The smile was gone quickly, and with it the mood. Ferdic lifted his hand in a dismissing gesture.
"Tell Narana to have a new gown made for you," he called out as she left the room. "Something that better shows off your charms."
No one stopped Rhiannon as she hurried through the busy summer camp. She grabbed her cloak from her stepmother's lodge and set off rapidly for the cool, green refuge of the forest. She could not face anyone now, certainly not Narana, with her mocking voice, nor Bouda, who used to be Rhiannon's friend but was now too busy flirting with the young warriors to spend any time with her.
Rhiannon hastened through the trees, heedless of the brambles that caught at her clothes and the rough ground which threatened to trip her up. As the foliage grew thicker, she gathered up the skirt of her gown and crept forward on the moss-covered pathway. She squeezed through a dense thicket and came out near a large tree with a hollow trunk. Bending down, she wriggled into the small space.
Once inside, she began to relax. Here she felt safe, snug as a squirrel in its nest. She leaned against the inside of the tree. The sweat was itchy on her brow; her hair damp against her cheeks. She reached up and brushed it away and felt her pounding heart slow. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated. She willed herself to become part of the tree, to vanish into the forest forever. The rains would drip down her face; the snow frost over her eyes. She would become still, soundless, peaceful.
Rhiannon opened her eyes and sighed. Every creature, every plant was part of the same life force; there must be some way to change one thing into another. If only she knew the magic. Llewenon had promised to teach her how to shapeshift, but of course, that was only more of the magician's lies. She doubted he really knew how to turn himself into a tree or an animal, or visit the spirit world either. His magic was a lie, a way to trick other people into thinking he was important. Perhaps all magic was like that, she thought sadly. Perhaps there was nothing more than this heartache called life.
How often had she wished she had been born an animal instead of a human—a fox or a deer, or even a squirrel or mouse. Everything for them was simple. They were born, grew to maturity, gave birth to their young and died in a few short years. Although death in the forest was often brutal, it was usually quick as well. Animals did not seem to suffer as much as people did.
Animals also did not deliberately cause each other pain, as Llewenon had done to her. That had been the most horrifying thing, that he enjoyed making her suffer. If he had only wanted to bed her, she might have gone willingly. She had heard that sex magic was very powerful, and she was not afraid to try new things. But Llewenon deliberately tricked her. He lured her off alone and took her while her body was unready and unwilling. It hurt terribly, and he had taken delight in her fear and pain. His lust fed on her suffering; his awful thrusting inside her had grown more frantic as she cried out.
Rhiannon clenched her teeth in bitterness. Llewenon's treatment of her was unjust and cruel, no matter what anyone said. Narana implied that if Rhiannon had been an obedient daughter, Llewenon would never have had a chance to hurt her. Her stepmother insisted it was her stubborn solitary ways and her quest for magic which had led her into trouble. That was unfair. In the face of Ferdic's indifference and Narana's hostility, what choice had Rhiannon had except to retreat to the forest and her daydreams?
For years she had felt as if she existed in two worlds, the harsh loneliness of her stepmother's lodge, and the vivid enchantment of her private reveries. The two worlds seldom met. Occasionally, as she painstakingly embroidered dragons and serpents and wolves on her father's ceremonial clothes, she caught a glimpse of a way she could recreate the magic world that existed in her mind. As a child, she had discovered the cleverness of her fingers, and she had worked at needlework until even Narana grudgingly recognized her skill. Through her weaving and embroidery, she was able to find a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction which eluded her in the rest of her life.
Her other escape was the woods. As long as she could remember, she had felt a special connection to the misty, secret world beneath the boughs. Other children feared the beasts and spirits of the forest, but she was at home there. She spent long hours alone among the green and growing things, listening to the birds and spinning her dreams. Her favorite fantasy was that she could shapeshift and turn herself into bird or animal. As a wild creature, she would at last be free of the melancholy and frustration which bound her spirit.
Llewenon had discovered her interest in magic and shapeshifting and coaxed her to be his apprentice. He had taught her some things; she knew which plants eased fevers and stomach ailments and helped bones knit and other treatments. But he had not shared his real knowledge. Llewenon insisted that she was not ready. Then, one night he had come to her and promised to show her magic if she would go off into the woods alone with him.
