by Tony Riches
Emrys was also a man of many secrets, most of which involved the queen. Rhiannon had pleaded with him to teach her to write the language of their people and to provide parchment, ink and quills to practice. One of his secrets was that he had planted the seed of the idea in her mind when she first became queen. He appreciated her gratitude, so had continued the pretence that he was teaching her against his better judgement. It also meant that he could spend much time alone with her. Another secret was that he knew of the compartment where she hid her writing and therefore why it was so important to her.
A lot of secrets were shared between them but the biggest and most dangerous secret Bishop Emrys could never share was that he was in love with her. Not simply the loyal love of a subject for his queen but a love that grew from the deepest attraction any man ever felt for a woman. From the first moment he saw her, his life changed completely. His first thought on waking would be of Rhiannon and he would be distracted from his work and his prayers by improper thoughts of her. At first he had tried self flagellation, lashing his own back until it bled painfully in an attempt to drive these thoughts from his mind.
He had wondered if he had been possessed by a devil or if a witch had cursed him with an evil spell. The more time he spent with the queen, the deeper his feelings for her became and he finally realised it was no spell, but a love that could not be denied. He knew that if the king ever found out, his life would be forfeit, so he had accepted that the best he could hope for was to be her confidante and counsel. He suspected that she knew of his feelings for her but it was never spoken of. Bishop Emrys would give his life for his queen.
*
Lord Vorath returned home from the celebrations tired but fired up with a new sense of urgency. He had feared that he would never get the chance to avenge the murder of his father without taking things into his own hands. Now he summoned his men to the great hall and told them the news. They were going to drive the Gwyn from Wales.
‘The Gwyn have an alliance with the English,’ shouted Dafydd, one of the younger warriors from the castle at Flint. A skilled swordsman, he made little secret of his ambition to take over leadership from Vorath one day. ‘We will need to guard our border to the east.’ The significance of Dafydd’s words was not lost on the gathered warriors. They were ready to take on the south in a fair fight but war with the powerful Saxons was a very different prospect. To take on both at the same time could only have one outcome.
Vorath stood and surprised them all with the strength of feeling in his deep voice. ‘This is our land!’ He paused to control his emotion and continued in a more measured voice, speaking more slowly and stressing his words so that none could fail to understand. ‘It is our home. We fought off the might of the Roman empire.’ He looked round at their faces. ‘We routed the Vikings when they tried to invade and we have held firm against the Saxons.’ It was true and they all knew it. ‘If it is my destiny to die protecting the people of the Du then so be it, but we have right on our side. We can win this battle. We will defeat the Gwyn.’ He remained standing as the warriors cheered and noted that Dafydd was also cheering loudly. Vorath smiled as he realised that of all his warriors, the troublesome young Dafydd was the closest to a son to him. He would avenge his long dead father and help the man from Flint learn to become a great leader. Or he would die an honourable death.
Chapter Three
Bishop Cledwin of St Davids had built a personal fortune through his good stewardship of the land he managed in the name of the church. Fond of good wine, he dressed simply but furnished his Lys as well as any palace. Cledwin was a large and heavily built man, with a booming voice to match and retained a small army of servants. More like the Lord of the Manor than a man of the cloth, he tended well to the local communities, so earned their loyalty and respect.
St Davids was also the most important religious diocese in Wales and relics of Saint David brought wealthy pilgrims from all over the country. Bishop Cledwin had little interest in the Saxons, who were a long ride away from the west coast of Wales. Occasional ships from Ireland would raid the coastal ports but had never troubled him. His wealth was mostly tied up in farmland, which pirates could hardly carry off.
The marauding Viking long ships were a different matter. Viking sails had been sighted in the Irish Sea and they were known to target the lightly defended religious centres looking for gold and provisions. There were also reports of raids to the north where they had taken men and women, presumably as slaves. St Davids was well known for its wealth and positioned on the coast, so though Cledwin was glad to have royal protection, he had worried about how long it would take for help to arrive from the king.
His relationship with King Gwayne was complicated. Bishop Cledwin was nearly as rich and powerful as the king and, in his view, better educated. This meant he had an important part to play in helping the king develop the Welsh Law that kept order in the south. Cledwin had been bishop and advisor to the old king and remembered Gwayne as a young Prince, so was the only person in the land who could really stand up to him.
Where Archbishop Renfrew in the east was a skilled politician, Cledwin was skilled at administration of the Church. He made certain that any laws passed were to his advantage and had developed stricter rules for the diocese under his care. He had also been able to persuade the king of the benefits of extending the parish boundaries. As bishop he was entitled to enforce collection of tithes at one tenth of the income of the faithful, so he was keen to cast his net widely in the sparsely populated west.
Bishop Cledwin had taken to the habit of sleeping after lunch and was roused from his slumber by his housekeeper, Anwen.
‘Archbishop, you have a visitor.’
‘At this ungodly hour?’ he grumbled. ‘Tell them I am not receiving visitors!’
