The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  ‘Nay.’ The girl held Bryce firm. ‘He be kept by old Hetty and her whores.’

  Katren and Tory looked at each other, unable to resist investigating this further.

  Bryce led them to a small village just outside the marketplace, that consisted of six or seven little round huts. Tory spied the town’s presumed mad woman outside one hut, but she didn’t appear so crazed now. She was steadily chopping her way through a large pile of wood, wielding the axe with the same force as any adult male. When she noticed them, she brought the axe to rest in a large stump and folded her arms. She had the build any female gladiator would envy. Her expression was perfectly blank.

  ‘Who be this woman, Bryce?’ Tory asked, before they were within earshot.

  ‘She be Ione, she hast no tongue and cannot speak, but I understand her,’ he told Tory. ‘She would not hurt thee, only bad men make her mad.’

  ‘I see. Would thee introduce us? I have need to speak with her.’ Bryce nodded, eager to please.

  ‘Careful,’ Katren warned, casting an eye over the strong figure of the woman.

  Tory shrugged, not in the least bit worried as she followed Bryce.

  Ione bowed her head ever so slightly as they approached, before making a few gestures with her hands for Bryce’s benefit. It was a simple form of sign language, and Bryce chuckled at what she had to say.

  ‘No offence, but she thinks thou art rather small to be a great warrior.’

  ‘Of course.’ Tory could see her view. So, to the delight of the children, Tory decided to do her wood-splitting exercise, which left the little audience gaping in awe. The children begged her to do it again and when she would not, the rowdy flock ran home to tell their parents what they’d seen.

  After Ione had inspected Tory’s hand, and found not a mark on it, she bowed low to the ground, urging Bryce down beside her.

  ‘Please rise,’ Tory urged. ‘The Goddess be within us all, Ione. If thou art willing, I would very much like to instruct thee in my ways. Be there someone I must speak to about this?’

  ‘Me.’

  Tory turned to find an old woman watching them from the doorway of the closest hut.

  Old Hetty was the owner of the huts, though she’d never intended the village to become a brothel. After her husband died, she’d taken in female boarders who had nowhere else to stay, and the rest was history. She did seem to be a caring soul and was very businesslike. She sat Tory and Katren down with a cup of wicked mead, as she mulled over Tory’s proposition.

  ‘I believe that with the proper training, Ione could be as fierce a warrior as any man, and of just as much service to Gwynedd. I would pay thee for her time, of course, and Ione for her efforts.’ Tory believed this to be a fair deal.

  ‘Ione hast already taught herself to wield a sword, did thee know that?’ the old woman asked to establish her girl’s value.

  ‘Nay I did not,’ Tory admitted, ‘but still …’

  ‘All well and good, but who shall attend to my heavy chores? Ione be the man around here.’

  ‘I will allocate a soldier to thee, upon Ione’s arrival for training every day, to carry out these chores in her absence. If thou hast any complaints, just let me know.’

  ‘I shall, never fear about that.’ Hetty seemed pleased with the deal, though she did a good job of hiding it.

  As the old woman stood to leave, Tory thought to ask, ‘One more thing, about Bryce. Be his claim to the name Brockwell true?’

  Old Hetty appeared surprised that Tory chose to bring up the subject. She resumed her seat, pouring another round of mead. ‘There art many soldiers at Aberffraw, yet few with such distinctive features as Calin Brockwell, Duke of Penmon. Bryce’s mother, a young girl of six and ten, did claim to have sought out Sir Brockwell on Beltaine that year. When she found herself with child she believed that it was of the Goddess and would be born, exactly nine moon cycles later, on the twelth day of Luis.’

  This didn’t make sense to Tory at first, but then she recalled there were thirteen months in the old calendar.

  ‘And did she give birth then?’ Katren asked, intrigued.

  ‘Aye, and she died that day also. The poor little mite was so small the effort killed her.’

  Tory and Katren looked at each other in horror, both of a small frame themselves.

  ‘That be why it dost not surprise me that, as a Goddess, thou hast come to seek out Bryce,’ Hetty said. ‘And I do not mind telling thee, ladies, I fear for the child’s welfare when I have passed on. Most of the girls here have children of their own to worry about, and Bryce be just another hungry mouth to feed. So, if ye have some intent for him, I pray thee, speak it.’