Rhiannon shuddered at the memory, then wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, rocking herself in the cramped space. She must forget. It was over. Llewenon had been banished forever. Esylt called Ferdic a coward because he did not have Llewenon put to death, only sent him away, but Rhiannon could not blame her father. Llewenon was a bard, a priest, a healer. Many of the Brigantes believed the Learned Ones had the power to invoke a curse that could bring about painful death or shrivel a warrior's manhood. Rhiannon could not condemn Ferdic for failing to take such a risk.
She sighed. Llewenon was gone, but his evil still lingered. Even on the brightest, sunniest days, a shadow sometimes fell across her path, chilling her spirit. No matter what she was doing or how many people were around, the sweat would ooze from her skin, and her heart would race. The strange panic took hours to fade, and even then the sense of dread haunted her for days afterwards.
But her fear was not all that obsessed her. Sometimes her anger overwhelmed her. She wished then that Llewenon would come back and try to hurt her again. This time she would have a knife, and she would make him suffer. She would not stop until she had slashed off his testicles and thrown the bleeding mess far into the forest.
Such vengeful thoughts were foolish, Rhiannon reminded herself. Llewenon was gone; he could not hurt her again. And she'd best get over her anger toward men. She was going to be married soon—married to a king named Maelgwn the Great.
A sense of awe stirred Rhiannon as she recalled the name. Had there ever been a time when Esylt had not told her stories of the ill-fated southern overking known as the Dragon? Esylt always began her tales as the bards did, making it seem that she was speaking of a long-ago time when heroes and magic were common.
There was once a great king, she would begin. He ruled strongly and well for many years, until he married an evil woman. This woman was beautiful, but selfish. She turned the king against everyone who cared for him; she plotted for his downfall. Finally she died, but even in dying, she worked her wicked spell. She stole the king's spirit. He was too weak to rule, too weak to care about his people. His kingdom was shattered, and hunger and fear swept the land.
But there would be a happy ending to the tale, Esylt promised. Someday the king would marry again. His new queen would be kind and good, and she would win the king's love and restore his will to rule. With her at his side, the king would regain all that he had lost, and more. Someday he would rule all of Britain, and the whole island would prosper.
It was an enchanted story, told to a small child who was eager to believe there could be happy endings. It was only later that Esylt gave the king a name, and later still when she told Rhiannon that the unfortunate king was her own kin, her youngest brother.
Rhiannon shook her head. She was surely not meant to be this great man's queen. She was small, shy, and—as Narana kept reminding her—plain. Most of the Brigante women stood almost a head taller than her, and their full breasts and hips were far more enticing than Rhiannon's slender body. Maelgwn the Great would likely be disappointed when he saw her. He might even demand that Ferdic lower her bride price or provide additional warriors. He
r father would be angry, and he would blame her.
The thought distressed Rhiannon, but also made her resentful. She had grown up here in the woods of the north, and she had a place among her father's tribe. As Ferdic's only daughter, a princess, her people accorded her certain freedoms. As long as she did nothing to provoke her stepmother's wrath or draw her father's disapproving notice, she could live her life as she pleased.
Now, she was to be torn from her homeland and wed to a foreigner. She would have to leave behind the familiar landscape of dense forests and rocky pastureland. Her life would change forever. Rhiannon knew from experience that wives had fewer rights than unmarried women. They belonged to their husbands, and were almost completely subject to their will. Would her new husband allow her to explore the woods, to heal her spirit among the solitude of the trees?
A tremor of foreboding racked Rhiannon's body. A small bird chirped nearby, and she shifted her position so she could gaze out of the tree trunk. She spied a finch on a branch not far above her. Its song was sweet and joyful, a warble of delight for the warm spring day.
"Why?" she asked, gazing up at it. "Why must life be so unfair? Why can I never be free?"
The bird continued to sing. Rhiannon leaned back against the soft, rotting wood. How much better to be a bird than a woman, she thought, a woman trapped in the web of her father's ambitious plans?
