Dragon's Dream

by Mary Gillgannon

  Taffee laughed. "I was but a child then, a serving girl in the kitchen. Besides, Lady Aurora was too fine and proud to allow someone like me to wait upon her. Lady Gwenaseth herself served Maelgwn's first wife. Now, she says I will serve you. It's true that I can mend a tear or make a braid quicker than anyone."

  The slave woman's boasting rankled Rhiannon, but she had to acknowledge Taffee's efficiency. She had speedily combed and braided Rhiannon's hair, as well as tidied the room. At any rate, Rhiannon was not inclined to refuse Taffee's services. She had spent too much of her life answering to Narana's beck and call not to appreciate the luxury of having her own body servant. Besides, Taffee's inclination to chatter about Lady Aurora intrigued Rhiannon. She wondered how much more the woman would tell her.

  "Maelgwn's first wife, Aurora. He loved her very much, didn't he?"

  A sharp assessing look lit Taffee's gray eyes as Rhiannon turned to look at her. For a moment Rhiannon worried that she had revealed her doubts too openly. To her relief, Taffee's answer was not mocking, but grave and sure.

  "Aye, he loved her. Too much I would say. A king can hardly afford to marry for love."

  The shrewd, matter-of-fact words soothed Rhiannon as she walked to the great hall to meet Gwenaseth. Maelgwn might not desire her body or want her as his wife, but he needed her. The army of Brigante warriors she brought him more than justified their marriage.

  "I'm glad you're here," Gwenaseth said as soon as Rhiannon met her in the kitchen. "I have much to show you."

  Rhiannon's tour of the fortress began in the kitchen of the great hall and progressed to the bakehouse, the granary, storerooms and cellars, the brewery, the buttery, the newly built kiln and finally, the garden. Struggling to keep up with Gwenaseth's rapid pace, Rhiannon tried not to gawk at the many buildings and the constant bustle of servants and workers along the pathways of the fortress. She was reminded that this was no petty chieftain's ragged hill-fort, but the stronghold of a powerful overking. Her father told her that Maelgwn the Great received tribute from a vast network of fishing villages, farmers and herdsmen. After he conquered the rest of Gwynedd, his wealth would be even more astounding.

  "I don't know how you keep track of everything," she told Gwenaseth in an awed tone when they finally took a break from the tour to enjoy an afternoon repast of barley bread and honey in the feasting hall. "There are so many things to think of, so many people doing the work."

  Gwenaseth shrugged. "I helped run my father's house- hold when I was a girl of only eight winters. Degannwy is much bigger, but the work is the same. You will learn, I'm sure. In no time at all, the slaves and servants will answer to you as mistress as well as queen."

  Rhiannon paused between bites. "Me? I could not begin to manage so many people."

  "Of course you can. As Maelgwn's wife you must look after things while he is away on campaign."

  "Maelgwn expects me to take charge of his fortress?"

  "I assumed you would want to."

  Rhiannon put her bread down, her appetite utterly gone. Not only was she to lose her freedom; she was also expected to take on a heavy load of responsibilities as Maelgwn's queen—responsibilities she had no training for.

  Gwenaseth frowned. "Perhaps I assume too much. Maelgwn has never discussed your role in his household." Her face grew thoughtful. "I will speak to him about it later. For now, we must attend to other matters." She rose and gestured for Rhiannon to follow.

  "I'm surprised your mother didn't train you to supervise slaves and servants," Gwenaseth said as they walked toward a cluster of workshops. "Most Cymry girls learn such skills early on."

  "My mother is dead. And my stepmother—she was too busy with my brothers to take an interest in me."

  "I'm sorry. My own mother died when I was a babe, and I always felt her absence. Your mother," Gwenaseth asked gently, "was she a Brigante woman?"

  Rhiannon shook her head. "Nay, a foreign princess. I know very little about her. My father seems uncomfortable with the subject."

  "Perhaps she died when you were born. That always makes it hard for a man." Gwenaseth smiled. "I'm glad Maelgwn has married you. He grieved far too long for his first wife. He will be happier now, and he does need an heir."

  Rhiannon looked away. So far, she had done poorly at conceiving a son for her husband.

  "Here we are," Gwenaseth said cheerfully as they reached the weaving room. "Maelgwn told me to have some new gowns made for you. Let's see what sort of fabric we can find."