  Tory was stunned, this woman was more straightforward than she was. She’d been thinking more along the lines of education than adoption.

  ‘Oh aye, Tory, I would help thee,’ Katren said, this miniature of Calin had already stolen her heart.

  ‘Now hold on one second, I have to think this through,’ Tory replied. Even if he wasn’t Brockwell’s son, which she very much doubted, he was bright, eager, unwanted, and training him would be a good indication of how the children here might take to her skills. ‘If Bryce agrees, I shall make provision for him at the castle.’

  Katren sprang from her chair and wrapped her arms around Tory. ‘Thou art too good to me.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Tory patted her arm, wondering how Calin and Lady Gladys would react when they saw him, not to mention the Prince.

  Hetty smiled. ‘Thou hast brought me great relief, lady. Both the souls I hold most precious have been provided for in one day. Let us celebrate.’ She topped up their glasses for a toast to seal the deal. ‘To the Great Mother.’

  ‘To the Goddess,’ they replied.

  The outer bailey was in near darkness by the time Tory and Katren returned with the child. Tory had spent many hours with Hetty discussing the problems of women in their society, and she felt angry at the male population for their irresponsibility. She would begin work on new laws regarding this immediately, so that they would be ready to present to court before her crowning. As Maelgwn was not here to advise her, Tory felt sure Lady Gladys would be sympathetic to her cause.

  Brockwell approached the women with haste, having had guards out looking for them half the day. ‘Lady Katren, where hast thou been … and where did he come from?’ he asked, sounding most annoyed that Tory was picking up strays again.

  ‘Be that Sir Brockwell?’ the boy asked, taking a long look at the famous knight.

  ‘Hush now,’ Katren said, leaving Tory to contend with Brockwell.

  ‘Bryce came from a night of lust by the fires of Beltaine some six years past,’ Tory stated, taunting Calin. ‘A young girl of old Hetty’s keeping. Am I ringing any bells yet?’

  Although he looked as guilty as sin, Brockwell said naught.

  ‘Look, forget that, just say something to me. Thou art breaking my heart with this damn penance.’ Tory was frustrated by his silence. ‘At least explain!’ But no matter what she said, Calin would neither answer, nor look at her. ‘Oh, what’s the use?’ She threw her arms in the air and made her way to the inner bailey.

  When Maelgwn arrived at Llyn Cerrig Bach, Taliesin led him to a small room. The chamber was designed for meditation and reflection, as it could be blackened and silenced completely. Here the Prince was to fast in a state of trance for two days and two nights, taking only water during that time. This was the shaman’s way of getting in touch with a part of one’s inner self that was wiser, stronger and balanced.

  Alone now, Maelgwn was enfolded by the darkness and he lost all concept of time; was his period of reflection nearly over or just beginning?

  These trance states of fasting and isolation had been a part of Maelgwn’s childhood tuition, and he had found them similar to Tory’s meditation. The discipline brought about a greater level of consciousness by enabling him to access other realms of awareness. Taliesin had taught him, as a young boy, that all mystical paths can on
ly be experienced when one can suspend normal awareness and rational thought. An empty mind allows an alternative level of transpersonal experience.

  As part of the traditional inauguration, the Prince was given a mild hallucinatory drink. Taliesin explained it to be, ‘An inspiring drink, aged over five brewing cauldrons.’ This brew of kings was intended for the main part of the ceremony, when the Prince would emerge from his reflections to face the Otherworld spirits who would name his quest and final judgement.

  Only a few select descendants of Cunedda had undergone such an inauguration and amongst the number was Ambrosius. Ambrosius Aurelianus was descended from a warrior’s son granted charge of land around Gwent Is Coed, where Aurelius Caninus now ruled. This lineage had since turned to the Roman faith, however, thus improving its trade relations with the main continent. The other ruler in Prydyn at this time was Vortipor, in Dyfed. Of Scottic (Irish) blood, Vortipor had been born in Britain and at one time had secured the support of Rome to seize his kingdom. Known as the Usurper of Dyfed, Vortipor also carried the title of ‘Protector’ and his dynasty was known as the Desi clan. He was of the native faith by birth, but he hadn’t descended from the same great liturgy of kings as had Maelgwn. The Prince’s predecessors, while inhabiting and ruling Prydyn, had created its Otherworld legends. No doubt the Desi had brought with them from Scotia (Ireland) their own legends and names for their Otherworld ancestors and deities. Chiglas in Powys, although of the native faith and a great great grandson of Cunedda, maintained no real spiritual understanding of the ways of his ancient forefathers. He knew the legends and teachings as well as any British king, yet he observed the festivals and rites of his people mainly for the sake of celebrations. His bards were foolish men who had failed to give him any real evidence of Otherworld support.