Chapter 2
"Riders approaching!" the slender boy shouted as he ran toward the warriors drilling on the practice field. He paused before a dark-haired man who towered over the rest, then bowed and took a gulp of air before continuing. "There's three of them, my lord. Eleri said they looked like foreigners."
The tall man raised his brows. "Foreigners? That's all Eleri said?"
The boy took a swipe at the sweat trickling down his dirty cheek. "I saw them myself, coming down the coast road. Three men, all with red hair and bright garments. Irishmen, do you think?"
Maelgwn the Great looked down at the anxious youth and shook his head. "The Irish come by sea, not on horseback." His gaze left the boy and met that of the bulky, broad-shouldered warrior beside him. "What do you make of it, Balyn?"
"Sounds like Brigantes," Balyn answered. A frown creased his pleasant face and his brown eyes were troubled. "But what could they want? There's been no contact between our peoples in years."
The two men shared a thoughtful look, then Maelgwn turned back to the youthful messenger. "Return to Degannwy and tell Eleri to greet the visitors, but to delay letting them into the fortress. I want to know their intent before I welcome them to my hearth."
The boy gave a jerky nod and hurried off. Maelgwn motioned to the men gathered round him. They quickly donned their tunics and collected their weapons to return to the fortress.
At the gates of the timber hill-fort, three riders awaited them. Their horses were of the old Roman blood, rising a half-dozen hands higher than the native Cymry ponies, and sturdy enough to carry the tall, strongly built warriors. Two of the men had hair of a rich russet color, like a fox's pelt. The other's tresses were a shade between red and gold.
The man with lighter hair dismounted and moved to greet them. Maelgwn's earlier suspicions were confirmed as he recognized the vivid hues of the man's plaid garments. Crimson and green—the royal colors of Ferdic ap Cunneda, overking of the Brigantes. Years ago, Ferdic had been part of a plot to usurp Maelgwn. There had been bad blood between them ever since.
"Welcome." Maelgwn extended his hand to show he carried no weapons. "As visitors to our land, we invite you to dine with us and enjoy our hospitality. If I'm not mistaken, you are of the Brigante tribe. What brings you to Gwynedd?"
The man smiled, strong white teeth gleaming in his red-gold mustache. "We accept your gracious hospitality, Prince Maelgwn. Your eyes are sharp, for we do indeed come from Manau Gotodin, the land of the Brigantes. My name is Achlen." He gestured to the two men dismounting behind him. "My companions are called Urien and Brychon. We bring greetings from King Ferdic."
"What does Ferdic wish with me?" Maelgwn asked abruptly. With the formalized gestures of greeting over, he no longer felt he had to hide his misgivings.
"If you will show us into your meeting hall, we will gladly share Ferdic's message."
Maelgwn surveyed the visitors with narrowed eyes. He disliked the idea of an unexpected announcement before a hall full of servants, women and slaves. Ferdic was a tricky man. There was no telling what devious scheme he planned. Better to meet with these messengers in private.
"After we share food and refreshment, we'll gather in my council room. You can give me your message there," Maelgwn replied.
The Brigante man nodded politely. If he caught the subtle change in plans, he refrained from protesting.
Maelgwn and his men joined the visitors in the great hall for a hearty supper of salmon, boiled eels and mutton. The two groups exchanged information about neutral topics such as the weather, food supplies and their common enemies—the Picts and Irish—but made no mention of the reason for the visit. After the meal, Maelgwn led the three Brigantes and his four closest officers to another building. He closed the newly hewn oak door and gestured for the men to seat themselves around the massive table. "So," he began as he took a seat on one of the benches. "What does Ferdic want with me after all these years?"
Achlen, the obvious leader of the envoy, cleared his throat. "King Ferdic wishes to set aside the differences between the two of you and renew the ties between the Brigantes and the Cymry."
For a moment, Maelgwn was too startled to respond. He had anticipated some wheedling proposition from the northern chieftain, but nothing so brazen as this. A man he had hated and mistrusted for years apparently sought to become his ally. Had Ferdic lost his reason?
