by Jayne Castel
Cynddylan observed her silently for a moment before, unexpectedly, shrugging. “As you wish, cariad.”
Merwenna ground her teeth. She hated when he called her ‘sweetheart’ in Cymraeg. After what had happened last night, it was like a slap in the face. Without another word she turned and stalked off to retrieve her things.
She was still seething when the army moved off, traveling northwest down the shallow Weyham valley. She walked amongst the sea of men, anger a painful knot in her belly. The Prince of Powys had been playing with her. He had known she was grieving for her betrothed but had wanted to prove he could have her nonetheless. No doubt he had congratulated himself on how easily she had succumbed to him.
Is that what power did to a man? She only hoped that now he had made his point, Cynddylan would leave her alone.
Merwenna walked behind the horsemen, where the first of the spearmen marched. They carried long ash spears and walked with shields slung across their backs. Some of them also carried throwing axes notched in their belt and scramasax, fighting daggers, at their sides. It was a mild morning. There had been a little mist at daybreak, but as the sun rose into the sky, it quickly burned off and the day began to warm.
They were close to her home now. She knew the brook that babbled its way over the smooth stones here – the Larkflow. In the upper reaches of the valley, the Larkflow was a gentle stream, however, it widened and deepened by the time it reached Weyham. Merwenna had many memories of bathing in its cool water, of sitting with her little sister on in its banks watching her brother skim stones across its gently rippling surface.
The sight of the river distracted Merwenna from her rage, and made her focus on what lay ahead.
***
They reached Weyham in the late afternoon, as the shadows were beginning to lengthen and the sun drenched the world in a veil of gold. It was the perfect afternoon for a homecoming. Yet, Merwenna’s stomach was knotted in dread when Cynddylan’s army drew up in the meadows.
To the west was a belt of woodland. Beyond those trees lay Weyham.
Merwenna made her way up to the front of the column, where she knew she would find the prince. He was waiting for her, still mounted upon his stallion. Around him was a small company of riders, who also waited while the rest of the army made camp for the day.
“Are you ready?” Cynddylan asked, his face impassive.
Merwenna nodded.
“Ride with me.”
She shook her head. “No thank you, Milord, I’ll walk.”
“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Climb up or Gwyn will throw you across the saddle. Your choice.”
Merwenna glanced across at where Gwyn stood, frowning at her. His thick arms were crossed before him and he looked in an ill temper.
Conceding with a glower, she took Cynddylan’s proffered hand and vaulted lightly up onto the stallion’s back. She had hardly settled into place, when Dylan wheeled the horse around and spurred it toward the trees.
“Let’s get you home.”
The company of riders cantered to the tree line, before slowing to a trot. They entered the woods single-file along a narrow track through dappled sunlight, under a canopy of oak and beech. They rode in silence; the only sound the clump of the horses’ heavy hooves on the damp earth.
Merwenna was thrown against Dylan with every stride, although she was grateful he did not speak. He had not shared the tent with her last night, leaving her alone with her tears and self-recrimination. For that she had been grateful.
They passed through the woods quickly, past the very spot where Merwenna and Beorn had stood on that early spring day, when he had proposed to her. It was only four months ago, but it seemed as if years had passed since that moment.
Merwenna did not feel like the same person. She had changed – and not for the better. She had been happier before; cloaked in the security that ignorance brings. Only, once that cloak fell away, there was no going back to the way things were. The thought of returning home suddenly filled her with dread.
The horses emerged from the trees and rode down a dirt track in-between fields of barley. Folk were out harvesting, sweating in the humidity of the late afternoon. Up ahead, Merwenna spied the thatched roofs of Weyham, with the ealdorman’s hall rising above the others.
“Where do we find your parents?” Cynddylan asked.
“On the far side of the village,” Merwenna replied, averting her gaze from the curious faces of the villagers they passed.
