Curse of the Celts

by Clara O'Connor

  He checked to see that I was still following his tales of battles and places I had never heard of. I was aware that the Empire had stretched almost to Alba but how and when the tide was turned was not something we dwelt on in our history lessons. It was pretty much summarised as the Lady of the Lake arrived and used magic to massacre the imperial legions.

  “Fleeing Alnwick, King Belanore of Mercia came upon a lake surrounded by apple trees and there on its shores he met Nimue and her sisters.”

  “The same Nimue from before?”

  Rhodri nodded. “Time moves differently in Avalon, and Nimue and her sisters are unaging while they stay there. Belanore knew they had taken pity before so he begged their aid, vowing to be true unlike the Pendragon King. The Lady Evaine was moved by his words. She came and united the druids to their cause and they succeeded in pushing back the invaders. Belanore and Evaine fell in love, they married and she bore him four children One of their daughters, Olwen, inherited her mother’s gifts when she reached maturity and their eldest son, Adelon, inherited the throne. When their parents both fell under the Roman sword they continued the fight.”

  His words were barely audible over the crackle of the fire, which was the only noise in the vast, empty room.

  “At the battle of Leicester, the Romans cut down Adelon and had trapped the lady Olwen when the armies of Cymru took the field. John of York’s daughter Joan was married to Llewelyn of Gwynedd and had pleaded with him to join the fight.”

  “I thought that Gwynedd and Anglia hated each other?”

  “They bear no great love for each other today, but this was many centuries ago,” Rhodri explained before taking up the tale once more. “Llewelyn arrived just in time and fought his way to Olwen and protected her with his own life. They won the day but the loss of Llewelyn ap Iorweth was a great blow to the people of Cymru. Avalon rewarded the prince’s bravery and his youngest son, Gruffyth, was given gifts that made him the greatest warrior in the land. Gruffyth could sense when the lady Olwen was in danger and he vowed to protect her in memory of his father. He had no child, but a nephew in his house displayed similar gifts when he came of age and became Olwen’s bodyguard; it has been the honour of House Glyndŵr to serve ever since. Our line has always produced a boy destined to become the Griffin and he is sent to protect the Lady of the Lake.”

  “Why are they called the Griffin?” I asked. “In memory of Gruffyth, who was the first?”

  “Yes, in part. The Griffin is both eagle and lion, a creature born to keep safe our most precious treasure.” A shadow crossed his face before he took up the story once again. “He is given various skills to better serve his lady. It is said that Gruffyth ap Llewelyn could turn into a griffin in battle.”

  “Then you are descended from Gruffyth? Is Devyn not the next after you?” I was obviously missing something. Why had Rhodri been annoyed that Gideon had addressed Devyn with the title.

  “No, I am the last.” The sadness in those dark eyes was endless, the lines in his face seeming to be carved in an expression that spoke of regret and shame. “There was a new lady, but she was killed as a baby. They had bonded, so Devyn knew what it was to feel that connection, to live in the knowledge that you drew breath in service to another. He would have become the Griffin on his sixteenth birthday but that didn’t happen. He never bore the mark, was never truly made Griffin, for what is it to be a protector to something that is already destroyed? With no new lady to serve, I am the last Griffin.”

  Gideon had called Devyn the Griffin before he knew I was Lady of the Lake, not to show respect but to mock him, to remind him of the gaping hole where his honour and duty should be. Fury surged through me. How dare he.

  He dared because the sin was unforgivable. If the legend was to be believed, the Griffin’s failure to keep her safe would have ended the matriarchal bloodline.

  Rhodri had shared the same bond with my mother that I did with Devyn; he would have felt her terror and yet still he had turned tail and run, leaving her to be mowed down. I closed my eyes to hide the anger and disgust that ran through me. This was why Devyn and his father had been cast out, dishonoured; his father had broken that sacred bond and left my mother and me to die.