  ‘There art three main prerequisites thee must have to be a king,’ the Prince recalled Taliesin saying to him. ‘The ability to rise above inevitable setbacks. To adjust the views thee may hold true in the light of new evidence. And most important of all, one must adhere firmly to that which one knows deep inside to be right and just, for true wisdom and awareness come from the realisation that one knows very little, compared with all there be to learn and know.’

  And wisdom be not synonymous with knowledge, Maelgwn resolved.

  The Prince became comfortably numb as the hours passed, yet every now and then he was sure he felt something stroke against his skin. Maelgwn remained motionless and without fear, for no one could have found him without the High Merlin’s consent. Through the darkness, he heard soft humming voices, whispering and chattering; the same sweet, high-pitched sound that the Prince knew to be synonymous with the Tylwyth Teg or fairy folk.

  Maelgwn hadn’t considered their interest in him, even though it was common knowledge that the fairy folk inhabited Gwynedd in vast numbers. This partly explained his dynasty’s great wealth, which came primarily from the livestock and abundant crops harvested each year from the farmlands of Gwynedd. Of course, the fairy folk be eager to see me resume the old ways, Maelgwn realised, so as to ensure they art not driven from here, as they have been from other kingdoms in Britain. Knowing this, the Prince didn’t object to them painting his skin for the initiation. It was, no doubt, for luck and part of the sacred tradition of his forefathers.

  The ladies and Bryce had completed their second full day of training and Tory’s two newest students were already showing great promise. Dedication and willpower were essential for mastering these techniques, and Ione and Bryce had both in abundance.

  Lady Gladys was besotted with Bryce, seeing in him her long-since grown babe. Here stood her own dear grandson. Whether Calin cared to admit to the infidelity or not was of no consequence to her, the Brockwell traits were unquestionable. As the child’s grandmother, Lady Gladys had the legal right to claim Bryce, in her husband’s name, as her own. If Calin chose not to recognise the boy, she would. Thus Bryce became Calin’s brother and was granted his rightful title of Earl.

  Tory stood in the doorway and watched as a storm cut its way across the heavens. The brilliant spectacle had been menacing the night sky for hours — booming thunder threatened to bring rain, yet not one drop fell. The locals said this was because it was the night of judgement for the initiate, and the performance of the ancient rites was evoking the spirits. Rain would mean that the Prince had been denied any right to his claim of king. If the storm cleared without a drop, he’d been found worthy by his forefathers and had set out upon the task they’d given him, which he was required to complete by the wedding date.

  ‘Why did we not elope?’ Tory wondered out loud, not noticing Drusilla who had come to collect her dinner tray.

  Drusilla, the head maid at Aberffraw, had assumed Katren’s duties in the wake of her new appointment. She’d once been handmaiden to Queen Sorcha, and it pleased her to be in the service of the Goddess again as she missed the Queen terribly. ‘Do try not to worry about His Majesty, lady. He will return in time, thee will see.’

  ‘I hold every confidence that he will.’ Tory smiled briefly before turning back to watch the stormy scene outside.

  ‘Lady Goddess.’

  Tory looked around to find Bryce standing at the top of the stairwell. ‘My dear Earl of Penmon, what drives thee from thy bed at this hour?’ She received her answer as he was startled by a clap of thunder and ran to grasp hold of her around the legs.

  ‘The spirits art angry.’

  ‘Nay,’ Tory laughed, as the child’s simple fears took her mind off her own. ‘I have it on good authority that as long as it doth not rain, the Prince still holds their favour.’ She crouched down to him and took up his hands in her own. ‘Thee must not fear nature’s forces if thou art to become a brave knight like Sir Brockwell. If thee can see the beauty of the storm, admire and draw upon its power, then it be not such a fearful thing.’

