The Song of Heledd

by Judith Arnopp

  The door opened, letting in a gust of wind and I opened my eyes to find Ffreur at my bedside. She gripped my hand. ‘Please, Heledd, get up. This is not like you. You are scaring me.’

  Through my tangled hair I saw her anxious face and felt a jolt of guilt. I had lain abed for nigh on a week, refusing proper food and only taking a little water. I may as well be dead as live an empty life. Ffreur held out a jewelled cup. ‘Come, Heledd, sit up and drink this. The sun is shining, look. Come along, do it for love of me.’

  Reluctantly I pulled myself onto my pillows, squinting at the daylight pouring through the horn-glazed window and took the cup, letting the fortifying wine flow through my body.

  She looked pleased, patted my hand. ‘There, that is better.’ Her eyes smiled and I did not pull my hand away.

  ‘Heledd,’ she said, her voice hesitant, her eyes troubled. ‘Gwarw says that you are enamoured of Penda.’ Her look darted about the chamber and, satisfied that we were alone, she dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘But it isn’t Penda, is it? It’s that other fellow; the minstrel?’

  My pulse sounded loudly in my ear, my breath shortened but I was too weary to lie to her. ‘How did you know?’

  I drew my hand away and looked down at my sore nails that I had gnawed in my misery but she snatched it back again, held it firm against her breast.

  ‘The first time that he came to Cynddylan’s Hall you were changed afterward. I suspected something then but you would not confide in me. And then we were married and I thought you would forget him but when he came here last month, well, I watched your face and I recognised the way you were feeling. I feel that way for Iestyn. You are in love, Heledd, and I know you too well to think it could be with a man like Penda.’

  My resolve broke, my chin quivered like a child’s. ‘Oh, Ffreur, I don’t know how I can live without him? My whole life is bland, like an unseasoned feast. If I did not know such feelings existed it would be easier but I cannot live everyday …’

  My words dissolved and Ffreur took me in her arms, rocking me back and forth as if I were her child.

  Five

  It took a few good meals and plenty of mead until I was clear sighted enough to see what course had to be taken. By the month’s end I was vomiting profusely in the mornings and my courses had not come. Ceri was right. I was with child. When there was no one by to witness, I summoned Angharad.

  She slipped through the door and when she saw me, her mouth widened and she joined me at the fireside. She looked well. Her body had filled out with better food and warmth.

  ‘Lady,’ she said, sketching a brief curtsey. ‘How are you feeling, I heard you have been sick.’

  ‘I am well enough.’ That day there was something about her manner that irritated me but I put it down to my condition. She sat at my feet on Gwarw’s stool, her head high and her expression open and all of a sudden I realised that she was comfortable, even happy in her role. I saw that what had begun as an abhorrence to her was now, rather pleasing.

  I decided to be blunt. ‘Angharad, I want you to plead sickness for a few weeks. Should my husband require your services you are to be indisposed.’

  I did not miss the flash of resentment before she replied, ‘Sickness, Lady, whatever for?’

  Her eyes gleamed, darkly inquisitive but I did not deign to answer. Her duty was to do my bidding. I shrugged off her question.

  ‘Just be too ill to attend him should he need you. I will inform you should I change my mind.’

  She recognised her dismissal and stood up and bobbed her knees, her expression sulky, her eyes guarded.

  ‘Yes, Lady,’ she murmured and, making a perfunctory bow, left my presence and I spared her no more thought but turned my mind to the distasteful task ahead with Cadafael.

  I managed to get him alone one evening as he returned from the privy.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, feigning pleasant surprise. ‘My Lord, good evening.’ I let him enjoy the full force of my smile. ‘We see so little of each other these days; it is a great pity that war takes you from us so often. You must be glad to be home.’

  His response was guarded. ‘Indeed, Madam, I had not realised my company held such value.’

  ‘You are my husband, the father of my child, of course I value you.’

  He looked down his nose, assessing my intent. ‘And I you, Lady.’ Uncertainly, keeping his eye upon me, he bowed and after a pause asked, ‘and how is our son?’