  “He was always convinced she lived,” he continued, unaware of the tumble of emotions his story was causing in me. As far as he was concerned, I was a Roman citizen and this was all myth and legend to me. It was a story he couldn’t tell to people here, who would have their own opinions and judgements, those who still served him in this nearly empty keep, those who had stayed with him when all the kingdoms of Briton had recoiled from his actions, from his failure. “He couldn’t sense her through the bond, but he believed it anyway. I was so full of my own grief, so angry at her for leaving us. I understood all too well why he didn’t want to believe her gone. I thought with time he would come to his senses; he swore himself to her house, to her brother, but then he left to find her. If she was alive, he should have been able to find her, should have been drawn to her; I could have found my lady deaf and blind on a battlefield of thousands. But he was gone so long. Year after year I waited for word. I promised her I would keep him alive, but his fate was out of my hands. What could I do? He was gone and I didn’t know where.”

  His head was bowed and his voice trailed off. Perhaps he had forgotten I was there and even now was following the rest of his thoughts down whatever circular path he must have travelled over and over in the years since that day.

  Most of what he said fitted the pieces of the puzzle that I already understood. Most, but not all. “You said you were angry at her?”

  He coughed, his eyes glazed and the sweat on his brow visible in the light.

  “She made me swear to her. There is little magic in my blood, but enough as Griffin to allow her to bind me.” He gripped my hand, his fevered eyes looking directly into mine. “I didn’t know. How could I have known? If we hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t bound my vow… But she did and I could do nothing.”

  He was rambling now, barely audible. His exhaustion finally carried him away into the maze of his memories and regrets. He knew things I wanted to learn more about, but it seemed cruel to stir those memories when he was recovering.

  “Uncle?” Bronwyn, it appeared, had no such compunction and was kneeling at her uncle’s feet in a flash. I wondered how long she had been awake…

  “Your vow was bound?” she asked intently.

  She shook him gently but the old man had drifted into a doze.

  “Bronwyn, let him be.”

  She scowled at me. “You don’t understand. Uncle, please.” She shook him again, a little more forcefully this time. “You made a bound vow? Who bound it?”

  “My lady,” he whispered. “I didn’t know how dangerous it would be. On the road, Viviane had a vision that Devyn would live to take her home. That he must take her home. I didn’t understand. I promised to keep him safe; he was my boy… of course I’d keep him safe.”

  Bronwyn gasped. “You made a vow to keep Devyn safe? Is that why? Is that why you ran? Is that why you left her?”

  “I didn’t know –” his eyes closed “– that it would be a choice. She made me choose him.”

  His head lolled forwards slowly on his chest. For a moment, I thought he had died right in front of us; maybe the cure had succeeded where the illness had not. Not now, not when Devyn was so close. What if he died now before they had a chance to see each other after so many years? The anger I had felt towards the man who had deserted my mother melted away; more than anything, I wanted him to have the chance to see his son once more.

  “Bronwyn, stop.” I pulled her out of the way so I could lean in and check his breath. I barely felt it as I watched for the rise and fall of his chest as proof of life. I couldn’t tell, I couldn’t be sure… I put my trembling fingers to his neck to feel for a pulse, but between my own thumping heart and the numbness of my cold fingers, I couldn’t tell.

  A weary, rough cough came just as I was
about to call for help. I felt weak with relief. I needed to have faith in Marcus; if he said the old man just needed time to recover from the impact of the cure then I needed to believe him.

  Bronwyn looked up at me from where she had fallen on the cold tiles.

  “What were you doing?” I accused. Why had she hounded him about some decades-old promise when his body was already under stress?

  “Weren’t you listening?”

  “Yes.” Of course I’d been listening. Little did she know this wasn’t some fairy tale to me; this was my own history.

  Bronwyn’s face expressed relief at something I couldn’t figure out. What was it that she had heard?

  “She bound him to take Devyn away.”

  “I don’t know what that means.” These bloody Celts and their weird customs.