It was difficult to maintain her composure. Here she was, escorted by Cymry warriors on Mercian land. All those who gazed upon her, would recognize her face. Weyham was small enough that she knew everyone by name. Some folk even called out to her, and waved. Merwenna pretended that she had not heard, keeping her head downcast. She wished she had donned her cloak before riding here; at least then she could have pulled up her hood to protect her identity.
Weyham was little more than a scattering of dwellings around a central grassy area. On the way in they passed the village’s mead hall; a low-slung, wedge-shaped, windowless building. It was empty at this hour – although as soon as dusk settled it would be full of thirsty men. Farther in, they rode before the ealdorman’s hall.
“I should stop and give my regards to the ealdorman, lest he takes offence,” the Prince of Powys commented as they rode by the impressive timbered hall. “However, I know how keen you are to be free of me – so I’ll take you home first.”
Merwenna did not reply. They both knew the truth of it.
The house belonging to Wilfrid was made of oak with a thick thatch. It was far humbler than the ealdorman’s hall but, at the same time, much grander than most of the wattle and daub dwellings in Weyham. It sat apart from the other houses, on the edge of tended fields, and had two out-buildings: a food store and a chicken coop.
Cynddylan drew his horse up outside the dwelling and looked about.
“This is a fine home,” he observed.
Merwenna ignored him and slid off the stallion’s back.
“Where are your parents?” Cynddylan turned in the saddle, regarding her.
“They’ll be out in the fields at this hour,” Merwenna replied. “Harvesting.”
“Well then,” Cynddylan dismounted and tossed his reins to one of his men. “I’d better deliver you to them.”
“That’s not necessary, Milord,” Merwenna replied coldly. “I can deal with them myself, thank you.”
“Oh, but I insist,” Cynddylan smiled. “I’ve brought you all this way. I intend to make sure you’re safe before I take my leave.”
“I’m not a child,” Merwenna answered through gritted teeth.
“I’m well aware of that,” the prince gave her a lingering glance before he turned to his men. “Llywelyn, Ifan – come with us.”
Merwenna and Cynddylan skirted the edge of the timbered dwelling and walked out into the fields with two warriors trailing them. Merwenna spotted her family immediately. She could see four figures, hard at work in the distance. The fields grew enough food to feed them, and enough to trade with neighbors. Her father, who had spent his younger years as a warrior, had shown a flair for farming in middle-age; one that had kept his family well-fed through poor harvests and bitter winters.
The newcomers walked across the tended fields, in between rows of cabbages, carrots and onions, still much of it to be harvested. Merwenna grew steadily more nervous as they approached her family. The rock that had settled in the pit of her belly was growing heavier by the moment. Her step faltered, but the prince took her by the arm and gently propelled her forward.
“Go on – they are waiting for you.”
Merwenna threw him a venomous look, wrenched her arm free and stalked off ahead. As she neared the group, she could make them all out individually. She could see her father and Seward scything barley. Aeaba and her mother trailed behind, gathering up the fallen stalks and bundling them into sheaves.
“Merwenna!” Aeaba was the first to spot he
r sister’s approach. The little girl threw down the sheaf she had just finished tying and sprinted across the stubble toward her. Merwenna had to physically brace herself for the onslaught; Aeaba was more powerful than she looked. The force of her sister’s hug nearly knocked Merwenna off her feet.
Merwenna hugged her sister fiercely, her eyes stinging with tears. Finally extracting herself from Aeaba’s bone-crushing embrace, Merwenna looked up to see that the rest of her family approached.
The moment she had been dreading had finally come.
Chapter Eighteen
Keeping Secrets
Her parents did not rush to her, as her sister had, and Merwenna’s heart sank.
It was as she had feared.
Their faces were pale and taut. Her mother’s blue eyes brimmed with tears, and her father’s expression was stony. His hazel eyes – so like her brother’s – were harder than she had ever seen them. A few feet behind him, Seward looked on, his face a cold mask.
If the Prince of Powys had not been standing behind her, Merwenna would have turned and fled.
