The forest was thick with trees, and in some places the sun had a difficult time penetrating through the greenery. There were times that the trail she followed seemed to disappear, and yet Wynne felt no fear of her surroundings. High in the branches of a beech tree a bird sang, trilling notes of such clarity that it seemed almost unreal. When she came to a small stream that dashed over a bed of dark rocks, Wynne stopped her horse to rest and, dismounting, allowed her beast to drink. Tying the animal to a tree, she sat upon a bed of thick, soft moss and, taking a small flacon of wine from her saddlebag along with some bread and cheese, Wynne sat down to eat. She had been clever enough to obtain her picnic the previous evening after her supper. The servants thought she desired additional food to nibble on in her own quarters because of her condition.
She smiled to herself. Everyone at Raven's Rock was so good to her. Although she had always considered herself happy and content at Gwernach, she had never envisioned how absolutely blissful her life with Madoc would be. And it would all be better once she solved the estrangement between Madoc and Brys. She chewed her bread, noting that the cheese was her family's own. In the trees around her the birds sang, and several of them, curious, hovered on nearby branches. With a small chuckle Wynne crumbled the remainder of her bread and cheese and scattered it over the mossy ground for them. Arising, she relieved herself behind a thick stand of bushes. Then finding a nearby rock to use as a mounting block, she remounted her horse and, crossing the stream, continued on her way.
Another hour of gentle travel brought her around the other side of the mountain. The sun was now high in the late morning sky. The forest began to thin out and, ahead of her, Wynne saw Castle Cai. As Nesta had told her, it was perched on a rather narrow, high promontory that overlooked a misty blue valley. It was nothing like Raven's Rock. Rather it was a structure of greyish stone that seemed to cling precariously to the cliff upon which it stood. It was not large, yet it seemed very forbidding. A shiver took her, but Wynne brushed away her premonition and rode directly toward the castle. Reaching the lowered drawbridge, she hesitated a moment then moved across it. On the far side of the drawbridge she encountered a rather surly man-at-arms.
"Well?" he demanded. "State your business! His grace ain't in the market for a new woman today."
"I am the bishop's sister-in-law, the lady. Wynne of Raven's Rock," she said in tart tones. "Have someone escort me to his grace immediately!"
The command in her voice impressed the man-at-arms, and he called to a companion beyond his post. "Here you, Will! This be his grace's sister-in-law come to see him. Help her off her horse and take her to him."
"Have someone give my mare a measure of oats," Wynne said. "She has brought me a goodly distance this day. And have her ready for me when I depart in an hour or so."
"Aye, lady," came the grudging reply.
The man-at-arms called Will lifted Wynne from her horse and, without a word, turned and headed through the portcullis into the courtyard, which appeared quiet and empty. There was an unnatural silence about the place. She followed Will up a broad flight of stairs into the castle and down a dark corridor into the Great Hall.
"You can find his grace there," Will said, pointing, and then he quickly disappeared.
The hall was not particularly large. It was smoky with poor ventilation, and dim from lack of windows. As Wynne focused her eyes, they grew wide with shock. In the middle of the room was a whipping post, and hanging from that post was some pour soul. Brys of Cai, informally attired in a pair of dark braies, his open-necked shirt hanging loose, began to ply a rather nasty-looking whip upon the bared back of his victim as Wynne stood horrified. A shriek tore through the hall, followed by another and another. Wynne, her heart pounding wildly, realized the offender was a woman.
"Brys!" she cried out. "I beg you to stop!" Then Wynne advanced into the hall, that her brother-in-law might see her clearly. "Whatever this poor woman has done, surely she does not deserve to be beaten so cruelly." Reaching his side, Wynne put a restraining hand upon his arm.
"Wynne?" His eyes were slightly glazed, but then they cleared quickly. Tossing his whip aside, he demanded, "Wynne of Powys, what are you doing here? Castle Cai is certainly the last place I ever expected to see you." He took her arm and walked away from the whipping post, leading her up to the high board. "Bring wine for the lady Wynne," he called, and when she was settled he asked again, "Why are you here?"
"I have come to ask you to cease this quarrel that has existed for far too long between you and your brother, Madoc. I am with child, Brys, and I want peace in our family."