Anwen was well used to his blustering. It was early afternoon and she smiled. ‘It is the tenant farmer, Elfred, your honour, he wishes you to plead his case.’ After Elfred’s mother died she was the only person other than him who knew that Elfred was his son. Bishops were not expected to be celibate but the knowledge gave her a power over him. She had not yet felt the need to use this knowledge but was certain the day would come.
‘Tell him to wait in my room,’ said Cledwin, looking for any sign on her face and seeing none. His eyes followed her as she left. Attractive as a girl, she had grown more so with age. She dressed simply but well and had looked after him for longer than he could remember. Anwen knew a great deal more about him than he would have wished, so he made sure he could rely on her loyalty. The bishop studied himself in an expensive burnished silver mirror. He was getting older and would need to think about his successor. Of necessity, his only son had been brought up as a farmer. He was a good one and Cledwin was secretly proud of him but he was not for the church. Another would need to be found to continue God’s work.
He went into the room he used for less formal meetings and found Elfred standing there. It always took him by surprise to see the boy grown into a man but even more so today. Hard work on farms had made him strong and rugged but his eyes still shone with his mother’s sensitivity. He had recently grown a beard that suited him well, although it made him look older than his twenty five years. What surprised Cledwin was to see that his son was dressed as a soldier, with a new white tabard over a hide jerkin and a short dagger at his side.
‘What’s this?’ asked the bishop.
‘I need your help, lord bishop,’ said Elfred with a directness that again reminded Cledwin of the woman he once loved. ‘I am to report for battle training at Pembroke Castle but there is much to do on the farms.’
‘Nonsense, You are needed here. Who else would manage my estates?’
‘If you would write to the king, I trust he would approve your request.’
Not for the first time the bishop wondered about telling his son the truth. Then a thought occurred to him. ‘Why has Sir Gwynfor chosen you, when there are plenty of bondsmen who would leap at the chance?’
‘The Knight Gwynfor’s men were asking in the village for anyone who could write their name. It is well known you have schooled me well to help you manage the farms.’
The bishop nodded. He had been a good teacher, not just for his son but for the young knight as well. A new idea occurred to him. If Elfred could keep to the good of Sir Gwynfor, he would be able to ensure protection for St Davids, not just from the Viking raiders but, God forbid, if the warriors of the Du were ever to reach West Wales.
‘Anwen!’ he called, ‘Wine for my visitor.’ He sat down heavily in a large chair and gestured for Elfred to sit next to him. ‘Let us discuss this.’
Elfred looked at him in surprise. ‘I am not a fighter, bishop. All I ask is to see the harvest safe. I hope to marry soon and raise a family, not go off to a foolish war with our neighbours.’
‘Sometimes, God’s plans are not easy to fathom. Let us not decide such an important matter for the diocese in haste.’
Anwen brought wine and they watched in silence as she poured it into rare glass goblets Bishop Cledwin kept for special occasions. His eyes met hers and he could see from the twinkle of amusement that she knew the significance. He could have been angry but instead smiled as she left them. He would be lost without her now and although she knew it, the arrangement suited them both well.
Cledwin took a small sip of the wine and recognised it immediately as his best. He looked directly at the young farmer. ‘It is your duty to look to the needs of the people,’ he told him. ‘Bishops are allowed to fight, if we have to, but we need to make provision in case we are ever attacked.’
‘Who will tend the farms and the harvest if I am away fighting?’ Elfred asked.
‘You must find someone. Tell them to come to me and I will train them in managing the estates, as I have with you.’ He spoke with an air of finality and had clearly made his decision. Before Elfred spoke again, the bishop rose from his chair and crossed the room to a large oak chest. The heavy lid creaked as he lifted it and produced something wrapped in an ancient battle standard.
Elfred stood. He could see that the bishop was quite moved at the sight of the sword. He suddenly realised this was difficult for the old man.
‘It was my father’s sword. He was a great warrior and now you should have this, in honour of what you are about to do.’
Elfred knew better than to argue with the bishop. He took the sword and felt the easy way it balanced in his hand. It was a fine old weapon, the blade still sharp and true. If he had to go and fight for his people at least he would be well armed. ‘I am honoured,’ he said. ‘I will serve you well, bishop.’
Cledwin watched him as he strapped on the sword. It suited him and Cledwin wished Elfred’s mother could have known how well the boy had turned out.
He put his hand on Elfred’s arm. ‘God go with you, my son, keep safe.’
‘I shall, with your blessing,’ replied Elfred, missing the significance of the bishop’s words or the emotion in his voice.
*
In keeping with tradition, the queen had her own household and the Royal Llysoedd had been designed so her chamber was set apart from the king’s. Queen Elvina had expected a long wait for the king’s meeting to be over, so was surprised when her maid announced that Sir Gwynfor wished to see her. Better educated than any of them, she resented being dismissed at such an important time.
She was the sister of the English king but was being treated like a servant. She missed the English Court, where well-born women were treated as equals to men. Her brother Athelstan would praise her ideas, rather than exclude her from matters of state. Elvina had studied the Welsh Laws and the status of the queen was clear but they never called her such, instead saying ‘my lady’. It was important to her that she should be accepted by the people - but on her terms. This was her life now. Sir Gwynfor was the man who could make this happen and she was going to make sure he did not fail her. Elvina saw that her maid was waiting for an answer.
