The Song of Heledd

by Judith Arnopp

  Penda stepped forward. ‘Cynddylan, think, man. We need Cadafael’s army. Can’t you kill him later? This marital breach can be healed, they always are and if it isn’t, well, I have room for another wife.’

  He leered at me in silent invitation and Cadafael snarled at him. Penda stepped forward, spat in the dust. ‘Take us one at a time, friend. One at a time. I will fight you after Cynddylan has had his turn. If you live.’

  I could not watch. The clash of their weapons eddied back and forth across the precinct. My personal household crept forward, gathering about me. At my shoulder Hild sniffled, her apron held to her face and Rhonwen’s hand slipped through the crook of my elbow. She gave a squeeze of comfort, praying silently beneath her breath for the survival of her own man. I looked down at her closed eyes, her fervently furrowed brow and joined her, praying to Christ with more passion and less hope than I ever had before.

  The watchers shuffled back as the fight came close, their feet scuffing up dust, their faces a kiss apart, weapons locked. Sweat poured from them, the stench of hatred rank in the air, their veins proud on their foreheads. It was a great trial of strength. Cyddylan was slighter than Cadafael but more agile and wiry against Cadafael’s bulk.

  Cynddylan broke free and backed off, wiped sweat from his eyes. Cadafael crouched over his sword, waiting for the next assault. There was blood in his beard but it was not clear if it were his own or my brother’s. Whatever the outcome of this battle, there could be no victory for me. I loved them both. It was too much to bear.

  As they began to fight again I ran forward, dragging Rhonwen with me. ‘Please, stop,’ I cried, although I knew it was hopeless. ‘This will solve nothing.’

  I reached out to grasp Cynddylan’s tunic and he turned his head briefly, thrust me out of the way but, in that moment Cadafael’s sword spliced my brother’s sleeve, the scarlet stain spreading as quickly as a rumour.

  I drew back, mortified at what I had done.

  Cynddylan staggered, fell to his knee, a hand to his wound while Cadafael’s weapon hovered above him. Sweat dripped from my brother’s hair, his eyes riveted on the shining blade, waiting for it to strike. My heart banged loud. Rhonwen’s fingers dug into my flesh as we watched open-mouthed, fear like vomit in our throats.

  Then Cadafael put up his weapon. ‘I have no hatred for you, man. I do not want to kill you. Let us stop now before further damage is done.’

  I ran forward again. ‘Yes, for the love of God, stop it now. Direct your anger toward Oswiu on the morrow, both of you.’

  Cynddylan ignored me, pushing me away again. His face was a snarl as he spat on the ground. ‘I will not fight you, Cadafael, but neither will I fight alongside you. Get out of my sight, for the next time we meet, you can be sure I will finish this.’

  I had never heard such brutality in my brother’s voice. I had only ever seen his regal side for usually he kept his savagery for the battlefield. His face was white in my defence.

  Sheathing his sword, Cadafael jerked his head at Angharad and she ran to do his bidding. His hearth troop began to collect their belongings, call for their horses. People were moving away, they were leaving. I stood in the dust and saw my husband defeated not by battle, but by me and I thought I would never feel more sorry.

  ‘Cadafael,’ my head drooped but he was unmoved.

  ‘Good day, Madam,’ he said and, although I did not look up, I knew that he executed an ironic bow. I kept my head lowered, my heart breaking further as I heard his horse brought forward, the creak of leather as he mounted but I could not look up. I did not want to watch him leave me. But then I heard a voice.

  ‘Where are we going, Father?’

  My head shot up. ‘NO!’ The screams of a madwoman emerged from my mouth, all dignity forgotten. ‘No, you can’t do this, you can’t do this.’ I scrambled after the horses, trying to grab the trappings and haul them to a halt.

  Cynfeddw was mounted before his father. He looked back at me, his face crumpled as though he would cry and, at that moment, when it was too late, I loved him with all my heart and soul. Angharad cradled my daughter. I could see the tufts of my little Ffreur’s hair peeking from her blanket while Medwyl rode pillion behind her, clinging to her mother’s waist. She waved a fat hand at me. ‘Bye,’ she called, thinking it all a happy jaunt.