"Where is my brother? He certainly does not know you are here," Brys of Cai said with certainty. A crafty look came and went in his sky-blue eyes.
"No," Wynne admitted, "he does not. Our neighbors to the north were stealing sheep in the pasturelands below Raven's Rock. Madoc went to deal with them. I thought it a good time to come to Castle Cai and speak with you."
"I am surprised that you got here," Brys said. "Surely Madoc gave orders that you were to be carefully guarded. Yet somehow you have given your keepers the slip. I am quite impressed, belle soeur, by your cleverness."
"Oh, Brys, do not spar with me," Wynne told him irritably. "What you attempted with Nesta as a child was horrendous, but you are grown now. I cannot believe that you are as terrible as Madoc and Nesta insist. You are a man of the Church, Brys. Can you not help me to end this breach between you, your sister and brother? Is that not the Christian way?"
"I am no man of God, Wynne," Brys told her, amused. "I bought this bishopric for the power it could give me. Oh, 'tis true, I had to take holy orders, but I did not study, nor am I a priest. It was simply a formality insisted upon by those who wanted my gold." He chuckled. "There is much you do not know about me, for I know that my brother would not have distressed you with the whole truth."
"Do you not want to be reconciled with your family?" Wynne asked him.
He laughed bitterly. "Why should I want to be, belle soeur? Madoc, the great sorcerer-prince of Wenwynwyn, and Nesta, my sweet little sister, who perhaps loves Madoc more than she ought. What can they offer me that I do not have? I have power, and I have wealth. What more is there, Wynne of Powys?"
"There is love, Brys," Wynne said gently.
"Love?" He laughed again. "I can buy love!"
"To merely couple with a woman is not love, Brys," Wynne told him, shocked, ignoring his crude innuendo about Nesta.
"What else is a woman good for, belle soeur?" was the startling reply. "A woman is for a man's pleasure, and if he so desires, for bearing his children, and cooking his food, and sewing his clothing. There is no more. That illusory emotion you call love does not exist, for I have never experienced it, and God knows I have certainly allowed myself to run the gamut of every emotion available to man."
"Love most certainly exists!" Wynne cried. "It exists between a mother and her children. Between a man and his wife. Between siblings, Brys! Surely you have some feelings of love for Nesta and Madoc. For too long have you been estranged, and it is wrong! Nesta is to bear her husband a child sometime near the feast of Christ's Mass. My babe will be born in the early spring. I cannot feel content in my heart if you will not rejoin with your family, that the children Nesta and I bear may know their uncle."
"My God, you are so good!" he groaned. "I am surprised that Madoc has not already died of a surfeit of your sweetness!" He flung his wine cup across the room. "I have heard all I wish to hear, belle soeur. Allow me to return to the business at hand." He stood and glanced toward the woman at the whipping post. "The wench displeased me and will now suffer for it."
"Brys! I count at least five stripes upon the girl's back. Have mercy on her in the name of God! What can she possibly have done to merit such cruelty on your part?" Wynne pleaded with him.
Brys of Cai turned slowly and pierced Wynne with an intent look. His eyes, she noted, once again had a glazed, almost mad look to them. There was something familiar in
the look, and yet she could not place it.
"Do you think I am cruel?" he asked her softly.
"I think you can be," she answered him honestly.
"Aye," he replied slowly. "I can be very cruel." He smiled at her, and she was once more struck by how handsome he was. As Nesta had said, he had the face of an angel. Nesta had also said his heart was black, and, as much as Wynne hated to admit that she was wrong, she was now beginning to believe Nesta had been correct in her evaluation.
"Let the girl go, my lord," Wynne said quietly. "If she truly displeased you, I will take her with me now and you will never have to lay eyes on her again. Serf or slave, I will pay her price."
Brys burst out laughing. "Wynne the Sweet, the Virtuous, the Good! You sicken me with your kindness! Barris! Where are you?"
"Here, my lord." A man-at-arms appeared from the shadows by the high board.
"Restrain the princess of Raven's Rock while I finish what I began earlier. If the bitch attempts to cry out, stifle her!"
Wynne leapt up. "Brys, how dare you!"
"Lady," Barris was by her side, "sit down. I will obey orders, but it would distress me to harm a woman."
