdropping and, rather shocked at the tiny squirm of envy, I tiptoed ba
ck to my lonely chamber.
The room was in deep shadow, the only light issuing from the banked up fire. Gwawr had turned back the bed covers in readiness but had given up waiting and now snored loudly in her closet. I did not wake her but after taking a draught of mead, pulled off my own boots and climbed into bed.
For a long time I lay sleepless, trying not to imagine Angharad’s pubescent body debauched by Cadafael’s, his heavy bearded mouth bruising her plump lips. It was a picture I did not like and I discovered that I did not relish my part in it. For the first time self-hatred rivalled the contempt I bore my husband.
Tortured by remorse and haunted by the possible consequences, I tossed and turned into the small hours but by the time dawn had begun to pink the night sky I had convinced myself that I acted for the good of my unborn child and I turned over and drifted into a heavy sleep.
Six
In the long months that followed I strayed further and further from the woman my mother had raised me to be. As a girl I had imagined myself married to some great prince, I would make a compassionate queen, giving succour to the needy and comfort to the suffering. Instead, as my bad temper grew as rapidly as my belly, I barely left my apartments and made myself a burden to both Ffreur and my serving women. Nothing pleased me, my food tasted of ashes, my thirst was unquenchable and the longing in my heart for Osian grated at the edges of my sanity.
To her credit Ffreur tried to distract me. She buried her envy at my condition and sat beside me, spinning yarn or plying her needle to produce tiny garments for the expected prince. She spoke of small things, memories of our childhood at Pengwern, reminiscing about our mother and the birth of our many siblings.
‘Mother brought forth all her children with such ease, Heledd, you are sure to do the same.’
Her head was bent over her work, she was straining her eyes in the poor light, anxious to finish the garment she was working before I was brought to bed.
‘Much good it did her,’ I retorted nastily. ‘She survived multiple childbirth to perish of the fever. It might have been as well as to have died bearing Cynddylan and been spared all the subsequent pain.’
‘Heledd!’ Ffreur was so effortlessly shocked, her mild sensibilities so easily bruised. I gave a short laugh, a sound that was bitter even to my own ears.
‘What? Can you not imagine the world without us? Do you think we are here for a purpose or that we make any difference? Nothing we do or say will have the slightest impact on the world or those in it.’
‘We are all part of God’s plan…’ she began but stopped and looked at me sorrowfully when I gave a loud derisive snort.
‘If this life is the result of any sort of plan, then your God must be a cruel entity indeed.’ Her face pinched with distress, Ffreur sighed and put down her sewing to come and crouch at my knee. Her hands were cold, the tips of her fingers reddened by the needle.
‘Is it so bad, Heledd? You are soon to have a child; your husband is a rich and powerful King, your life comfortable. What more could a girl ask?’
Osian’s face swam in my mind’s eye and I felt again the gentle caress of his hands, the softness of his lips. I longed for him so much but I swallowed against the surging sorrow and placed my hands on my swollen belly.
‘I am just so uncomfortable. No matter how I sit, or where I lie, my back feels as if it is broken in two and look, Ffreur, look at my ankles. Would you want ankles like that?’
She looked at them and, shifting her position, took my left foot on to her lap, pushed off my slipper and began to rub my feet, massaging my toes, bending my ankles and rubbing the aching joint.
‘I would gladly have ankles like this if it meant I were soon to bear my husband a child. I would suffer any indignity or pain just to see the joy on Iestyn’s face when he beheld our firstborn.’
I lay my head back, shamed by her honesty, diminished by her acceptance.
‘I am sorry, Ffreur. Sorry to be so thoughtless of your own cares. I will try not to complain any more but will look to you and try to remind myself that my position could be worse.’
It was a vow that I did not keep.
My screams brought Gwawr and Ffreur running. I crouched over a chamber pot and bent double over another, my belly in knots.
‘Gwawr!’ I cried, tears spouting. ‘Help me.’ The concern on my old nurse’s face was touching. I held out a hand and she grasped it while Ffreur hopped from one foot to the other in the doorway, her brow furrowed.
‘Now, now, don’t take on so. It’s just the babe telling us he will soon be here.’
‘The babe?’ I gasped. ‘No, Gwawr, it is something I’ve eaten, I’ve been poisoned!’ I leaned over and let loose a stream of vomit and wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my gown. ‘You see? Poisoned!’
Gwarw laughed gently and handed me a cup. ‘There, rinse your mouth and get to the bed. I want to feel your belly.’
Throwing the cup down, I glared at her.
