Madoc

by Bernard Knight

  ‘I’ll not see the Christ Mass of this year, son,’ he muttered one night. ‘All these years I have worked to bring North Wales together – and even join it politically with the south. But I fear that in a few short months, my labours will be unravelled by my kinsfolk. Even Cristin prefers her own blood amongst them. She encourages every move of her two sons against the others, which is natural, but thank God I will not be here to see the ruin that must follow.’

  He never said a word about any bequests for Madoc after his death, though he was generous to him with his purse during life. When he heard of the conquest of Bardsey Sound by the Gwennan Gorn, he cheered up, the old glint coming back into his eye as Madoc recounted the story of their ordeal and triumph. He insisted on paying for the repairs to the vessel, saying that it was vital to restore her to exactly the same degree of safety and seaworthiness as before.

  Word came from Einion some days later that the builders on the Gele were fully occupied with other ships, it being the start of the new season, but that the Gwennan Gorn would be re-masted at Aber Cerrig Gwynion, the little creek with a quay between the Conwy and Abergele.

  The peaceful time lasted about ten days. Then early one evening, a long cortege clattered into Aberffraw, headed by Dafydd. A few hours later, while they were all at meat in the hall, Rhodri arrived with his retainers and the palace, already overcrowded, now became unbearably packed.

  Madoc kept out of the way that night, but the next evening brought the beginning of trouble.

  Owain Gwynedd seemed to have rallied a little and cast aside the usual weariness and apathy that had lately engulfed him. There was a long session of the bards, with Llywarch y Prydydd Moch and the elder Gwalchmai regaling the packed hall with song and poetry, then an impromptu contest between lesser singers, poets and storytellers.An hour before midnight the smoky hall was almost bursting at the seams with roistering men.

  Madoc studiously avoided his half-brothers and sat with Einion,AsRiryd had returned to Ireland. Dafydd threw a sneer of contempt at them across the upper hall from time to time.

  But later in the night, when the formal songs and stories were finished, Prince Owain, rose from his chair and began walking around amongst his court, goblet of mead in one hand and a stout stick in the other. He was dutifully attended by his Chancellor, Chief Judge, the bards Gwalchmai and Llywarch and other officers of the hierarchy. He chatted and joked with many of his family – for scores could claim blood relations with him. Dafydd and Rhodri stuck close by him, for though their anxiety to see his funeral was great, they were attentive to the last degree during his life, for fear of incurring his great displeasure and somehow standing at a disadvantage when the great share-out came.

  Owain passed from group to group, in high spirits that pleased everyone except his senior sons. Then he came across to Einion and Madoc, who had been sitting with three of their immediate friends, talking ships and adventure, as usual.

  They rose to their feet and greeted Owain warmly. Madoc’s father slapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Son, you have given us something new to talk of, for the exploit in the channel of Ynys Enlli was after my own heart. I was something of a sailor myself in my youth. How could I be otherwise with the Viking Sigtrygg Silken-beard for a grandfather.’ He had drunk a good deal and was in an expansive, paternal mood. He put his arm round Madoc’s shoulders and squeezed him hard.

  ‘To think that I missed a son like this for so many years. Thank God Brenda of Carno had the good sense to put that to rights – even though it was on her deathbed, God rest her.’

  Madoc caught sight of Dafydd’s face and saw the sheer unadulterated hate in his half-brother’s eyes.

  ‘You must give me a voyage in your wonderful magic ship, Madoc,’ went on Owain in his deep rumble, which seemed to have strengthened with the mead. ‘Not through the Currents of Gwennan’s Bane, for I could not stand that at my age … but a short trip around Mona, before I die … eh!’

  Madoc looked fondly at this emaciated giant, his heart full.

  ‘You’ll not die yet awhile, Lord Owain,’ he said feelingly, ‘Gwynedd needs you too much … especially when Louis of France moves with us and forces this Henry Plantagenet torecognise our frontiers for a century to come.’

  Dafydd cut in sharply.‘You are the great architect of the French liaison, I suppose,’ he sneered. ‘Madoc the Great Sailor, Madoc the Great Diplomat … Madoc the aspiring bard … what else do you aspire to, brother?’