Wynne reluctantly returned to her seat. She could see from the firm resolve in Barris's eyes that he would indeed obey his master's orders. She could but pray that her interference did not bode the worse for the poor girl who, seeing Brys approach once more, began to whimper fearfully. He added to his victim's terror by bending slowly and retrieving his whip, a nasty-looking instrument composed of half-a-dozen thin leather ribbons, each one of which was neatly knotted with tightly knit barbs intended to give additional pain.
With a slow smile of pleasure, Brys swished the whip in the air several times and then, with a grin, lashed out viciously at his helpless victim. Her shriek of agony echoed about the little hall, to be followed by cry after cry after cry as blow after blow after blow fell upon the girl's tender flesh until her back was bleeding, a raw mass of oozing welts. Still Brys's arm rose and fell unremittingly. He began to laugh as the girl tried desperately to turn, begging him to cease his torture.
Unable to stand a moment longer, and heedless of her own safety, Wynne leapt up. Eluding Barris's clumsy efforts to stop her, she ran around the high board, across the hall, and put a restraining hand upon Brys of Cai's arm. "In the name of God, stop!" she begged him. "The girl is near dead!"
His whip arm fell a moment, and he stared unseeing at her. Then a look of pure hatred poured into his gaze and, raising his arm, he hit Wynne a blow that sent her crumbling to the floor. As the darkness reached up to claim her, one thought leapt into her mind. Bronwyn! Then unconsciousness overcame her, and for a time she remembered no more.
When she finally came to herself again, she found she was in a dank and dark place. Wynne lay quietly, allowing her thoughts to carefully reassemble themselves. She was in a dungeon cell, placed rather carefully upon a pile of moldering straw. Although there was no light in the cell itself, the flickering of a torch was visible beyond the barred grate in the door. It allowed her a dim but distinct view of her surroundings. Her hands flew to her belly, and instinctively she knew the child was safe. A faint moan caught her ear. Scrambling to her feet, she reeled dizzily for a moment. Then as her head cleared she sought for the source of the sound.
She found the poor wench that Brys had beaten so brutally, face down upon another clump of straw. There was absolutely no doubt that the girl was dying. To increase her agony, salt had been rubbed into her many wounds. Wynne knew there was nothing she could do but render what small comfort her presence would offer. Kneeling, she took the girl's icy hand in her own and began to pray softly.
With great effort the dying woman turned her head that she might face Wynne. Her grey eyes were mirrors of her intense pain. "Thank ye," she managed to whisper. Then with supreme effort she grated out, "Yer in… more… danger… than me… lady!" and shuddering once, she died.
Wynne could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks. Poor creature, she thought, as the import of the woman's words hit her. What was she doing in this place? How did Brys dare to treat her in such a terrible manner? Then her memory began to stir. He had hit her! Without any care for her rank or her condition, he had hit her! Outraged, she rose to her feet and stamped across the cell to the door.
"Ho! The watch!" she shouted angrily, and she kept on shouting until Barris hurried around the corner into her line of vision.
"Lady, be silent," he begged her.
"Let me out of here this instant!" Wynne said furiously.
"I cannot," he said nervously, looking over his shoulder as if he expected to see something unpleasant.
"Why not?" demanded Wynne.
"His grace's orders, lady," came the reply.
"Do you know who I am?" Wynne asked the man. "I am Prince Madoc's wife."
"Lady, I cannot help you," said Barris desperately. Then he lowered his voice and stepped closer that she might hear him better. "I would if I could, but I cannot. Why did you come here in the first place? 'Twas a mad thing to do!"
Wynne laughed ruefully. "I came to try to make peace between my husband and his brother," she answered Barris.
The man-at-arms shook his head. "You should not have come, lady. Only God and His blessed Mother Mary can help you now; but God does not frequent Castle Cai." He turned to leave her.
"Wait!" Wynne cried after him. "The girl in here with me is dead, poor soul."
Barris stopped in his tracks and then turned back to her. "Are you certain, lady?" he asked, unable to hold back the tears that ran down his weathered face.
"Aye," she said softly. "I held her hand and prayed with her as she died."
"Poor Gwladys," Barris said sadly. "She were only fifteen."
"You knew her," Wynne said quietly. "Who was she and why did Brys beat her to death?"
