The Song of Heledd

by Judith Arnopp

  ‘Sorry, wife, I didn’t think. I will leave you to sleep, both of you and see you anon.’

  Seven

  But it was many weeks before I saw him again. The very next day word came that Cadwaladr’s armies had attacked Llanfaes, the royal llys on Yns Môn. There was great upheaval in the palace, the shouts and trumpeting of the army echoing into the chamber as the army prepared to ride in haste to repulse the invaders.

  In the men’s absence life progressed as usual and I spared them little thought. Confident in Cadafael’s ability to vanquish his foe, I knew he would return and had no fears that I would be widowed. And as it turned out, I was right not to worry although by the time they did come back, I had already been churched and resumed my duties as Queen.

  It was September and the preparations for winter were underway when we first spotted the cavalcade of horses bearing my husband home. My heart sank but I smoothed my apron and prepared dutifully to greet him.

  He slid from his horse and looked about, nodding appreciatively at the bushels of grain, the drying meat and the barrels of apples and pears. I wove my way between the waiting carts, dodging slaves bent beneath the weight of heavy sacks. He looked thinner and his beard was more unkempt than usual but, other than that, he was just the same.

  ‘Madam,’ he greeted me. ‘How are my sons?’

  I smiled blithely and held out an arm to bid him follow me to the hall.

  ‘They are well, My Lord. If Cynfeddw worked as hard at his lessons as he does at evading his tutor he would do better.’

  Cadafael’s laughter was infectious but I controlled my smile. ‘And the babe? Is he named yet? Does he thrive?’ My heart lilted a little as it always did when I thought of him.

  ‘I named him Hedyn, My Lord, after my long-dead brother. I hope you approve? Shall I summon the nurse to bring them to you?’

  He threw his gauntlets onto the table and sat down.

  ‘No, not now. I need food and a bath. I will see them later. The campaign was a success, Cadwaladr is exiled and the threat is now passed.’ He put his feet on a stool and crossed his ankles. ‘That leaves us free to continue the war against Oswiu. We might as well strike while our blood is up. Where is Iestyn? He was with me when I rode in.’

  I cast my eyes to Heaven. ‘Where do you think he is? He is with Ffreur, making up for lost time.’

  Our eyes met and I flushed slightly at his meaningful grin.

  ‘We should be doing likewise, Wife, but I can wait if you can.’ He lifted his shirt and scratched his belly, capturing a louse and squeezing it between his finger nails. ‘I could do with a bath.’

  We both looked up at a sound by the door and Angharad emerged from behind the curtain. She had changed her gown, combed her hair and I was suddenly aware of my soiled apron and dusty hem. Cadafael stood up, hesitated, looking from me to Angharad and back again. He coughed to fill the awkward silence, then turned toward me sharply, bowing over my hand and I thought I saw an apology in his eye as he left a kiss upon it.

  ‘I will go and freshen up and come to your chamber in a while, Madam.’

  Angharad barely reached his shoulder. She turned and walked away with him, her upright body diminutive next to his and I saw triumph in the set of her shoulders, the angle of her head. Left alone in the hall I felt a pang of jealousy.

  Eight

  Winter rolled in, swathing the settlement in mist, battering it with rain. We huddled within doors, wrapped in furs and tried to keep the children amused with stories and songs. The dogs, disgruntled by the howling winds that lifted the thatch and set the roof timbers creaking, were restless and disputes between them were frequent.

  We were sitting round the hearth listening to Cadafael tell the tale of his first hunting kill. The children sat among the dogs on the furs, like a litter of puppies, each vying with the other for the warmest spot. They tilted their faces to their father, entranced with his words.

  It was a story we had heard many times but the thrill of it did not diminish with the retelling and, if any noticed that he embellished it with each fresh airing, none of us minded or remarked upon it. He was living the tale he told and his audience was enthralled but just as he approached the climax two of his dogs erupted into a ferocious fight.

  Hild screamed and, grabbing them by the wrists, snatched Cynfeddw and Medwyl from danger. We all sprung to our feet in alarm while the dogs, clinched in a terrifying ball of hatred, snarled and growled about the floor.

