Brockwell briefly examined the heavy log, seeing no purpose in the question. ‘Nay. It would be impossible, even for the strongest man.’
‘Be that so?’ Tory asked. ‘Watch and learn.’ She knelt on one knee before the logs.
A hush came over the camp as Tory closed her eyes, breathing deeply to concentrate and centre herself. She joined her hands in prayer position, then tested her aim, bringing the side of her hand to rest on the middle of the target. Focus, her mind instructed as she raised her hand. With her eyes fixed on her point of contact, Tory let loose a mighty cry and brought her hand down towards the great hunk of timber. The inconceivable force behind the blow split the wood down the centre.
The knights were aghast for a second before they broke into a round of applause.
‘Bravo,’ cried Cadogan, giving her a standing ovation.
‘Most impressive,’ agreed Madoc.
Tory was oblivious to their adulation as she raised herself to face Brockwell, pointing to the splintered wood. ‘That could have been thy skull.’
Brockwell stared at it blankly, knowing he would have trouble accomplishing the same feat with an axe. He approached Tory, taking hold of her hand to inspect it. ‘Not even a scratch,’ he informed the others.
At this moment, Tory felt his resolve changing. He seemed to take a softer stance, appearing weary and confused. On this note Tory thought it best to take her leave. ‘Gentlemen,’ she nodded.
‘Tory,’ Maelgwn called for her to wait for him. ‘Where art thou going?’ he asked as he reached her.
His gentle tone made her realise she had no idea. ‘To sleep, I suppose. Where doth thou want me?’
The question brought a shy smile from them both, and Maelgwn waved towards to his tent.
‘Where art thou going to sleep?’ Tory pointed to the Prince, their grins even broader.
‘In my tent,’ he replied, walking off in that direction.
‘I see.’ She considered the option of sleeping outside with the rest of the drunken party but decided the odds for survival were far better inside. She turned to find Maelgwn already waiting with the flap held open for her.
‘The men have not seen a good-looking woman since last winter,’ he informed her, just in case she was still debating the option.
‘That’s a lot of hormones,’ she commented as she reached him.
Whistles sounded from around the fire as Tory disappeared into the tent. Maelgwn motioned for them to quieten down but like any other young, single male, he was enjoying every minute of it.
The Prince followed her in and invited her to sit on the fur rug.
Surely I have been enough entertainment for one night. Tory was a little worried as this was obviously where he slept, but with a degree of hesitancy she sat down.
‘Thee never answered my question.’ Maelgwn removed his cape, spreading it on the ground to sit upon. ‘Could thee teach me thy way of battle?’
‘I doubt thee would have the time or patience. It be more than a way of battle, it be a way of life, a state of mind.’ She prodded her backpack to find a soft spot to use as a pillow and leant back on it, too tired to discuss the matter further.
‘Please Tory, I would like to try. I have good need of thee.’
His tone was so heartfelt that Tory sat up again.
‘If thou hast nowhere else to go, come back with us to Mon. It would not seem so at a glance, but I am a wealthy man, thee would be well taken care of,’ he told her quite definitely, considering that perhaps he could have put it another way.
‘Art thou offering me a job?’ Tory could hardly believe it, her first night in a new time zone and she’d already found employment.
‘Aye, that be it!’ He jumped to his feet, relieved that she’d found a way to describe exactly what he wanted from her. ‘Thee could be my …’ he clicked his fingers in search of a suitable title, ‘…adviser! Thee must know about a great many things I do not.’
‘And personal trainer,’ Tory added, holding up her hand for a high-five.
Maelgwn looked puzzled but crouched down, holding his hand up in the same fashion.
‘Slap it,’ she bade him, and Maelgwn obliged with good force. ‘There you go.’ Tory punched his shoulder in assurance as she lay down. ‘Goodnight.’
Maelgwn sat pondering on his state of affairs, still fairly drunk and stimulated by the day’s events. The Dragon returns. The thought came to him from nowhere, accompanied by a feeling of certainty that he hadn’t felt since he was a boy of fifteen and had reclaimed his father’s kingdom from his treacherous uncle. Whatever had guided him through that dire time was with him now. He wondered why the King had summoned him home, and what so many Saxons were doing this far west? There was indeed something afoot, but what?