‘It’s not the child, I tell you. Ffreur fetch Cadafael, he must be told that someone has tried to harm his queen.’ I struggled up from the pot and pulled down my shift. ‘If I die, Gwarw, I swear I will take you with me.’
Unmoved at my venom she held my arm and helped me climb onto the bed where I cast myself like a great whale onto the mattress.
Her hands were cold. Her fingers probed my rigid stomach, pressing down hard at the top of my pelvis, making me want to piss.
‘Ow!’
She ignored me and gently prised my knees apart. I jumped and swore when she inserted two fingers and pressed down on my belly with the other hand.
‘It’s the babe alright, the gates are opening.’ She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Ffreur poke that girl awake and tell her to get some water on the fire.’
At Ffreur’s insistence the servant girl, Hild, her hand quite healed, scrambled to her feet and, although only half awake, began to poke the fire into life.
I sat bad temperedly on the edge of the bed as another wave of pain began to creep across my loins.
‘I need to shit again, Gwarw.’ I groped for the pot, yanked up my kirtle and sat straining for a while but nothing came. Eventually the cramps subsided and I crawled back to bed. ‘What is wrong with me?’ I wailed. ‘Why am I so sick?’
My head lay in Ffreur’s lap and I was calmed momentarily as she stroked back my hair.
‘If I should die, Ffreur, get a message to Cynddylan and Cynwraith, tell them that I love them.’
She murmured an assent and continued to soothe me with her gentle hands while great hot tears rolled from my eyes.
‘If Gwarw says it is the babe coming, I am sure it must be. After all, she loves you too well to ignore your imminent death.’
They were mocking me, ignoring the danger. Was it not their queen who lay at the brink of eternity while they laughed? I jerked my head from my sister’s hands. Nobody understood.
‘Don’t mock me, Ffreur,’ I warned. ‘I am about to die, you will never….’
Another pain gripped me, followed quickly by a bout of nausea. I leaned over the bed and vomited into the rushes, my stomach turning inside out. I heaved for a miserable while and after spitting a few times more, sat up, sweating.
‘Oh, Ffreur,’ I sobbed. ‘If I am to die, I hope it’s soon. I cannot stand this.’
‘Here, drink up.’
I hauled myself up and took the cup that Gwawr was holding, sniffed it, the vile stench almost turning my stomach anew. I held the cup away from me, turned my head.
‘What is it?’
‘I sent to Ceri for it, she says it will soothe your stomach and ease your labours. She promises if the child does not come easy, she will be here just as soon as she may.’
Ceri was the village wise woman who dwelt at the edge of the forest, sometimes acting as midwife to the mothers of the settlement. I sniffed the potion again.
‘It smells worse than the midden.’
‘Just drink it.’ Gwawr tipped the bottom of the cup and t
he liquid burned my lips and warmed my tongue before hitting the base of my belly. It was not as bad as I had imagined and after another swig or two my head began to clear and my stomach stopped churning. I said a foul word and gestured for a cup of mead to dispel the taste.
As the potion worked its magic the sickness and flux ceased and the pain was dulled sufficiently to allow me some control. Soon the spasms came regular and strong enough to force me to admit that Gwawr was right. My child was indeed coming.
They built up the fire so high that I could scarcely breathe. Ffreur tied back my hair and I cast off my clothes to squat naked on a blanket on the floor. It was more comfortable so, with the weight of the child off my spine and I crouched there, breathing deeply, trying to summon further strength.
Ffreur, white faced at my agony, clung to my hand and even at the height of my suffering when I threw her off and cursed her for a hindrance, she sought it again as soon as I was quiet. For hours I laboured in the grip of unimaginable torment. I cursed my friends, swore at my servants and cast off every element of my mother’s teaching.
Hild brought warm cloths to place upon my belly. They soothed for a while but each time my womb tightened afresh, I threw them off, fighting against the pain, flaying about me with my arms and legs. In the midst of a spasm I caught Gwawr under the chin with my fist. I heard her teeth smash together and Ffreur gasp before she released my hand to help the old woman. But I did not care, I had lost control.
A voice cut through my agony.
‘Are you an animal? Sit up and act like the queen that you are.’
I blinked and pushed limp, damp hair back from my forehead. It was Ceri, crawled from her hovel in the wood to tend me. She turned her piercing eyes on my women.
‘Get away from her you two. She is undeserving of your care. You girl, get something to staunch the old woman’s blood.’
As Hild scurried off to do her bidding, she came to squat beside me and Ffreur and Gwawr backed away. She spoke to me quietly but with such authority that I had to obey. Had I not been in such straights I would have reminded her which of us was queen.
The Song of Heledd Page 5