Sign of the White Foal

by Chris Thorndycroft

  The day bloomed through the smoke hole above and he could hear much coming and going outside of his hut. Nobody checked on him and he assumed all were busy in preparation for Anna’s journey south. His hands were raw with blisters and his tunica was drenched in sweat. The mound of earth beside him towered over his pallet but at last he felt as if he had reached the bottom of the post. He could feel its edge beneath his fingertips.

  He tossed the bowl aside and began to scrabble with his fingers, scooping out the earth beneath the post, loosening it in its hole. At last he was able to wobble it about which made the whole roof of the house shake. He tried to keep that to a minimum so that nobody outside would see that anything was amiss.

  He got to his feet and seized the post. Straining, he lifted it up a few centimetres; just high enough so he could scoot the ring of the manacle out from under the post with his foot. He set the post back down in its hole and heaved a sigh of relief. He was free at last. He bunched up the manacle links and held them in one hand so they would not jingle and crept over to the doorway.

  Peering out, he could see a few people moving about down by the lake but there seemed to be no one in his immediate vicinity. He slipped out of the hut and moved around to its northern side. The woods were close to the settlement – those same woods he had come through – but now that daylight was strong and skies blue, those shady trees did not seem half so frightening. He was confident that if he was able to make it to the treeline undetected, he could find his way through the woods and onto the trackway back to the lys.

  He dashed across the compound but swerved to the left as two villagers emerged from a nearby hut. A pile of firewood promised some cover and he made for it, keeping his head low.

  He slid onto his side as he rounded the woodpile and crashed into the legs of a figure standing directly behind it. The figure toppled over and quickly rolled, drawing a short knife. Arthur struggled into a crouch and gripped his leg manacle ready to swing it at his foe. He knew it was too short to have much range or do any damage but it was the only weapon he had.

  Then he realised whom he had crashed into.

  “Guenhuifar!” he exclaimed in an excited whisper.

  She wore her hunting breeches and tunica and her hair was bound back. Her bow and quiver were over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to rescue you, you fool!” she said. “But if you go charging about like that you’ll get us both killed!”

  “But what are you doing on this side of the island and how did you know I was captured?”

  “I don’t have time to explain now. We have to get out of here. Your friends are ready to charge the village and give me the distraction I needed to free you. I was trying to find out where they were keeping you but then I saw you bounding across the compound like a spooked hare.”

  “Look, Guenhuifar, we have to get back to the lys. The Morgens have dispatched the Cauldron-born to look for us. They’ll slaughter your family. We may be too late as it is, but I swear I will die to avenge them.”

  She held up a hand to hush him. “My family are safe. They are with Cei and the others. I can’t tell you everything now, we have to get moving.”

  She poked her head above the woodpile to scout out the situation before ducking back down. “There is an old man headed towards the hut you came from.”

  “Probably my keeper,” said Arthur. “He’ll raise hell when he finds me gone.”

  “Then we make a break for the trees as soon as he goes inside. Are you ready?”

  Arthur nodded. He still had so many questions for Guenhuifar. Why had she come for him? Why had Cei allowed it? A mission of stealth should have been given to Gualchmei who was the most adept at creeping about. He then noticed for the first time that it was Gualchmei’s Persian bow and quiver Guenhuifar carried over her shoulder. “It was you who sent those fire arrows on the village the other night, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Gualchmei’s shoulder is still not strong enough to bend his bow. He’s not too steady on his feet either so I volunteered.”

  “Volunteered?”

  She ignored the inquisitive look he was giving her and looked over the top of the woodpile again. “Come on, the coast is clear.”

  She took off towards the treeline, crouching low. Arthur hurried in her wake, hoping against hope that nobody in the settlement would look in their direction.

  They made the trees without being spotted and then it was a mad dash through undergrowth, leaping over fallen trees and tearing at the branches that snagged their clothes in their effort to reach Cei and the others before they began their diversion. They circled the settlement, keeping close to the fringes of the wood.

