The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  ‘Shh!’ the Prince and Brockwell urged her, not wanting to alert Sir Gilmore.

  ‘I need to speak with thee at once,’ Maelgwn whispered to her, stressing the urgency.

  Unable to resist getting in on her boys’ secret, Lady Gladys excused the three of them on the premise that they needed to discuss an urgent family matter.

  Cadogan swung open the heavy timber door to the tower and beckoned for Tory to enter.

  Said the spider to the fly. Tory strolled past him, not liking the way he leered at her. She entered the darkened tower to find a couple of stairs leading down to a stone bath and fireplace, and a high but narrow stone stairway spiralling up to the main chamber. ‘I will be fine now, thank you Cadogan,’ Tory assured him, reclaiming her bags and making her way up the stairs.

  When she reached the top, Tory was taken aback. The round room contained a large bed, a fireplace, a desk, and a huge mirror that, although it was rather tarnished, would serve its purpose. Tapestries, archaic maps and even what appeared to be hand-drawn star charts adorned the walls. The rugs and furs that covered the stone floor would help fend off the cold, and there were candles and torches galore to light the large room at night. Tory imagined it would be quite bright and airy by day when the heavy wooden shutters were open.

  Cadogan came up behind her, the sound of mischief in his voice. ‘The Prince did not say that I should leave thee.’ He took hold of her around the waist and lifted her off the ground.

  Tory pushed him away, most annoyed. ‘Watch thyself, Cadogan. Do not make me hurt thee,’ she warned, sure that he couldn’t be serious.

  ‘Come on,’ he urged, taking a step closer. ‘Do not save it for the Prince.’

  He was serious alright, the smug grin on his face said it all. Tory raised her hands to defend herself. ‘Last warning.’

  Lady Gladys led her son and the Prince to a small, cosy room, where they relaxed drinking mead while Maelgwn explained his woes to the two people he trusted most.

  ‘I believe Caradoc hast somehow convinced our father that Gwynedd needs the support of Chiglas and his armies. This marriage be meant to unite our two kingdoms, but I do not trust it.’ Maelgwn took a seat, perplexed. Caradoc, his younger brother, had kept the constant company of King Chiglas at his court in Powys since the uprising and subsequent death of their uncle Cadfer. He was power hungry and more fond of warring than pursuits of the mind, thus he and Maelgwn had never seen eye to eye.

  It made Gladys’ heart break to see the Prince so unhappy. ‘Maelgwn.’ She took hold of his hands. ‘Thy father be no longer a young man, and thou art now of eight and twenty. Soon thee shall be king, and it be high time thee took a wife. Gwynedd must have an heir apart from thy brother.’

  ‘But the daughter of Chiglas!’ Brockwell cringed, disgusted by the whole idea. He was in sympathy with his cousin.

  ‘I am sure she be lovely.’ Gladys defended the good judgement of her brother, Caswallon. She then turned the conversation back to the matter that was of immediate concern to her. ‘Who be the girl thou art hiding? And what hast she to do with all this?’

  Maelgwn sat forward to explain. ‘I know that her name be Tory Alexander, though unfortunately her origins are untraceable as she hast lost part of her memory. However …’ he lowered his voice, ‘she possesses a fighting style superior to any I have ever seen. If this can be learnt and applied to our forces, it would give us a great advantage over the enemies of Gwynedd, whoever they may be.’

  Gladys was intrigued by his story, but knew she was not getting all of it. ‘Be she a sorceress, this girl?’ Gladys could not understand a woman possessing such talents.

  ‘Nay,’ Brockwell assured his mother firmly, much to the Prince’s surprise. ‘I believe she be a good and honest person, just different.’ Brockwell was at a loss to explain exactly how he felt about her.

  The Prince told his aunt that the study of Tory’s style of fighting was to be a special project of his own, and until he had fully investigated the matter, he wanted none outside the room to know of it. By some miracle, he managed to persuade her to help him keep Tory a secret. Lady Gladys was an intelligent woman and a good ally in any situation.

  Maelgwn left Brockwell with his mother and made for the north tower to see how Tory was settling in. As he crossed the great foyer, he chanced to spy Cadogan limping away in the opposite direction. The sight urged Maelgwn to make haste to the caphouse to ensure that Tory was alright.