  ‘Wait,’ I gasped for breath, running beside the horses, stumbling on the rutted track. ‘Wait.’ I appealed to her maternal instinct, clung to her stirrup. ‘Angharad, I will give you anything, please, just let me have my daughter.’

  Angharad sneered down me, finally letting me see the depths of her hatred. I grabbed her ankle. ‘Please,’ I sobbed, ‘don’t do this.’ As the horses broke into a trot, she lifted her foot and struck me a stunning blow beneath the chin, sending me slumping into the dirt of Pengwern.

  That was the last I ever saw of Cadafael, or our babies, and the memory I carry most clearly is of my family riding away, leaving me alone.

  Eight

  ‘Come, come inside, Heledd.’ Gwarw’s face was lined with grief but I turned away from her. I had not care for the sorrows of others. ‘No, no, leave me. There is nothing to come in for.’

  I heard her footsteps shuffling away but I remained were I was, weeping for all that was lost, my husband, my babies and my sister. There was nothing left.

  I sat there for so long that the light began to fail. People passed me with lowered voices, unsettled to see their princess in the dust. When the sun began to sink into the distance the preparations for night began, just as if nothing had happened. Milkmaids hurried by with leather buckets and hens stopped scratching in the dirt about me and returned to their roosts in the barn. The torches were lit, their flickering light sneaking beneath the shutters and the aroma of roasting meat wafted toward me. But the smell did not make me crave nourishment. I thought I would never bring myself to eat again and so instead, it made me retch.

  Then came a light footstep and a small, trembling hand upon my head. ‘Mother?’

  It was a long moment before I finally turned to find Hedyn, his face diluted with sorrow and besmirched with dirt and tears. I stared at him, slowly realising that I was not alone after all. I drew him into my breast and knowing he was all I had left, and I was all he had, we wept together, seeking comfort from our mutual loss.

  ‘When shall we see them again, Mother? I have no playmates, now. I want Medwyl to come back.’

  At dawn the armies of Powys and Mercia rode away, their expected numbers depleted by Cadafael’s withdrawal. The noise of their departure dragged me from sleep and, for a few blissful moments, I forgot the horrors of the day before. But, as I inhaled the smoke from the brazier and blinked at the timbered ceiling, the memory trickled back, cleaving my heart afresh.

  Not knowing what else to do I threw back the covers and shrugged myself into my cloak and crept to the bower door to watch the hearth troop ride away. I blinked in surprise at the women and children who cheered and waved as they rode out of the precinct. It was as if yesterday’s disaster had never happened. It took me some time to realise that the tragedy had only happened to me, everyone else could live on. It was only I who lacked the will to do so.

  The destruction of my life and marriage was just a passing event in the monotony of their lives. Soon they would forget all about it and I would just be Heledd the unfortunate, bereft of her children, forced to live on her brother’s charity. The rest of my life would be spent in shame and regret. It was as well that Ffreur had not lived to see it.

  Usually the sight of children lining the path of the cavalcade, their kerchiefs waving, trumpets sounding and dogs barking, would have filled me with a proud joy. I would have raised my own kerchief and run alongside, cheering with the rest, but that day I felt nothing, nothing but pain.

  Cynddylan, his wound bound tightly, his face a shade paler than usual, raised a hand as he passed and tossed me a comforting smile. Then came Cynwraith and Cynon, with a salute for their errant sister. Their m
isguided faith in me sent a pang of guilt through my heart and I could not return their smiles but merely drew my cloak tighter. It came as some comfort that my brothers gave no credence to my disgrace but my mouth refused to turn upward and the best I could manage was a grimace.

  Hedyn, fresh from his bed, slid his hand into mine. I looked down. His face was pinched, pink and white with sleepy sorrow but he raised a hand in farewell to his uncles, and I squeezed his fingers, proud of his sense of duty.

  ‘You are chilled,’ I drew him beneath my cloak, pressed him against my body, taking some comfort from his tiny frame. Then, as the last of the troop dwindled away and the supply wagons began to roll by, we turned into the warmth of my chamber.

  Apart from the hole in my heart everything seemed so normal. I could almost believe Cadafael was off on some raid and would soon burst through the door and take me in his arms, laugh and kiss away my tears. All day I sat silently at the hearthside while Gwarw and Hild worked their needles but, try as I might, I could not rouse myself from misery although I knew I should do so for my child’s sake.