‘I will see him, but first bring my new gown.’ She looked quickly around the room. A stone fireplace dominated the room and the good blaze made certain that she would not be cold that evening. The flickering light of many candles reflected back from deeply polished wood and gold ornaments reminded visitors of the king’s wealth. Although it was richly furnished by the standards of the Gwyn, it seemed spartan to the queen but to her taste. She didn’t miss the finery of King Athelstan’s palaces and was learning to appreciate a simpler life by the sea in Wales.
She went over to the window and checked that there was nobody in the courtyard. Bethan would have the sense to make sure they had plenty of warning if anyone approached through the door at the end of the long corridor. If she could be trusted. The flicker of doubt was quickly extinguished, the stakes were high.
Elvina dressed and, taking one of the candles, lit some rare incense her brother had given to her as a parting gift. It gave the room an exotic, eastern, other worldly feel, exactly as she wished.
When Gwynfor was finally escorted in he said nothing, just stood admiring her in silence. Her hair, like her brother, King Athelstan, was not blonde but gold. She was dressed in the Anglo Saxon fashion, a pure white gown set off by a dazzling sapphire on a silver chain round her neck. It was the most brilliant he had ever seen but could not compete with the deep blue of her eyes, which were mesmerising him.
She smiled at him ‘Sir Gwynfor, I am honoured.’
‘Forgive me, my lady, I had to see you.’ He realised he was staring and suddenly felt out of his depth. This was not a familiar feeling and it excited him.
‘Tell me, are we ready for war?’
He had not expected the question and found himself responding honestly. ‘In truth we are not yet ready. We lost good men in the last battle but have soldiers in training. If God wills it, we will be ready.’
‘And you, Sir Knight?’ she looked at him with amusement in her eyes. ‘What part will you have in all of this?’
Now Sir Gwynfor smiled. ‘I will serve you to the last. Soon we will defeat the Du and I will make you the true Welsh Queen.’
It was what she wanted to hear and he sensed that a new bond had been formed between them. Queen Elvina felt her pulse race. The risks were unthinkable. They would both be put to death if Gwayne discovered them, or worse. She looked into Bethan’s eyes, wondering exactly how far her loyalty stretched. ‘Leave us please Bethan,’ she said quietly with a glance at Sir Gwynfor.
Sir Gwynfor didn’t speak but stood looking at the queen until Bethan had quietly closed the heavy oak door behind her, then quickly crossed the room, swept her into his arms and gave her a passionate kiss. He had spent hours planning this moment, but had forgotten just how wonderful it felt to kiss a woman he truly loved.
Elvina laughed when at last he relaxed his grip on her and she could speak. ‘It has been a long time for both of us. Too many lonely nights filled with dreams of you, Gwyn.’
He smiled at her use of the name only his mother had ever called him. ‘Let me look at you.’
She lay back on the bed and pretended to shyly cover herself with a silk shawl, deliberately failing to do so in the full knowledge of how it would provoke him. ‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Show me how much you love me.’
She did, until they both lay exhausted and bathed in sweat.
Elvina cuddled into his strong arms, feeling safe and content. She would happily have gone to sleep but suddenly remembered how dangerous it was for them both.
‘You will have to go. I don’t want you to but we should not test our luck.’
Gwynfor gave her one last lingering kiss and quickly dressed.
She enjoyed watching him and loved the way his eyes never left her nakedness. ‘Will this war mean that I will be able to see more of you?’
‘I will make certain of it.’ He looked at her one last time and left.
Elvina lay alone on the bed feeling suddenly feeling sad, although she could never remembe
r being happier. It was going to be harder than she had thought to be a good queen of the Gwyn.
*
Elfred had been able to find a boat in Porth Clais that was going in the direction of Pembroke. It was quite impressive, dominating the tiny harbour that served St Davids. The boat was a trader, with a large cargo hold and little in the way of accommodation. Two sailors were making ready the lateen sail, which was flapping noisily in the light breeze. Keen to avoid a long journey on poor roads, Elfred looked for the skipper and found him checking sacks of local potatoes on the quayside. He was a sharp eyed weather beaten man with prematurely greying hair and the lined face of a man who has spent all his life navigating the treacherous coast of the Irish sea,
‘Captain, can you take me to the castle at Pembroke?’
The captain looked him up and down, quickly assessing his potential as crew. ‘You will have to work your passage. Do you know your way about a boat?’
Elfred was not a sailor but had grown up by the sea and was a strong swimmer. ‘I am a quick learner, he said.’ I can read and write after a fashion and I can load those sacks for you.’
The captain nodded. ‘You could,’ he said, looking at the high water mark on the harbour wall. ‘We are short handed on this passage and need to be ready for the tide.’
Elfred was used to carrying sacks and soon had them stowed below decks. He was travelling light and found a place for the things he had decided to take with him to the castle. As well as the sword, the bishop had given him a bag of Saxon coins. These were safely inside his jerkin, as he wasn’t ready to trust his surly looking fellow crew members.