‘Drink up, Heledd. The musicians will be here soon,’ she said. ‘We have some fine entertainers … but you know that, of course. I was forgetting this is your home.’
I stirred myself, unwilling to darken her mood and conjured up a smile.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘In my father’s day the entertainment was said to be the best in Powys, people came from far and wide.’
It was true, my father had loved the revels, and minstrels had travelled long distances to sing in our famous hall. In those days, of course, we were at peace and the land made for safer travelling. Now, the war with Oswiu made the very air bitter and the women complained that talk of conflict tainted every feast.
Even now I could hear Cynddylan and Cadafael debating when to strike next against the North Umbrian King and my heart fluttered at the idea of him leaving so soon. All men, even my strong, handsome husband, were vulnerable in war. If it wasn’t a blade that killed them, it could be the fever or execution if they were captured.
The last assault on North Umbria had been victorious, with Oswald made so nervous that he had offered an alliance between his son and Penda’s eldest daughter. Luckily for her, King Penda refused, renewing his hostilities against the north until he held the army under siege at Bebbanburg.
King Penda’s realm expanded all the time, his ring of allies forming a strong band against the greedy Oswiu. He would not rest until the North Umbrians were entirely crushed. We expected Penda’s arrival any day now, and to the women’s chagrin the men’s fighting blood was roused and the wedding plans quickly deteriorated into a war council.
I had not the stomach for war and the voices of Cadafael and Cynwraith, together with those of Cyndyylan and my cousin, Urien, wearied me. Life was too short to be spent in bloodletting. I turned my attention to the musicians.
A ring of fire-lit faces, the sound of the harp, the crackle of flames took me back to the last night of my girlhood. The night I had first seen Osian and afterwards lay with him beneath an autumn moon. I wondered if he would sing tonight and if he had altered in any way. So, when he stepped into the ring of firelight, I was not surprised to see he had not changed at all.
The strong bones of his face gleamed in the leaping light of the torches, his hair and beard shining red in the way that had delighted me of old. His song was of a sailor, lost upon the seas, the rich tones of his voice soaring to the blackened rafters but although he looked and sang just the same, my heart did not falter and neither did my pulse quicken.
I watched him, noted the circle of entranced young girls at his feet and realised that I was the one who had changed. I had grown up while he had not. Osian was all he would ever be while I had fledged into womanhood and, to my relief, his dilute charms no longer touched me. I had been afraid that once I saw him things between us would be as they had ever been but it was not so. I turned my eyes away from the pretty picture he made.
Further along the table Cadafael argued affably with my brothers, jabbing a finger on the map he had sketched with his dagger on the board. I was as physically aware of his presence as if he were physically touching me. I sensed rather than saw Cadafael. I did not need to look at him to know when he thrust a hand through his dark hair or whether he smiled or frowned. We were now so complete a couple that we seemed to breathe from one set of lungs.
I observed him now. His brow was furrowed with some argument he presented to Cynddylan, and as I watched him and Osian’s song went on and on in the background, I came to realise that I was fickle in love, for it was my husband who moved me now. He was no longer a substitute for a lost love. Cadafael was the real thing.
The last note of the harp reverberated about the hall and Osian bowed, his leg long and elegant, and when he straightened up, shaking back his hair from his face, he looked directly at me, his smile all it had ever been. I realised then, as our eyes met across the smoke-filled hall that his love for me remained unchanged and that tonight he would look for me in the shadow of the yew trees.
Four
Word came that Oswiu had left his North Umbrian holding and was marching on Pengwern. Poor Rhonwen’s wedding plans were laid aside and the talk was now only of war. The marriage would have to wait. My brother, Elfan, rode in from his Kingdom on the northern reaches of Powys and I stood in the dust and waited for his greeting. It was long since I had seen him.
‘Can this be Heledd?’ He pulled me close for a kiss and I tried not to wrinkle my nose for he was rank with the stench of travelling. ‘Our scouts spotted Penda and his armies on the road, they are but two days ride away.’
