Medieval II - In Shadows of Kings

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘So what of this old woman,’ asked Geraint. ‘You say she knows of the time of Madoc.’

  ‘She was the woman of Madoc’s son,’ said Kamoi. ‘Her mother watched Madoc’s ships sail up the rivers for the first time and passed down the stories to our children.’

  ‘Can you take me to her?’

  ‘Why would you want this?’

  ‘We have sailed across a vast sea, Kamoi and it seems our quest has been in vain but at the very least, it would be good to hear of the man himself. If you will take me there, I can ask her of how it was and what became of him.’

  Kamoi nodded and stood up.

  ‘Come,’ she said, ‘we must get some sleep and when the sun rises, I will take you there.’

  Geraint stood and together they walked down the hill.

  ----

  The following day they took a path through the mountains carrying a woven bag of dried fruit and smoked fish for the old woman. For most of the day the path wound through forests of tall trees until finally they reached a small river. Kamoi led them upstream until they reached a waterfall where she pointed to a cave entrance high in the cliff face.

  ‘This is the Welsh cave,’ said Kamoi, ‘Angenni lives within.’

  ‘Is that her name?’

  ‘Yes, it means little spirit. Wait here and I will ask if she will see you.’

  Geraint watched her climb the rocks and disappear into the cave. For hours he waited until finally Kamoi emerged and called down.

  ‘Angenni will see you now.’

  Geraint climbed the rocks and crouched low to get into the cave. The inner space stank of smoke, which had blackened the low ceiling. A few logs burned against a far wall and Geraint could see a frail form wrapped in a deerskin blanket. Kamoi sat cross legged at the fire and told Geraint to join her.

  Geraint stared across the flames at the woman. Her head was bent forward and her tangled white hair hung down onto her lap. Slowly her head rose and though the light was poor, he could see she was older than any person he had ever seen before. Her eyes were sunk deep into her face and as she spoke for the first time, he could see there was not a single tooth left in her mouth.

  ‘Ger-aint,’ she said slowly, carefully forming the welsh words, ‘you seek the seed of Madoc.’

  ‘It is true, Angenni,’ said Geraint, ‘his father once ruled the lands of my birth. We came seeking his descendants and hoped to lead them home.’

  ‘Madoc is long dead, Ger-aint. His sons fed these lands with their blood and his line died out many years ago.’

  ‘Kamoi told me of this,’ said Geraint.

  ‘So why do you still search?’

  ‘I want to know what they were like, Angenni. They may be dead but still have a tale to tell. Show me who they were and how they lived. You saw them with your own eyes and I would learn about men who venture across unknown seas without knowing if any land exists. Such men truly have no fear in my eyes.’

  ‘I never shared food with Madoc,’ said Angenni, ‘so can’t tell of the man himself. My time was with his son and was his woman until he was killed by an Apalach war axe. His body lies deeper in the dark.’

  Geraint glanced toward the back of the cave.

  ‘I thought your way was to leave your dead to the winds and the rains?’ said Geraint.

  ‘It is,’ said Angenni, ‘but before he died he asked that his body be placed beneath the soil. I honour his wish but by doing this, his spirit is not free to return to the winds. This is why I stay.’

  ‘It must have been a strange time when they first arrived,’ said Geraint.

  ‘My mother told of great joy amongst the elders,’ said Angenni, ‘for Madoc’s ships were not the first. Many such men have come to our lands for many generations and all have shared food with the Mandan. Many stayed and built great villages of stone to protect them from the Apalach.’

  ‘You talk of castles?’

  ‘This is the word they used. Many were built but they now lay fallen amongst the tree roots, nothing more than lairs for the beasts that crawl.’

  ‘Castles take a long time to build, Angenni and take hundreds of men.

  ‘They were built over the time of many grandfathers,’ said Angenni. ‘At first they were places of strength but the Apalach kept coming. Now they turn to dust.’

  ‘But that means there must have been ships travelling between our lands for hundreds of years.’

  ‘Madoc was the greatest of them all. His name will be spoken around Mandan fires until we are no more.’

