‘Oh no, Husband,’ I cried, in mock dismay. ‘Do I not please you?’
He looked down at himself and back at me, appalled to find his cock as wrinkled and as innocuous as a worm. I bit my lip, trying desperately not to laugh and reached out to poke it with my fore finger.
It did not stir.
‘You are not quite ready, perhaps?’ I remarked and he turned away, rubbing himself frantically for a few moments. Then, staring down at his limp disappointment, he gradually realised that it could not be roused at all and with a look of fury, grabbed his clothes and quit the room, slamming the door hard. I rolled onto my belly, stuffing a pillow in my mouth to curb my laughter. ‘Oh, may the gods bless you, Ceri.’
Her potion served me well. Each time Cadfael made an attempt to get a child on me, I added a little powder to his cup and soon, unable to face the humiliation, he stopped coming to my chamber at all. I looked upon it as a victory.
‘It only happens with you,’ Cadafael sulked on the last time he visited me. ‘I don’t understand; it’s as if I have been bewitched.’ Ignoring the sudden chill that his words imparted, I patted his arm.
‘Don’t worry, Husband, perhaps in time things will come right for us again.’
Looking back now, I can see how cruel it was to weaken the virility of a man like Cadafael but I was young and impetuous. Often, during the course of my day, the memory of his humiliation returned, making me smile and when next I visited Ceri she drew me closer and whispered. ‘I had a visit from your man.’
She was consumed by cackling laughter, displaying her pink gums, her cheeks creased with mirth. I couldn’t help but smile widely as I waited for her to gain control. ‘He untied his leggings, showed me his flaccid member and begged me for a remedy. He assured me it only happens when he is with you.’
She hung onto my sleeve, her body folded as laughter consumed her again. ‘I gave him a charm of rat entrails to wear around his neck and suggested that if he didn’t fancy you, he should look elsewhere for satisfaction.’
Ceri was a woman after my own heart and by the time Angharad had produced a tiny daughter and resumed her duties as his whore, Cadafael’s visits had declined to almost nil. I was glad of that and at the time never dreamed that one day I would seek him out with the sole purpose of seducing him back into our marriage bed.
Part Three
The Drums of War
Cynddylan, hungry boar, ravager,
Lion, wolf fast holding of descent,
The wild boar will not give back the town of his father.
647 AD
The children toddled ahead toward the river, their cries floating back to us on the wind. At three years old Cynfeddw could already outrun his stout nurse. He looked back over his shoulder, his mouth stretched in laughter as she lumbered after him. Just behind came Angharad’s daughter, Medwyl, who imitated everything her half-brother did. Although my son was dressed in finery as befits a prince and Medwyl’s drab colours branded her as a servant, their black heads bobbing along in the windblown grass, marked them as siblings.
They were inseparable. Cynfeddw watched over her, fighting her battles as if they were his own, and sharing his friends. I tolerated her presence because it meant my son was happy and left me in peace. He was growing so much like his father, grabbing at what he wanted, demanding obedience and hitting out at those that displeased him. Medwyl was the only person, save his father, who found favour with him.
The nurse caught up, grabbed his arm and bent him over her knee and slapped his arse. My son’s face was red with indignation. He rubbed his buttocks and scowled, the image of his father. I stifled a smile at his righteous anger.
It was a fine day, the cloud was high and a brisk breeze blew across the marsh, tossing the birds across the sky. The river that wound its way through the valley brought riches from far afield and we made our way to where a boat was unloading at the jetty. A stream of men, their backs bent beneath the weight of sacks and barrels, unburdened themselves, loading the carts that waited to bear the produce to the llys.
Great preparation was underway for a state visit from my brothers and King Penda of Mercia, and the whole settlement was in an uproar of excitement. There would be feasting and tournaments, a welcome interlude to daily toil. Cynfeddw ran into the crowd and tried to lift one of the heavy sacks, his face turning pink with exertion.
‘You can’t lift that, come away,’ I ordered and Ffreur ran forward to tempt him away with promises of grasshoppers in the meadow. We moved on, they walked before me, hand in hand, Ffreur’s fair head bowed to his dark one.
