A Cup of Blood

by Troy A Hill

  The walls extended in a teardrop shape, with the main yard and buildings in the larger rounder area. To the southern end of the compound, a gentle rise led up to another flat area in the hill. Men on the field swung wooden practice weapons against each other. The clack of the wood drifted down to where we were.

  Above the weapons field, the ground rose higher and a grove of trees. Old oaks, if I wasn’t mistaken, swayed in the wind.

  Just inside the gate, three men walked toward us. One was young but tall. Another thick and burly. My hands itched when I saw the third man. His swords, actually. He wore not a leather baldric across his chest, but a belt with two swords on either side.

  “Gerallt,” said the one with two swords, “have several of the men, including Sawyl,” he pronounced the name similar to Samuel, “take a fresh load of wood chips to the weapons field. It is still mushy, and we may have some feasters running there tomorrow.”

  "Sawyl get in trouble again?" The burly guard nodded and grinned. Like most of the other men I could see, he sported a bushy black moustache.

  The other man, rail thin, but muscular, just raised an eyebrow. Not even a hint of a smile.

  "I know," the burly one continued with a roll of his eyes. "When is Sawyl not in trouble? I'll see to it, milord." He gave a short nod of his head and headed up the path toward the keep.

  The man with two swords wore a leather jerkin over a linen tunic. My eyes drifted down the hilts of his swords. They had wider cross guards than swords carried by either the Saxons or the Cymry. I had seen only one other fighter carry swords with such guards.

  "Ruadh!” The taller of the two men said when he saw us. He grabbed Ruadh's arm, then pulled him in for a hug. This man was just as tall as the monk but thinner. He looked to be maybe twenty winters old. Even he sported the thick bushy moustache of the Cymry man.

  “Greetings and welcome to Caer Penllyn, Milady Gwenhwyfar,” the man said.

  "Mair," Gwen said, "this is Lord Cadoc, bridegroom upon tomorrow, and heir to Lord Penllyn. Cadoc, may I present Lady Mair, also in service to the Holy Lady."

  With a jovial and broad smile, he bowed low and held out his hand. I set my hand in his, and he raised it to his lips.

  “You are most welcome, miladies,” he said. “Thank you for finding lady Gwen for us.” He winked at the monk. “And you brought another woman of equal beauty along.”

  “Aye,” Ruadh rumbled, “there be too many ugly men about. I do me best to help make this caer more lovely.”

  Cadoc and Ruadh laughed. Gwen cocked an eyebrow at them, then nodded to the other man who stood silent. His thumbs were tucked behind his sword belts. His face was neutral, watching.

  “Mair, this is Lord Emlyn,” she continued the introductions. “Penteulu, and brother of Lord Penllyn.”

  “I am honoured,” Lord Emlyn said with a slight nod. I got the sense he rarely bowed. Perhaps only as often as he smiled. His stance, his posture, everything about him seemed like a wolf on alert, ready, waiting to spring into battle. I slid my eyes down to his blades. My hands twitched. When I looked up, his eyes were on my face.

  “Penteulu?” I asked, unsure of the term.

  “The cantref’s war leader,” Gwen explained.

  Lord Emlyn’s eyes held my gaze for just a few seconds longer than I expected.

  “My brother was the one unlucky enough to inherit the title with the boring responsibility,” he said, his tone dry. But there was a sense of jest underlying his tone. “I have to keep him alive so he can take care of the mundane tasks. That’s more than enough responsibility for me.”

  I wanted to laugh. Emlyn seemed like he was joking, but his expression belied an unspoken air of tragedy. He carried himself with a grace I had seen in few men. His curly brown hair hung to his shoulders, and his brown eyes sparkled in the bright daylight, despite his sombre expression.

  “The Lords and Ladies are at the main house preparing for the wedding,” Emlyn said.

  “I’ll escort you up,” Cadoc said. “We were not sure you would be close enough for Ruadh to fetch on time.”

  “Aye, I can run fast when I make up me mind to,” our guide interjected. “Where’s yer father now?”

  “He and Caerwyn are checking the mead supplies for tomorrow,” Cadoc said with a grin. “Father is very proud of his latest batch and keeps going back to sample it.”

  “I hoped ye would say something about mead,” Ruadh chuckled.

  “If you will excuse us,” Gwen said. “We should meet with Rhian and the other ladies about the wedding.” She waved Lord Cadoc up the path.

  The Penteulu's eyes were still on me. I smiled at him and bowed my head. "Thank you, Lord Emlyn."

  The corners of his mouth twitched once. His eyes stayed on me. A hint of a sly smile appeared on his face. It disappeared as fast as it appeared. I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it or not.

  He and I kept eye contact for a few more seconds. He was handsome, but there was something different about him I didn’t quite understand yet. Something intriguing.

  31

  The Bride's Room

  Villagers and servants scurried about the large open area between the buildings. Men carried long, heavy planks between them and set them up on wooden horses. The boards would serve as tables about the area. Older boys turned the spits where several boars roasted over fire pits at the other end of the open yard.