  ‘If so many came, surely their descendants would still be here.’

  ‘We are their seed, Ger-aint. We keep alive the old words in their memory. Many Mandan have eyes of blue and light hair. These are the line of Madoc. Look to the warriors for many grow hair upon their face as do you, this is not a Mandan thing and is brought by the blood of their Welsh grandfathers. Our people call you Gods, Ger-aint but I know you are only men. You tread the same paths of many predecessors yet like all before you, you too will die and the winds will still blow.’

  ‘I have no intention of dying yet, Angenni.’

  ‘Death is but a heartbeat away, Ger-aint. Whether by Apalach axe or passage of time, the span is thinner than an insect’s wing. You will die and others will come, the circle will continue. But I see a change coming, Ger-aint. My people are innocent to your ways and will become Buffalo to your strength. Each time you come, your ships are bigger, your lances longer and your bow strings tighter. The Apalach are strong and the keepers of these lands but even they will soon fall to your strength. When this happens, all tribes will fall to the invader. Mandan, Apalach, Seminole or Miccosukee, all will fall. It may not be by your hand or even the hand of your son’s sons but eventually men will come and swat away the Apalach as I swat away a fly. On that day, the earth will cry.’

  ‘Surely this will be good. The Apalach are your enemies.’

  ‘The mountain lion is the enemy of the deer yet they exist side by side. Take away one and the spirits cry at the imbalance.’

  ‘You don’t know this will truly happen,’ said Geraint.

  ‘Madoc’s people told of great things,’ said Angenni, ‘of huge places where people live with no air. They said countries fight each other for more space and brother fights brother for land and honour. When the land is not enough they will look toward the Mandan plains as did Madoc and soon the ships will number as the birds in the sky. It is the way of your people.’

  For hours Geraint talked to Angenni and learned what he could about Madoc and finally stood to leave.

  ‘Angenni,’ he said, ‘I would pay respect to Madoc’s son and beg leave to pray at his grave. Do you consent?’

  ‘It is your way,’ she said and nodded at Kamoi. ‘Take him.’

  Kamoi picked up a burning branch from the fire and led Geraint to the back of the cave. The roof swept down until Geraint had to duck but eventually they stood in a small side cavern. Kamoi left him alone and returned to the old woman. Geraint held up the torch to see the cave properly. Piled at the back was a mound of rusting armour but in the centre, an elongated circle of rocks outlined where the man was buried.

  Geraint knelt alongside the grave and prayed silently in the darkness. When he was finished, he sat for a while, alone with his thoughts. His mind was awash with what this man’s father and his men had gone through in this new world. They had found a strange country with stranger cultures and no doubt their days were spent full of uncertainty and fear, knowing they would never return to their homes. They had to make it work or die, it was as simple as that.

  With a sigh he stood up, knowing that his own journey had come to an end. As soon as Tarian returned, he would let him know what Angenni had said and they could focus all their energies on repairing the ship. It was a sad realisation but one that Geraint welcomed with all his heart.

  Out in the main cave, the two women watched him return.

  ‘Are you done, Ger-aint?’

  ‘I am done
,’ he said, ‘and would leave you alone with your memories.’

  ‘I am not alone, Ger-aint, the spirits are with me.’

  Geraint nodded.

  ‘One more thing, Angenni,’ he said, ‘the grave is of Madoc’s son. Do you know where Madoc himself lays?’

  ‘Nobody knows,’ said Angenni, ‘for he was not in the lands of the Mandan when he went to the spirits.’

  ‘Had he gone inland?’

  ‘No, Ger-aint, he went back to his own lands.’

  ‘You are mistaken,’ said Geraint, ‘thrice, Madoc sailed to your lands but after the third time, he never returned to Wales.’

  ‘You are right that his fleet came three times,’ said Angenni, ‘but the third time it arrived without him. He stayed in his homeland.’

  Geraint stared at the woman in disbelief.

  ‘This cannot be,’ he said, ‘the man buried back there is his son, he must have been here.’