  They came upon the companions squatting in a dell carpeted with bluebells and didn’t spot them until they all but trampled over them.

  “Modron’s tits!” cried Cei in surprise. “We were just about to unleash merry hell on that settlement and here you two come ahead of schedule! Guenhuifar, how did you manage it?”

  “He all but freed himself,” said Guenhuifar. “I arrived just in time to help him out of the place without being spotted.”

  Arthur beamed at seeing his companions again and there were many hugs and much shoulder slapping. Arthur spotted Gogfran and Guenhuifach huddled together in the thick bluebells with the ever loyal Cadfan nearby, spear in hand. “I think it’s about time you all told me what’s been going on,” he said.

  “The day you left a friend of mine came from the settlement to the south of the lys,” said Guenhuifar. “She came to warn us of yet more Gaels on their way, probably to reinforce the lot we made short work of. We decided to head east and leave our home for the Gaels to pick over. I scouted ahead and spotted the plume of a campfire in an area far from any settlement I knew of. I decided to take a look and, sure enough, I found what was left of your companions sitting in plain view for any party of Gaels to stumble across. They told me of your foolhardy plan and how it had gone astray. Instead of finding the lake of the Morgens, you, Cei and Guihir had been escorted into one of the largest Gaelic settlements on Ynys Mon.”

  “Against all sense, we decided to assault the settlement to get you out,” said Menw.

  “Guenhuifar lent her bow to our efforts,” said Beduir. “But then you three fools headed off in the wrong bloody direction and we lost all trace of you. Late the following day we found Cei and Guihir stumbling out of the forest on its eastern side.”

  “What the hell happened to you, Arthur?” Cei broke in. “One minute you were with us and then nothing.”

  “I’m not sure myself,” said Arthur. “All I remember was something striking my head like a bolt of lightning. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in chains. But listen, the Morgens have dispatched the Cauldron-born east. They’re probably looking for us.”

  “That Cauldron-born?” Cei asked. “You saw them?”

  “Yes… in a manner of speaking.”

  “Then they are real then?” asked Gualchmei, his eyes wide.

  All of them were wide-eyed, anticipating his confirmation of all their fears. “After a fashion,” was all he could say.

  “I think you had best start at the beginning,” said Menw. “Tell us everything that happened after you awoke in the Morgens’ lair.”

  Arthur told them, keeping his words concise and his narrative lean. Time was short but he felt that he owed it to his companions to inform them of what they really faced. When he revealed the high-priestess to be Anna, his long-lost sister, Guenhuifar started.

  “Your sister?” she exclaimed. “If she was the daughter of Enniaun Yrth then that would make you…”

  “His bastard too,” Arthur explained.

  “You are royalty then. A descendant of Cunedag.”

  “Hardly. My father never acknowledged me and my half-brothers have conveniently forgotten they are related to me. I am fatherless and always have been.”

  “And you all knew about this?” she asked of his companions.
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br />   They nodded solemnly. “It makes no difference,” said Beduir. “Arthur is one of us, through and through.”

  But Arthur could see that Guenhuifar looked at him differently after the revelation. It was the same look he had seen in the eyes of many who did not know him; almost an accusatory look barely checked by polite restraint. He didn’t know what people expected of him. He could be neither praised for his heritage nor persecuted for it. It was entirely out of his control. And yet he somehow felt ashamed under Guenhuifar’s gaze.

  “Tell us what happened next,” said Menw.

  Arthur finished his story, going into particular detail about the ceremony and the transformation of the Cauldron-born.

  “So it is all a trick then?” said Cei once Arthur had finished. “The Cauldron-born are no more than drugged Gaels, mad on bloodlust. The Morgens and their so-called sorcery is a sham!”