Maelgwn answered with all the disdain the ridiculous proposal was due. "What Ferdic wishes is not possible. Your leader has shown himself to be a traitor and a liar. I don't ally myself with such men."
Around the table, Maelgwn's men shifted restlessly, clearly uneasy with their leader's bluntness. Only Achlen appeared unaffected by Maelgwn's retort. His amiable expression did not waver, and his voice remained smooth and unruffled.
"Ferdic believes there is much to be gained for both peoples in such an alliance, but in truth, he did not expect you to be eager to renew the friendship. He is willing to sweeten the offer and show his good faith by sending you some of his best soldiers to aid you in your battle to regain control of Gwynedd."
This remark drew an audible gasp from the Cymry, and Maelgwn guessed immediately at the thought going through his officers' minds. The Brigantes were famed warriors. With such men fighting beside them, Gwynedd might well be united in one quick campaign rather than through years of fighting. It was like an answer to their prayers.
Maelgwn gritted his teeth. How like Ferdic to offer such a sly inducement. It did not matter; he would never accept anything from a man he despised. He made his response quickly, his voice taut with distaste. "I don't need Brigante mercenaries to fight for me. You may go back to your king and tell him I'm not interested in his bribe."
A wave of disappointment passed through the room, and some of the Cymry glanced nervously at the messengers. Maelgwn resisted the urge to tell the Brigantes even more graphically what they might do with their offer of an alliance.
Achlen's face showed no anger, and his voice remained
as reasonable as ever. "It's not meant as a bribe, Prince Maelgwn." He reached out a large, wind-reddened hand to the cup of mead before him and lifted it to his lips. Swallowing easily, he added, "If I were you, I would not reject this offer so quickly. Give yourself time to think on it. Or, better yet, come to Manau Gotodin yourself and meet with Ferdic."
Balyn, seated on Maelgwn's right, cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should examine Ferdic's offer in more depth. Rhys and I could make the trip north to talk to Ferdic and see what he has in mind."
Maelgwn turned, dreading the pleading look he knew he would find in
his chief officer's eyes.
"Ferdic was a very young man when the troubles between the two of you occurred," Balyn continued. "Perhaps he has matured and sincerely wants to right things with you."
"It doesn't hurt to listen," a slender, hazel-eyed warrior named Elwyn put in from across the table. "You can't dwell on the past forever."
Maelgwn gave Elwyn a cold look, then glanced around the table at the rest of his men. They watched him uncomfortably, waiting for his response. He could read the hope in their eyes. They wanted him to agree to this alliance. How could he blame them? It had been two years since he left the priory and began his quest to renew his kingship. Loyal soldiers all, they had joined in his struggle to reunite a country now splintered among a dozen petty chieftains. There were still too few of them to launch an all-out campaign, and Maelgwn had been forced to put his meager troops to work building the new fortress at Degannwy and planting crops so his people might eat. But these men were warriors, not builders and farmers, and their blood bubbled every day with the urge to be off fighting. If he refused this offer of aid, how long would it be before even their fierce allegiance soured?
Sickened by the trap he saw himself in, Maelgwn turned to Achlen and met the Brigante's expectant gaze. "Very well. Some of my men will return with you to Manau Gotodin and hear Ferdic out. But I have the final say in this matter. If Ferdic can't convince me of his sincerity, that he's truly changed his ways, there will be no alliance."
With that, Maelgwn stood and left the room.
The men left behind remained seated, exchanging troubled glances. Balyn splayed his huge meaty hands on the table and fixed the three Brigante men with a threatening look. "I warn you, if there is any trickery in Ferdic's plan, we will discover it and advise Maelgwn against you."
"There is no trickery," Achlen said. The faint lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled entreatingly. "Ferdic is indeed sincere. Ever since last year when he heard that the Dragon was back, that he had built a new fortress and was fighting to win back his lands, Ferdic has planned this offer." He shifted his gaze over the men in the room. "There is another aspect to the alliance which I did not have an opportunity to mention to Maelgwn. Ferdic would like to see the agreement sealed by a marriage between his daughter and Maelgwn. He believes the alliance must be sealed by blood to be a lasting one."
Dragon's Dream Page 2