Elfan kept his arm about my shoulder as Cynddylan gripped his hand and slapped him on the back. ‘It’s good to see you, little brother. We are all assembled. Morfaed, Cynon and Gwion with their hearth troop, even our uncles are come, although they are too old to bear the sword. Together with Gwynedd and Penda’s men, this time we will smash Oswiu, once and for all.’
‘It has been a long time coming,’ grinned Elfan.
The two men moved toward the assembled warriors who were cleaning and honing their weapons. Braziers burned in the yard where servants sweated as they burnished the armour and horse trappings to a rich, glow. A chill wind sprang across the settlement and I pulled my cloak close about me as I made my way back to the women’s bower and ducked beneath the lintel.
‘Heledd.’ Rhonwen rose and linked my arm as Ffreur would have done and I guessed she had taken instruction from Cynddylan to look to my comfort. I warmed toward her even more. ‘We are all busy sewing colours for our men to carry into battle. Would you come and help me sort the threads? What are Cadafael’s colours?’
We knelt on the fireside furs and began to arrange the silks into different shades but I had little enthusiasm for the task. My heart wasn’t in it and from time to time I paused to look about me. Set aside from the others, Angharad worked her spindle, a pile of yarn growing at her feet. My eye did not linger with her but wandered restlessly about the room.
The walls were lined with springtime tapestries, bright floral colours befitting a women’s bower, and the central hearth was bright, the cinders swept and the floor rushes sprinkled with aromatic fennel and lavender. Close to the hearth Gwarw and Hild kept my children amused with counting and clapping games. I put aside the silks and went to join them.
As I passed I noticed Baby Ffreur stirring in her basket and I picked her up, delighted when her milky mouth opened in greeting. It was impossible not to smile in reply. I propped her against my shoulder, rubbing her back, smelling her hair. Her little head bobbed as, fixing her eye upon my gold and amber shoulder clasps, she struggled to hold it firm. Moments like this, when I was filled with maternal love for my children were the closest I ever came to contentment. I sniffed her cold, damp cheek and stroked the fragile scalp feeling the life pulse beneath.
‘She is feeding well?’
The wet nurse stood up and bobbed a greeting. ‘Oh, yes, Lady, like a piglet and she grows day by day.’
I began to pace the chamber, humming a nursery tune beneath my breath. All my children had gained weight rapidly in their early months and I thanked my newfound God that they had all thrived. When they grew to manhood my sons would help forge a stronger alliance between my husband and brothers and, when my daughter grew, she would marry well to increase her father’s power and influence.
But it was not the same for Ianto. He was sickly and a finicky feeder, taking just a few drops before falling asleep, only to wake twenty minutes later and puke it all up again. His nurse despaired of him and we all wondered how long he would survive. I walked to where he lay, swathed in blankets in the depths of his cot and felt a twist of resentment that he lived and my sister had died. The cruel irony of my healthy, pious sister perishing to give life to a sickly, twisted monster ripped at my heart.
I took some comfort from the fact that Ianto would probably not survive his first year. His face bore a slight tinge of blue and veins were traced upon his bald scalp, the skin stretc
hed tight across his skull like face. He was like a tiny effigy of death. I shuddered and turned away. Even Iestyn could barely look at him, blaming the child for his mother’s death, wishing he had never been born … as we all did.
Five
My brothers and I were in the compound when Penda’s cavalcade arrived. He slid from his mount, his personality immediately engulfing us all. With his usual affability he embraced Cynddylan, clapped Cadafael on the back and slung an arm about Cynwraith’s neck. Then he saw me and fixed me with his eye, opened his mouth in a gaping smile, making me flush and lower my head in embarrassment.
‘Lady,’ he cried. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony with me.’ He flung his arms around me, swamping me with the stink of his bearskin cloak and, before I managed to disentangle myself, he somehow managed to furtively squeeze my right breast. I smoothed my tunic, steadied my breathing and glanced at Cadafael, who raised an ironic eyebrow at my discomfiture. I grimaced at him and, smothering a laugh, he came up beside me to clasp my hand and, thus protected, I followed the company across the enclosure and into the main hall.