Maelgwn lay down on his side to look at Tory, who was already asleep. ‘I believe I was intended to meet thee, also.’
4
AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE
Come sunup, the camp was alive with activity as gear was packed on the horses. The knights had been campaigning for many months and were eager to begin the final leg of their journey home.
Cadogan entered the tent and went down on one knee to wake his lord. Yet he was distracted by Tory’s shapely form lying to one side of the Prince, and lent over to view her more closely.
‘What doth thou want, Cadogan?’
The knight was startled by Maelgwn’s voice. ‘We should go, Sire.’
The Prince sat up, a little woozy at first. ‘We shan’t be long,’ he instructed, motioning his messenger to the door.
Cadogan dipped his head in response and quickly withdrew.
Maelgwn paused before waking Tory, observing how peaceful she looked — not harrowed or threatened as she had been most of the previous day. ‘Tory.’ He shook her gently. ‘It be time to leave.’ As Tory began to awake, Maelgwn started to strap on his armour.
‘Oh God,’ Tory moaned, trying to lift her head. ‘I would never have imagined it possible for my body to ache this much.’ She gasped and fell back onto the fur.
Maelgwn took hold of her around the waist and hoisted her up. ‘Apologies for my means, but we seek to reach Castell Degannwy by evening, home to many of these men.’ He helped Tory on with her backpack, placed her sax case in her hand, and turned her around. ‘Thee understands, they art in a hurry.’ He guided her outside.
Tory, still half asleep, saw Jeven rushing up to her, with an apple and a large piece of bread in his hands. ‘For the ride,’ he explained, handing them to her coyly.
Tory was touched by the gesture. ‘Jeven, thou art an angel, I swear.’
Jeven blushed as he passed her a water bottle made of animal skin. He then bowed and quickly took his leave before any of the others noticed them together.
‘So thou art coming with us?’ Brockwell’s voice boomed behind her.
Tory took her time turning around to face him. ‘Thy Prince hast offered me a job,’ she answered, not fazed by his tone.
Cadogan, who overheard her reply, laughed. ‘I bet he did.’
Neither Tory nor Brockwell appreciated the remark, folding their arms as they glared at him. Maelgwn also caught the comment and approached Cadogan, gripping hold of his knight round the back of the neck. ‘Doth thou have a problem, Sir Cadogan?’
Cadogan froze, realising his impiety. ‘Nay, Majesty.’ He closed his eyes, annoyed at himself, as the Prince released him.
‘Pleased to hear it.’ Maelgwn turned his attention from the troublemaker to address all his men. ‘Let us make haste if we wish to reach Degannwy by nightfall.’
At his word, all made for their mounts. Tory took up her things, chasing after Brockwell. ‘Wait.’
He turned around, annoyed.
‘May I ask thee something?’
Brockwell’s expression lightened a little, though he only nodded in response.
‘Why doth my presence offend thee so?’
Brockwell, eager to get home, was growing impatient. ‘In m
y experience, I have found it best to be wary of that which I deem unnatural. My only concern be for the welfare of my cousin.’ He stared at her a second then took off towards his horse.
Tory was struck as she watched him, and once again she thought. My god, he’s like Brian. The way he moved, his stance, even his manner was the same.
Maelgwn pulled his horse up alongside her. ‘Ready?’ He reached down to help her mount.
For most of the day they’d kept good time, as the terrain they covered was generally rolling green fields and light forest. But after six hours in the saddle the landscape was becoming more mountainous, and the knights decided to rest before commencing the final homeward stretch.
As Tory dismounted she could smell the sea, and she and the Prince climbed to the top of a hill where she looked out across the ocean. The wild, moist breeze swept through her hair, and she drew a deep breath, enjoying the magnificent view.
‘If we follow the coast we shall reach the citadel by nightfall. The worst of the mountains lie further inland, we have come round them,’ Maelgwn explained to her.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Tory assured him wholeheartedly, rubbing her behind.