She doted on my son and on Medwyl also, and grieved each month when her own child failed to appear. As the years passed without issue she grew more and more pious, spending long hours on her knees in the cold, stone chapel, doing penance and asking God’s blessing. Had I been in her position I would have long since abandoned a God who for so long ignored my prayers but nothing would shake her faith.
I tried to persuade her to visit Ceri, to ask her for a fertility charm but she refused, her face pinched with disapproval. The last years had gone well with me. Cadafael continued to keep away and I felt that having done my duty and produced him with a son, my time was now my own. I had matured well, my body was upright and firm, my teeth still good and my hair fell thick to my waist. I enjoyed my duties as queen, ruling the household, balancing the economy. By day my life was all it should be and I was well content but after dark, when I lay in my lonely bed, although I could barely recall his face, my memory was filled with Osian’s lamenting song.
The meadow grasses were indeed rich with grasshoppers and butterflies. The children darted about, squealing every time they caught one to imprison it in their sack. Many people were afraid of butterflies, believing that they were, in truth, witches that crept into the dairy late at night to steal milk and sample the cheese but I laughed at such superstition.
Ffreur followed the children into the long grass whilst I, feeling lazy, sank into the shade of a tree to think my own thoughts. Gwarw busied herself collecting lynden leaves that ward off the coughs and colds of winter and as I watched her, I grew drowsier.
Perhaps it was the tree’s affinity with the goddess Venus, whom the Romans had favoured, that made me dream I was with Osian. I saw him clearly, his golden hair, his clear blue eyes. He put down his harp and I ran to him, wept hot tears as I stroked his beard, felt his lips hot upon my neck again. So real was the dream and so filled was it with happiness that I was reluctant to wake and tried to ignore Gwarw and Ffreur calling me back to consciousness.
Eventually, when I could ignore them no more, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. My women were gathered about me, regarding me oddly. Ffreur held the children by the hand and Cynfeddw sucked his thumb, a dark frown upon his face.
‘Are you alright, Lady?’ Gwarw asked. My tunic had ridden above my knees and I pulled it down, raised a haughty eyebrow and held out a hand to be helped to my feet.
‘Of course, why shouldn’t I be?’
‘You were mumbling and fidgeting in your sleep like a lunatic. Were you having a nightmare, in the daytime? I didn’t know if we should wake you or not.’ I yawned and looked about me, shivered a little in the breeze.
‘I must have been dreaming but I can’t recall it.’ I realised I had been asleep for some time for the blue sky had been replaced by cloud and the surface of the water was choppy, the skerries bouncing and bumping against the jetty. It was time to return to the llys if we didn’t want to risk a soaking.
We had climbed but half way up the hill when large drops began to fall, making dark splodges on the fabric of my tunic. The hem of my cloak dangled in the mire and in no time our feet were wet through.
Cynfeddw dragged at Ffreur’s hand, his plaintive voice complaining while Medwyl, balanced on her nurse’s hip, opened her mouth wide and bawled. My own thoughts lingered longingly on my dream and, unheeding of the wet grass and puddles, I kept my head down, enthralled with my private thought
s. At the gate I almost ran into Angharad and she fell into step beside me.
‘Your brothers are close now, Lady,’ she said, ‘a messenger brought word that they are but two hours away.’ I put my hand on her shoulder and rested a moment, puffing a little from the climb.
‘Good.’ I smiled at her and she showed her row of straight teeth in return. ‘There will be feasting tonight. I have an old tunic if you’d like it. Come to me before supper and I will look it out for you.’
She flushed and her smile grew wider. ‘Thank you, Lady. I will be there.’
‘Wait,’ I said and kept my hand on her, ‘walk with me a little.’ She accompanied me through the throng, past the goat pens and the smithy. When we reached the door of my bower I stopped and whispered, ‘You are still taking the powders?’
Her eyes were wide as she nodded earnestly. ‘Oh, yes, Lady, every morning, as Ceri instructed’
‘Good,’ I said, ‘good girl,’ and passed before her beneath the lintel into the warmth of my chambers.