  Hunter, Cadafael’s favourite had the other by the throat, the smaller dog yelping, grey tufts of fur flying. A pandemonium of screaming issued from the children and their father stood up and hurled a stool into the melee.

  ‘Get away,’ he yelled, his face empurpled. He strode across the furs to apply his boot to the problem until Hunter slunk away. The younger dog fled beneath a table and began to lick her wounds, keeping a wary, bloodshot eye on her opponent. While the dust settled the women took a little time to smooth their ruffled feathers and the children continued to sob until Cadafael resumed his seat and held out his arms.

  ‘Come,’ he jerked his head. ‘Come, sit on my knee.’

  Cynfeddw cuffed his tears and clambered onto his father’s lap, followed by Medwyl who snuggled to his chest and grasped the collar of his tunic for security.

  ‘Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. I was very afraid but I couldn’t show it or my father would have been angry. I held my spear aloft and stood my ground as the giant beast hurtled through the wood toward me…’

  My mind wandered. The faces of my companions, only half visible in the poor light, were absorbed in Cadafael’s story but I felt as restless as the hunting dogs. It was so long since I had felt the sun on my face. I closed my eyes and, trying to ignore the thick cloying air of the hall, I remembered the joy of standing on the hilltop with the summer wind stirring my hair, the tang of the sea tickling my nose.

  Winter was hard but it was churlish of me to mind it when I had warmth and food in plenty for there were many who perished for lack of it. I pulled my wrap close, stretching my toes to the fire and Gwarw frowned at me, silently warning me of the risk of chill blains. I ignored her and vowed that, the very next time the sun poked his head from beneath the gloom, I would take the children for a long, brisk walk.

  It was a week or more before the opportunity presented itself. I felt the change in the weather before I opened my eyes. A bright sword of daylight cut like a blade through the dim chamber. I pulled myself onto my pillows and inhaled a lungful of frigid air. It was much colder. Gwarw, with an old fur clutched about her shoulders, came limping into the room with my bearskin cloak over one arm.

  ‘You will need this today, even in here.’ She laid the cloak on the bed and wiped a drip of snot from the end of her nose. ‘It’s taken a turn for the worse out there.’

  I slid from the bed to peer between the shutters. A thick layer of snow covered the enclosure, the roofs of the buildings were en-nobled somehow by the pristine shroud. I wrapped my arms about my shoulders and shivered.

  ‘Get your slippers on, Heledd. What are you thinking of? And your cloak too, look.’

  She held out the garment and I shrugged into it gratefully and huddled before the fire while she brought me a bowl of porrage.

  ‘We will go out today.’ I announced. ‘Tell Hild to dress the children extra warmly, it’s time we got some fresh air.’

  As I spoke Ffreur skipped, unannounced into my chamber.

  ‘Oh Heledd, isn’t it lovely? Shall we go for a walk? The children will love the snow, they haven’t seen it before, have they?’

  I put down my bowl. ‘I was just telling Gwarw to wrap them up warm. Hedyn can stay with one of the women.’ The cold air made Ffreur’s face pinker than ever. She threw back the hood of her cloak and joined me at the hearth.

  ‘I will wait here at the flames while you dress.’

  At first the children did not know what to make of the altered landscape as we crossed the slushy mud of the enclosur
e and emerged onto the hillside. They tiptoed warily through the crisp drifts until Ffreur scooped up a handful and threw it at Cynfeddw.

  It hit him square in the chest and for a moment he stood amazed, watching it cascade down his cloak. Then, suddenly understanding the game, a gleeful glint entered his eye and he bent down, filled his fist with snow and returned fire. I did not join in the fun but watched them as they ran, ducking and dodging the missiles, toward the bottom of the hill.

  The mere was a sheet of blue ice, stretching across the valley, and the wild fowl, deprived of food, huddled together for safety in the centre, their heads tucked down into their bodies. The contrast of the white world against the dark skies was an invigorating sight and, for once I was glad to be alive. I took deep breaths, expelling the stale air, the cold fresh stuff hitting my lungs and making me cough.

  The children ran ahead across the meadow, intrigued by the icy puddles. Cynfeddw, his hood thrown back, bent over for a closer look.

  ‘The water is hard,’ he announced. ‘I can stand on it, look.’