“Hello mōder,” she smiled wanly at her mother. Cynewyn stared back, her expression suddenly torn. Merwenna could tell she wished to embrace her, but anger held her back.
“Merwenna,” Cynewyn finally managed. “I was beginning to think you would never return.”
Merwenna gave a tearful smile, her gaze shifting to her father. “Fæder?”
Her father, Wilfrid, did not speak. Instead, his gaze was riveted upon the men who stood a few paces behind her.
One in particular drew his eye – Cynddylan.
Wilfrid stepped forward, still gripping his scythe. “Who are these men?”
Merwenna stepped back from her mother and hastily wiped away the tears that had wet her cheeks. Now was not the time for weeping. She had done something selfish and foolish, and she would have to deal with the consequences. “They are my escorts from Tamworth. This is Cynddylan ap Cyndrwyn of Powys.”
“Wes hāl,” the prince greeted Wil.
“Prynhawn da,” Wil replied, bidding the newcomer good-afternoon in Cymraeg. “Thank you for bringing our daughter home safe.”
Cynddylan nodded in response. “It was no bother. We were traveling the same road. My men are camped just outside the village.”
The prince then inclined his head toward Merwenna, and gave her an enigmatic smile. “Hwyl fawr, cariad. I wish you well.”
With that, the Prince of Powys turned, his purple cloak billowing behind him, and strode away. His men, Llywelyn and Ifan, fell in behind him without a word.
Merwenna watched him go, suddenly overwhelmed by a strange, and unwelcome, sense of loss. The man had caused her no end of stress on the journey home, yet he had also been her anchor. Now that he was leaving, she would have to navigate treacherous waters alone. Forcing herself to look away from him, she turned back to her waiting family.
“You have made powerful friends on your journey home I see,” Wil observed, his expression even grimmer than before. “Have you forgotten Beorn already?”
Merwenna flushed at the scorn in her father’s voice. Never, had he spoken to her thus.
“Of course not,” she gasped as if he had slapped her. “Fæder, Beorn is dead.”
“And you wasted no time finding another,” Seward spoke up for the first time. “Such is the allure of power.”
“No!”
Silence fell then, punctuated only by the chirping of crickets and the whisper of the wind through the barley. It was Wilfrid who broke it.
“We know about Beorn,” he said, his tone softening. “Word arrived two days ago.”
Merwenna did not reply. It was all she could do not to dissolve into tears.
“Merwenna,” Wil stepped forward so that he and his daughter were only two feet apart. He then reached out and took hold of her chin gently, forcing her to meet his eye. “Why?”
Merwenna’s gaze flicked over to Seward – obviously he had not provided much of an excuse. In fact, after what had happened in Tamworth, he would have laid the blame entirely at her feet.
She expected nothing less, for it was the truth.
“I’m so sorry fæder,” she began, choking back a sob. “I thought that if I traveled to Tamworth in search of Beorn, it would bring him safely home. I knew it was wrong to leave in the midst of harvest but I could not think of anything except finding him. I realize my mistake now.”
“It’s too late for that. The pair of you have gravely disappointed me.”
“Please don’t blame Seward,” Merwenna pleaded. “He only went because I asked him.”
“He holds as much blame as you,” Wil countered, his voice as harsh. His baleful gaze shifted to Seward. “He should never have left Tamworth without you.”
“Merwenna’s stubborn,” Seward protested, his face growing pink under his father’s glare. “I couldn’t force her.”
“That’s no excuse,” Wil snarled. “Leaving your sister to fend for herself in the King’s Hall is unforgivable.”
Merwenna watched the exchange between her brother and father, before her gaze flicked to her mother’s face. Suddenly, the truth dawned on her. She had been a fool for not realizing sooner.
Seward had not told them of his disgrace.
***
Merwenna took a bite of leek and rabbit pie and chewed slowly. She had sorely missed her mother’s cooking. Still, the atmosphere at the table meant that the evening meal was a tense affair. Even Aeaba, who usually chirped like a bird during mealtimes, kept silent this evening.