  The keep was a large, double storied building made of rough-cut lumber and stone with a high, tiled roof. The ever-present rain and fog of this part of the land seemed to have fallen lightly of late, and the ground, though damp, was not overly muddy.

  The two-story keep seemed alive with activity as people bustled in and out of both the front and the side doors. A raised deck dominated its exterior. Worn roughhewn planks of the half a dozen stairs led up to the porch. A thatched overhang kept the wet weather of the British isle off the porch.

  Cadoc asked us to sit on a bench by the door and motioned to one of the serving girls nearby.

  The girl came with a bucket of water and a brush of rushes tied together. She dunked the brush in the bucket and cleaned our boots.

  I leaned in and let my shoulder touch Gwen so we could use our minds for some private conversation.

  “Why are we ‘Ladies’ instead of ‘Sisters,’ if we are the holy orders?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid my past is suspected among some the noble families,” she sent. "Even if they don't know who I am, being a Lady carries more respect with them than a solitary sister."

  Once the girl had finished, she dropped a quick curtsey toward us and went back to her chores.

  The smell of smoke greeted us as we entered the main room of the keep. Its great hall was a large, two-story structure, with massive support logs upright, that ran floor to ceiling. At the back, a broad staircase ran up to a balcony along the back and one side wall.

  Two young women draped garland made of fresh flowers along the balcony railing. Their aroma added to the air of festivity that blossomed in the fort and in the great hall of the keep. Small tables with stools or chairs sat about the hall. Around each table sat either three or four stools. Several wooden chairs with arms and stout backs waited near the circular hearth in the room's centre. The smoke drifted from the fire in the rock and mortar circle, up toward the smoke hole in the roof high above.

  Cadoc led us toward the stairs up to the balcony. The steps at the back of the hall were thick wooden planks, well-worn by many feet. The handrail along the stairs featured intricate carvings of horses inlaid along the railing. Cadoc, however, climbed the stairs and ignored the beauty of the work. He had probably become so familiar with the small details that they had become commonplace for him.

  The young lord knocked on the door he had watched from below. It cracked open, and a woman's face peeked out. She had reddish-brown hair, with just a few streaks of grey. She scowled when she spied the young lord.

  “Back again, my son?” She said. “You don’t get
to see your bride until tomorrow.” Her gaze moved past him and spied Gwen and I. Her green eyes lit up.

  “Lady Gwen,” she said, “I’m so glad you could make the journey. Welcome.” Her eyes slid toward me, where I stood behind Gwen. They went from warm to cautious when she saw me.

  “Thank you, Rhian,” Gwen said. “Lady Penllyn,” Gwen said, “this is Lady Mair, another disciple of the Holy Lady.”

  Lady Penllyn's eyes lingered on the cross that hung from the cord around my neck. After a beat, she smiled, and opened the door wider, but glanced at her son.

  “Thank you for escorting the ladies to us, Cadoc. What was your father doing?”

  “He, Caerwyn and Ruadh went to check the mead supplies for tomorrow.”

  “You make sure they leave enough for tomorrow,” She reached out and pushed him toward the staircase, then invited us in with a wave of her hand. “Gwen, thank you again for coming on short notice.”

  A young lady sat on a small stool behind the door. An older woman, her mother perhaps, sat behind her, and ran a comb through the girl’s long golden curls. The older woman had blonde hair though darker.

  “Lady Gwen, we are honoured,” the woman said with a slight tilt of her head.

  “Lady Enid, the bride.” Gwen pointed at the younger girl and the woman who sat with her. “And Nesta, Lady of Meirionnydd, her mother.”

  “We heard the introduction in the hallway, dear,” Nesta said. She rose to give me a light hug. She smiled and held my hand. “Thank you for coming to help Gwen with the ceremony.”

  Lady Penllyn seemed like a woman of strong character with strong desires. Her eyes stayed on me. Her back was straight and her gaze firm. Age lines had crept in around her eyes, and near her mouth, but she had a fair complexion and stood tall.

  “Please, ladies, have a seat,” Lady Penllyn said. “We wanted to have a quiet afternoon.” She pointed at several chairs in the room. “Make yourselves comfortable. First names only unless protocol demands.”

  Gwen and I helped each other shed our cloaks. We lowered ourselves into chairs. I was glad to be out of the sunlight, despite the new connection to the goddess.

  “Is Seren here yet?” Gwen asked Rhian.

  The Lady Penllyn shook her brain.

  "They probably waited for Einion and Dylis before travelling," she said.

  “Has their marriage gotten any easier,” Nesta asked.

  “Unfortunately no, and the lack of a new heir isn’t helping,” Rhian said. Her expression darkened. “But, I’m sure that Mair isn’t interested in hearing about our arranged marriages.” She gave me a polite, yet political smile. “Gwen gave your title as Lady and not Sister…” she invited me to share.