  ‘His son was born on his second visit,’ said Angenni. ‘When he went back the last time, he never returned.’

  ‘But I saw the mast of the ship in the village. It must have made it back.’

  ‘The ship did, as did the others but Madoc was not aboard. He stayed at home to nurse his sick woman and new born son. The tale was told to us by the new people who came on the ships.’

  Geraint sat back down.

  ‘Can you tell me the tale, Angenni?’ he asked, ‘it could make all the difference.’

  ‘I tire,’ said Angenni, ‘but will speak when I awake. Come back at dawn and I will tell you the tales of my forefathers.’

  Kamoi and Geraint left the cave and set up a small camp near the river below. Kamoi lit a fire and after sharing a meagre meal, they settled down to sleep.

  ----

  The following morning, Kamoi woke to find Geraint had gone. She checked the signs but soon realised he had gone back to the cave. She climbed the rocks and went inside. Angenni still slept but there was no sign of Geraint. Kamoi made her way to the rear of the cave and found Geraint sitting at the foot of the grave he had visited the day before. The room was illuminated by the flames from a fire pot Geraint had brought with him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he said.

  ‘Angenni may be offended.’

  ‘I only pay my respects,’ said Geraint, ‘this man was a Christian and it disturbs me that his final resting place is marked by nothing more than stones.’

  ‘It is our way,’ said Kamoi.

  ‘But not ours,’ said Geraint, ‘there are no stones large enough for a headstone so I made this.’ He picked up a simple cross he had fashioned from two branches. It stood half the size of a grown man.

  ‘It’s not much,’ he said, standing up, ‘but every man should have a marker.’ He walked to the far end of the grave and pushed the cross into the soil before removing a crucifix from around his neck and hanging it over the upright part of the cross. The chain glistened in the dim light of the fire pot as the tiny figure of Christ span slowly above the grave.

  ‘It is fitting,’ said Kamoi quietly.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked a voice and they turned to see Angenni standing in the dark.

  ‘Old mother,’ said Kamoi, ‘we meant no harm. Geraint has made offering to his own Gods in honour of a fellow warrior. No offence was intended.’

  Angenni shuffled forward and lifted the crucifix in the palm of her hand.

  ‘He wore one such as this,’ she said, ‘but it was taken by the Apalach when he died.’ She turned away and returned to her fire, closely followed by Kamoi and Geraint.

  After eating a porridge of Maize, Angenni sat back and stared at Geraint.

  ‘Ask your questions, Ger-aint,’ she said, ‘and I will tell you what I know.’

  For the next few hours, Geraint heard the history of how Madoc arrived in the lands of the Mandan, only to find they were not the first. Tales abounded of men from across the sea who had visited these shores for many generations. Some had come in peace while some had come to conquer but Madoc was the first to settle amongst the Mandan and it was for this reason they had become embedded in the local culture.

  He heard of how Madoc came first with four ships and was made so welcome by the Mandan, he returned home to gather more volunteers to form a colony. Once again he returned having lost only one ship but soon left again to bring the rest of his family and though he left his son behind with the Mandan to oversee the growing colony, his wife travelled with him back to Wales. During the voyage, Madoc’s wife had fallen pregnant and though they reached Wales safely, the birth was difficult and the baby very weak. Despite this, plans were made to sail another fleet and eventually Madoc’s seconds managed to raise enough funds for another six ships. Commoners begged for inclusion on the exodus to the new world but as the time approached, Madoc’s wife got worse and he refused to leave her side. As the winter approached the fleet was under pressure to leave and finally he made a decision. The ships would sail without him and he would travel the following spring when the weather was good and his family strong. That was the last they ever saw of him in the new world.

  ‘I assume he did sail eventually,’ said Geraint when Angenni finished her tale, ‘but was lost at sea.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Angenni. ‘The last of his people arrived and told us the tale. For many years they lived amongst the Mandan but many died at the hands of the Apalach. Those who survived walked upriver to seek a new life inland. ‘

  ‘Did they survive?’