  He found her safe and sound, unpacking her bags on the bed. She didn’t appear to be in the best of moods, however.

  ‘I have just about had it with the lot of thee.’

  ‘Please, forgive me. ’Twas stupid to send Cadogan to accompany thee, I was not thinking.’

  ‘I ask thee.’ Tory unzipped her jacket and threw it off, too hot and bothered to put up with it any longer. ‘What would a woman do if she could not defend herself here?’

  Maelgwn took a step forward, hoping he wouldn’t sound like he was condoning his knight’s behaviour. ‘Thee must understand, these men have no great learning. All they know is what they want or need.’ Maelgwn struggled to keep his eyes from straying to her cleavage.

  ‘Not thee, too!’ Tory planted her hands on her hips and flaunted her figure. ‘It be just a body for heaven’s sake, get over it! It be not like thou hast never seen the female form before, I am sure.’ She turned back to her unpacking, surprised that grown men would carry on so.

  Maelgwn was quiet for a moment; he could not deny that Tory aroused in him more than just an interest in fighting techniques. As he gazed at her, he could quite clearly make out every muscle in her supple, young body through the strange black material that hugged her form like a second skin. ‘Forgive me. I have not been in the company of a beautiful woman in as many months as my men.’

  Tory felt a sudden twinge of remorse.

  ‘Although most of them found solace at Degannwy,’ Maelgwn added to lighten the mood.

  That’s why Brockwell was so chirpy this morning, Tory surmised. She felt guilty taking out her anger on Maelgwn when he’d been nothing but a perfect gentleman since they’d met. ‘Nay, I am the one who should apologise.’ She grabbed a sweat-shirt from the pile of clothes on the bed and threw it on. ‘Back home we hardly wear any clothes half the year, it be too hot.’

  ‘Sounds like a nice place.’ The thought brought a smile to his face. ‘Hast thou seen this?’ He pointed to two large doors which he pulled open to reveal the wide walkways of the roof and a view of the ocean beyond.

  ‘Oh my.’ Tory stepped out onto the walkway, drawn by the picturesque seascape.

  ‘I thought thee might like this tower, all my tutors have occupied it.’ He looked at Tory and was spellbound. The sun shone through her long fair hair, shedding a golden halo around her. Who was this extraordinary woman? He couldn’t help but feel that he’d known her before, though he realised this was impossible. Perhaps it was just that she bore a vague resemblance to his mother, Queen Sorcha, yet something inside told him there was more to his attraction than that.

  Suddenly, remembering his place, Maelgwn snapped out of his daze. ‘I thought thee could teach me here on the roof. There be plenty of room, and no one would disturb us.’

  Tory was pleasantly surprised that the Prince considered her his tutor, though she hid her astonishment well. She looked around and nodded to confirm. ‘I believe this will do just fine.’

  5

  THE NORTH TOWER

  The Prince arrived at the north tower at dawn the following day, eager to begin his training. The wooden shutters had been flung open, allowing the ocean breeze to waft through the room. As the sound of gentle music reached his ears, he followed it outside.

  There on the roof’s walkway between the inner bailey and the sea-wall, he found her. She was dressed in pure white clothes, resembling his own, that belted at the waist with a black tie. Her hair had been braided and the long plait fell to her waist. Tory appeared to be dancing in a style tha
t strongly resembled the way she fought. She was beautiful to watch, for her graceful movements flowed in time with the music. As he didn’t wish to disturb her, the Prince silently climbed onto the sea-wall to wait for her to finish.

  Without opening her eyes or stopping her graceful movement, Tory said, ‘This be known as kata.’ Her voice was very calm, as if she were a million miles away. ‘Kata be performed by every serious student of this art. It be through kata that one strives for perfection.’ Tory continued her exercise, her balance and movement steady and precise. ‘It be repetition in the form of fighting patterns that one carries out against an imaginary opponent. Kata, once mastered, will increase thy expertise and thy powers of concentration.’

  Tory finished her exercise, bringing her hands together and bowing deeply to the Prince.

