Dragon's Dream

by Mary Gillgannon

  Maelgwn's hand crushed the boot until water streamed from it. Such a little thing, so insignificant, and yet so fraught with portent. How, truly, could Rhiannon have left the beach without her boots? The way to the forest was rough going, especially with the icy pools and sucking mire the storm had left. It would be an impossible journey for a barefoot, wounded woman.

  "I'm sorry, Maelgwn." Balyn's voice was husky with regret. "We'll keep looking if you wish it, but the men are soaked and miserable, and the dogs can't find a scent. I was hoping we could return to Degannwy until the weather clears."

  Maelgwn nodded. Why should he make his men suffer for a cause so hopeless? There was no chance of finding Rhiannon alive now, and the search for her body could wait.

  "Aye, send them home."

  The men were eerily silent on the way back to Degannwy. The only sounds were the rain and the incessant rush of water, the jangle of harnesses and the soft splish-splash of hooves on the soaked ground. As soon as they reached the fortress, the horses were hurried to the stables to be dried off and fed, while the men shed their sopping garments and gathered with the hounds before a blazing fire in the feasting hall.

  Maelgwn did not join them, but trudged slowly across the courtyard to the small chapel that stood not far from his own quarters. The door creaked as he opened it, and the scent of damp and mold that assailed his nostrils as he entered reminded him that he had promised the abbott at Llandudno he would eventually build a chapel of stone to replace this hastily built wooden one. Aye, he would do it—as soon as he could spare men to drag the rock down from the old quarry in the hills.

  Despite the air of disuse and damp that clung to it, the chapel was not poorly kept. Rushlights gleamed along the walls, and the altar itself was lit with several precious beeswax candles. There was no sign of the priest, but that was not unusual. Father Leichan was more of a scholar and clerk than a holy man. Except for mass on Sundays and the rites for weddings, funerals and the like, the priest spent most of his time away from the chapel in the secular pursuits of copying books and, recently, tutoring Rhun and a few of the other likely boys.

  Maelgwn walked hesitantly toward the massive stone altar; the fine piece of masonry had been rescued from some building at the old Roman fortress at Segontium. Perhaps it had been an altar there, too, but certainly not of the Christian god. Now it was covered with a crisp, white linen cloth whose edges fluttered slightly in the drafts swirling through the cracks between the timbers.

  He did not kneel, but stood watching the shadows the shifting candlelight made on the whitewashed walls. Why had he come? God would not hear him now. His thoughts were too consumed with hate and bitterness. But at least it was quiet here, and there were no unpleasant memories to haunt him. The smell of candles reminded him of Llandudno and the countless hours spent praying in the priory chapel. He had found peace of a kind there; a numbing, blind sort of faith that purged the worst of the pain from his soul.

  He turned as he heard a creaking sound behind him. The door to the chapel slammed shut, and Maelgwn tensed as he saw a movement in the shadows by the entrance. For a moment, he wondered if Esylt's spirit had followed him. Then he saw Gwenaseth's hair catch bronze in the rushlight. He exhaled deeply.

  "You startled me."

  "Is it me you fear, Maelgwn, or are your sins at last begin to haunt you?"

  Maelgwn sighed. He might have known Gwenaseth was not finished with him.

  "So, tell me..." Gwenaseth stepped forward. The light cast deep shadows on her face. For a moment, she looked to Maelgwn like a haggard, old woman; and yet, that could not be, for she was a few years younger than he. "Are you relieved that Rhiannon is dead? Drowned, they said, washed away in the raging storm." Gwenaseth took another step toward him. "Your problems are finished now, aren't they? Now that Rhiannon has so conveniently vanished."

  He did not answer, and Gwenaseth moved closer. "Tell me, Maelgwn, will you give Rhiannon the final honors as your queen? Will you see that your people mourn her, that a mass is said for her soul?"

  "Of course."

  "Hypocrite. Rhiannon cared nothing for those things; she took her comfort from the forest and the hills. She nourished her spirit with the growing things, the scent of wind and rain. She was of the old gods, the old ways."

