Then before them arose a dark stone edifice that seemed to spring from the mountain.
"Cythraul," ap Gruffydd said, riding straight for the dark pile of rock.
They heard his name being called from its heights as they drew nearer. Then they rode through the open ironwork of the entrance. Rhonwyn would later learn the ironwork was called a portcullis. The courtyard was suddenly alive with men. One took Addien's reins, while another reached up to lift both her and her brother down. Ap Gruffydd dismounted, giving orders that the beast be fed and rested. Then he said, "Where is Morgan ap Owen?"
"Here, my lord!" a deep voice boomed, and a barrel-chested man came forth. He was tall and had a black beard, and his hair was tied behind him although the top of his head was bald.
"We must talk," ap Gruffydd said, and walked toward a tower, which seemed to be the only building in the fortress. It was built into the walls at one corner of the structure. Inside, he told his children, "Go, and warm yourselves by the fire pit." Then he accepted a wooden goblet of bitter beer, swallowing it down in several gulps, and seated himself in the lord's chair. "Vala is dead. These are our children. The girl is just five and called Rhonwyn. The lad is three and named Glynn. I want to leave them with you while I decide what is to be done for them," he told Morgan ap Owen, the captain of Cythraul.
"Your word, lord, is my command" came the reply, "but why here, and why me? This is a great honor you do me, entrusting me with the care and safety of your offspring."
"You were Vala's blood kin, Morgan, and besides, I didn't want to exhaust them by taking them farther. They have never, until today, been off the hillock where Vala had her cottage."
"What about your brothers' households?" the captain queried.
"Few knew of Vala. And no one knew until today that I had children by her. Now you know, Morgan ap Owen. You and I and a priest of my choosing. You know the danger. My enemies would kill the lad and use Rhonwyn as a pawn in some marriage. I am far past my youth, and if I do not many, Glynn will one day be my heir. As for Rhonwyn, it will he her lather who arranges her marriage, not strangers." He smiled at his longtime friend. "They are small, Morgan. Surely you can find a place for them here."
"There is a bedspace for important visitors near the fire pit. They can have that," Morgan ap Owen answered his overlord. "But what am I to do with them?"
"They are children. They will amuse themselves. Just keep them safe for me, warm, and well fed," ap Gruffydd said.
"What am I to tell my men?" the captain asked.
"Just say these children are of special importance to me" came the reply. "They will draw their own conclusions no matter, but admit nothing to anyone."
"Will the children speak?" ap Owen wanted to know.
"Rhonwyn, Glynn, to me!" their father commanded, and the children came to stand by him. "You are my offspring, my blood, and 1 am proud of it; but you must not admit our relationship to any. Rhonwyn, I know you understand, but you must make your brother comprehend the danger. Can you do it, lass?"
The green eyes met his, and she said briefly, "I can."
"Good girl," he praised, and gave her a quick kiss atop her head, chuckling at the surprised look that encompassed her features. Then he arose. "I must go now. I am expected elsewhere this day, and while I may be late, I must get there."
"Will you return?" Rhonwyn asked him.
He nodded.
"When?" she demanded.
"When the time is right, lass. You will be safe here at Cythraul. Morgan ap Owen is blood kin to your mam. He will guard you with his life. Promise me you will obey him, both of you."
"Aye," Rhonwyn said dispassionately.
"Aye, Tad!" little Glynn piped, eager to please his sire.
Ap Gruffydd lifted up the little boy and kissed him on both cheeks before setting him down again. Then he looked at his daughter. She met his gaze straight on, her look neither warm nor cold. "You haven't made up your mind about me yet, have you?" he gently teased.
Rhonwyn shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I don't really know you, but I am grateful you came yesterday, and I am grateful you have brought us to a place of safety. More than that I do not know, nor can I say, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd."
He nodded. "You are my daughter and honest to a fault," he told her. "Take care of the lad, Rhonwyn. I will be back." Then ap Gruffydd turned and, in his captain's company, left the hall of the tower.
"Tad!" Glynn called after the retreating figure.