  ‘That was wonderful, teach me.’ He jumped off the sea-wall, eager to get started.

  ‘Not today. We have much to do before thou art ready for kata.’ Tory sat on the ground in the lotus position. ‘This morning, I be going to teach thee meditation.’ Tory beckoned for him to sit on the ground.

  ‘What be meditation?’ the Prince asked, following her instruction.

  ‘It relieves one’s body and mind of accumulated stress. Thee must set aside any emotional upsets or problems so thy concentration be not compromised. Only then can thee work to thy full potential. We will meditate before and after every workout.’

  The Prince was intrigued by the way she explained things, it always made perfect sense.

  ‘Now, close thine eyes. Let the music relax thee and just listen to my voice.’

  Tory planned to start the Prince’s real training in a few days’ time. Meanwhile, she’d issued Maelgwn with a list and the designs of all the equipment she needed made. She was keeping the local leather craftsmen well occupied, having requested a punching bag, punching mitts, padded gear for the head and waist to be used when sparring, and padded landing mats to cover the hard stone ground. She made a space for a workout area, rearranging the room to utilise the large mirror that stood on the west wall, reflecting the sea through the windows opposite. She would use this to monitor the Prince’s movements when they began kata.

  Her equipment was delivered two days later by Brockwell and a few guards. This thrilled the Prince no end, as now the real training could commence. He watched while Tory directed the men to set up the equipment. Maelgwn was considering how Tory had been pushing him to the limits of his endurance these past two days. She’d justified this torture by explaining that she needed to know his limitations to determine what aspects of his technique required the most work. He had to admit he enjoyed the meditation though, and he’d never felt so exhilarated and at peace in all his life.

  In making Tory’s equipment, the Britons had used hides shorn very short. So once the men had laid the mats out on the floor, it looked like the room had been carpeted.

  ‘What be this?’ Brockwell referred to the punching bag as he hung it from a large hook and chain which was secured to a beam overhead.

  Tory turned to answer his question and burst into laughter. The punching bag was made from cowhide, and it appeared as though she had a dead carcass hanging from her roof. ‘I will show thee.’

  At just under two metres long, the bag stopped just above the floor, so that it could be used to practise kicks at any height. She started with a few low, sweeping kicks and gradually built up to the stage where she was propelling herself round in the air and ploughing her foot into it.

  Brockwell, Maelgwn and the guards were stunned by her aggression, speed and accuracy. ‘Unbelievable,’ Maelgwn mumbled in awe, motioning for Brockwell to get the other men out of there.

  Tory grabbed the only pair of stockings she had, tying one end through a loop in the bottom of the punching bag, and the other loosely around a hook in the floor.

  Brockwell returned after seeing the men out, and stood watching Tory demonstrate to the Prince how the bag would bounce back when struck. He observed with interest as she ducked and weaved her way around the bag, striking then darting out of the way. Tory was using more fist and open hand strikes now, and he was surprised by the amount of force she could summon up. He spied a punching mitt on the desk and picked it up. ‘What be this?’

  They’re like kids in a toyshop, Tory thought. ‘Put it on thy right hand, I will show thee.’ She almost dared him. ‘I think thee can take it.’

  Brockwell smiled at the invitation, pulling the glove on firmly.

  Tory showed him the correct height at which to hold his hand to fend off her attack, then took a few steps back.

  Brockwell hesitated, watching her concentrating closely on the mitt. ‘Thou art not going to do what thee did with the log?’

  ‘Kind of …’ Brockwell looked distressed. ‘Just a joke.’ She encouraged him to resume his position. ‘The purpose of the mitt be to help thee localise thy target.’ She spun round taking a step and kicked out from behind, driving her heel into the palm of his hand.

  Brockwell grinned, impressed. ‘Art thou married?’ He suddenly saw in her his perfect mate.

  Tory laughed. ‘Nay, for some strange reason men find me threatening.’ She grabbed a towel, having worked up a sweat. ‘What about thee, Brockwell, doth thou have a lady fair?’

  ‘Many.’ He smiled with a glint in his eye.

  She looked at Maelgwn who was reclining on her bed. ‘What about thee, Maelgwn?’ She’d been dying to ask this for days and now seemed like an inconspicuous time.