Two
I dressed with special care that evening. I knew my brothers had arrived and would be closeted with Cadafael and Penda in talk of war. I had heard many tales of the Mercian King who was a formidable man and one that my husband and brothers sought to impress. I dressed accordingly, donning my finest tunic and richest jewels. Gwarw was still fussing with my hem as I strode along the corridor toward the hall. Even at a distance the noise was considerable and when the wooden doors, each as thick as a war-hammer shaft, were thrown back to admit me, the din and the heat hit me like a wall.
Every man, woman and child was crammed into the hall space. The central fire roared and the aroma of roasting meat and mead mixed appetisingly in the air. My husband and brothers sat at the top table and I knew the large stranger with them must be Penda.
To my chagrin, my approach went largely unnoticed for all eyes were taken by the antics of my son whom Cadafael had stood on the table while the boy showed off his sword skills to the visiting Kings. I paused half way down the hall, my skin prickling as it warmed in the heat of the fire. I raised my chin, knowing the firelight set my gold jewellery ablaze, and tossed back my thick braids and waited to be noticed.
It did not take very long.
‘Heledd!’ Cynddylan cried, and leapt over the table to envelop me in his arms. He had quite spoiled my dignified entrance but I smiled upon him and returned his kisses gladly. Cynwraith was next with a gentler greeting that was no less sincere. He squeezed me to him and left a kiss upon my hair.
He had filled out since I had seen him last, his beard grew thicker on his chin and he had himself a bride. Cadafael rose and as he did so, I noticed Angharad seated a little to his rear, clad in my discarded tunic. I felt a stab of annoyance at his lack of majesty. His whore should be kept for his bedchamber. He held out a hand and turned to his company.
‘My queen, Heledd of Pengwern. This is King Penda, of Mercia.’
So, this was the warrior pagan King. The gossips said he was a lover of both war and women and from the looks of him, he carried the scars of both. He was approaching forty, his dark eyes piercing, his mouth sensuous, a scar running from the corner of his eye to disappear into his beard. He was by no means handsome but he exuded power and ruthlessness and I could see at first glance that he was not the sort of man it was wise to cross. So, accordingly, I said nothing when he took my hand, leaned over it and I felt his mouth, hot and wet, upon my wrist.
The seat beside him was empty and I smiled gratitude as he bid me to fill it. As he filled my cup, the fluid like liquid rubies I pretended I was flattered and lifted it, holding his gaze for a moment before drinking. At the other end of the table Cynfeddw was still prancing about on the board. His father leaned back in his chair revelling in his son’s antics as if he were part of the entertainment. I shot him a loaded look and with a jerk of my head ordered our son to resume his seat. Then I turned to Penda, assuming my best smile, wondering how on earth I was supposed to engage such an alarming man in polite conversation.
He was picking scraps of meat from his teeth with his dagger. Then he rinsed his mouth with mead and spat it into the rushes, slamming down his cup and belching loudly. I offered him a golden pear, dripping with honey but he declined it with a shake of his head. ‘A fine hall you have, Madam, not as fine as my own but it comes a close second. You will have to let me entertain you at my hall one of these days.’
His eyes were fastened on my breasts and I knew he wasn’t including my husband in his imagined hospitality. I drank from my cup again and looked across the hall to where a trio of tumblers had appeared from nowhere to cartwheel across the floor. The hall erupted into laughter and Cynfeddw climbed back on the table the better to see. From the corner of my eye I saw Cadafael drag him back by the breeches and cast a wary look in my direction.
My jaws began to ache with the strain of smiling but I could see further down the table that Ffreur showed no such effort. Smiling came naturally to her and she laughed uproariously at everything and clapped in delight at the antics of the tumblers. I turned to pay them closer attention just as one tossed the other high in the air so that his spinning body barely missed the swinging overhead lanterns.
Opening my eyes wide, I turned to Penda, whose mouth was open in appreciation, displaying a half-chewed mouthful of pork. He clapped a hand on my knee and roared with laughter again. ‘Oh,’ he cried, wiping his eyes, ‘I don’t remember when I have seen anything to equal that.’ He kept his hand on my knee, exploring my thigh and I let him continue, knowing that it was imperative we did not offend him. We needed his strength in this coming war and I would have to bear his attention for as long as I could.