  The tone was insulting and Owain turned sharply on him, swaying a little.

  ‘Hold your tongue, you over-dressed popinjay,’ he roared. ‘If you had half the courage and devotion of this Madoc, I’d not look ahead to my death with such consternation!’

  Dafydd seemed on the verge of hysterical raging, but the more phlegmatic Rhodri laid a hand on his arm and pulled at him.‘Easy, brother, settle your differences in a less public place, eh?’

  The meaning of this muttered advice managed to penetrate Dafydd’s hate-ridden mind and, with an effort, he backed away. He was about to throw a parting threat at Madoc, but again Rhodri pulled at him and the two sons thrust their way through the curious onlookers and left the hall.

  Owain shrugged.

  ‘There must be some good in every man,’ he said enigmatically and moved on down the hall with his entourage to talk to others of his household. Madoc and Einion stood uneasily, watching the last of Dafydd’s henchmen leaving by the small wicket door opposite.

  ‘You are heaping much trouble for yourself,’ murmured a voice.

  They turned to see Llywarch, the bard, who was trailing behind Owain.

  ‘The heaping is none of our doing, Llywarch. I say not a word, and yet those ambitious brothers seem intent on shaming me, especially Dafydd,’ answered Madoc sadly.

  Llywarch sighed. ‘Take a warning and look over your shoulder this night when you walk in the dark.’

  He hurried on after Owain and the others, afraid of losing his place in his own constant battle for prominence amongst the bards.

  ‘I trust that Poet of the Pigs about as far as I can throw my horse,’ muttered Einion, scowling after the retreating figure in the gaudy robes.

  ‘So far, we have no grounds for suspecting his honesty,’ objected Madoc, always ready to see the best in any man.

  Einion shook his head knowingly.

  ‘He tries to run with both the hunter and the hunted. Several times I have seen him capering and grinning with Dafydd and Rhodri. He probably tells them how evil you are, at the same time as he warns you of them. I trust him not one little bit.’

  Madoc thought back to the episode in the castle of Dolwyddelan many years before, when his father had burst in to his mother’s chamber. He had wondered about Llywarch’s part in the affair, but no proof had ever been found.

  ‘My thirst and my spirits are quenched, Einion,’ he said sadly, picking his woollen cloak from the bench. ‘I feel tired and out of sorts. Let’s go to bed.’

  ‘A walk first, then. I’ve too much ale and meddyglyn12 inside me to lie on my bed for a while yet.’

  They walked down to the river in the moonlight, not without a few glances over their shoulders. Neither remarked on it, but both were well aware of what had happened to Madoc the night before they left on the Long Voyage. But all was quiet and they spent almost an hour strolling down towards the great beach that lay off the mouth of the river.

  ‘The Gwennan Gorn will be ready for sea by now,’ reported Einion, who had returned from the boatfitters at Aber Cerrig Gwynion only the day before.

  ‘What of our crew … are they ready too?’

  Einion nodded, his chin wagging into the collar of his cloak.

  ‘They will all be there by tonight. I told them that I would ride back tomorrow and bring the vessel round to Aberffraw as soon as the present contrary wind had died down.’

  Madoc stared gloomily at the palace walls.

  ‘I think I will take Annesta and Gwenllian to Ireland
for a time. Riryd is there now and I feel that, with the unpleasantness here, it will be better for us to have a month or two at Clochran, while Dafydd’s blood turns less sour. Our father has no need of me for any diplomatic voyages at the moment, so I’ll take leave of Wales for a time. Maybe it would be a good idea if you joined us.’

  Einion shook his head. ‘I’ll voyage with you to Dublin, but then I’ll return in some other vessel or bring the Gwennan Gorn home, if you wish it.’

  ‘Why the sudden devotion to Aberffraw?’ asked Madoc curiously.

  Einion grinned sheepishly in the gloom. ‘I have a certain interest that might develop into something good,’ he murmured.

  Madoc laughed. ‘You bachelors … it seems a long time since I went tumbling young girls behind barns. But make the most of it, brother;one of them will get you up before the priest one day and then it’s goodbye to the sweet and easy life.’

