The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  ‘And?’ Ione prompted, as it was just getting interesting.

  ‘And then he just reverts into obscene degeneracies pertaining to his lustful intent, but I will not bore thee with my love’s unscrupulous appetite.’

  ‘Why not?’ Ione protested.

  ‘Ione!’ Tory was surprised. ‘I thought thou wast not interested in men?’

  ‘True. But there be no harm in learning how they think,’ she smiled. ‘Know thy enemy. Thee said that, Sensei.’

  Ione was wrong in thinking that all men were her enemy and Tory had corrected this misconception so many times that she decided a different approach was required. ‘It be the key to defeating thy foe, to be sure, dost thou have a particular conquest in mind?’

  ‘Nay, I do not!’

  Ione was so disgruntled that Tory and Katren had to delight in her obvious lie.

  ‘Well, whoever he be, I assure thee, he shall lose his heart this day,’ Tory said, feigning ignorance.

  ‘Majesty, I beseech thee, there be no one,’ Ione stated in a huff. ‘Thou art my only concern.’ Ione was to assume the role of Queen’s Champion in Katren’s stead, as she was the highest ranking female warrior among the masters.

  Katren decided to put her at ease. ‘In that case, thou shalt be breaking hearts all day.’

  ‘Now that be much more to my liking,’ Ione informed them.

  Tory made Katren a wedding gift of her make-up, and with it they set about preparing Ione for the event. As they did, Tory considered that even the most beautiful models of her time would pale in comparison; this woman had features and a body that superstars would pay millions for. Heaven help poor Tiernan when he set eyes upon the true beauty of his partner. The only trouble was that the knight still pined for Sorcha and might fail to notice even Ione. This certainly seemed to have been the case so far. Nevertheless, over a decade had passed since Sorcha had stolen his heart. It was time Sir Tiernan got over the loss of his first love, who had never really been his anyway, and got on with the rest of his life.

  The Queen left Katren and Ione to dress as she was running late to escort Brockwell to his crowning. She knocked before she entered Calin’s chamber. ‘Calin, it be Tory. Art thou decent?’

  ‘Not since the day I was born,’ he replied, motioning to Sir Tiernan to open the door for her.

  Tory rolled her eyes at Calin’s jest and burst into the room, only to have the heavy oak door near close on her again when it accidentally met with Sir Tiernan’s head.

  ‘Tiernan!… Art thou alright?’ Tory crouched beside him.

  ‘Nice going!’ Calin threw his arms in the air. ‘As a lady, thou art supposed to wait until the door be opened for thee.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Tory said. ‘But I wast running late.’

  ‘Well thee could have picked someone other than my best man.’ Tiernan’s eyes were rolling around in his head but he was still conscious. ‘This doth not look promising.’

  ‘He will be fine, there be no need to panic. Tiernan, look at me. Focus.’ Tory endeavoured to keep him with them. ‘Can thou hear me?’

  Maelgwn came over to give her a hand to get him on his feet.

  ‘Aye, my love, I can,’ Tiernan mumbled, smiling deliriously, his eyes lulled closed.

  Uh-oh! Tory cringed, as Maelgwn knew nothing of the knight’s feelings for his mother.

  ‘What?’ The King dropped him back on the floor with a thud.

  ‘Nay, please Goddess, do not let this happen today!’ Brockwell pleaded, his eyes raised to the ceiling.

  ‘What doth he mean?’ Maelgwn’s tone stopped just short of an accusation.

  This surprised and angered Tory. Yet, as it was Calin’s wedding day, she kept a civil mood.

  ‘Sorcha,’ Tiernan held a hand out to touch her cheek in wonder. ‘How I have longed for thee.’

  ‘Shh,’ Tory consoled him, not knowing what else to do; Tiernan would kill himself if he realised what he was disclosing.

  ‘Sorcha?’ Maelgwn was shocked and backed away, trying to comprehend the full implications of the news. ‘Tiernan was my mother’s lover?’ Maelgwn was mortified. ‘Mercy sakes, how many did she have?’

  ‘Please, Goddess!’ Calin repeated his plea, more desperate this time.

  Lady Gladys entered in the midst of the confrontation, wondering what was holding everyone up.