  He jumped up and down for good measure and grinned up at us, his face flushed with discovery. As he sped ahead I smiled and moved on toward the jetty, scanning the far shore with dazzled eyes. There were no boats today, the change in the weather having prevented any small craft from sailing. In such weather even the hardiest of traders stayed at home.

  The wooden planks were slippery underfoot and, leaving my ladies in a huddle in the meadow, I approached the edge with caution and stood looking across the sparkling expanse of ice. It glistened like a huge jewel, the sunshine discovering a myriad of subtle colours, the protruding reeds embellished with tiny miracles of frost.

  Hugging my fur close and dipping my red nose into the warmth of my collar I acknowledged to myself that perhaps it was time we returned to the llys before we all grew too chilled. The weather was so extraordinarily cold that it would not do to keep the children out very much longer. With a last look I turned away, seeking the children and what I saw made me freeze like stone.

  Cynfeddw, having escaped the scrutiny of his nurse, was standing on the thin ice at the edge of the mere, close by the jetty.

  ‘Look, Mother, I am walking on the water.’ He glided away from the edge. For a few precious moments I could not catch my breath. I could not speak.

  ‘Cynfeddw,’ my voice rasped. ‘Keep very still. Do not move. It isn’t safe.’

  His face was red, his eyes gleaming, the picture of health but I knew that he stood just inches from death. Somehow I found myself kneeling at the very edge of the jetty. I stretched out a hand, forced a smile, trying to keep my voice calm so as not to panic him.

  ‘Take my hand, Cynfeddw, I will pull you up.’ He looked over to Hild and Ffreur who were playing snowballs with Medwyl.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ he pouted. ‘It’s fun.’

  I licked my lips, fighting for composure. ‘It is dangerous, child, come take my hand.’

  He folded his arms and his lips tightened and I recognised the familiar flash of temper in his eye. He was like me, ill-natured and disobedient. I sensed his action before he made it. ‘No!’ My cry was hoarse with pent up terror but he ignored me, and with a look that bid me go to the devil, he stamped his foot.

  My scream echoed across the valley. I lunged for his hand just as the ice gave way and the water took him. I did not let go but the weight of him was pulling me after. I leaned perilously over the jetty, my knees breaking, my stomach screaming with the effort not to fall in. His eyes were wide, his mouth squared with horror. For a brief moment I knew that if I held on to him we would both be lost, but he was my son, how could I let him go?

  I held on, my knees slipping on the rough planking, my skirts already sodden. He clung to my arm, scrabbled at my dangling braids, his frozen fingers too stiff to grip properly. For the briefest of moments I knew we faced the end and, at the moment of our death, I was at last consumed with love for him, my first born.

  And then the water, too cold for description, engulfed us both. Shocked senseless, I could not breathe but somehow I managed to hold onto him, feeling him kick, trying to free himself, the water surging in my ears, numbing cold slowing my movement. We floundered together, fighting for the surface but I could not think, could not work my limbs properly, the weight of the bearskin was pulling me down. I tasted muddy water, felt the spectral fingers of the reeds entwine about my ankles. And I knew we would die.

  And then, a great surge in the water and strong hands beneath my armpits, pulling me upward. I clung to my son as we were dragged to the surface and emerged into the frigid over-world, gulping mouthfuls of delicious air.

  I was flung onto the jetty, the hard boards crashing against my skull. I heard women crying, the rasping breath of my son, the shrill panic of Medwyl. I opened my eyes and saw feet, the muddy hem of Ffreur’s skirts and Cadafael’s boots.

  Someone grabbed me beneath the arms, hauled me onto a horse and I found myself cradled against Cadafael’s chest. Barely conscious, I clung to him, with one arm wrapped about Cynfeddw, his head lolling lifeless against my breast as Cadafael lashed his horse mercilessly, sending it surging forward.

  My head rasped against his mailed chest as the horse scrabbled over the icy shale, fighting a desperate way to the top. The bitter wind penetrated my sodden garments so completely I might as well have been naked. My teeth clashed together but I clung to Cadafael, my husband. The man who suddenly represented life itself.

