The Song of Heledd

by Judith Arnopp

  While the women frantically prepared beds for the wounded, Gwarw and I did what we could to soothe Ffreur. She knelt in the slushy enclosure, the wet soaking through her skirts, her hand to her belly, grimacing in anguish. ‘No,’ she moaned over and over. ‘Not Iestyn, please, not Iestyn.’

  ‘Hush, Ffreur, hush, it may not be much. Breathe, my lover, calm yourself, think of the child.’

  Gwarw rocked her back and forth, kneeling beside her in the mire, regardless of the cold biting into her old bones. I looked about me, the snow wetter now, angry clouds rolling in to swathe us all in rain. I peered into the distance but it was distorted by mist and cloud. I willed Cadafael to hurry.

  My sister and Gwarw had not moved, Ffreur was beyond comfort. I tugged at Gwarw’s shoulder, urged her to move, then I stood over my sister and forced myself to scream at her like a witch and, for the sake of herself and her precious child, shame her into action.

  ‘Get up, Ffreur, what good will this do? Your man is stricken and in need of you and all you do is wallow in the mud. Get yourself up now and prepare to meet him with dignity. And think of your child, after all our trouble; will you sacrifice him for the sake of his father?’

  She sniffed, hiccupped and looked up at me through her sodden veil. Beside her, Gwarw regarded me as if I were run mad and staggered to her feet.

  ‘There’s no need for that …’ she began but Ffreur silenced her and held out a hand so that the old woman and I could help her to her feet and into the bower.

  A warm drink and a change of clothes and, on the surface, we were almost our usual selves. The tip of Ffreur’s nose was pink and her bloodshot eyes were like wounds in her deathly white face. She put a trembling hand to her head and tried to smile.

  ‘I’m sorry, Heledd. I should have shown more restraint. You were right to chastise me so.’

  ‘They will be here soon. The chamber is ready and Ceri has all her unguents and potions ready. Drink some more soup; you will need your strength.’ She sipped obediently from her cup, the steam rising and dispersing in the chill of the room. Then, quite suddenly, she dropped her hands to her lap, her cup still brimming.

  ‘Oh, God, I hope his hurt is slight.’

  ‘The messenger said he suffered a spear thrust to the upper arm. It will not be fatal. Cadafael has had worse and lived. Our men are strong. It would take more than a poke with a stick to push either of them from this earth. It’s important that you don’t let him see how bad it is … even if it is the very worst it could be.’

  With a whimper of distress she got up and began to pace the chamber floor.

  ‘Oh God, let them come now.’

  And at her words there came a blast of the horn at the gate and a few minutes later the first of the men came trooping into the precinct. We waited, frantically searching the weary, road-stained, faces for those we loved. There were few seriously injured, mostly walking wounded who were led away by their wives or mothers for bandaging and cosseting. Then Cadafael’s horse appeared, his rich apparel mired and broken. My heart missed a beat for there was little to distinguish him as king. I darted forward, took hold of his stirrup.

  ‘Cadafael!’ I blinked the rain from my eyes, my mouth a gape of delight that he was home and safe. He slid from his saddle and I was in his arms, or he was in mine, his head drooping onto my shoulders, his beard rough on my neck. After a few moments I pulled away. ‘The battle is lost?’

  He shook his head, his hair stringy with sweat.

  ‘Nay, we won it and drove them back over the Taff but at what cost I don’t yet know.’ He scanned the dismounting troop, his eyes dull. ‘We have lost many men and many were injured, my brother among them.’

  ‘Where is he?’ My eye darted about the crowd until I spotted Ffreur’s russet tunic bending over a makeshift litter. I glimpsed Iestyn’s white, unmoving face, mud-spattered hair and moved forward but Cadafael held me back.

  ‘Let her see to him. I have need of you myself.’ I looked down and for the first time noticed his thick boot had been ripped open and copious gore was congealing on his shin. The blood seemed to flood from my head but somehow I gathered my wits and did not allow myself the luxury of fainting.

  ‘Yea gods, are you hurt?’ I knelt before him, trying to see the extent of the wound but he tugged at my hair.