  ‘Stop right there,’ Tory cautioned, feeling Sorcha’s presence was very close. ‘It be true to say that Tiernan was in love with thy mother, it would seem just about everybody was. But he never laid a hand on her, I swear to thee. He was loyal to Caswallon to the end.’ Tory gently placed the knight’s head on a pillow.

  ‘So, thou art Tiernan’s confessor now, I did not realise the two of thee were so close,’ Maelgwn said.

  Tory stood, trying desperately to contain her rage. He’s just upset, don’t take it personally. ‘I know purely by accident, for when thy mother’s spirit comes over me, I experience many of her memories and feelings. So please, allow me to tell thee the full story, before thee condemns anyone. When Cadfer raped her, Sorcha decided not to tell Caswallon, fearing a civil war in Gwynedd. But when she fell pregnant with Caradoc, the guilt drove her away from thy father. Not Taliesin and her study of sorcery, not Tiernan’s attentions, but Cadfer’s spiteful act.’

  ‘She speaks the truth, Maelgwn,’ Lady Gladys assured him.

  ‘Thy father, feeling Sorcha no longer desired him, stopped taking her to his bed and took others in her place. With two young sons and thy uncle and his witch ever menacing her, it was only the young Sir Tiernan’s adoration and confidence that kept her going. It be true they aspired to be lovers, but their devotion to thy father surpassed their love for each other — this kept them apart and loyal to the crown of Gwynedd,’ Tory explained.

  Maelgwn collapsed into a chair, overwhelmed by this revelation. ‘Why did thee not tell me all this before?’

  Tory crouched before him, taking hold of his hands. ‘Because if Sir Tiernan chose not to tell thee in all these years, he obviously did not want thee to know. Maybe he thought thee might look back on thy mother in a bad light, or perhaps he feared thee wouldn’t understand. I hate to say it, Maelgwn, but he would have presumed right.’

  Maelgwn squeezed Tory’s hands. ‘I am ashamed of my behaviour.’

  ‘No need. It be a rude shock, I know,’ she replied. ‘I think it might be best if this dost not leave this room. It hast been Sir Tiernan’s secret this long, let us keep it that way.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Maelgwn agreed. ‘That explains why Tiernan never married. How sad.’

  ‘Well, I will never marry at this rate,’ Calin exclaimed. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ He motioned to his best man, passed out at his feet.

  ‘Calm down,’ Tory took up her brother’s arm. ‘So he shall miss thy crowning. He’ll sleep it off and will be fighting fit by the wedding.’

  ‘I shall see to Sir Tiernan,’ Lady Gladys assured her son, before embracing him. ‘Thy father would have been very proud this day.’

  ‘I shall do my very best to do honour to his memory.’ Brockwell hugged his mother tight.

  This took Lady Gladys by surprise as it was very rare that Calin was so affectionate with her, especially when there was company about.

  Bryce came running into the room, all hot and bothered. Dressed in his best clothes, he dragged at them in an attempt to improve his comfort. ‘Father, thy guests art getting restless.’

  ‘Indeed. Let us be gone.’ Maelgwn shuffled them all out the door, picking up the excited boy on his way through. ‘Best not keep thy people and thy bride waiting.’

  The ceremonies were performed in the sunshine of the inner-bailey courtyard. Taliesin led Brockwell through his vows, and Tory had the honour of crowning him. That afternoon, when they had been wed, Brockwell crowned Katren as his Queen and Bryce as Prince of Powys, whereupon the real festivities and magic of Beltaine took over.

  Tiernan regained consciousness in time for the wedding
ceremony, although he seemed to be having trouble concentrating on it.

  Katren, so tiny and petite, appeared the very picture of a fairy princess in her wedding gown, but it was Ione who stole the show. Her flowing gown of olive green complemented her colouring and muscular curves, and her brown hair had been wound up into a bun and interlaced with tiny white flowers. Whispy curls accentuated her long neck and fell softly about her. As Ione took pleasure in smelling the magnificent bouquet of white flowers in her hand, she truly did appear the very image of a Goddess.

  Tiernan was seated next to Ione at the wedding banquet, and was thus forced to witness the endless stream of admirers who approached to address her and dote upon her beauty. The knight’s sanity received its final blow when Ione, quite by accident, turned from a conversation with one of her devotees to catch Katren’s wedding bouquet. Ione’s young suitor insisted this meant their union was fated, and it was at this time that Sir Tiernan took his leave. With a goblet and jug of mead in hand, he headed toward the bonfires that were now blazing in the outer bailey.