  “Sham?” asked Menw. “Their sorcery may be no more than root-magic but it seems to have been doing the trick, no? We face truly ferocious foes. They may not be the dead brought back from Annun but the cloud of fear the Morgens have brewed with their cauldron has all but brought Venedotia to its knees.”

  “But it’s lies, all of it!” said Beduir.

  “Yes,” Menw admitted. “Did you really expect our enemies to be truthful? Fear and lies are their allies. But our work here – Arthur’s work – has undone the Morgens’ magic. We must fetch this cauldron back to the mainland so that all will know that it is no more than an iron pot and its spawn mere flesh and blood.”

  “Did you know?” Arthur asked him. “Did you ever suspect that we were not up against the forces of the Otherworld?”

  “Suspect? Hoped, more like. I may be wise but even I do not know all there is to know under the sky. But even had I known, my word would not have been enough to sweep away the doubt that has gripped our Pendraig’s heart and the fear that has wreaked its havoc throughout Venedotia. Only the cauldron itself, brought back from beyond the veil between worlds, will be proof enough. This voyage of ours will be a long-remembered one.”

  “The cauldron is travelling south,” said Arthur. “Anna too. My sister…”

  “Your sister intends to deliver the cauldron to Meriaun at Cair Dugannu. The final battle must be drawing near. We must take comfort in this knowledge for it means that Cadwallon still lives and he is not alone.”

  “Meriaun intends to unleash the Cauldron-born on the Pendraig and his teulu,” said Cei. “We must stop him. We must stop Anna and seize that cauldron.”

  Menw’s eyes twinkled at his words. “At last you begin to understand, Cei mab Cunor. It may only be a symbol, but symbols have Otherworldly power. Yes, it is just a cauldron, but we must stop that cauldron from reaching Cair Dugannu at all costs.”

  “She has half a day on us already,” said Arthur. “And we sit here jawing. Let’s move!”

  The companions rose and began collecting their gear. “She’ll most likely head for Aberffraw,” said Guenhuifar. “It’s the largest settlement on Ynys Mon and provides the fastest route across the straits. We can buy or steal a boat there that will carry you across.”

  “We?” said Cei. He glanced at Guenhuifar and then to her father and sister. “There is no reason for you all to accompany us to Aberffraw. We cannot protect you.”

  “No, you cannot,” said Guenhuifar, her tone cool. “But your arrival here has seen us driven from our home and made us enemies of the Gaels. Nowhere is safe for us now.” She glanced at Arthur. “Besides, if you are prepared to do all that you must to defeat the Gaels and win back Venedotia, then I will do what I must to help you.”

  “I thought you didn’t care for the Sons of Cunedag,” said Arthur.

  “I don’t,” she replied. “But this civil war that is tearing Venedotia apart is no good for Ynys Mon. If Cadwallon is victorious on the mainland then perhaps there is a chance that the Gaels will be driven back to Erin.”

  “It sounds like you are almost won around to our cause,” he said with a smile.

  “I just want my family to live in peace and safety, nothing more.”

  “We need to get going,” said Menw. “Anna will try to sail through the straits at slack water before the tide is at its highest. It’s the safest time to cross. That gives us four hours, or thereabouts.”

  “I fear I will slow you down,” said Gogfran.

  “He’s right,” said Cei. “We must be fleet if we are to catch up with her. We cannot carry stragglers.”

  “You’ll need my help to procure a boat in Aberffraw,” said Guenhuifar. “And I’m not leaving my father behind.”

  “Anna will be long gone with the cauldron by the time we get your father to Aberffraw!” said Cei.

  “Cadfan and I will accompany my father,” said Guenhuifach. “You lot go on ahead. We’ll meet my sister at Aberffraw later this evening once you lot are on your way.”

  “Fine,” said Guenhuifar. “Guard him well, sister. I will see that our companions pass the straits in good time. We must leave now.”