"He'll be back soon," Rhonwyn comforted her brother. "Let us explore this place that is to be our new home, Glynnie-lad," she coaxed him, turning his thoughts from ap Gruffydd. "It is a tall tower."
When the day had finally waned, and the hall filled with the men-at-arms, the two children felt almost lost for a time, but then Morgan ap Owen set them up upon the high board and told his men, "These wee ones are of great importance to our lord Llywelyn. They are to be kept safe and not mistreated. I am going to appoint eight of you to be their particular guardians. Lug, Adda, Mabon, Nudd, Barris, Dewi, Cadam, and Oth. I choose you. Just make certain these two younglings don't fall off the walls."
There was much good-natured grumbling among the eight, but they were all good men and secretly pleased to have been so honored. It didn't take an educated man to figure out that these were the lord's children, even if Morgan ap Owen hadn't quite said so. The lad had his stamp, and the girl, for all her fair hair, was obviously his.
"They're his, aren't they?" his lieutenant said to his captain.
"I have not said so" was the response; "Nor should you" came the Veiled warning.
Rhonwyn listened to this exchange as she sat feeding her little brother. Their sire was obviously a very important man. After the meal the chosen men gathered about them like a pack of kindly, grizzled watchdogs. Rhonwyn was mostly silent, letting her little brother capture the men’s hearts, for Glynn was, and always had been, a very winning child. When he began to grow sleepy, one of them, Oth, picked up the boy and tucked him in the bedspace.
"You had best go, too," Oth told her.
"I am older," Rhonwyn replied. Then she looked across the hall at several of the men who were kneeling on the floor. "What are they doing?" she asked Oth.
"Dicing," he answered her. "It is a game."
"I want to learn," Rhonwyn said.
"Do you?" he answered with a chuckle. "I don't know if the captain would approve, lass."
"Why not?" she demanded.
" ‘Tis a game of chance," he explained.
"I don't understand, Oth," she told him. "I am very ignorant of the world, you see, having lived all my life on the hill with my mam."
He nodded. "I see," he said. "Well, then, perhaps I shall teach you to dice myself, but not tonight. You have had several hard days, and you need your rest. I will wager you have never before today ridden. There is a small mare in the stables that no one uses. I can teach you to ride, too. Would you like that?"
Rhonwyn nodded eagerly. "Aye, I would!"
"Then crawl into bed with your wee brother, who is already asleep. Tomorrow will be a very busy day for you." Oth led her, unprotesting now, to the bedspace in the stone walls of the tower. Lifting her up, he tucked Rhonwyn in beneath the furs next to Glynn. "Good night, lass," he said, and then left her.
"Well done," Morgan ap Owen praised him quietly.
"What in Jesu's name does ap Gruffydd mean by leaving those two wee children here?" Oth said. "What kind of a place is Cythraul for wee ones?" He picked up a wooden cup and drank down his beer.
"He'll be back soon enough for them," Gamon ap Llwyd replied. "They're his only offspring, unless, of course, he has a few others hidden about the countryside."
"He was faithful to my cousin Vala," Morgan ap Owen said quietly. "I will wager there are no others, and did I tell you not to speak of them thusly?"
"We all know they are his," Gamon ap Llwyd said.
"Poor lad and lass," Oth replied. "Their mam gone and them brought to a place li
ke this. Still, if we are not to have them long, we must make their time here a good one. The peace is holding for now."
Aye, Morgan thought to himself, the peace is holding, but for how long? And if it broke, Cythraul would be in the thick of it, being located so close to the border, guarding a mountain pass between what was known as the "Welshry" and the "Englishry" sections of the Marches.
It had been blessed providence that the prince had arrived at Vala's cottage when he did. Had he not, the children would have died as well. Oh, Rhonwyn would have tried hard to survive and keep her baby brother safe, but she was only a wee girlie. Their tragic end would have been inevitable. But ap Gruffydd had come in time and saved his offspring. Yet Morgan ap Owen knew that the prince would not be returning soon. He had other, greater problems. God only knew how many years these two children would remain at Cythraul.