  “You know how seriously we take a vow… any vow?” she asked me, her eyes in deadly earnest.

  I did. I was all too aware of it. Devyn’s life was owed to the King of Mercia due to a vow he had made as a child. He was desperate to get back there to face gods knew what consequence for breaking it by leaving to find me.

  “The lady made him swear to keep Devyn safe.”

  “You mean, he abandoned her to the Empire because he had made a promise to keep his son safe? He had a duty to protect her, but he chose to leave her because of a promise. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “No,” said Bronwyn. “You don’t understand. It wasn’t like he made a decision to abandon her. If she bound him to that promise, then he had no choice at all. As soon as he perceived Devyn to be in any danger, he would have been unable to do anything to help her. He would have been compelled to leave whether she followed or not.”

  “People always have a choice.”

  “Not if a promise is bound. The lady was powerful; if she had bound his vow magically, then there was nothing he could have done.”

  Magic.

  I looked down at the sleeping man.

  “Why would she have made him promise to save Devyn?” I asked. “If they were going to Londinium, and she sensed a threat awaited them, then shouldn’t her baby have been her main concern?”

  Bronwyn stood, hands on hips. “You’re right. It makes no sense.”

  “Will it help Devyn?” I asked.

  Bronwyn’s brows drew together as she contemplated this new information and the impact it might have on the perceived betrayal of duty that the Griffin had committed – a betrayal that his son had inherited.

  “Probably not,” she admitted. “Rhodri should never have sworn to put another’s life before hers. And the crime Devyn returns to is his own, not his father’s. Of course, he has to survive first.”

  “He will.” He had to.

  We sat in silence for a while as Bronwyn ate some breakfast.

  “What was that?” she finally asked, looking over at me.

  “What?”

  “Yesterday. What were you doing at the gates? Marcus was most insistent that you be left alone. You were out there most of the day. What were you doing?”

  “I was waiting for Devyn.”

  One brow quirked upwards. “I have some magic in my blood and I could tell you were doing more than just waiting. What were you doing?”

  I checked that Rhodri remained undisturbed, but his sleep was heavy and he hadn’t stirred.

  “I wanted to see him for myself.”

  “You projected? Your abilities are certainly varied for a latent.” Her eyes narrowed. “ Neither have you shown too much concern about what happened between Marcus and me at the inn. You’re lying about your relationship… but why?”

  I could see the wheels turning in her mind.

  “Fidelma assured us all that you had little ability, but that was another lie, wasn’t it? And… that you weren’t the one he sought. Is that another lie too?” she pressed.

  Put on the spot, I hesitated, unable to lie to her face.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do,” she breathed. Her eyes lit. “He did find you.”

  “No, no. I…” Caesar wept, I was bad at this. Devyn trusted Bronwyn. Would he have kept this from her if he were well?

  I shrugged helplessly and was instantly caught in her fierce, jubilant embrace.

  “We must tell Rhodri.”

  “Shhh, we can’t. I promised Devyn. He says it’s best to keep this to ourselves until we are safe.”

  Bronwyn’s eyes clouded as she looked over at her broken uncle. Her shoulders dropped. “He’s right.”

  We couldn’t move Devyn’s father, but after a while I fetched Marcus down to check on him again, to be sure that despite appearances he truly was recovering. We took turns sitting with him as the long morning unwound into the afternoon. And then, as the wintry sun began its early descent, dimming what poor light made its way into the dark hall, something changed in the atmosphere… or perhaps there was a change in the noise outside, where what few people were left were going about their business at the end of the day. And then I knew.

  They were here.

  Part Three

  The Sea Is In Our Souls

  Then doth the spirit-flame

  With sword-like lightning rend its mortal frame;

  The wings of that which pants to follow fast

  Shake their clay-bars, as with a prison’d blast,—

  The sea is in our souls!