  Rhiannon followed Gwenaseth into the busy workroom. A half dozen women smiled and nodded at her as they entered. By daylight, the room did not appear threatening at all, and Rhiannon looked with interest at the variety of materials and equipment used for the making of cloth. Gwenaseth went rapidly to a large chest in the corner and began to pull out pieces of dyed fabric. She put aside some pieces immediately. Others she held up to Rhiannon, squinting to imagine the effect.

  "I like this deep green, and the blue and gold weave perhaps... Your hair is too vivid for the saffron and certainly the red... you look best in the soft colors of forest and sea."

  She dug further down in the chest and pulled out a shimmering piece of cloth in a shade the color of violets. "This piece is very small; it must have been left over from something else. You are so tiny, though, there might be enough. Maelgwn wanted you to have at least one truly exceptional gown. No other woman of Degannwy is likely to have a gown made of real silk."

  Rhiannon stared in awe at the exquisite cloth, overwhelmed to think Maelgwn wished her to have something so fine.

  Gwenaseth put aside the fabric and turned to Rhiannon. "Now we must measure you. You'll have to take off your gown."

  Rhiannon glanced at the open door uncertainly. Gwenaseth shook her head. "No one will bother us. The men are all off planning the summer campaign."

  Rhiannon stripped to her shift and stood as still as she could while Gwenaseth measured off strips of leather to mark her size.

  "How small your waist is!" Gwenaseth said in admiration. "I can scarce believe I was once almost as tiny as you." She smiled ruefully. "Bearing children has filled me out."

  "I wish I were larger," Rhiannon said wistfully. "Especially my breasts. Men seem to prefer full-figured women. Maelgwn's first wife—was she much larger than me?"

  "You must not worry about that," Gwenaseth chided. "Maelgwn is not one to turn away from a beautiful woman, no matter what her size or shape."

  "I am not beautiful!"

  "Of course you are, Rhiannon. I find no flaw in your features or your form, and any woman would envy your extraordinary hair. In some light it looks as bright as a flame; other times it appears dark and rich, like wine."

  "Red hair is common among my people. I would rather have dark hair like the Cymry, or golden hair, as I've heard the Saxons have."

  "You must not wish to be something other than what you are," Gwenaseth said gently. "Your beauty merely needs a little enhancement, some new gowns and jewels to set it off." She slapped her forehead suddenly. "The jewels! I near forgot them!"

  Gwenaseth led Rhiannon to her own chamber, and while Rhiannon admired her collection of seashells and baskets, searched through another chest. She finally pulled out an intricately carved box, fashioned from some dark gleaming wood and fastened with strips of enameled bronze. Opening the box, Gwenaseth held it out.

  Rhiannon gasped. Never before had she seen such dazzling jewelry. Bracelets, neck pieces, earrings and rings crammed the box to the top. Most pieces were not of bronze or silver, but of gold, and set with a rainbow of brilliant stones that sparkled in the light.

  "What treasure you have!" Rhiannon exclaimed.

  "No, what treasure you have," Gwenaseth answered. Rhiannon looked up, perplexed.

  "These jewels have been in Maelgwn's family for years. Some of them belonged to Cunedag, his great-great-grand-sire," Gwenaseth said. "Maelgwn is the last of his line, and you are his queen. It's only appropriate that you use them to adorn
yourself."

  "I could not," Rhiannon breathed. "They are much too beautiful."

  Gwenaseth nodded. "I admit many of the pieces are rather gaudy, but some would suit. We might ask Maelgwn if the smith could use the metal and stones to make something special for you."

  Rhiannon reached to touch a necklace set with glittering green stones. "These remind me of cats' eyes."

  "Those are emeralds," Gwenaseth supplied. "They come from very far away—beyond Rome, in a land of great heat and strange and miraculous beasts. The color flatters your pale skin and bright hair. And this..." Gwenaseth held out a necklace of large amber beads. "This blends well with your coloring and is simple enough to wear every day. There are earrings to match."

  Rhiannon hesitated, reluctant to accept the finely made necklace. She had never worn anything more ornate than a few bronze and enamel wristbands and the simple gold torque Esylt had given her when her bleeding times began. The idea of wearing these fantastically beautiful jewels made her uncomfortable.

  Gwenaseth saw her unease and spoke pointedly. "Maelgwn expects you to display his wealth. What will the other Cymry princes think if they see their overking's wife in plain gowns with her neck and wrists unadorned? They will think Maelgwn has squandered the fortune he inherited from Cadwallon. You would not want that, would you?"