Maelgwn laughed at this. ‘It will be over soon, I promise.’
As they turned to walk back, Tory had to ask. ‘This citadel wouldn’t happen to have a hot bath, perchance?’
‘Of course,’ Maelgwn declared. ‘I shall have one drawn for thee as soon as we arrive.’ Maelgwn took off his long cape and threw it around her shoulders.
‘I am not cold.’ Tory went to take it off.
‘Please, I do not know what my people will make of thee dressed as thou art.’
So Tory agreed; it made good sense to keep the cloak on, and with the promise of a hot bath at Castell Degannwy, she was as eager as the men to get under way.
Four hours later the knights stopped on the crest of a great hill. From here one could see the citadel of Degannwy, which was the official entrance to the kingdom of Gwynedd. This grand fort stood upon the largest of two craggy hillocks, and supported a flourishing little community that spread out around its high stone walls.
‘Behold,’ cried Madoc, pulling his horse alongside Tory and the Prince. ‘The twin hills of the Gwynedd stronghold.’ The old knight took a deep breath, obviously proud and happy to see his home.
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ the Prince declared.
Tory clung on for dear life as the powerful black stallion took off down the hill as fast as it was able, with the knights following close behind.
To save being detained, the Prince’s party raced through the outlying village. Cadogan had been sent on ahead to inform the King of his son’s return, thus the knights found the portcullis already raised. A road led between the hillocks, through another large gateway, and into the courtyard within the walls of the citadel.
The Prince kept his promise to Tory, and as soon as they arrived had her whisked away to his chambers.
Fenalla, the frumpy head maid at King Caswallon’s court, was under instruction to arrange a hot bath, a meal and mead. While this pleased Tory no end, it also suited the Prince; he needed his mysterious guest to be out of sight, at least until he’d decided exactly how much the court should know about her.
Without stopping to speak with the well-wishing servants, Maelgwn made haste to his father’s quarters where the King would be residing this late in the day.
The Prince pushed open the huge oak doors of the King’s library, which remained from the time of the Roman withdrawal. Cunedda, his great great grandfather, along with his eight sons, had come down from the Manau Guotodin (Firth of Forth) under instruction from Rome to restore order to the kingdom of Gwynedd and beyond. Cunedda had made this grand fortification his base and it had belonged to their family ever since.
‘Percival.’ Maelgwn sought the attention of a frail old man working alone in the room. He was sitting by the fire with quill in hand, recording figures on parchment. The old soul had been so caught up in his work that he hadn’t heard the doors open. He looked up, not recognising Maelgwn at first.
‘Prince Maelgwn? Be that the young heir of Gwynedd under all that hair?’ Percival stood up, his old bones creaking. ‘I mistook thee for a Saxon.’ He laughed as Maelgwn approached and embraced him.
‘It be good to see thee.’ The Prince held him at arm’s length for a moment then strolled around the room to take in the familiar surroundings. ‘Where be my father?’
‘Why he left for the court of Chiglas only yesterday,’ Percival informed him, as if it were common knowledge.
‘Chiglas! Why?’
‘Why? The wedding, Sire.’
Maelgwn was set at ease, reaching for a jug of mead on the table by the fire. He filled a goblet for himself and Percival, taking a long swig. ‘Ah, my father’s mead, there be nothing like it. So tell me, who shall be wed?’
Percival suddenly went white. ‘But, I thought thee knew, Sire?’ He seemed to want to avoid the issue, making Maelgwn all the more curious.
‘Knew what, Percival?’ The Prince smiled, amused by his game. ‘Who shall be wed?’
‘It be thy own wedding, Sire. Hast the King not told thee?’
Maelgwn stood, enraged. ‘What! Why?’
Percival humbled himself, afraid he was in trouble. ‘It be not my place to say, Sire. The King said he would meet thee on Mon, presently.’
Maelgwn was so incensed that he began to pace to and fro like a caged beast. ‘I will not marry the daughter of Chiglas.’ He found this easy to say to Percival, but to his father — that was a different story. Still, it didn’t seem fair to take out his frustrations on poor Percival, so Maelgwn left the room. ‘Thee can tell my father, I am most displeased.’ He slammed the doors behind him.