  Tory stood, raising her arms high into the air, and while the thunder pounded out its fury she cried, ‘I am not afraid of thee.’ She looked down at Bryce, who was staring back at her in wonder. ‘Can thee do that?’

  Bryce thought a moment. Then, with a deciding nod, he turned to face the storm and waited for the thunder.

  Katren appeared at the top of the stairwell, just in time to catch the child’s proclamation. To Tory’s surprise, Brockwell was with her.

  ‘I am not afraid of thee,’ Bryce yelled at the storm with conviction. He repeated the statement over, more confident each time as his fear left him. ‘I shall be a brave knight,’ he told Tory, his head high in triumph.

  She knelt and held up her hand for a high-five. ‘Aye,’ she said as he slapped her palm as hard as he could. ‘Thou art truly legend material, Bryce, but thee must get some sleep as thou hast much work ahead of thee yet.’

  He bowed deeply and did an about-face like a soldier, to find Katren and Calin. ‘Sir Brockwell!’ He was overcome by the presence of his hero and bowed low.

  Katren, seeing Brockwell at a loss for what to say to the child, intervened. ‘Off to bed with thee now, we have important matters to discuss.’

  As she led Bryce to the stairwell the boy looked back at Calin, a little disappointed not to have been introduced.

  Brockwell just shrugged his shoulders at the child being hauled away. ‘Women will be telling thee what to do thy whole life … may as well get used to it.’

  ‘I already am.’ Bryce smiled, pleased to have been acknowledged, and left them for his bed without further objection.

  Tory stood, looking at Brockwell. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’ she asked, adopting a more aggravated tone.

  Katren came forward to explain, although she seemed disinclined to do so. ‘Sir Brockwell would like to speak with thee, but as he be forbidden, he hast asked that I act as a mediator. Regrettably, I promised him I would do this but only if it be pleasing to thee.’

  ‘Fine, whatever works. I just want to know why thou art doing this to me?’ Tory aimed her frustration directly at Brock
well.

  Katren looked at Calin, who was finding the situation extremely difficult.

  ‘Ask her if she be aware that any grandson to a King of Gwynedd, such as I, hast the right to lay claim to her throne?’

  Katren’s eyes opened wide at his words, as she was not aware of this. Tory spoke first, ‘What art thou saying, that thou hast —’

  ‘The right, by law, to challenge the Prince for thy hand. And I very nearly did,’ Brockwell declared, turning to Katren as if it were Tory he was addressing. ‘The sight of thee did drive me to such distraction, that I actually considered betraying my oath to Gwynedd to have thee. Maelgwn hast since spoken of thy love for each other, and I realise now that I would be wrong to pursue thee further. So please understand why I must stay away.’

  Brockwell’s confession was driving Katren insane. She wanted to throw her arms around him to comfort him, yet his affection was directed at Tory. ‘Excuse me, I am so sorry.’ Katren had to leave before she fell to pieces.

  ‘Lady Katren, please.’ Brockwell watched her disappear downstairs.

  ‘It would seem we’ve lost our mediator,’ Tory sighed. ‘Never mind, there be a few things I have been wanting to say myself, if it be pleasing to thee?’

  Brockwell took a seat, folding his arms as he nodded to let Tory know he was prepared to listen. This made Tory smile, as Brian used to behave this way when he didn’t want to hear her out.

  ‘The blame for our situation hast fallen on the wrong shoulders, Calin. If I had not made the mistake of treating thee as my brother, this would never have happened. Perhaps I should have continued to vex thee, life seemed much easier when we hated each other.’ Brockwell smiled in agreement. ‘Understand that Brian was my other half, and thou dost look and act so much like him.’ Tears welled in her eyes and her voice faltered. ‘He seemed infallible, I never dreamt I might lose him … and when he died, a huge part of me died with him.’ Tory drew a deep breath. ‘How could he just die without warning like that? I miss him so much.’ Tory turned away and, with a sniffle, brushed the tears from her face. ‘Perhaps thou art right to stay away from me, Calin. I will obviously keep misleading thee, as it would seem I cannot help it.’