There were several things to consider. Clothing was the first. Dewi, one of the men he had appointed to look after the children, was the fortress's tailor. He must clothe both Rhonwyn and Glynn in boy's attire. That way anyone spying on them or sheltering with them would see the children, assume them to be the sons of one of the men at Cythraul, and think no more on it. Anyone seeing a little girl among them would assume there were women at Cythraul also. Such a notion could prove dangerous to the safety of the fortress.
And what was he to do with the children during the day? He could neither read nor write, nor could anyone here. If Rhonwyn was to make a good marriage one day, she should know something, but who was there to teach her? Well, that would be ap Gruffydd's problem. The men at Cythraul lortress could hardly be expected to raise two children as a gentle dame would. Why hadn't ap Gruffydd taken them to his sister, the Abbess Gwynllian? They would have had a far better opportunity at Mercy Abbey than at Cythraul; but ap Gruffydd took the easiest route where his son and daughter were concerned. His passion was for his country, which was why he had put off the matter of his marriage. Even now, approaching forty, he had no idea of finding a wife and siring a legitimate heir.
Morgan ap Owen shook his dark head despairingly. Two small children to care for. What had ap Gruffydd been thinking? He looked about the hall. Most of his men were now wrapped in their sheepskins as near to the fire pit as they could get. Rising, he went outside and checked the preparations for the night. The gates were barred and locked. The watch stood upon the walls. All was quiet and peaceful. Above him the skies had finally cleared, and the stars shone brightly. A crescent moon had already set. A cold wet nose pressed itself into his hand. Absently he reached out and stroked his favorite dog, a large Irish wolfhound.
"Well, Brenin, 'tis a fine responsibility we have been given. I'll be expecting you to watch over our young guests. The lad is small yet and less likely to mischief, but I fear for his sister. Headstrong like her tad, she is, and clever, I'm thinking."
The dog whined as if in agreement and pushed his master with his massive head.
Morgan chuckled. "You're getting old, Brenin, that you would go in on a fine night like this, but I'm ready for my bed, too." Together master and beast returned to the hall. Morgan ap Owen found his bedspace, but to his surprise the dog went and lay before the two children. The captain smiled. He always knew Brenin understood him no matter what anyone else said.
Chapter 2
A p Gruffydd's children were no better than peasants, Morgan ap Owen thought as he watched them over the next few days. They had known nothing but their cottage and their hill. They hadn't even had a pet to keep them amused. They were at first wary of Brenin, but the great wolfhound quickly won over the bolder Rhonwyn and her shy little brother. Soon he was carrying Glynn about on his back as the child tried to emulate his sister, whom Oth was teaching to ride.
"We ought to get the laddie a pony," Oth remarked one evening in the hall. "He's wearing out poor old Brenin, and we all know how the captain will feel if the dog dies."
There was a nodding of heads in agreement.
"Hold still, you wee vixen," Dewi said as he measured Rhonwyn for her tunic. "You're worse than water running over rocks."
Rhonwyn giggled. "Lug says I have very little feet. He measured me for boots of my own yesterday. Will I like boots, Dewi? I've always gone barefoot, I have."
"You must learn to wear boots," Dewi told her. "I'll make you some nice hose to wear under them."
"What are hose?" she asked curiously.
"A cloth covering for your legs and feet," he told her. By the rood, these children knew so little! "Hose will help keep your feet warm in winter and the bugs from biting your legs in summertime, lass."
"You're making her hose?" Lug interrupted. "I'll have to wait then to make the boots, for I must measure her again when she is wearing the leg coverings, Dewi. You might have told me before I made the pattern."
"You've not cut the leather yet, have you?"
"Nay, you told me just in time," Lug said.
Morgan ap Owen restrained a chuckle. His men, all of them, were absolutely besotted with the two children. He needn't have appointed a guardianship, for they were all eager to look after ap Gruffydd's offspring. They carried the boy about when he tired, which he seemed to quite easily. They made certain the choicest bits of the meal were put in Rhonwyn's and Glynn's bowls.
A bit subdued at first, the children began to grow more comfortable with their new home. At one point later, Morgan did not ask how, a dappled gray pony was found along with a small saddle. Glynn joined his sister in her riding lessons. On his feet Glynn was sensitive and timid, but astride the pony he quickly became an excellent, even daring horseman, frequently besting Rhonwyn, who had absolutely no fear of anything at all.