  By the time we thundered through the gates and into the enclosure I was so cold I could barely discern what was happening. I glanced down at my son who lay in my arms his face a deathly blue, his eyes closed, lips colourless. I knew he was dead but there was no time to weep.

  Cadafael half dragged me into my chamber and, dumping me on the bed, threw a fur over me. I huddled beneath it, in a nightmare of shivering, my hair dripping, watching helplessly as he stripped the clothes from our son and wrapped his skinny body in a bed fur. Yelling for a servant to stoke the fires, he began to rub my boy’s limbs. He showed little sign of life, his limp body and senseless face like that of a ghost. I had never properly loved him. I had resented him for not being Osian’s and now I hated myself for my blindness. Panic was not far away and, as it surged upward into my throat again, I whimpered.

  Cadafael glanced at me.

  ‘He lives,’ he said briefly and turned back to his work. I watched in shaking silence, noting his determination and realising through the glacial numbness of my mind just how very much he loved our son.

  After a very long while Cynfeddw stirred, coughed and opened his eyes, just a slit, but he did not recognise his father. I held my breath. Cadafael stopped rubbing and sat up, held a cup of warmed mead to his lips. The child sputtered but his father bade him drink some more and he obeyed. Cadafael pulled the fur firmly up to the boy’s chin and looked toward me. By this time I was shivering so hard that my teeth chattered audibly and, satisfied that his son would live, Cadafael left the hearth and came toward the bed.

  I trembled as he stripped away my layers of clothing and dropped them one by one into a heap on the floor. When I was quite naked, he wrapped me in a bed fur and as he had done for Cynfeddw, slid his hands beneath it and began to rub my body. His hands moved quickly and roughly across my skin, bringing an agonisingly slow return of feeling. When he had rubbed me all over he took a bare foot, his calloused hands moving up my calf, then over my knees until he worked his way to my thigh. Painfully, the blood began to return and my skin, crinkled and blue, burning beneath his touch.

  The water ran from my hair, trickling across my breasts, pooling in the bowl of my belly and all the time I wept pathetically, like a child until, slowly I began to feel a little warmer and realised that perhaps I’d not die after all.

  At length he stood up, handed me a cup of mead and turned back to his son but Cynfeddw, wrapped in his fur and overcome by the heat of the fire and the strong spirits he had drunk, had fallen asleep. There w
as some colour in his cheeks now. Cadafael turned back to me and I saw the glimmer of relief. He plonked himself on the edge of my bed and took my cup, drank from it, exhaustion etched upon his face.

  ‘I think you will both live, Madam.’

  I put out a hand to thank him and found his jerkin soaking. ‘Cadafael! You are drenched.’

  I scrambled up and began to help him undo his lacings, shrunk by the water and impossible for my frozen fingers. In the end he took his dagger and cut himself free and I stripped away his clothes. Then he wrapped himself in a fur and crept with me beneath the bed covers.

  We clung together, desperate for each other’s warmth and soon, in the encroaching glow of our shared heat, locked in one another’s arms, we slept while, outside, the storm blew up afresh.

  Part Four

  Ffreur’s Refrain

  Fair Ffreur! there are brothers who cherish thee,

  And who have not sprung from the ungenerous;

  They are men who cherish no timidity.

  654-5

  Hedyn pulled earnestly at my nipple, a frown on his face, one pink hand curled possessively on the mound of my breast. He was about four moons old and had totally captured my heart. In the centre of the room the fire roared, a tray of chestnuts cooking in the embers. It was the end of a long afternoon. At the hearth Ffreur plucked at a lyre and sang, her voice husky with emotion. I knew her courses had flowed again that morning and wondered how I could cheer her.

  We had been incarcerated for weeks due to the heavy snow and, one by one, we had all succumbed to colds. From the passage came the sound of Cynfeddw’s voice followed by the cajoling tones of his nurse then the door opened, a gust of chill air blew in and the chamber erupted with life. Cynfeddw, well-recovered from his dip in the icy mere, issued a perfunctory bow.

  ‘Good day, Mother,’ he said and, ignoring his brother, took his place on a cushion before the fire. Medwyl bobbed a curtsey and smiled, her fat cheeks liberally smeared with drying snot. She climbed on the stool and peered over my shoulder to look at the baby.