"She was my youngest sister, lady," Barris answered. "She caught his grace's eye. He ordered her brought to him, and he forced her. Gwladys fought him, foolish lass, for she was to be married soon. It made no difference. His grace had his way with her. She told me he made her do terrible, unnatural things, and finally she couldn't stand it no more. She tried to run away, but she was caught. His grace said he was going to make an example of her so no one else would think they could disobey him. God assoil her sweet soul." He turned away again, saying almost to himself, "I must get permission to bury her, but not right away. His grace is still angry. He'd hang her from the battlements for the crows to pick at." Barris disappeared around the corner and was gone from her sight.
Wynne stood by the door grate for several long minutes and then she sank back down upon her pile of straw. She looked about, but other than Gwladys's body, there was nothing else in the cell. Not a bucket for a necessary, not a pitcher of water. She was below ground and so there was not even a scrap of window. She had absolutely no idea how long she had lain unconscious or what time it was. It certainly could not have been long. What was she going to do? Brys was obviously mad to believe he could keep her a prisoner. Aye. Brys was indeed mad.
Bronwyn. Once again the name burst into her consciousness. Wynne began to think. The look in Brys's eyes at one point had been familiar, but she had been unable to place it. Now she could. It was the same look Bronwyn of the White Breast had angrily cast upon Rhiannon of the Fair Folk on any number of occasions. It couldn't be! Yet why could it not be? If the soul inhabiting her body now had once belonged to Rhiannon; and Madoc's soul to Pwyll; and Nesta's soul to Angharad; why could not Brys's soul have once belonged to Bronwyn? It would certainly explain a number of things, including Brys's unreasonable hatred of them all, and his seemingly passionate desire to destroy their happiness. She had thought that the past didn't matter anymore, but oh, how wrong she had been! And what was she to do? In her own foolishness and pride she had put both herself and her unborn child in dangerous jeopardy. She struggled to keep from weeping, but could not. Finally exhausted, she fell into a troubled sleep.
"I'll take yer tunic dress and chemise," she said. "You can keep the under tunic, his grace says, and gimme yer shoes too."
"Why?" Wynne demanded haughtily.
"Because his grace says so, wench! I don't ask no questions. I do what I'm told, and if you knows what's good for you, you will too," came the harsh reply. "Now hurry it up!"
Wynne pulled her soft leather shoes off her narrow feet and threw them at the woman, diverting her long enough so that she could thrust her gold chain beneath her under tunic neckline. Then she quickly divested herself of her tunic dress and flung it in the same direction, turning her back angrily on the woman as she removed her under tunic and chemise and kicked the chemise across the floor. She heard the door creak shut as she drew her under tunic back on, the key turning in the old lock once more. Only then did it dawn on her that she still had no water, but she was too proud to call after the hag. Brys wouldn't let her starve… but perhaps he would.
She sat down. What on earth did they want with her tunic dress? She heard footsteps in the corridor again and scrambled to her feet once more. The door opened. Barris and another man entered the cell. For a minute the two looked down on the dead Gwladys, and Barris said, "This be Gwladys's intended, Tam, lady. We both thank you for trying to help our lass."
Wynne nodded and, as they began to remove the unfortunate girl's body from the cell, Wynne said, "I have no water, Barris, nor a necessary."
He nodded, but said nothing. The cell door was closed and locked. Wynne wondered if she would remain forgotten, but shortly Barris returned. He had with him a small wooden bucket, a flacon of water, and a wooden bowl which he wordlessly pushed at her. "Thank you, Barris," she said softly, but he was as quickly gone as he had come. Wynne put the bucket in a far corner, realizing she needed to use it very soon. She set the flacon in another corner so it could not be kicked over accidentally. She stared down into the bowl, which was filled with a hot potage of some kind that didn't smell particularly appetizing, and a heel of brown bread. With a wry grimace she ate the mess. She didn't know when she would see food again, and she had the babe to consider. The bread was stale, but she stuffed it in the pocket of her under tunic. She didn't need it now, but she might later. As an afterthought she removed the gold chain about her neck and her wedding band, stuffing them in her pocket as well. Then taking a drink from the flacon, she used the bucket to relieve herself and lay down to sleep.
A Moment in Time Page 28