It took a while to accustom our eyes to the gloom but neither Penda’s pace nor voice faltered as he outlined his plans. I heard Cynddylan agreeing with him, Cynwraith advising on which the path the outriders should take, and as the shadowy outlines of the those present grew sharper as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realised I was the only woman present in a company of men. My elderly but well-respected uncles were nodding sagely, listening to the strategies of the younger men and offering advice where it was needed. Their bodies might be too weak to fight but their minds were as sharp as knives.
Cynddylan put his foot on a stool and leaned over Penda’s shoulder to consult the parchment map. He nodded slowly, indicated the best places to ford the River Trent. Cadafael was beside me, our legs touching, his fingers wrapped in the fabric of my tunic. He leaned closer, his breath whispering on my cheek. ‘I must involve myself in this, my love, for we ride out at dawn, but you and I have some business before that.’
My belly turned a small lusty somersault and I squeezed his hand. ‘I will wait for you.’ Before I quit the hall, his lips lingered on my inner wrist where the blood raced just below the surface of my skin. When I reached the door, I turned in time to catch his lop-sided smile as he winked an eye in farewell.
Six
‘My eyes are sore.’ Hedyn rubbed his grubby fingers into his eye sockets and moaned. He had been complaining for a few days now, and I knew from my own childhood the misery of sore eyes in a smoke filled room.
Feeling in need of air myself, I put down my needlework. ‘What you need is some teasel water. Shall we go for a walk to gather some?’
Hedyn brightened up instantly, glad to be released from the confines of my bower. My mother used to bathe my own sore eyes with water collected from the leaves of the teasel and I knew it would offer him easement. We crossed the enclosure hand in hand. It was not often Hedyn and I were alone, usually my eldest son dominated the scene but today was different and Hedyn made the most of it, directing the conversation and relishing the attention.
It was a still day, the sky blanketed with white cloud, the birds silent. The only sound was the rustling of the wind in the tall grasses but as we began to cross the boggy field, tiptoeing to find a dry path, a flock of starlings flew up, their black bodies peppering the sky. We tilted back our heads and watched them for a while.
‘Look at them all,’ Hedyn cried. ‘There must be thousands.’
We raised a hand to our brows to see them loop and twist in a black ribbon toward the horizon.
‘Too many to count,’ I agreed and, taking his hand again, we made to go on our way but a voice suddenly breaking the silence behind me, made my heart almost leap from my body.
‘Just think of the size of the pie that many birds would fill.’
Hedyn and I spun around. I put a hand to my chest, knowing before I turned who I would find. After a brief glance at my face, Osian squatted down in front of Hedyn. It was apparent from his tender manner that he had recognised his own son. His voice, when it came was a little hoarse, as if he had been weeping. ‘Good morrow,’ he said, gently. ‘What is your name?’
Delighted to have doubled his adult audience in an instant, Hedyn beamed upon him. ‘I am Prince Hedyn,’ he made a short bow, ‘and this is my mother, Queen Heledd.’
Osian stood up. His blue eyes were keen, his Adam’s apple working in his throat, betraying his emotion. With a jolt of shame I remembered kissing it and looked away.
‘Your mother and I have met before.’
His fingers were on mine, his lips on the back of my hand. I swallowed, not knowing what to say, unable to meet his eye. ‘Where are you going?’ Osian ushered us along the path. ‘We may as well all walk together.’
‘I have sore eyes and Mother knows a cure, so we are fetching the remedy that she says grows by the river.’
Osian eyes bore deep into my face and I felt myself reddening, an increasing need to run away.
‘I thought you must have been crying,’ he said without looking at the child.
Hedyn looked affronted. ‘I never cry. Well, not unless you count the time Cynfeddw walloped me with a bag of stone counters.’
I placed my hand on my son’s ruddy head, stroked his hair, noting at first hand that it was the exact shade as his father’s.