Maelgwn was storming through the hall in a fit of rage when he met Brockwell who was on his way to a feast to be held in their honour.
‘Art thou coming to drink with us, cousin?’ Brockwell took hold of him by the shoulder as they walked together.
‘Maybe later, I have a lot on my mind at present.’
‘Already?’ Brockwell was amazed. ‘But thee only just arrived.’
Fenalla carried out her duties in a huff, giving an occasional grunt in objection to Tory’s appearance.
When Tory finally found herself alone, she dug out her CD player to listen to some music and relax. After undressing and wrapping herself in a towel she made for the bath, taking a goblet of mead with her.
The Prince’s chambers were spectacular. She would never have imagined that a building as grand as this would exist in Britain during this time. Large stone stairs led up to the steaming pool of water that was over twice the size of a normal bath. It was distinctly Roman in design, and had a large open fire at the end to boil the huge pots of water it took to fill it.
‘Well I must say, I am impressed.’ Tory immersed herself in the luxurious bath and from there studied the rest of the room in the glow of candle and torch light. She admired the solid, raw furnishings, the thick curtains of Prussian blue, and the ornate tapestries that depicted the battles and daily life of Gwynedd. ‘Yep, I could live here.’ She smiled, indulging in the splendour of her surroundings.
As she rolled over to float on the water, she was startled by the sound of the door closing and quickly submerged herself once more.
An equally stunned page was turning circles upon discovering her, not knowing what to do. ‘Forgive me, lady,’ he stuttered out. ‘I am Selwyn, the Prince’s squire. I be just on my way to attend to my duties when I heard thy beautiful music.’ His eyes looked everywhere but at her to seek its source.
‘I am pleased to meet thee.’ Tory reached for her towel but the door opened again before she could grab it.
Maelgwn and Brockwell entered, neither of them noticing Tory or Selwyn at first.
‘But the men will be disappointed if thou dost not attend,’ Brockwell argued.
Maelgwn spied his squire making himself scar
ce and removed his gunna, handing it to Selwyn. ‘Please Calin, I just need some time to think.’ The Prince seated himself, holding up his feet so that Selwyn could remove his boots. ‘I will come down later, I promise.’
‘Excuse me, but this was a private moment,’ Tory interjected, a mite discomforted by her predicament.
All three men burst into laughter; Maelgwn had completely forgotten about his guest. ‘Well, I have no objection.’ His good mood returned as he noticed the soft music and reclined to enjoy it.
Brockwell, now clean and shaven, folded his arms and took a few steps towards Tory, smiling broadly. ‘Well, well, well, what have we here?’
‘I am warning thee, Brockwell …’ Tory choked on her words, shocked to find her brother’s face staring back at her; he even had the same dimple on his chin. She froze, wide eyed at the discovery.
‘What be wrong?’ The Prince stood.
Tory held up a hand motioning them to stay back. ‘I am fine, please. I would just like to be able to dress without thy entire guard in here.’
‘Of course. Brockwell, Selwyn, if thee would both excuse us.’ As Maelgwn showed them to the door, he wondered what had frightened her.
Us! Tory grabbed her towel, managing to wrap herself up and take a seat on the bath before the Prince returned.
Maelgwn was rather surprised to find that this woman from the future was just as modest as any lady in his court. So he avoided looking directly at her, walking over to stoke up the fire. ‘What scared thee just now?’
‘Oh nothing.’ She jumped up to pull on a sweatshirt and pants as soon as his back was turned. ‘Brockwell just appeared so different all cleaned up. More sort of … handsome.’
‘I see,’ the Prince said flatly, as if he either didn’t like or believe her statement.
Tory made herself comfortable on some large cushions opposite Maelgwn and began to comb the knots out of her hair. The Prince didn’t stir from his reflections for some time, his eyes lost in the open flame. Tory wondered what was on his mind as she watched him in silence.
The Dark Age Page 4