  They left Gogfran in the dell with his daughter and servant and took off at a jog. They ran through the forest until the trees petered out and the long, low slopes of high grass and marsh rolled out before them. Guenhuifar led the way, fleet as a young deer, bow and quiver bouncing on her shoulder and her tawny plait flailing out behind her like a horse’s tail in the wind. They followed the curve of the coast, on and on, until the sky became blood-streaked with the onset of dusk.

  When they ran out of breath, Guenhuifar allowed them a short reprieve and they walked for a while, breathing deeply. Arthur walked by her side while the others lagged behind, passing a waterskin around.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were the son of a king?” Guenhuifar asked him.

  “Because it wasn’t important,” he said, trying to control his breathing so that he did not gasp and puff as he answered her.

  “Some might think it is.”

  “Well, I don’t. Perhaps I’m the only one who doesn’t except my half-brothers.”

  “They don’t accept you? Because you’re a bastard?”

  “Why should they? Just because some king has a bit of fun with a naïve nobleman’s daughter, leads her along, telling her she’ll make her his queen and then ditches her, it doesn’t mean that sixteen years down the road her base-born son is entitled to anything.” He realised that he had snapped at her and regretted it. He felt peevish. She was the first person to actually put what everybody else was thinking into words. She had a strange kind of bluntness, like she didn’t care what anybody else thought. She was going to do and say exactly what she wanted.

  “It just seems strange…” she went on.

  “What does?”

  “That Cei is the one to lead your party while royalty must step aside.”

  “I told you, I’m not royalty. And Cei is the penteulu’s son. He is the natural choice to lead.”

  Guenhuifar looked back. Cei was struggling along with the others, his face ruddy beneath the afternoon sun. “But is he the best choice? I’ve seen how you are with your companions. You could lead them just as well as he could, if not better.”

  “Now you sound like my mother,” Arthur muttered and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  They picked up the pace and kept it up until the curve of the island swept away to the east.

  “There!” said Guenhuifar at last, drawing up and pointing to a ringed and ditched settlement on the banks of a thin river that wound its way down to a sandy cove. “Aberffraw.”

  They gasped for breath and wiped at the sweat that ran down their faces. The water skin was passed around. There were only dregs left.

  “Won’t we stick out a bit in a place like that?” Cei asked.

  “Not really,” Guenhuifar replied. “This is the largest port on the island and plenty of traders come here from Albion and from even farther afield. But it still pays to be cautious. I’ll do the talking as I am a local. If anybody speaks to you directly, let
Guihir answer in Gaelic. No point in letting it be known that seven British warriors are wandering about.”

  They entered the village through its northern gate and the guards on the spiked palisade barely paid them a passing glance. The place was busy enough and the air hummed with both Gaelic and British voices.

  They found an inn in the form of an oblong timber hall with a warped shingled roof which had once been some sort of Roman administrative building. This appeared to be the hub of business in the settlement and they wove their way past the spearmen who loitered in the colonnaded entrance to emerge in a bustling atrium centred around a fire pit set in the cracked tiled floor.

  “Find a seat and stay put,” Guenhuifar told them. “I’ll ask around if anybody has a boat to spare.”

  “I need ale,” said Cei as he headed over to an empty table. All heartily agreed that certain luxuries could be accommodated after all they had been through.

  Several heads turned to examine them as they sat down but no challenge was offered. If their weapons aroused any curiosity then it was probably assumed that they were Gaels in the company of some captain under Diugurnach.

  The ale was sour but cheap and they even managed to persuade the surly innkeeper to let them have a couple of roasted birds from the firepit. They devoured them like starving beggars, licking the meat juices from their fingers.

  They were on their second clay flagon of ale by the time Guenhuifar returned. “A fisherman I just spoke to has seen a cloaked woman and five Gaels heading down to the bay. They carried something heavy between them, wrapped in cloth and borne on wooden poles.”

  The companions rose as one, their brief respite forgotten and the scent of their goal in their nostrils. “She must have been alerted to our presence,” said Beduir. “Slack water is over an hour off.”