  ‘Inside, Heledd, help me inside, out of this infernal rain.’ He leaned heavily on my shoulder as we made our way back to my bower, his step uneven, the stench of his unwashed body assaulting my nose.

  ‘How did you do it? Is it very bad?’ I pushed him into a chair, lumbered onto my knees again.

  ‘It is nothing, just a scratch,’ he protested as I drew off his boot and cut away his leggings and, when I saw that his shin was open to the bone, I swallowed down revolted fear. This was nothing? He sank backward into the chair, his head back, throat exposed, his Adam’s apple standing proud. Briefly I remembered kissing it, then suddenly afraid of doing more harm than good, I struggled to my feet and ran from the room calling for Hild and Ceri.

  I found them in Ffreur’s chamber. Iestyn was naked on the bed, a great gash in his upper arm, his lower body covered with a great spreading purple bruise. The women worked on him with sponges while Ceri poked at the wound. I cleared my throat.

  ‘I need some help with the King.’ No one moved, they had no time for me. I spoke again. ‘Hild, can you bring some water and bandages. I will tend to him myself but I will need someone to stitch his wound.’

  ‘There is nothing to it; it’s just like sewing up your sleeves.’ Ceri looked up from her bloody task briefly and nodded to Hild who stopped washing the blood from Iestyn’s chest and dropped her sponge into a bowl of bloody water.

  Ffreur hadn’t taken her eyes from Iestyn’s face and I saw she clung desperately to sanity. Gwarw and Ceri bent over his torso, his chest hardly moved at all. At the foot of the bed the priest, Alric, was praying for his lord’s life and Ffreur’s white lips moved in unison with his. Suddenly I wished I could send a similar prayer.

  Hild appeared at my side with the things I would need. ‘It’s simple really,’ she said, ‘pinch the flesh together and stitch, like you are sewing a garment.’

  I backed away, a stone of sickness in my stomach. Fear for Cadafael, for myself and for my sister whom I knew would soon be widowed. Guilt stabbed at me, and not for the first time. Maybe I should have let her continue in her barren state, losing a husband was bad enough but it would be doubly hard for her without a father for her child.

  Back in my chamber Cadafael had fallen asleep. At first I thought he had passed out or died but when I poked him, his gentle snores reassured me. He was exhausted, weeks of neglect and adversity, followed by debilitating injury. I took the bowl of water and ball of twine and needle from Hild and, with a jerk of my head, sent her back to Iestyn. Then I knelt at my husband’s feet and wondered what to do. At the first touch of the sponge he leapt awake, his hands flying to his leg.

  ‘Christ and all his saints, Heledd, would you kill me?’

  I was stung by his words. I had been as gentle as I could and, after two more attempts to cleanse the wound, I realised he would make a poor patient. By repute he was an ogre on the battlefield but, it seemed, the ogre was made a mouse by the threat of a little pin prick. I sat back on my heels. ‘Cadafael, I must wash away the gore if I am to stitch it.’

  His face was a grimace of horror. ‘Stitch it? You will not, woman. You have the nursing skills of a bear. Fetch Angharad and let her do it.’

  My chin jutted forward. ‘Angharad?’ I waited for him to retract his words, his question hanging in the air between us. It was no time for jealousy but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want her anywhere near him. I was his wife and I wanted to be the one to help.

  ‘Yes, Angharad. She has some skill with wounds. Send someone to fetch her.’

  I stood up, smoothed down my skirts, my jealousy almost obliterating my love. ‘I will fetch her myself although, like the other servants, she
is probably busy with your brother.’

  It was a remark meant to chastise him but it went unnoticed so I turned on my heel and went in search of his whore. I was wrong; she wasn’t with Ffreur and her husband. Instead I found her in the cooking hall, loading a tray of food for the returning King. I jerked my head to signal that she was to follow me and despite my bulk, I strode ahead of her on the way back to my bower. She followed, skimming the ground on silent feet, her movements unhindered by the trials of late pregnancy as mine were.

  In the bower, she bowed to her King as if there had never been anything between them and then she knelt at his side. He did not wince as she took up the sponge and began to gently wash away the gore. With a long finger she smeared the wound with Ceri’s potion, sitting back on her heels while the herbs took effect. Cadafael leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. I hated to see her thin brown hands on his skin, resented her proximity to him and could not erase the picture of them both knotted together in ecstasy. But I would not give her the pleasure of leaving them alone, so I watched and suffered as keenly as my husband.