  Rhiannon shook her head, feeling more disconcerted than ever. The role of Maelgwn's queen appeared more and more confining. She was expected to run his household, to deck herself in uncomfortable and ostentatious finery. Her life was no longer her own.

  Reluctantly, she allowed Gwenaseth to fasten the amber necklace around her neck. In an effort to change the subject before Gwenaseth insisted she wear the heavy earrings as well, Rhiannon fingered one of the more garish pieces and said, "I had no idea Maelgwn was so wealthy. Where did all these things come from?"

  "Cunedag was something of a pirate, raiding the coast of Britain for years before he settled in Gwynedd and married a Cymry princess."

  "I've heard of Cunedag," Rhiannon responded. "My people also claim him as an ancestor."

  "I had forgotten Maelgwn's grandsire and Ferdic's great-grandsire were brothers. In a way, you and Maelgwn are related; distant cousins perhaps. That makes it even more fitting you should wear these jewels."

  "It's odd to imagine Maelgwn and me as kin. We are very little alike."

  "The blood tie is not strong. Maelgwn's line has bred dark, like the Cymry, while the Brigantes have kept the fiery coloring of the Irish line. But both peoples are big. Maelgwn's family were all tall, except for his mother. She was tiny, like you. Oddly enough, she was also named Rhiannon."

  "But she was dark-haired, like Maelgwn," Rhiannon pointed out.

  "Dark-haired?" Gwenaseth stared in surprise. "How do you know?"

  "Esylt told me."

  As soon as she spoke, Rhiannon realized her mistake. Ferdic had taken her aside before they left Manau Gotodin and warned her not to mention Esylt to Maelgwn. There had been some falling out between the two of them years, ago, Ferdic said. Esylt had gotten over it, but Maelgwn had not. He still harbored some bitter grudge toward his sister.

  Gwenaseth's eyes rounded. "Esylt? Surely you don't mean Maelgwn's sister? You couldn't have known her!"

  Rhiannon hesitated. Her instincts rebelled at the thought of lying about her relationship to Esylt. She had given up a great deal to please her father and marry Maelgwn; she would not deny the woman who had offered her the only love and tenderness she had ever known.

  "Aye. It is Maelgwn's sister I speak of. She told me about her family. She often talked about Maelgwn," Rhiannon continued. "How handsome he was, how courageous and gifted in battle."

  Gwenaseth's soft hazel eyes grew cold and hostile. "It's odd she should speak of Maelgwn so fondly when she very nearly destroyed him!"

  Rhiannon looked down and clasped her trembling hands together, determined to defend Esylt. "I know that there was trouble between Maelgwn and his sister long ago, but I..."

  "Trouble? Is that what Esylt called it?" Gwenaseth jerked away, clearly beside herself with anger. "Obviously, Esylt failed to tell you how she plotted to have Maelgwn killed and his kingdom destroyed!"

  "Nay!" Rhiannon's voice came out in an anguished whisper. "Esylt would never have done such a thing. She loved her brother!"

  "Loved him!" Gwenaseth sneered. "She had a strange notion of love. To plot his death, to betray him to his enemies..."

  "That was Aurora! His wicked wife betrayed him!" Rhiannon put a hand to her lips, appalled by the words that had slipped out. She should not have dared to attack Aurora, the wife that Maelgwn loved, that everyone seemed to admire.

  "Did Esylt say that? That bitch!"

  Rhiannon began to shake, torn between her loyalty to Esylt and her dread of alienating Gwenaseth. "You must understand," she implored. "Esylt was kind to me. She cared for me as no other did."

  The anger and outrage in Gwenaseth's face eased. "Esylt was kind to you?"

  Rhiannon nodded, relieved to have a chance to share what Esylt had meant to her. "She... she did not live at my father's camp, but she often came to visit in the summer. She used to comb my hair and tell me stories..." Rhiannon's voice choked. How bitter and lonely her upbringing had been. Ferdic considered her a possession, a trinket he could barter away to the highest bidder as he had with Maelgwn. Her stepmother, Narana, treated her as a nuisance, another mouth to feed, another body to clothe, another annoying distraction to keep Narana from making sure her own hair was beautifully braided, her skin smooth and soft so Ferdic would not stray from her bed. Only to Esylt had Rhiannon mattered. Only Esylt had bothered to love her.