  This was surer ground and simpler to select words that would please.

  ‘Oh, he is well, Lord. He grows apace and his skill with his wooden sword overshadows that of all the other boys. I pride myself that he is like his father and I hope that in the future his brothers will prove to be as strong.’

  I stretched out a hand to assess the strength of his bicep, cocking an eyebrow in admiration. He coughed, disconcertedly shuffling his feet and as I walked away I cast a crooked, lusty grin over my shoulder.

  I knew he would come and that evening, shooing all the women from my chamber, I waited for the roistering hall to sober. I wondered if he would be drunk and wished with all heart that I was, but when it came his footstep was regular and steady. I tossed off my grief and pinned on a shiny welcome.

  He hesitated just inside the door, cast his gaze about the room and hid his surprise at finding me alone. I swung my legs from the bed and moved toward him, offered him a cup of welcome and the fool, still unsuspicious of our former dealings, drank deeply.

  ‘Madam,’ he said and, unwilling to lengthen an unpleasant interlude, I moved into his arms, reaching for his kiss.

  At first his lips remained stiff, resisting but I pressed myself against him, wound my arms about his neck. It did not take long for his ardour to rise and once he realised his manhood wasn’t going to fail him, his breath grew hoarse as he fumbled with his leggings. Part of me wanted to fight him off, to flee the chamber and cast myself upon my brother’s mercy but, instead, clinging to the knowledge that I must protect Osian’s son, I cleaved to my husband, feigning ecstasy.

  He rumpled my gown up above my hips and, hoisting me onto the mattress, entered me quickly and without affection. His enjoyment was rough and vocal and he didn’t seem to notice the tears oozing from the corners of my eyes. I buried my face in his shoulder and bit my lip and as he reached his peak, I turned my head away. When I was with my lover I never felt like an adulterer but in sleeping with my husband the guilt became so strong I could not banish Osian’s anguished face from my mind.

  He stayed until morning, a thing he had never done before. All night I sat wakeful on my pillows with my knees folded in my arms and watched him snore. His hair fell dark against the pillow; his head was thrown back, his throat bared, as vulnerable as a child.

  I spoke harshly to myself, silently reasoning that he was not a bad husband, had never done a thing to hurt me. It was not his fault he was unskilled in the art of love. I scolded myself that I must try harder. I was the one with evil intent, the one that plotted against him, unmanned him and used him intimately to screen my own transgressions. He could not help that he was not the man I loved.

  I slid down the bed in the darkness and, cupping my hands over my belly, I sent a pulse of love to the child, curled, wormlike in my womb. The babe would be raised as my husband’s son, a brother to Cynfeddw and, blind to the depths of my own treachery, I felt little shame for it.

  In the morning, Cadafael woke cheerfully and rolled me onto my back to assuage his morning needs while I lay passive beneath him, waiting for an end, wondering what tunic I should wear.

  I surmised that three visits to my bed should do it and then I could feign sickness and send him back to Angharad. But, three weeks and many visits later, he did not stop coming. In the end I let him see me hang off the side of the bed and spew my morning herring into the rushes. His lip curled in disgust.

  ‘What ails you, woman?’ He banged on Gwarw’s closet door and as she crawled from sleep to attend me I sent him a weak smile.
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  ‘I think I must have quickened with your child, Husband,’ I said, wiping the vomit from my lips. For a moment he looked surprised but then straightened up.

  ‘That was quick work,’ he said and, slapping Gwarw on the back, he strutted whistling, from the chamber.

  I slumped on my pillow and gestured for a drink. I had done it, he was fooled and no suspicion could fall upon me now. My mission accomplished, I sent a prayer of thanks to whichever god was listening.

  Ffreur came to my apartment, fresh and cleansed from confession.

  ‘Still abed, Heledd? At this time?’ She did not miss the triumph in my eyes and raised her brows questioningly until I told her my news, expecting her envy.

  ‘I am feeling sickly, Ffreur, I think I am with child again.’

  She threw herself at me, making no attempt to hide her easy tears.