  I watched her prick the skin about the wound with her needle to ascertain it was numb. Then she pinched the jagged edges together as best she could and deftly stitched the two sides together. Cadafael held his breath, his tongue caught between his teeth and when it was over, he let out a great sigh of relief and smiled at her, twisting the knife deeper into my gut. Angharad leaned over him to pick up a bandage I had left on the table, her braids swinging, her breasts too close to his face. I stood up.

  ‘You can go.’ I said, without thanking her. ‘I will do the rest.’

  I held out my hand for the bandage and with lowered eyes she passed it to me. Then she bowed to Cadafael and silently waited for his dismissal.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, briefly brushing her hand and she left the room with her head high, the sway of her hips and the tilt of her head exaggerated for his benefit and I wanted to kill her.

  Without speaking, I knelt in her place and began to bind the wound as gently as I could before tying it in place and looking up at him. He was watching me, the beginnings of a smile flirting at the edge of his mouth.

  ‘That’s better, thank you.’

  I tossed my head, still too angry to forgive him. I stood up, collected the things together. ‘I will go and see how Iestyn is.’ Although I wanted stay, pride prevented me and I left the room without looking back and hurried to Ffreur’s chamber.

  It was quieter now. His wound tidied away beneath bandages, the covers drawn up to his chin. Iestyn lay, unmoving beneath the sheet while Ffreur knelt at his bedside, her head buried in prayer. I crept to her side, touched her shoulder and she turned her head up to me.

  ‘How is he?’ I whispered, reluctant to disturb him and Ffreur got up and drew me away from the bed to the fireside.

  ‘Oh, Heledd, I don’t know, not for sure. Ceri said he will do well enough and we are praying constantly. She gave him something to make him sleep. Once he wakes, I will feel better. How is Cadafael?’

  ‘He is sleeping too. He took a fall from his horse and opened his shin to the knee. It is nothing too serious although he is making a meal of it as men do. He is stitched and bound now and seems to be in good spirits.’

  Ffreur turned back to the bed to look upon Iestyn’s unmoving form. I put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Ffreur, I – I will add my prayers to yours, If you think it will help, but I am certain he will recover now he is in good hands.’

  In a few weeks Cadafael was hobbling about the llys but Iestyn’s recovery was fraught with setbacks. First he took a long time to wake and for several days kept slipping back into unconsciousness. Ffreur was sure he would die, believing that her God would take him in exchange for allowing her a child. I did my best to comfort her but as usual I grew impatient when she refused to see things my way. It was a long and terrible month until he was able to rise from his bed and sit at the fireside but, in many ways, their weeks of convalescence was a good time for all of us. Forced as they were to spend time at the hearth, we were able to bond as a family and seek enjoyment from domestic pleasures.

  Cadafael’s bedtime antics were hindered a little but I did not mind, he was home and safe and for a little while I was freed from worrying about the wars. Ffreur and Iestyn, who were as much in love as ever, made the most of the time together and Ffreur bustled about him like a good wife.

  Even the summer decided at last to put an end to winter and May blossomed into sunshine. I began to look forward to my confinement, the ever-increasing girth of my belly making me long for my usual agility and a return to love making.

  ‘It’s a shame you are too large for loving, Heledd. All this inactivity increases a man’s ardour.’

  I glared at him from my chair. ‘Does it, indeed, my lord? My heart bleeds for you.’

  He let out a bark of laughter at my taciturnity and I scowled at him again. ‘You can have no idea how it feels to be like a great whale, unable to enjoy even the simplest of human pleasures and I would prefer it if you didn’t rub my shortcomings in my face.’

  He laughed again, groped for his stick and got up to stump across the chamber to me. Planting a kiss on my head, he limped to the door.

  ‘I will leave you awhile, Wife. Give you time to rediscover your temper. A turn about the precinct will cool my blood too.’

  When he was gone I threw down my distaff. ‘Curses be upon him!’ I sank into a dark mood, following him in my mind as he took his turn about the llys. I was certain he had gone to Angharad and that the little strumpet would be glad to cool his ardour. Misery crashed into my chest like a lance and, dashing away a tear, I yelled for Gwarw to help me to the refuge of my bed.