  ‘Many tribes live inland who do not welcome strangers. We heard of many battles and when we traded with the peoples of the north, they offered spears decorated with the scalps of white men. No more was ever heard.’

  ‘So that’s it,’ said Geraint, ‘it ends here. Thank you, Angenni, your counsel has opened my eyes. I will convey your words to our leader and we will return home as soon as our ship has been fixed.’

  ‘Before you go, I would give you a gift,’ said Angenni and removed a pendant from around her neck. On the end was an oval flat stone inscribed with a strange diagram resembling a letter ‘V’ overlaid with another ‘V’ though this time inverted.

  ‘Madoc was a great man, Ger-aint,’ she said, ‘and our elders honoured him with his own mark. This charm belonged to him and then his son, now it belongs to you.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Geraint.

  ‘You replaced the sign of your own God on the grave of Madoc’s son,’ she said. ‘This is powerful medicine and I know his spirit can finally rest. Now I too can leave and sing the wind songs at the camp fires of the ancients.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Geraint taking the pendant.

  ‘After this day, my songs will join the winds. It is a good thing. Go home, Welsh man and let the medicine of Madoc’s charm take you safely across the seas.’ With that, Angenni closed her eyes and sat back against the wall.

  ‘But…’

  ‘Geraint,’ interrupted Kamoi, ‘there is nothing more to be heard, it is time to go.’

  ‘Good bye, Angenni,’ said Geraint but when no answer came, he stood up and followed Kamoi out of the cave.

  ‘Kamoi,’ he said as they walked, ‘what did Angenni mean when she said she can visit the fires of her ancestors?’

  ‘It means that she will die this day,’ said Kamoi.

  ‘But how does she know?’

  ‘It is her choice,’ Geraint,’ she said, ‘it is our way.’

  Geraint said no more but as he walked, he fingered the pendant of Madoc hanging around his neck. The quest may be over but he had a tangible memory of the man himself.

  ----

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Gwynedd

  1277

  For months, Garyn rode with the Blaidd, riding as mounted guards and protecting Llewellyn’s supply wagons from brigands as they passed through the hills. At first he played a small part but whenever possible, Goddeff took the time to train him in the art of w
arfare. Every evening they traded blows with dulled practise swords, until Geraint was comfortable in handling a blade as well as any of them.

  ‘Always remember,’ Goddeff had said, ‘try everything to settle an argument without conflict but should it be unavoidable, draw your sword for one purpose only, to kill your opponent. A man who enters a fight with the intention of sword play is doomed to failure. Go for the death blow immediately and always suspect a second assailant in the shadows. A man is at his most vulnerable when he stares down at another drawing his last breath.’

  Over the months Goddeff added lance work to Garyn’s skills, not as a favoured method of combat but so Garyn would know how to react should he be attacked by a lancer. At first Garyn was shocked at the methods, but he soon realised Goddeff was more concerned with success in combat, no matter what it took and any unnecessary drills or tactics already learned in his past, no matter how chivalrous, were soon forgotten as he learned how to fight dirty.

  ‘I have to admit,’ said Garyn one evening after a session on how to hamstring a charging horse, ‘your methods stray far from those learned in the service of Cadwallader.’

  ‘I make no apology, Garyn,’ said Goddeff. ‘Cadwallader was a good Knight and few could better him in his day, but I would have put any man here against him and wagered my life on the outcome.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Cadwallader was a good man, but like many others he was blinkered by tradition and chivalry.’ ‘When it comes to keeping your life, I would prefer skulduggery and trickery.’

  ‘And my father?’

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘What sort of Knight was he?’

  ‘One that survived the wars. That’s all you need to know.’

  ‘A mercenary.’

  ‘That fact you already knew and by using the techniques that I am teaching you, he survived long enough to start a family. If nothing else, remember that one fact.’

  Garyn sat in silence as he remembered his father but his reverie was short lived when Goddeff stood up once more.

  ‘Enough talk,’ said Goddeff, ‘we have work to do. From now on we will concentrate on the knife.’