  ‘Oh, I am so glad for you, Heledd.’ She hesitated, glanced quickly about the room. ‘When do you expect the confinement?’

  ‘Mid-summer, I think.’ I rubbed a hand across my belly and grinned smugly.

  ‘Heledd,’ she leaned forward, her braids like golden ropes. ‘It is the musician’s child you carry isn’t it?’

  It was not a question and I saw no point in lying. I nodded, filled with a sudden fierce joy.

  ‘It is Ffreur and only you, I and one other know of it.’

  Six

  At this point, more than any other, the drums of war beat loudly and this time it was civil war. Oswiu and Penda must wait, for the followers of Gwynedd’s old King had banded together against Cadafael and our kingdom was in danger. I was just a child when Cadwallon ap Cadfan was killed, leaving an infant son to govern the Kingdom. Cadafael, little more than a youth with a young man’s lust for power, had ousted him and taken the throne for himself but, now grown to manhood, Cadwaladr returned to win back his Kingdom.

  The settlement rang with the tramp of feet, messengers arriving and leaving at the dead of night. The clash of sword practice, the unfurling of banners, horns sounding. Cadafael spent less time in my bed and more in the company of his hearth troop and pretended to be confident about the coming battle. But I knew there were those among us ready to betray him and creep to the camp of the enemy.

  My brothers sent assurances, pledging to beat back the encroaching armies and uphold Cadafael’s claim to Gwynedd and the inheritance of our son, Cynfeddw. While the turmoil of politics rattled on above my head, my mind was filled with excitement of the forthcoming birth. I kept to the women’s quarters, stroking the rise of my belly, dreaming dreams of my child’s red haired father.

  Childbearing is a time of great risk and I have lost many a friend and cousin to childbed fever, and more often, the new-born babe itself perished. I had seen many a swaddled bundle tucked quietly beneath the hearth but I bore no fears, either for myself or for Osian’s child. I knew that, with Ceri’s help, I would bear the ordeal well and my child would thrive.

  By early summer my belly jutted like the ship’s prow and, smug in my happiness, I could barely wait for the confinement. Ffreur and I counted down the weeks while Gwarw prepared everything I would require for the lying in. I had ensured well in advance that Ceri would attend me and, thus prepared, was able to look forward to greeting my son unhampered by worry.

  This time when the pains came I recognised them for what they were and sent Gwarw to summon Ffreur and Ceri. With everything in readiness, I ordered the fire to be stoked and settled at the hearth to wait.

  It was dusk. From the open door of my bower I could see the June sun melting into the distant sea. Ffreur crept into the room. ‘Where have you been?’ I asked tetchily as she took her place beside me and began to massage oil into my belly.

  ‘I settled the children into their beds. Gosh, Heledd, your stomach is as taut as a drum.’

  I shifted a little, fidgeting my legs while her tiny hands followed the line of the blue circles that Ceri had drawn on the contours of the bulge.

  ‘I will be glad when it’s over, how much longer?’ I asked.

  In the corner Ceri was rummaging in her basket. She drew out a ball of twine, a bowl and a knife and put them on a low table near the bed.

  ‘Let’s have a look see, shall we?’ She parted my knees, inserted a bony finger and pressed down. ‘The doors be opening, he won’t be long now. When you feel like pushing we’ll move onto the furs.’

  Ffreur grinned. ‘There, you see, not long now.’

  I closed my eyes and lay against the pillows, the next pain already nudging at the base of my spine. I blew out a sharp breath, scowling a little.

  Ffreur raised an eyebrow. ‘Is another one coming? Here we go then.’ She increased the pressure of her hands, her ministrations both soothing and annoying at the same time. I sat up a little, spread my legs, puffed out my cheeks and then gave a groan. The pains were growing stronger.

  In the four years since Cynfeddw’s birth I had forgotten the agony of it all, and when the tightening in my back and the nausea began in earnest, just like the last time I wept like a child for my mother.

  ‘Ceri,’ I sobbed. ‘Do something. I cannot take much more.’