  Einion made a derisive noise at his brother.

  ‘You revel in being tied to your Annesta, don’t you?’ he added rather wistfully.

  ‘I am happy enough, Einion. Her tongue is a little sharp now and then, but she is good and faithful and has given me the prettiest daughter in Wales.’

  He thought for a moment as they walked. ‘No, you can have your tumbling in the hay –I’ll settle for my wife, even if she does accuse me of loving another woman better than she.’

  ‘Another woman … you must be jesting! Annesta has nothing to be jealous of in you.’ Einion sounded indignant.

  Madoc laughed. ‘The “she” is no other woman, brother – it’s the Gwennan Gorn. Annesta says I talk of her as if she lives and breathes.’

  Einion’s indignation increased. ‘Lives and breathes! Of course she does! And recently she’s been sick and injured, but if those physicians at Aber Cerrig Gwynion know their job, she should be fully restored to health by today!’

  Amused by their symbolism and the ever-welcome talk of their beloved ship, the brothers walked through the gate into the palace compound.

  Immediately they sensed something wrong.There was something wrong with the air, with the noise and with the colour of the night.

  Then Madoc sniffed. ‘Something’s on fire … and there are people shouting.’

  They stopped and looked around. Over to the left, the grey night was visibly changing to an angry red, away behind some of the stables and thatched dwellings.Slowly a swelling of voices was heard in the distance and then running feet.

  ‘Fire! Come on, run,’ yelled Madoc. They hammered away across the grass towards the glow, which was increasing by every second that passed. ‘It’s near our own hut,’ he panted. ‘God grant that the wind keeps it away from us. The thatch is like tinder in this weather.’

  They raced across the compound in a gloom that steadily lightened with the rise of the fire. As they dashed between other huts and buildings, actual flames and showers of sparks began to crackle up into the sky. Yelling voices, other running figures and the neighing of terrified horses began to make the night a bedlam.

  They rounded the last hut and came out right in front of the fire. Aghast, Madoc stopped so abruptly that Einion cannoned into his back.

  ‘God … oh God! It is our dwelling!’ he wailed, then began running straight towards the inferno like a man demented.

  The hut, made of wood with a thatched roof that came right down to face level, was burning like a great candle, the red and yellow flames rising straight up with a low roaring noise. So far the stout walls had not burnt, the whole conflagration being confined to the roof.

  ‘Madoc … careful!’ yelled Einion, as his brother raced without hesitation straight towards the doorway.

  There was a small crowd outside the doorway and a few were making futile efforts with leather buckets of water. Just as Madoc ran wildly into the doorway, two men met him coming out, one of them with a white bundle in his arms. Madoc slithered to a stop, unconscious of the red sparks falling on him.

  The two men pushed him aside and staggered out into the open, coughing and spluttering, tears streaming from their smoke-filled eyes.

  ‘It’s the little girl …’ gasped one of the men. Einion caught up with them just as Madoc was scrabbling at the bundle in their arms.

  ‘Gwenllian … Gwenllian!’ he sobbed.

  ‘She’s all right, Madoc.’ The man staggered further away from the hut and gave the bundle, which now began coughing and wailing, to a woman onlooker. ‘Take her, wife, look after her.’

  Madoc seemed numbed. Then with a great shout of anguish, he turned and dashed back into the hut, which was by this time roaring like a demented soul with the current of burning flame that shot upward from the circular walls of wood.

  Einion dashed after him. ‘Madoc,for God’s sake, you’ll fry in there!’

  Within the doorway was nothing but a sheet of flame. Both brothers were pulled up short, their hair singeing from the heat. Einion grabbed Madoc and pulled at him, but he was shaken off violently.

  ‘Annesta … Annesta!’ screamed the elder brother, trying vainly to go forward into the inferno, arm over his face. The front of his cloak began to curl and the wool melted, then began to smoulder before he allowed Einion, himself half-roasted, to pull him back away from the flames.

  There was a sudden crashing and hammering from the other side of the hut. Madoc raced around the building, his clothes still burning as he tore them off and dropped them on the ground.