  The Prince glanced at Brockwell, who was staring at him. ‘Not yet.’ Maelgwn edged his way round the question, looking back to Tory. ‘Why? Art thou wanting a more recreational form of exercise?’ He raised his eyebrows, flashing a cheeky grin. The Prince looked at Brockwell expecting to find him amused, but his expression was quite the opposite.

  ‘In the twentieth century, no problem. Here?’ Tory smiled. ‘I would be hung.’

  Brockwell burst into laughter, pleased that Maelgwn’s lie failed to get him anywhere.

  Tory picked up a book from the desk and opened it where she had marked her place. ‘In the early sixth century, and I quote.’ She held up a finger, presenting an argument she wanted them both to hear. ‘“Sexual irregularities were not sins punishable by the Church, but offences!”’ She stressed the word, becoming dramatic, much to the amusement of the Prince and Brockwell who weren’t really used to women talking openly about sex. ‘“Demanding compensation.”’ Tory raised her eyebrows. ‘It then goes on to say that a failure to meet legal obligation would reduce even a king’s thegn to slavery. See!’ She closed the book and waved her finger about. ‘I am wise to thee both.’ She then turned to Maelgwn. ‘So I am not looking for …’ her tone became rather sultry, ‘a more recreational form of exercise with anyone who dost not first place a ring on this finger.’

  ‘Women!’ Brockwell waved her off. ‘Thou art all the same.’

  ‘What book be this?’ Maelgwn playfully reached for it, but Tory quickly pulled it away. ‘Tory,’ he demanded, firmly.

  ‘No, I cannot let thee look at this. It contains information about thee that thee should not know. I should not have taken it out in the first place, sorry.’

  ‘My death?’ Maelgwn guessed, and Tory nodded her head slightly in response. ‘My wedding?’ he asked, not looking at her this time.

  ‘It doth not really say, only that you had a queen, who was more fine and chaste than any other in the land.’ Tory felt she could tell him that much. Then it dawned on her that there was no danger in letting him see it, as the book was written in modern English and only small passages were in the original language.

  Maelgwn sat staring at the book, and Brockwell looked wary.

  ‘It be written in my native tongue,’ Tory explained, ‘and I promise I will translate parts for thee later, but right now I need a bath.’

  Maelgwn rose, his thoughts elsewhere. ‘I will send Katren up.’

  ‘I would like to thank thee,’ Brockwe
ll said. ‘It hast been … different.’ He joined the Prince and they walked down the stairs and out of sight.

  Lady Gladys, Cara, and Alma, the two teenage girls in her care, were organising the servants with setting the table for supper. Lady Gladys noticed her boys as they passed through the banquet hall, and as she hadn’t spied either one all day, she pursued them. She opened the door to the adjoining room to find her son raising a goblet to Maelgwn. ‘Thou art absolutely right cousin, she be incredible.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Lady Gladys said with interest, closing the door behind her.

  Brockwell nearly dropped his drink at the sound of his mother’s voice, and the Prince stood to explain.

  ‘I should like to meet this girl,’ she announced. Maelgwn moved to object but she wouldn’t hear a word of it. ‘Maelgwn, I demand thee take me to the north tower, this instant!’ She spoke forcefully, but without raising her voice. ‘Unless I see with my own eyes what the pair of thee have been up to, I shall not be a part of this another day.’

  Just as Tory had settled into her bath, sure that the day’s events were over, there came a knock at the door.

  ‘Tory,’ Maelgwn called. ‘I have brought someone to meet thee.’

  ‘Now, Maelgwn?’ Tory asked, looking at her towel across the room; Katren had gone to fetch supper and there was no one to pass it to her.

  Lady Gladys looked at Maelgwn surprised. ‘She refers to thee by thy first name, she be privileged.’

  ‘Why dost thou never come to see me when I have my clothes on?’ Tory sounded annoyed and in a fluster.

  Maelgwn held his head, not liking the way this must sound to his aunt. ‘Tory, it be my aunt waiting to see thee, Brockwell’s mother and sister to the King. She can hear every word thou art saying.’