  ‘Yes, you can, girl,’ she replied, throwing another handful of herbs onto the fire. The rich aroma immediately filled the air, soothing my mind a little and helping my muscles to relax between assaults. It eased me for a while but soon, when I was on the brink of screaming again, she brought me a cup of something fragrant. I sipped at it, the hot liquid filling my mouth with the taste of the woodland floor before burning a trail to my belly.

  I slept then, only stirring to fight against each new pain. Ffreur did not leave my side. She bathed the sweat from my brow, kneaded the seat of my agony and murmured sympathy when the anguish gripped me.

  After what seemed a lifetime each spasm was followed by an urge to push. It is not a feeling to be denied. Ceri noted the gritted teeth and straining muscles.

  ‘Come child,’ she ordered. ‘Down upon the blanket.’

  I moved stiffly, not properly in control of my limbs. The fur was soft on my knees, the flames in the brazier leaping on the chamber walls. Gwarw lowered her creaking joints to the floor beside Ceri and I while Ffreur summoned Hild from her chores. We formed a ring, our combined strength reducing my burden, my pain pouring into them and their strength passing into me.

  Ceri began to chant. I recalled the refrain from my first confinement but could not join in for my agony was too great. The conjoined voices of the women, the aroma of the herbs and the sensation of many oily hands on my body sent me into a kind of trance. I was aware of all that happened yet, at the same time, I was detached from it, freed from the burden of labour.

  I looked down, as if from high above and could clearly see us, a ring of females engaged in female business. I saw myself, great with child, encircled by those I loved. I felt no pain as I floated near the rafters and watched myself throw back my head, open my legs and let out a primitive, animal cry as my child slithered onto the blanket.

  Quite suddenly I was back in my body, aware of frantic hands severing the cord and placing the screaming, pulsing child upon my breast. The trauma was done. I smelled my son’s sweet wet hair, placed my hand upon his wrinkled body and wept with joy.

  While Gwarw and Hild washed the blood from my limbs and clothed me in a fresh kirtle I refused to relinquish the child. The women set the room to rights while Ceri bent her head over a bowl that held the afterbirth. She poked it with her finger.

  ‘A fine specimen,’ she remarked. ‘Can I keep it?’

  I nodded. I had no care for that for I was absorbed in my son. She tucked it away, knotted her shawl about her and opened the door. ‘I will return in the morning, just to ensure all is well with you.’

  I waved an absent hand. Ffreur peeled back the edge of the blanket, the better to see him.

  ‘Oh, Heledd, he is lovely.’ Looking down at the crumpled face, the halo of wet, red hair, the miniscule fingers that gripped my own, I had to ag
ree.

  He was Osian’s son and he was mine.

  An hour later Cadafael put his head around the door.

  ‘Where is my son? Can I see him?’ He stepped over the threshold and came toward the bed, seeming huge and very masculine in the feminine space. He loomed over to where the child was tucked in the crook of my arm, feasting upon my breast, his mouth unable to accommodate such a large brown nipple.

  My husband peered through the dim light, put out a finger to stroke his cheek. ‘So tiny,’ he said. ‘A fine addition to our family. Well done, Heledd. Everything went as it should? You are well?’

  I nodded, putting a finger to my lips to indicate I did not wish to disturb my son. Cadafael pulled up a stool, perched at the side of the bed.

  ‘My mother had red hair,’ he said. It was the first time I ever heard him speak of his mother whom, gossip said, was a commoner. I looked at him in surprise and he smiled, his lips stretched wide and I wished so much that he were Osian.

  While my husband admired my son Gwarw crept about the room tidying things away and Cadafael signalled to her to bring him a drink. He raised his cup.

  ‘To future children,’ he grinned. ‘A daughter next time, perhaps.’ Then he slurped his wine, stood up and kissed first my forehead and then my son’s. Jealousy twisted my gut and I cradled the child tight to me, moving him as far from Cadafael as I could.

  ‘Don’t,’ I glared at him. ‘You will wake him and I will be up all night soothing him.’ He held up his hands in submission.