  Tory watched him depart, and suspecting it was jealousy that drove him away, she followed him to find out.

  The drunken festivities were in full swing on the common ground, and Tiernan found a quiet place under a tree, where he sat down and proceeded to get sloshed.

  ‘It will not help.’ Tory looked down at him as he refilled his goblet.

  ‘It cannot hurt,’ he replied. ‘Please sit, Majesty, I be glad thou art here. I have something I wish to discuss.’

  ‘About this morning?’

  ‘Aye. I am sorry to say, I have since recalled the whole of it. I apologise for landing thee in trouble with thy King, but I also thank thee, thy words to him were most eloquent.’

  ‘I am the one who should apologise, Tiernan. I hit thee in the head with the damn door.’ This made him laugh and she was glad. ‘I be sorry Maelgwn found out after all these years.’

  ‘Ahh,’ he waved it off. ‘So it means I must confront the conversation I should have had with him years ago. I have been forced to face up to many things this day.’ He watched a group of people, Ione amongst them, as they approached one of the bonfires. ‘The most obvious of which was a ten-ton door.’ He spurred Tory to laughter and lightened the mood. ‘Only joking. In fact I am glad, it seems to have knocked some sense into me.’

  ‘Pleased to be of service.’ Tory raised her goblet to him. ‘Cheers.’

  Tiernan returned the gesture. ‘How long hast thou known about the Queen and myself?’

  ‘Since the day I met thee at Caswallon’s bedside.’

  ‘Thee told the King that thee felt Sorcha’s feelings. What did thou mean by that, exactly?’

  He edged around the question he truly wanted to ask, but Tory guessed his mind. ‘She did love thee. I know Sorcha never said it outright, as it lingers in her memory as one of her greatest regrets.’

  Tiernan let loose a cry of relief. ‘I knew it.’

  ‘Sorcha in no way held thee responsible for her death. She was far happier knowing that her champion was protecting her son.’

  ‘She loved me.’ Tiernan leant back against the tree, lost in this discovery.

  Tory, judging from the smile on his face, considered that this knowledge was perhaps not so good for him at this time. ‘More than thee will ever realise, Tiernan. But thy love that once gave her reason to live, now grieves her terribly. She will not be able to rest in peace while thou art still clinging so tightly to her memory. It hast been three and ten years since she died, be it not time thee let her go?’

  ‘Tory.’ Maelgwn caught sight of her and made haste to join them.

  ‘Oh no.’ Tiernan held his head, not ready to face Maelgwn yet.

  Tory sprang to her feet to distract her husband. ‘Aye, my love.’

  Maelgwn didn’t pause to make conversation, he just whisked Tory up over one shoulder and began to make off with her.

  ‘Maelgwn! Where art thou taking me?’ She was amused by his playful manner.

  ‘Sorry Tiernan, got to do our bit for this year’s harvest. I do love Beltaine!’ Maelgwn cried with glee.

  ‘Good form.’ Tiernan held up his glass to toast the King. ‘Plant a few seeds for me,’ he chuckled, watching the young lovers depart.

  Tory waved to him, too drunk to be bothered retaliating against her degrading predicament. ‘Plant a few seeds for thyself,’ she squealed as Maelgwn picked up speed, heading for the outer-bailey portcullis and the fields beyond.

  In the midst of the formalities, Katren managed to steal her husband away from their guests. She led him out of the inner bailey, and down the pathway towards the beach.

  ‘Where art we going?’ Brockwell merrily inquired.

  Katren giggled as she pulled him aside into the trees. ‘Here will do.’ She obliged him with a fervoured kiss of encouragement.

  ‘What? Now?’ The notion made him smile.

  ‘Why not?’ She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew herself in close to him. After all, everybody else was doing it and she’d never had the opportunity to participate in the Beltaine festivities before.

  Caught up in his rush of passion, Katren could hardly breathe for her excitement. Calin’s lips caressed her neck and shoulders, as his hand slid underneath her long skirt and over her bare thigh.

  ‘Oh, aye,’ she whispered to spur him on. Yet the next thing she knew, Calin had backed off completely.