  "Aye, you are right. But we have no pagan priests here. I can only have Taliesin compose a song honoring her, one that does justice to her gentle spirit and ancient faith."

  "But you will invite no kinsmen from her own land?" Gwenaseth mocked. "Seek out no Brigante warriors to tear their hair and weep for her?"

  "I cannot. You know I cannot."

  "Why?" Gwenaseth stood next to him now. He could see her ravaged face, the lines of anguish etched over her tawny freckles. "Do you fear the alliance will not hold once her kinsmen learn Rhiannon is dead? What will happen when they discover she died by your hand? What blood price will they demand for the murder of their princess?"

  "I will pay it," Maelgwn said wearily. "I will pay it even if it beggars me. But not until this fall. For the future of Gwynedd, we must have another summer of peace."

  Gwenaseth stepped back; suddenly she looked defeated. "It doesn't matter. None of it will bring Rhiannon back. And if the truth be known, she was not a princess of the Brigante anyway." She glanced up, her green-gold eyes probing. "You didn't know that, did you? Ferdic was not Rhiannon's father."

  "What are you saying?"

  "There was more to the story Ferdic told Rhiannon on his deathbed than merely the truth of her mother. He also denied being her father. He said Rhiannon's sire was an Irish slave."

  "A slave?"

  Gwenaseth's eyes narrowed coldly. "You knew, of course, of your sister's wanton ways. No man was safe from her cruel predations. Ferdic said Rhiannon's father was only a boy. I think, of all things, Rhiannon's knowledge of their liaison came as close as anything to shaking her faith in her beloved Esylt's character."

  Maelgwn stepped back. "I don't want to hear about Esylt's foul habits."

  "Think how Rhiannon felt. In one brief conversation with a dying man, she learned that not only was she blood kin to a woman her husband hated, but also a slave's bastard." Gwenaseth's chin quivered, and she looked away. " 'Tis a wonder she did not go mad. But she was strong, delicate little Rhiannon was. She made herself go on. I think she was able to do that because she loved you... and believed you loved her."

  "Our marriage was based on a lie," Maelgwn argued. "You cannot blame me for being revolted by who Rhiannon was. Being born of my sister's flesh, her blood was irrevocably tainted."

  Gwenaseth was next to him again, her face contorted with grief. "How could you do it, Maelgwn? How could you send her away? Rhiannon had no one. She was utterly alone."

  "It's true," he answered. "Rhiannon had no one, and I failed her. But her mother failed her long before that. It is Esylt who bears the burden for Rhiannon's death, not I."

  "Fool!" Gwenaseth's eyes flashed, and she brought her hands up, as if she would scratch his face. "Rhiannon loved you, can you not see it? She could have made you happy; her love might even have healed you."

  Her hands fell to her sides in a defeated gesture. "Of course you cannot see it. You are too blinded by your hatred. After all these years, all you think of is some vague, ancient curse that no one believes in except yourself."

  "The curse is real," Maelgwn answered stubbornly. "There was never any hope for love between Esylt's daughter and me."

  "A curse," Gwenaseth's sneering voice echoed clearly in the small chapel. The sound of it was so cold and sinister, Maelgwn felt a twinge of fear. "So be it then. I will give you a curse, Maelgwn. I curse you with loneliness and grief the rest of your days."

  He watched as Gwenaseth turned away. She walked quickly to the door and opened it. As the damp wind whirled into the chapel and made the rushlights tremble, she called out over her shoulder. "By the by, I am leaving Degannwy. I don't know if you will release Elwyn from his service with you, but
whether or not he comes, my allegiance to you is finished. On the morrow I take my children back to my father's old fortress at Llanfaglon."

  After Gwenaseth left, Maelgwn hurried to the chapel entrance and shut the door against the wind and rain. He leaned against it, breathing heavily. It was foolish; Gwenaseth had never shown any soothsaying power, any influence with the spirit world. Still, he could not stop trembling, shaking like a man with the ague.

  Her angry words echoed in his head, and darkness settled hard upon his spirit. He walked stiffly back to the altar, knelt, and began to pray.