Osian was impressed. ‘You are a brave lad. I wouldn’t be surprised if even a seasoned warrior would have shed tears at that.’ He cocked a smile at me before continuing. ‘And you are a very handsome lad too, if I may say so.’
The child was a replica of himself and before I could stop it, a glimmer of mirth made my mouth twitch. I had forgotten his sense of humour. The tension lifted a little as we moved through the long grasses which, in places, reached my shoulder. While Hedyn ran ahead, leaping to try to see over the top to the river, Osian remained at my side. ‘I have been trying to see you.’
At his words the panic increased again. I did not look at him. I just wanted him to bid us good day and walk away but I knew he wasn’t going anywhere, not until he’d had some answers. ‘I know,’ I whispered, ‘but it is dangerous, unwise. We risk too much.’
He grabbed my hand. ‘I would risk death for you, Heledd. I have before.’
I snatched back my hand. ‘That is exactly what we do risk, right now, just talking like this. If anyone should guess …’
Hedyn came running back, waving a feather. ‘Look at this, Mother, it is so pretty. I shall make a gift of it to Medwyl.’
I bent over his treasure, murmuring appreciation, stroking its softness and all the time I could feel Osian’s eyes upon us. When Hedyn ran off again I wanted to call him back, use him as a shield against his father’s searching questions.
‘So what has changed, Heledd? In the beginning it was you that sought after me. You were the one that laughed at my fears, and again, in Gwynedd, when we made this child together, you were prepared to risk everything.’
‘I – I have to be careful …’
Anger and pain was beginning to colour his face, his eyes protruding slightly as he realised I was making excuses. I had made such a mess of so many people’s lives. Ffreur’s, Iestyn’s, Ianto’s, Osian’s … but the memory of those heady, smoky nights at Ceri’s hearth came flooding back. I had forgotten his gentleness, the sorcery of his personality and as we stood sheltered in the wavering grasses, I felt myself sway.
‘I have to think of my children, especially Hedyn, who is so vulnerable. Seeing you both together … it is obvious.’
He reached up and touched my face and I flinched as if his fingers were red hot. ‘No-one will see us together. I swear it.’
I felt his pull. His blue eyes swam with tears, his longing difficult to refuse. I wavered toward him and his hand touched my waist, his eyes began to merge into one … and then I remembered Cadafael and snapped awake.
I stepped away. ‘No, I am sorry. I cannot. I must think of
my family.’
In truth, I didn’t really want him, but as usual I was just too easily persuaded and not thinking straight. Had Cadafael been there for comparison I would not have hesitated to choose him over Osian. I needed to escape from the confrontation but as I turned away, he lunged for me. I swerved off the path, paddling through muck to avoid him, the wet striking through my shoes, but I was not quick enough. He caught my hand, held it fast and hauled me out of the mire and into his arms. His lips were hot on my neck, his hands roaming my body.
I had never been afraid of him, never realised the day would come when he would use his superior strength against me. I struggled to loosen his grip but he was too strong and his hot mouth smeared across mine.
‘Mother?’
Hedyn’s quiet voice severed Osian’s grip. He sprang away from me, his face red, his eyes guilty, his chest heaving as we stood surveying one another, each knowing it was over between us.
Angrily, I grabbed my son’s hand and dragged him back the way we had come, through the long grass, across the meadow, along the riverbank and up the hill toward the llys. He had to run fast to keep up with the furious pace I set but I did not slow my step until his laboured breath made me realise his distress.
At the gate I stopped, looked down at his scarlet face and squatted before him, careless of the hem of my tunic dangling in the dust. Tears had forged a muddy track down his cheeks, making his eyes look sorer than ever. I hugged him. ‘Don’t worry, Sweeting. I am alright.’
He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Why did that man do that to you? Is he a bad man? Did he want to hurt you?’
‘No. No, of course not. He is an old friend. He was just very pleased to see me again, that is all.’
The Song of Heledd Page 15