  At the back of the dwelling, four men, including the Penteulu, the Chief of the Household, were smashing with axes at the wall of the hut where it was pierced by the single window opening. Flames were licking out of the top of the window, but the bottom of the wall was intact. As Madoc and Einion arrived, the wall collapsed under their desperate onslaught and two men dived into the hole, closely followed by Madoc.

  Almost immediately, the first pair crawled out backwards, singed and breathless. They were dragging a body, dressed in a white night robe, which they pulled clear of the hut and laid on the grass. Madoc came clambering back on all fours,like an animal. He fell sobbing across the still body on the scorched grass.

  ‘Annesta … Annesta!’ The cries were tom from him as if they were part of his flesh.

  Einion pulled at Madoc, trying to see if the woman was living, but the Penteulu laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘It is useless, look at her head.’

  Madoc still lay with his head on his wife’s breast, as his brother slowly rose and looked down to where the Chief of the Household was pointing.

  ‘God was merciful, Einion. She has no burning save some of her clothes. Her head has taken a great blow, she must have died quickly.’

  As Einion looked at the bloody hair and the crushed skull, one of the men who had recovered the body managed to get some ofhis voice back.

  ‘One of the main roof beams had struck her to the ground. Its end must have burnt through and it fell from its support, striking her down. The fire had not quite reached her, as she lay near the window. I think she must have been trying to climb out when she was hit.’

  Madoc slowly lifted his face from his wife’s body and looked numbly at his brother.

  ‘Einion, she is dead,’ he said tonelessly.

  Einion dropped down again and put his arm around Madoc’s shoulders.

  ‘Yes, brother. But she died cleanly and quickly. And your daughter is safe and well. She will need you now. Annesta is beyond our need, Madoc –she is with Christ.’

  As Madoc pulled himself painfully from the floor, his eyes fixed on the peaceful, if smoke-stained face of his wife, a crowd of people hurried around the hut from the front. Foremost among them was Prince Owain, leaning heavily on his stick, but moving faster than usual. Llywarch, the Chief Judge, the Chancellor and a number of courtiers and guests accompanied him.

  ‘Madoc’s wife … she is dead, sire,’ called the Penteulu as they approached.

  ‘The child … what of the child?’ snapped Owain, his face hollowed with concern.

&n
bsp; ‘She was saved, arglwydd. She is with the wife of Llowarch ap Bran, Lord of Menai. They are caring for her.’

  Owain came forward and stood before Madoc who still stood silently, looking down at Annesta. The court chaplain dropped to his knees by the body and began arranging the hands, murmuring prayers as he did so.

  Owain looked gravely at his son.

  ‘Sorrow has come to you, Madoc. There is nothing I can say that will heal the pain you feel. You are a strong man and you will survive it. Death comes to us all, sooner to some than to others. Annesta still lives in your daughter. The flesh continues from one generation to another.’

  He put out a hand and rested it briefly at the side of Madoc’s neck in a gesture of total compassion.Then he turned and spoke in a harder tone to his Chief of the Household, who was responsible for the safety of the palace.

  ‘How did this thing come about?’

  The Penteulu threw up his hands. ‘It happened in the winking of an eye. I myself passed here not a quarter of an hour ago and all was well then. It must have been some fault with the cooking fire, some fallen kindling.’

  Madoc spoke, his voice taut with the effort of holding his emotions in check.

  ‘That could not be! My wife was ever cautious with the fire. It would have been banked down for the night, as it was so late. And by no means could the thatch have caught so ferociously from a small fire on the hearth.’

  One of the palace servants had been muttering to the Penteulu while Madoc was speaking. The Penteulu came forward to the prince, holding something in his hand.

  ‘Meurig Gam thinks this may be something to think on, lord.’ He held out a piece of stick, as long as a man’s forearm, around the end of which was wrapped the charred remnants of a linen cloth.

  Prince Owain took it, whilst everyone stared in silence. Owain turned it in his hand, then held it to his nose. ‘There is oil upon this,’ he announced.

  A murmur rippled round the crowd, now several score strong.

  ‘An incendiary device – a fire stick,’ rapped out Einion.