To my left, my brother Cynwraith noticed nothing amiss but drank steadily, a quiet man in rowdy company. When Penda topped up my cup again, I pretended to drink from it, smiling at him over the rim as I sipped delicately. He put down his own cup and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, his eye fixed on my bosom.
‘Cadafael is a lucky man, Madam. I never knew he possessed such riches.’ His eyes shifted to the thick torc that glistened on my collarbone. ‘He keeps secrets from me, Madam. Friends should share their treasures don’t you think?’
In any other man it would have been a compliment but there was something predatory in his eye. I suppressed a shiver and he laughed again, enjoying my discomfort and reinforcing the pressure on my thigh. I feared I’d be bruised come morning but I laughed with him and dipped my face desperately to my cup again as he outdid himself in impressing me.
‘I’ve slaughtered many men, Madam; Kings, thegns, beggars … and priests, lots of priests.’ I tried to appear suitably captivated but while he leered at me, I looked about for an excuse to escape.
To my great relief I saw Ffreur frantically signalling for my company. She jerked her head toward the privy, silently asking me to join her there so, very much relieved, I stood up and Penda’s hand fell away.
‘Excuse me, Lord, I have need to retire for a short while. Pray, keep company with my brother until I return.’ He turned grudgingly away, grumbling in his greasy beard.
I caught up with Ffreur in the anti-chamber where arrangements were laid out for the comfort of the women. My sister turned large, reproachful eyes on me.
‘Gracious, Heledd, why on earth are you flirting with Penda?’ I scrubbed at a greasy stain on my skirts and glared at her through my fringe.
‘He is flirting with me, Ffreur. Just look at my new tunic, ruined. Soon Angharad will go about better dressed than I.’
She bent down to examine the damage.
‘It is not so bad. I expect Gwarw will have the skill to clean it. Anyway, you have other clothes.’ She stood up, stretching her back, as stiff with sitting as I. The pose accentuated her hand-span waist and tiny breasts. She still had the body of a child and made me feel cumbersome. I took out a comb and began to tidy her hair, in no hurry to return to the hall. If Penda felt the need to maul Cadafael’s women why couldn’t he
choose the whore and leave the wife alone?
Removing one of my slippers which were a little tight, I rubbed at the sore place on my heel then, hitching up my skirts, I pissed in the nearest pot while Ffreur stood waiting.
‘I suppose we must return,’ she said, ‘the musicians are on next.’ Wiping myself on my petticoat, I arranged my skirts and tweaked at my hair.
‘Yes, I suppose so, I am coming,’ I said and followed her from the room into the hall but, as I hurried to catch up with her, Penda stepped from nowhere, filling the adjoining passage with his bulk. Ffreur, the sorry little coward, fled, leaving me to his mercy.
‘I thought I’d lost you, Madam.’ He stepped closer and it was all I could do not to take a step backward.
‘Oh, I wasn’t long,’ I said playfully. A huge beard, knotted with beads and bones, screened his lips and when he yawned suddenly, the inside of his mouth showed extraordinarily red against its darkness.
‘I think it must be bedtime, Madam.’ His eyes bored into mine and he stood so close that I could see the wiry hairs springing from his nose. The stench of his lust was appalling.
‘No, not nearly, the night is young, it is hardly past dusk.’ I gestured to the window and as I did so, he stepped forward and snaked an arm about me, pressing my body against his. I leaned away from him and let out a squeal.
‘With a woman like you, Madam, I think it is always bed time.’ Laughter gusted down his nose and, fastened against his body as I was, I could not move. Knowing that resistance would only fire his lust I tried not to struggle when he clamped his mouth over mine. I tasted the greasiness of his beard while his hands, as large as flails, simultaneously fastened upon my buttocks. I was forced to bear it, could scarcely draw breath and the noxious kiss continued for so long I thought I should faint. When, at last he released me, I almost collapsed and he let out a bellow of laughter, thinking my weakness a response to his overwhelming masculine charm.
The Song of Heledd Page 7