  — The Spirit’s Return, Felicia Dorothea Hemans

  Chapter Seventeen

  I half ran, half stumbled to the castle walls and scrambled up the stairs. The group were still too distant to recognise as they broke from the trees.

  I ran along the wall to the guards, who had closed the gate and refused to open it until they were certain of the identity of the group, no matter how I threatened or pleaded with them. I eventually left the gate as it was and went back inside to enlist aid.

  Lord Rhodri remained at his fireside vigil, Bronwyn frowning at me not to disturb him as I raced across the hall.

  “They’re here.”

  She followed me back outside and, after squinting at the approaching riders, concurred and commanded the guards to open the gates. We both ran out to meet them.

  We arrived out of breath. Well, I was out of breath.

  I scanned the grim-faced men. The warriors were in front, and we fell back to let them pass until the druid and Gideon arrived.

  The warriors all looked tired and dusty from the road, Madoc solemn as he met Bronwyn’s eyes and the unasked question contained within. The cart was gone and Devyn rode in front of Gideon, but his head hung low on his chest and it was clear that Gideon’s hold was the only thing keeping him on that horse.

  “Devyn.” I reached up to catch the hand hanging limply by his side. His skin was cold and clammy; I took his hand tight in mine and there wasn’t so much as a flicker of response.

  Gideon barely looked down as he kneed his stead to keep moving into the courtyard.

  Two warriors came to help Devyn down, laying him out on the uneven cobbles. He looked worse than when I had seen him last. In the week since we had parted, the flesh had melted from his bones. He had always had sharp cheekbones, but deep hollows now lay underneath, and dark circles ringed his eyes.

  I didn’t know what to do. Bronwyn was busy thrusting her cloak under his head while Madoc checked him over before instructing the waiting warriors to take him to his rooms. I trailed behind uselessly.

  Madoc’s rooms were a world away from the sterile environment of St Bart’s Hospital. They laid him down again, this time on a cot in the corner behind one of the druid’s overcrowded benches. Devyn’s breath was laboured, a dreadful catch sounding in his chest as he drew each breath. Madoc had him quickly stripped down, revealing the crawling blackness creeping under his skin and all across his torso. The druid unwrapped the bandage to reveal the small stab wound, which was now an angry, putrefying mess. A sickly sweet smell cloyed the air.

  I reeled back and knocked against
the shelves behind me. Madoc, reminded of our presence in the room, shooed us out despite our protests. In moments we were on the outside of the tower door.

  I curled my arms around me. Devyn looked like he was on the edge of death, and this was after Madoc had treated him on the road. My throat felt like it was closing in on itself. He had to make it. I straightened my shoulders.

  Without thinking, I rounded on Gideon.

  “You did this,”

  “No,” he returned grimly. “Madoc says it wasn’t my knife.”

  “What?” I hadn’t even got started in venting my rage when this latest revelation stopped me in my tracks.

  “The knife didn’t carry the poison.”

  “How can he know that?”

  “He says the wound isn’t the source of the corruption. In fact, my knife wound was probably the difference between him living and dying.” Gideon’s lips tugged upwards in that irritating nonchalant amusement at our disbelief. “It’s true. There was poison in Devyn all right, but it existed before my dagger hit him. Left undisturbed, it would have quietly done its work until the moment he drew his final breath and keeled over. The knife disrupted it, drew it to the surface rather than burying it in his organs. So you ladies should be thanking me.“

  He gave us a debonair half-bow as if accepting our unspoken relief.

  “He was already poisoned?” I asked. “How? When?”

  “Are you sure it was poison?” Marcus asked at the same time.

  “You’d have to ask Madoc for more information. I’m just relieved that somebody isn’t going around dipping my knives in poison without my knowing,” Gideon said. “I could have used that knife to eat. It had crossed my mind to wonder if I had been my father’s intended victim. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t miss me.”

  Gideon had never intended to kill Devyn. Well, Callum had speculated as much. But who then would have had the opportunity?