  Chapter 21

  The wolf loomed near. Rhiannon could see its huge, gleaming teeth and smell its acrid breath. She watched in horror as the animal's fangs sank deep into her flesh. She tried to pull away, but her leg would not move. The beast's teeth sank deeper, down to the very bone. She screamed.

  "Hush. You're safe."

  The voice was soft. The hands that stroked her face felt tender and soothing. They pushed away the image of the wolf. But the fear would not leave her. Her life was in danger; she must get away!

  "Be still, little one. No one will harm you."

  Someone held her and smoothed her hair. She could feel hands brushing away her tears, arms cradling her in warmth and softness. She gave in to the feeling of safety and began to relax. The soothing arms left her, then returned. A cup was pressed to her lips. She was thirsty, and she drank the warm liquid willingly. Then everything faded to darkness.

  "Will she live?"

  "Of course. She lost a great deal of blood, but the wound is not a mortal one."

  The voices were strange, foreign. Lingering fear made Rhiannon hesitate, then curiosity overcame her anxiety. She opened her eyes and saw that she was in a small dwelling lit by a low fire. She could barely make out the forms of a man and woman sharing a bed-place a few paces away.

  "How do you suppose she cut her leg? Perhaps on the rocks?"

  "Nay, not even a very sharp rock would cut so cleanly. I'm sure the wound is from a knife."

  "Someone hurt her deliberately?"

  "It would seem so."

  Rhiannon closed her eyes and saw Maelgwn looming over her, the knife glittering in his hand. He had looked nothing like the husband she loved. The man who attacked her was a stranger, a bloodthirsty, murderous stranger.

  Rhiannon shook off the wretched thought and turned her head, straining to hear more of the couple's quiet conversation. The voices faded to murmurs and soft sounds. It took Rhiannon a moment to realize that the man and woman were no longer talking, but making love. She held her breath, listening. It was agonizing to remember, to recall what it felt like to lie in Maelgwn's arms, to have him love her. She must not think of it.

  Shifting her leg, she concentrated on the sharp throb in her thigh. Physical pain was easy to endure; in fact, she welcomed it. It meant she lived, that she had not yet slipped over to the other side. She had been very close, though. She remembered moving toward a great ray of light and hearing people call out to her, the voices of the spirits of the dead. They seemed to be urging her toward the light. Then the light faded, and she was flung back into her cold, aching body. She had felt great pain, the harsh, racking pain of rebirth. Then even that faded, and she slid gratefully into the silent, gray twilight of oblivion.

  But now she was safe, and awake. The voices faded away, and it seemed she could hear the sea crashing in the distance. Rhiannon lifted her head and tried to recall how she had come to this place. Her last memory was of lying on the beach; these people must have found her there and brought her to their home.

  Her eyes searched the small, round, sparsely furnished dwelling. Two large rocks near the fire served as seating places, and the space between the foot of her bed-place and the other held only a few storage baskets. Rough-looking garments of leather and fur hung from the daub and wattle walls of the dwelling, and the hearth was a circle of stones. Smoke from the fire streamed up through a small smoke hole in the blackened ceiling. Even the bed she lay on was of meager stuff. The sheepskins were matted and old. Every time she moved, the coarse, rough blanket scratched her skin. These were poor people, and yet they had taken her in and cared for her. Somehow she must repay their generosity.

  The thought made her weary, and she lay back, allowing the numbing fatigue to seep through her.

  When Rhiannon woke again, a woman was leaning over her. She had dark, almost black eyes, and her skin was a weathered brown. From the warmth in her expression, Rhiannon knew at once that this woman was the one who had comforted her.

  "So, my little mermaid, you are awake. We wondered for a time if you would ever rouse."

  Rhiannon licked her dry lips and tried to find her voice. "Where am I?"

  "A place called Penmaenmawr. It's along the coast near the king's stronghold."

  The mention of the king made Rhiannon tense. The woman leaned closer. "Does your wound pain you?" she asked.

  Rhiannon nodded, eager to divert the conversation away from the king.

  The woman pulled back the blankets and bent over Rhiannon's leg, examining it with gentle expertise. "It's healing well. The redness is fading, and your skin is cool. I think the pain you feel is from the flesh tightening around the stitches."