Both youngsters roamed the fortress at will. After they had been seen several times playing with sticks as they would swords, small weapons were forged for them, and the lessons began, as well.
Glynn was easily wearied with the rough games that Rhonwyn so liked. He preferred the company of the fortress cook, Gwilym, who kept him amused with wonderful and fanciful tales of fairie folk, warriors, and beautiful maidens-some pure, and some devilishly wicked. Gwilym often told his tales to the men in the hall on winter evenings. He had a deep rich voice that could call forth magical and mysterious stories. Sometimes he would sing the history of the ancient Cymri, accompanying himself on a small lute. Glynn attached himself to the cook like a winkle to a rock. No one seemed to mind, as Glynn was a gentle child. While the men liked him, they were not quite certain what to do with him. His attachment to Gwilym solved the problem for all quite nicely.
Rhonwyn, on the other hand, was far easier to understand, even if she was a little girl. Morgan, himself, taught her swordplay, which she very much enjoyed. He taught her how to use a main gauche, a dagger held in the left hand while one used one's sword in the right. Barris, the blacksmith, made Rhonwyn her own small kite-shaped shield. Oth devised a padded body armor, called an arming doublet, for her practices. She learned to use a javelin and a mace. Next to the sword, however, Rhonwyn's favorite weapon was an alborium, a bow made of hazelwood. She became extremely quick and very proficient with it, particularly astride her horse. Guiding her mount with her knees, the reins wrapped about the saddle's pommel, she used the bow with deadly intent while coining at a full gallop. By the time she was ten there wasn't a man in the fort who wouldn't have fought at her side and felt sale.
For the next few years a series of truces ensured the peace between England and the Wales. The English king, Henry III, was involved in a serious power struggle with one of his greatest lords, Simon de Montfort, the Karl of Leicester, who also happened to be his brother in-law. The rebellion of de Montfort and the barons was a popular one, for Henry was a weak king. Meeting the opposition at Oxford, he reluctantly signed a treaty limiting his royal power. Three years later the king repudiated the Treaty of Oxford, saying his word had been forced. While he walked cautiously for a time, eventually the Baron's War broke out, and the king was defeated by de Montfort. The very first
Parliament was summoned, consisting of lords, bishops, knights, and burgesses, who were the representatives of the towns.
de Montfort's next move to ensure peace to the west was to formally, in the name of the crown, recognize Llywelyn ap Gruffydd as prince of Wales and overlord of Magnates Wallie, or all the great men of Wales. Llywelyn was now a vassal of England, and his power was at its absolute height. Shortly thereafter, however, Prince Edward, the king's eldest son, defeated de Montfort at Evesham, killing him. Wales, nonetheless, was left in peace. It suited England to permit the Welsh autonomy for the time being. After all, there was Scotland to the north to contend with and the French across the channel, who had now in their possession almost all of England 's French territories. A treaty was proposed to be signed between Henry III and Prince Llywelyn.
Isolated at Cythraul, the news of all these goings-on still managed to filter through, brought by travelers seeking shelter. Rhonwyn, while interested in the news brought to Cythraul, pretended indifference. She had no love for her father, knowing his rescue of his children those few years back had been nothing more than chance. Bringing them to the fortress was merely a duty done, for the men of Cythraul had drummed one lesson into Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. Duty to family and country first. If her father ever asked a duty of her, Rhonwyn knew she would grant it despite her dislike of ap Gruffydd. He had sired her. He was her overlord. She owed him duty. She thought it unlikely, however, that she would ever be called upon to perform a duty for ap Gruffydd.
He had yet to marry, although he was in his late forties. There were rumors of a possible alliance with a daughter of Simon de Montfort, but a lady of such distinguished lineage-she had a king of England, a king of France, and a Holy Roman Emperor for uncles-could not possibly accept a mere prince of the Welsh for a husband. Or could she? The lady in question, however, was in France, so she could not be asked.
A Memory of Love Page 2