  Many hours later I opened my eyes, wondering what had woken me. The chamber was in darkness, only the glow of the night brazier illuminating the outline of the bed. Cadafael was absent but, from the gentle tic of Hild’s breathing on her truckle bed and the rumbling snores of Gwarw in her closet, I knew I was not alone. I pulled myself onto my pillow and reached for my night- time cup and, as I did so, I felt a gentle pop and warm liquid gushed onto the mattress. The child was coming … at last.

  I waited for a while to be sure and once the pains were becoming regular, I called out for Hild. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, her tunic crumpled, her hair scat up the back of her head. Struggling to her feet, she fumbled through the dark to the bed.

  ‘Lady?’

  ‘The child is coming, Hild. Can you wake Gwarw and then run to fetch Ceri?’

  A few minutes more and the chamber was alive with activity. Hild threw on her cloak and slipped from the door and Gwarw began to stoke the fires, refuel the brazier and set water to boil. I lay on my pillow, untroubled by the toil to come.

  I had done it before and could do again. ‘I hope you are a girl.’ I whispered to the taut lump of my belly, enjoying the vision of a small fair girl child, with wide blue eyes. A new happy time was ahead. I was sure I would have a girl and once Ffreur had birthed her son, my joy would be shared, and shared joy is the gladdest joy of all.

  I was right not to worry. The birth was straightforward and two hours later I was sitting up in bed with my daughter in my arms. I cannot say how glad she made me, I beamed upon the company and felt quite sure I would never utter a cross word again.

  Ffreur burst into the chamber wrapping a shawl about her nightgown.

  ‘Why didn’t anyone call me?’ She leaned over the bed, peeled back the blanket, tears springing from her eyes. ‘Oh, Heledd, she is beautiful.’

  I let her take the child from me and she sat back, cradling the bundle to her chest, dipping her face to smell her hair. ‘Does she have a name?’

  I had been waiting for that question. ‘Oh, I think we shall call her Ffreur.’ I could not prevent the smugness from spreading across my face as I watched her absorb my answer.

  Sometimes it is not easy to find and hold real happiness but that quiet moment with my sister and my new-born daught
er was so perfect that it has stayed with me forever. When I think of my Ffreurs, it is as they were then, my sister replete with child and pink with delight, with her namesake cradled in her arms.

  Eight

  ‘Come along, Ceri.’ She was infuriatingly slow, placing small bottles deep within her basket, folding lints and bandages to lay beside them. ‘We cannot wait, hurry.’ I grabbed her hand and dragged her from the hovel, leaving the door still swinging on its hinges as we struggled up the hill toward the llys. My shift tangled about my feet, tripping me, hindering me when every one of my instincts urged me to make haste.

  So quickly did I drive her that her breath gusted forth in great gasps and, when we came to a steeper incline and she began to fail, I placed a hand on each of her vast buttocks and propelled her forward.

  ‘More haste, less speed,’ she chastised but I ignored her and hurried her onward. Then, as we passed beneath the gate, a scream rent the air from the direction of the ladies bower and Ceri’s movements at last became more urgent. We burst through the door and Ceri, at last realising my urgency, dropped her basket and hurried to the bed. I leaned over my sister and put a hand to her burning forehead.

  ‘It is alright, Ffreur. I was as quick as I could be.’

  ‘Heledd,’ she clung to me. Her hair was plastered to her head, her legs bedaubed in blood.

  I turned to Ceri. ‘You must help her. I will give you all I possess, anything. Just help her.’

  The panic in my own voice unnerved me. Ceri, her face grey and serious, came slowly toward the bed, putting a hand on my sister’s stomach, another to her groin.

  ‘The child is lying wrong.’ Her voice was muted, her face unreadable.

  ‘You can help her though, can’t you?’ I watched her go to the fire for warm water and begin to wash the blood from Ffreur’s legs.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  This was not the woman I knew, the woman who had dragged me and my child from death, taken away my pain, healed my petty sicknesses. This was not the powerful being that had touched mine and Ffreur’s souls in the moonlight.