  Rhiannon looked down and saw tiny, dark stitches closing up the wound. "You're a healer?" she asked the woman in surprise.

  "Aye, soothing fevers and toothaches, tending wounds, birthing babes—I manage well enough."

  "I am grateful," Rhiannon said softly. "I know enough of wounds to recognize your skill. Without stitches, it would have scarred."

  " 'Twould be a shame to leave a scar. The Goddess would not like to see one as fair as you marred for life."

  The woman's dark eyes twinkled with a kind of amusement, and Rhiannon watched her warily. "What's your name?" she asked.

  "Arianhrodd." The woman's eyes did not waver from her face. "What's yours?"

  Rhiannon hesitated. If she told the truth, would Arianhrodd guess who she was? It was no use. She was not clearheaded enough to think of a lie. "I am called Rhiannon."

  The look of interest in the woman's eyes intensified. "You bear one of the names of the Goddess. No wonder She saved you."

  "Saved me?" Rhiannon asked skeptically.

  "Aye. When Ceinwen found you on the beach, he was sure you were dead. Your limbs were stiff and cold, and you were deathly white from loss of blood. You couldn't have survived much longer without shelter." She paused meaningfully. "I can't help but think the Goddess led Ceinwen to you, that She wished to see you live."

  A chill wind seemed to pierce the hut's rough walls and trace a shiver down Rhiannon's back. This was the third time the woman had mentioned the Goddess. Rhiannon considered asking her to explain, then decided against it. "Where was my cloak?" she asked instead. "Was I not wearing a fine woolen cloak when he found me?"

  "Nay, you wore nothing. Ceinwen told me he thought at first you must be a mermaid, so fair you were in your nakedness. He feared to touch you for dread that you would enchant him." The woman smiled, deepening the pattern of fine wrinkles around her eyes. "Fishermen tell such stories. The Goddess must have helped him conquer his fear, for he wrapped you in some skins and carried you to his boat."

  "And brought me here?"

  Arianhrodd nodded.

  "Is Ceinwen,"—Rhiannon stumbled slightly over the name—"is he your husband?"

  The woman laughed. "We do not call it such among our people. I have not handfasted with him, if that is what you mean. But he stays with me, and we both strive to serve the Goddess in our own ways."

  Rhiannon could ignore the subject no longer. "Who is the Goddess of whom you speak so reverently?"

  The woman's dark eyes appeared to gleam brighter in the firelight. "The Goddess is the mother of us all. She rules the earth, and the sea. She is the giver of life itself."

  Rhiannon nodded thoughtfully. The worship of the Great Mother was very old, older than that of the God of the Hu
nt, although he was sometimes said to be the Goddess's consort. It was an ancient faith, and a primitive one. Rhiannon recalled Llewenon's scorn for the simple folk who honored the moon as an aspect of the Goddess. How, he asked, could a female, even a divine one, possibly be stronger and more important than a male god?

  Rhiannon almost asked the question of Arianhrodd, then changed her mind. It was not polite to question another's religious beliefs, especially when one was a guest at their hearth. Besides, the idea of a powerful female deity intrigued her.

  "When you are better, perhaps you can go with us to one of our ceremonies honoring the Goddess," said Arianhrodd. "Since She seems to have chosen you, it would be well if you learned more of Her. Anyway," she added before Rhiannon could respond. "That will be some time off. For now, you must rest. Take some more of this broth. You should eat and drink as much as possible to help your body replace the blood you lost."

  Rhiannon nodded. She was very thirsty, and as weak as a newborn kitten. There would be time for questions later. For now, she must try to recover her strength.

  A few days later, Rhiannon wrapped the rough blanket around herself and managed to walk unaided to take a seat on one of the flat stones before the fire. It was only a few paces from the bed-place, but still her legs quivered with the effort and sweat broke out on her forehead. The wound was healing swiftly, but it was more difficult to recover from the loss of blood. She slept much of the time, and even when she was awake, her mind seemed too muddled to focus on much of anything. There was a benefit to her fatigue though, she decided. Not having the strength to think about the future also kept her from having to think about the past.