  I could not get warm and crept closer to the big cheerful flames with Hedyn curled like a youngling in my lap. He kept asking questions that I had no answer for.

  ‘Why are you crying? Where has Father taken them? When are they coming back? Why do we not follow them?’

  I wanted to scream at him to stop but, instead, I got up, set him on Hild’s knee and rolled onto my bed to hide my face beneath my pillow. Then I wept again and after a while he came and watched me with his thumb in his mouth as if he were afraid that I was going to leave him too.

  It was a terrible time of unrelenting misery. I decided that, on Cynddylan’s return I would beg him to send to Cadafael, explaining, imploring forgiveness, asking him to try again, offering him payment … anything. It was not too late, some deep fundamental part of me told me that he loved me and, once the anger was gone, surely he would forgive.

  I began to think up excuses in my head. Perhaps I could say I was bewitched or coerced, anything to vindicate myself, anything to keep him. But, each time I strung together a pretty sentence, it sounded specious, even to my ears and, in the end, I decided to merely tell the truth and hope for understanding.

  As Gwarw is so fond of saying, there is a first time for everything.

  Cynddylan’s hunting bitch had whelped and Gwarw had taken Hedyn to see the pups and, taking advantage of the silence, I tried to sleep but every few minutes I woke with a start in my empty bed, with a hollow heart. The pain was like a hunger, a great yawning hole in my gut that would not let me rest. I continued to sleep in fits and starts all afternoon and when I finally got up it was late afternoon and coming on to dark.

  My legs felt leaden as I swung them over the side of the bed and reached for my cup. I drank deeply, the cool ale refreshing my jaded pallet. The room was in shadow, the torches not yet lit but I spied a hearth wench knelt at the fire, quietly piling on fresh logs.

  ‘Where is everyone?’

  My voice was husky from too much sorrow. She jumped and turned her head toward me. ‘Oh, Lady, you are awake. I think Gwarw has a plan to distract Prince Hedyn. He was so taken with the King’s pups that she has gone to beg one from his steward. Hild is watching Hedyn as he sleeps, I believe. His dreams are troublesome. Are you hungry? Shall I send for a tray?’

  Her face was so friendly and open that it was almost my undoing. I had thought everyone would hate me now my true nature had been revealed, but here she was, no more than eleven-years-old and as motherly as a broody hen. I opened my mouth to answer but the sound of a single galloping horse, coming straight into the enclosure and right up to the bower door stopped my words.

  With a wild leap of hope in my heart I stood up, my eyes wide, a hand to my thumping chest. There came shouting and a scurry of footsteps and the chamber door was flung open.

  Cadafael!

  I leapt up from my seat, expecting him to stride through the portal and put an end to all this silliness but, as my eyes adjusted and I saw instead that it was only Cynddylan’s page, Emyr, my heart sank. He staggered toward me, his jerkin split open, a dirt encrusted wound upon his chest and I saw that his message was dire indeed.

  ‘Emyr. My Goodness, you are hurt. What tidings?’

  I knew his news was ill before I had finished uttering the words. He fell to his knees, signalled desperately for a cup. Mine was half-full and I thrust it into his hand and burned with impatience as he let the cooling liquid flood down his throat.

  He drew his sleeve across his mouth and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with courage. ‘We must flee, Lady. We are defeated, the survivors few. Oswiu is victorious and rides against us even now.’ His chest heaved, his words issuing in jerks and I could see from his expression that he had ridden through hell and back. ‘Take the women and children into the hills, Lady, or Oswiu will take you as his slaves …or worse.’

  I could not move. He was no more than twelve, his eyes red-rimmed with tears, his chin lacking a beard but he grasped my arm, breaching etiquette. ‘Lady!’ he yelled, shaking me a little. ‘You must act now, before all is lost, think of your son.’

  I managed to speak at last. ‘My brothers?’

  ‘Cynddylan and Gwion still live. They are at the gate with their troop, strengthening the outer defences. I know nothing of the others. Lady, you must hurry.’

  Still I did not move.

  ‘What of Penda and his armies? Surely he lives?’

  The boy bowed his head, shook it sorrowfully from side to side. ‘Nay, Lady, the fighting was vicious. I saw King Penda go down in the fray, his war axe taking with him as many as he could.’