  "I'm sorry." Gwenaseth spoke stiffly, her expression brittle and controlled. "If you were fond of Esylt, I should not speak ill of her. But I warn you, Rhiannon, Maelgwn must not hear of your affection for his sister. He hates her. It would be unwise to let him find out you even met Esylt."

  "But I..."

  "No." Gwenaseth shook her head firmly. "You must promise you will not speak of Esylt to Maelgwn. If he guessed you were close to his sister, he would never trust you again. Except as a political alliance, your marriage would be finished."

  Rhiannon felt crushed, powerless. To please her husband, she must forever deny the one person who had loved her. It was almost too much to be borne.

  "Promise me," Gwenaseth insisted.

  Rhiannon clenched her teeth and slowly nodded. "Aye, I promise."

  Chapter 7

  Gwenaseth trembled as she left the weaving room. God above, would the past never cease to haunt them! She had been so happy to see Maelgwn married to that sweet-faced young woman. The darkness was over at last, she thought, and now there would be happiness and sunshine... and darling, red-haired royal babies. Who could have dreamed that Maelgwn's new wife was probably the only person in all of Britain who cared for Esylt?

  Turning the corner sharply, she nearly ran into a slave carrying a large cauldron of water. Gwenaseth shook her head in disbelief as she sidestepped the man at the last minute. Rhiannon and Esylt—what an absurd association. The one so shy and guileless, the other the most manipulative, evil bitch in creation. What could Esylt have possibly seen in Rhiannon?

  The question gave Gwenaseth pause. Had Esylt guessed Rhiannon would be married to Maelgwn? Was it possible she had plotted with Ferdic to form this alliance, hoping that someday, through Rhiannon, she might regain control over her brother? It was too far-fetched. How could Esylt have been certain the marriage between Rhiannon and Maelgwn would actually take place? Besides, if Esylt had intended to manipulate Rhiannon, she would not have used kindness and fond words, but threats and intimidation.

  Gwenaseth rubbed her face wearily, puzzling over the connection between Rhiannon and Esylt. According to Ferdic, Rhiannon's mother was a foreign princess, and Rhiannon bore the same name as Esylt's mother. Was it possible...? Gwenaseth stopped walking and froze in dread at her own thoughts. What if Rhiannon were really Esyl
t's daughter, begotten by Ferdic?

  It could not be true. There were no rumors Esylt had ever borne a child, and Rhiannon looked nothing like Esylt. It was ridiculous to think Esylt could have concealed such a thing all these years.

  Gwenaseth pushed the thought firmly from her mind, and went to see to the preparations for the evening meal.

  Maelgwn's eyes took in the neat rows of soldiers moving in formation before him. It held a thrill, even in practice, to see the flash of swords and armor in the sun and feel the power waiting there, the muscles of a hundred men at his command. With these troops, he would conquer his disloyal allies and unite Gwynedd again.

  "They look sharp," Gareth said in satisfaction. "The Brigante troops are in superb condition. Even after drilling all spring, our own men scarcely measure up."

  "The Brigantes have fought nearly every season, and after the long march here, they're primed for campaign. How long before we set out?"

  Gareth shrugged. "As soon as we organize the command and get our supplies together... a few days, a week at most."

  A week. Maelgwn felt a vague stirring of regret. He had been married only a day. He scarcely knew his wife— indeed, he had not properly bedded her yet. Now he must leave her for several weeks, perhaps months. Still, he had worked toward this goal for almost two years.

  Gareth appeared to guess his thoughts, for he smiled and spoke sympathetically. "Barely wedded and you must bid your wife good-bye for the fighting season. It's harsh, my lord. But then, such is the lot of queens."

  "Aurora never liked the constant traveling I had to do; I hope Rhiannon better understands what it means to be married to a king."

  "She seems like a gentle sort," Gareth offered. "Quite a beauty too, in a different sort of way. I've never had a redhead myself."

  Maelgwn smiled uneasily, remembering Rhiannon's thick, vivid hair filling his hands as she pleasured him. In truth, he had not "had" Rhiannon yet either. It embarrassed him to think how easily his new wife had put him off. He should have finished things this morning. Since he had not, he must take her to bed as soon as the evening meal was over. This time her reticence would not deter him; gently, firmly, he would make Rhiannon his wife in all ways.