Seward sat opposite Merwenna, digging into his pie without a glance in her direction.
He would be wondering when – not if – Merwenna would betray him to their parents.
Taking another bite of pie, Merwenna glanced to where her father sat at the head of the table. Wilfrid’s mood had not improved since her arrival. He was usually such an even-tempered man, it upset her to see him so angered. Trust was everything to her father. Perhaps things would never go back to the way they had been.
They concluded the meal in silence, fraught with the tension of unsaid things. Merwenna helped her mother and sister clear the table, and wipe it down. Meanwhile, her father went outside to chop wood, and her brother sloped off to the mead hall.
“Merwenna,” Cynewyn spoke finally, once they were alone. She had sent Aeaba out to shut the chicken coop for the night, and Merwenna knew that her mother had been waiting for a chance to speak to her on her own. “The news of Beorn’s death saddens us all – but how are you coping?”
“I’m fine,” Merwenna lied, refusing to meet her mother’s eye as she scrubbed down the table with more force than was necessary. “It was a shock, but I will have to learn to live with it.”
“Stop that and come here,” her mother replied gently. “I can see you’re suffering. There’s no need to hide it from me.”
Merwenna hurriedly brushed at the tears that now trickled down her cheeks.
“Crying won’t change anything,” Merwenna whispered. “He’s gone.”
She dropped the cloth and covered her face with her hands in an attempt to stifle the sobs that were building inside her. Yet, her mother’s gentle concern, her understanding, unleashed the tears Merwenna had been holding back since her arrival. She was vaguely aware of her mother wrapping her arms around her, and whispering soothing words into her ear, before the dam burst.
Then, she wept as if her heart would break.
***
A waxing gibbous moon rose high into the sky; a silver crescent against an inky curtain. It was a warm night, slightly sticky, and the air smelt of grass and sun-warmed earth. Merwenna sat on a tree stump, outside her home, listening to the croak of frogs. Inside, her mother and father had already retired for the night, behind the goat-skin partition at the back of the dwelling.
Merwenna had left her sister sleeping soundly, curled up on a pile of furs near the fire pit, and ventured out into the crisp night air. After her tears
earlier, she felt wrung out, tired. Yet, she would not sleep tonight until she had spoken honestly with Seward.
He was still at the mead hall, and Merwenna would not seek him out there. The mead hall was the domain of men, not women. If it took all night, she would wait. He would come home eventually.
It was a restful eve, apart from the distant rise and fall of drunken voices at the mead hall on the other side of Weyham. Merwenna felt relief and safety at being home again. She knew this village so well. The surroundings were all so familiar to her, like the faces of her kin. Yet, despite her relief, she felt melancholy settle upon her in a heavy mantle this evening. Her tears had not washed away her sadness.
Weyham had been where she and Beorn were going to make their future. She had wanted a little home, timbered rather than wattle and daub, with a thatched roof. She had planned to grow a garden and raise animals. She had wanted to bear his children.
Weyham was a reminder of her dreams, which now lay in ashes at her feet.
Now, it felt strangely empty. With Beorn gone, and her father angry, what did her future hold?
The sight of a figure approaching drew Merwenna from her contemplation. Immediately, she knew it was Seward. She recognized the set of his shoulders, his long-limbed stride. He had his head down, and was deep in thought – and so he did not see his sister till he was nearly on top of her.
“Good eve, Seward.”
Seward came to an abrupt halt, his head snapping up. In the silvery moonlight, his expression was hostile.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for you,” Merwenna smiled timidly, nerves getting the better of her. “Only I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“The hall was full of your Cymry friends – drinking and making merry like it belongs to them. Let’s say, I suddenly lost my taste for mead.”
Merwenna noted the sarcasm in his voice, but ignored it. Instead, she swallowed her nervousness and focused on the reason she had waited for him.