  It was not possible. Not Penda, the savage King of Mercia. He could not be dead. I gave a disparaging laugh that emerged as a sort of sob. It was not possible, my head repeated over and over. Not the warrior King Penda, surely?

  Leaping into action, I ran barefoot from the chamber shrieking for Gwarw and Hild before diving into the antechamber where Hedyn slept on a makeshift pallet. Hild was with him and as I crashed into the room she leapt to her feet. ‘Whatever is the matter, are you sick?’

  Her mouth gaped as I gabbled a version of Emyr’s story.

  ‘Oh, my lord,’ Hild began to grizzle, picking up Hedyn’s jerkin, tearing off his covers, shaking him awake and forcing his sleepy arms into his sleeves. If I had had time I would have worried more about my son’s passive acceptance of the wild events that were taking shape. Unfortunately, there was no time, not then nor afterwards.

  ‘Come,’ I cried. ‘There is no time.’

  We fled, half-dressed, from the hall, speeding across the chaotic enclosure to the outer gate where Cynddylan was barking out instructions to his men, who were shoring up the defences, assembling missiles to launch onto the enemy.

  When he saw me Cynddylan scrambled down from the rampart, and I saw that one side of his face was caked in blood, a gaping wound on his cheekbone. That won’t help his looks, I thought irrationally before I was shaken again, this time by my King.

  ‘Heledd,’ he grabbed my arm. ‘Take your women and the children…’ Belatedly he remembered that I only had one left, ‘… and your son, to the hills. Stay there until you hear the horn sound. Do not come down until you are summoned. Not for anything, do you hear me?’

  I nodded and for once I did not argue. Emyr ran beside me. I gripped Hedyn’s hand, hitched my skirts and dragged him up the hillside, behind me the women followed, as fast as they were able. I could hear them gabbling in panic and, when I stopped suddenly, they ran into my back, almost knocking me down. I had been struck by a thought and it was not a happy one. I turned and grabbed the page’s arm.

  ‘How long do we have, Emyr?’

  He shrugged. ‘A few hours, no more. We rode like the devil ahead of them.’

  I thought rapidly, licking my lips. I had enough on my conscience. ‘Take my women and my son to the hillside. Stay out of sight until danger is past. I must a
lert the others, help my aunts and uncles, the children, rouse the servants, free the slaves or they will all perish.’

  He bridled, his juvenile face full of manly outrage. ‘You will do no such thing, Lady. Someone else will rouse them. You must take your women and Hedyn and get yourself to safety. The King gave strict orders. I cannot let you disobey them.’

  I set my chin, refused to budge and did not miss the glimmer of admiration that kindled in his eye. After a few moments of stalemate he drew himself up to his full height, almost reaching my shoulder. ‘You go on, Madam. I will go myself and bring them after. Do not worry.’

  And, before I could argue, he had sprinted away, his little head bobbing among the brambles.

  After sending up a prayer for his protection, I led my women onward. It was a weary climb and my limbs craved rest. Only fear drove me onward. We climbed, higher than I had ever gone before, to where the undergrowth was dense and the scree difficult to negotiate.

  Gwarw, uncharacteristically weeping, hobbled behind me, each footstep an agony while Rhonwen and Hild urged her to hurry. My poor, faithful Gwarw, who had been the mainstay of my life, battling with her swollen, chilblained feet against the need for haste. I urged them onward, cursing like a scold to keep them moving. With cruel and scathing words I drove them on, telling myself I would make it up to them later. My women had suddenly become invaluable to me, something to protect and hold on to if it cost me my life, but now was not the time for kindness.

  At last, to everyone’s relief, we huddled in the shelter of a large outcrop where scrub grew up to screen us from the enemy below. If I stood on the tip of my toes, I could just see the llys far below us, and the river running into the flooded valley and on toward the sea.

  From our great height the skerries looked tiny and the men milling about them as small and as insignificant as insects, although I knew that each and every one of them had a family and home. I suppose, when seen en mass, we all appear as nothing more than insects; our approaching enemy had no concept of us as people who wept and loved and laughed. We were just in their way, like a nest of wasps and so must be destroyed. I think that was the moment, although I had not the time to contemplate it, that I first conceived the true cost of war.