  ‘Damn it!’ He wanted to hit something. ‘I cannot. It dost not seem right.’

  ‘But Calin, we art married now!’ she implored him.

  ‘That be exactly my point. Every woman I have ever had, I have taken thus. But thou art my wife, Katren, whom I have vowed to love and respect for the rest of my life.’ He took hold of her hands. ‘We shall look back on this moment in years to come, and I want thee to remember how special it was, not how quickly it was over. So please, allow me to try to make it so.’

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled, her heart near bursting from the sweet sentiment of his resolve.

  ‘Now stop that.’ He wiped her tears away. ‘Thou art supposed to be having a good time.’

  ‘Then how come everyone else gets to have all the fun, and we have to wait?’

  ‘Why indeed.’ He gripped her hand tightly, leading her off towards the inner bailey.

  ‘Where art thou taking me?’

  ‘To bed,’ he stated, determined.

  ‘But it be too early to totally abandon our guests.’

  ‘We can sneak into the house via the servants’ entrance, no one shall even miss us.’

  Ione had been watching Tiernan very closely, and spying him on his own, she excused herself from her present company to join him.

  ‘Thou art a worry, friend.’ She stood before him. ‘On a night such as this, with thy reputation, why art thou all alone, Tiernan?’

  He smiled, beckoning her to sit and offering her some mead. ‘It is because I have been in love with a memory for the past three and ten years. Why art thou alone?’

  Ione accepted his invitation, taking a seat and his mead. ‘Because I have hated men for the last ten years.’

  ‘But what of all thy suitors, Ione? Surely one of them must be mildly attractive to thee.’

  She forced a laugh. ‘Most of them have taken off to the fields with far easier game than I.’ She had a long drink to build up her courage. ‘The only man that I do find mildly charming at times ignored me all day.’

  ‘Bastard,’ Tiernan said in his drunken stupor.

  ‘He seemed to prefer to get drunk under a tree, all by himself.’

  Tiernan froze, caught quite off guard.

  ‘Thee did not even mention whether thee thought I looked nice,’ she added softly, her eyes to the ground; she was so afraid of leaving herself vulnerable to him.

  ‘Dear Ione, thou art a paragon of beauty to be sure, but …’ Tiernan was bewildered, how could he put this without hurting her.

  ‘But what?’

 
; ‘I am too old for thee. Thou already hast thy pick of every eligible young knight in the kingdom. Thee should consider one of them.’

  ‘Thou art only of eight and thirty, Tiernan. ’Tis not like thou art at death’s door.’

  Tiernan was not amused. ‘And thou art not much more than a girl at one and twenty. Thou dost not need an old man.’

  ‘Aye, I do.’ She gently grasped the back of his neck and drew him in till his lips met hers.

  Tiernan parted from the kiss, rather dazed. ‘Now Ione, listen to me —’

  Again she kissed away his protest and whispered, ‘Only thee can prove me wrong about men, Tiernan.’

  This was the moment of truth for the knight. He had been faithful to none but Sorcha — in a rampage of regret, since her death he had broken a hundred hearts. ‘I am a fickle lover, Ione. I fear I cannot help thee, as I cannot even help myself.’

  Ione smiled. ‘Then perhaps we can help each other.’ She stood and held out her hands to him. ‘Come plant a few seeds with me.’

  He took her outstretched hands and raised himself to his feet, finding he was a little more intoxicated than he thought. ‘Be gentle with me,’ he mumbled in jest, placing his arm over her shoulder to steady himself.

  ‘Do not fear old man, I shall leave thee alive.’

  ‘We made it!’ Katren gave a cheer as Brockwell carried her into his room, kicking the door closed behind them. ‘Oh, it be lovely,’ she gazed round at the flowers adorning the chamber that her bridesmaids had prepared for them.

  ‘Aye.’ Calin’s eyes did not shift from his new wife. ‘My room hast never looked so good.’ He kissed her and set her down on his bed.

  ‘What be wrong?’ she inquired, as he was staring blankly at her.

  ‘I am just waiting for a protest,’ he joked.

  This made her smile. ‘There shall be none this time.’

  ‘So.’ He looked to the laces down the front of her gown and lightly tugged at the bow so it fell undone. ‘Thee can see no reason why we cannot be joined in the union of wedlock?’