  "I was married to a comte in Francia," I volunteered. "Not actually arranged, but a marriage of convenience. He was elderly and widowed. My family had business contacts he wanted to court, and he had a thriving shipping and merchant business across Europe."

  “Ah,” she said. “You do then know of the trials of marriage for women of our station.”

  “Somewhat,” I ventured. Since I only appeared to be about twenty winters old, I had to be careful. No sense in telling them of the other marriages I had over my centuries. Most of them political. And that would raise questions I didn’t want to answer.

  “We agreed for our daughter,” Rhian explained for my benefit, “Seren, to marry Lord Mechain’s son Dewi two years ago. As political as marriages get. Our cantref shares our southern border with Mechain.”

  “Didn’t Lord Nye foster here?” Nesta asked

  “Oh, Nye,” Rhian rolled her eyes. “My husband’s father had good relations with Mechain until Nye. Bleddyn’s mother was sister to the old Lord Mechain. So she was Nye’s aunt. That snot didn’t get First Sword when Emlyn became Penteulu. He has pushed Einion, his older brother and now Lord Mechain, to re-examine that goodwill between our cantrefi. Einion saw the benefit of pushing to get access to our herds. Einion seems to be sensible. We hope that his son has inherited his father’s character. But, he still has some maturing to do…”

  Rhian’s eyes drifted toward where the young bride, Enid, sat.

  “I’m just glad,” Nesta said, “that we could arrange for Enid and Cadoc to marry before Fadog got his daughter down here.”

  "That!" Rhian exclaimed, "will never happen to my son. Not after what his father did to me…" Fire lit her eyes. She turned my way. "Sorry, dear. The old Lord Fadog kidnapped me and set his son to take my honour before Bleddyn and I could wed. My husband and his brother rode to my rescue." She wrung her hands, twisting her skirt. "His son is no better of a lord now. That poor excuse for a man makes my skin crawl."

  "Dear," Nesta said. She laid a hand on Lady Penllyn's knee. "Lady Mair didn't come to hear about our trials of old."

  “But how did they find romance,” I asked with a nod at Lady Enid, “when politics interfere amongst all noble marriages?”

  “We fostered Cadoc at our keep in Meirionnydd for several years,” Nesta, the mother of the bride explained. “We saw the start of a romance whenever Cadoc returned. Once both our husbands agreed that there could be no better union with another cantref, we pressed ahead with arrangements.”

  "We sent our son to the correct cantref for fostering," Rhian said. "We had thought to send Cadoc to Einion, in Mechain. But, someone…" Lady Penllyn made a sharp glance at Gwen, "insisted that we send him to Meirionnydd instead."

  “Since Penda sliced Powys in half to isolate Fadog,” Gwen replied, “are you not glad that I pushed for Penllyn and Meirionnydd to grow their alliance?”

  “Of course,” Nesta said. “We had already begun to do so. But your urgings sped up the process.”

  “We needed to marry Seren off to Mechain’s heir, though,” Lady Penllyn said. Her face had lost the smile she found earlier. “My one regret is that Seren deserved to find love as well.”

  “That rarely occurs,” Gwen said, “for women like us.”

  “That is true,” Nesta added. “We are fortunate when we find men of strong character and honour. Caerwyn and Bleddyn are two of the best.”

  “And now my son marries the daughter of our other close ally,” Rhian found a smile again. “Occasionally, these arrangements and the children’s romances work in our favour.”

  Enid blushed at the discussion of her romance.

  "Cadoc will have quite the task ahead of him," Enid's mother added. "He and my daughter will manage two cantrefi when we pass." An unexpected smile graced Lady Penllyn's lips. She touched Lady Meirionnydd's hand.

  “We’ve got many more years ahead of us before that happens,” Lady Penllyn said.

  “Does not custom decide that the wedding would be at the bride’s family home?” I swept my hands out toward the window, to indicate that we were in Penllyn, the groom’s home. “Pardon if I’ve misunderstood. This is the first wedding I’ve attended since arriving here.”

  “Sometimes, dear. That depends on the rank of the families. Both families are of the same level,” Nesta answered. “But, sometimes the responsibilities of the lords of the lands take precedence over silly customs.”

  "Traditions be damned," Rhian exclaimed. "As long as Fadog has his eye on more land and power, we won't leave our cantref open to an incursion. That selfish brat is just waiting for us to ride off with our teulu and leave Penllyn unprotected. After Penda took half of Fadog's land, the little toad has eyed our cantref to replace what he lost."

  “Didn’t he try to arrange marriages for his sons with your nieces in Rhos?”

  “My oldest brother, Lord Rhos, is smart enough to see through Fadog’s western border. He’s politer than I am with Fadog, but he still told him that daughters of Rhos were off limits for Fadog brats.”

  “Politics,” I ventured, “are the same the world over. What you describe is common everywhere I’ve travelled.”

  “As for the wedding, we agreed with our husbands,” Rhian continued. “Bringing Caerwyn’s teulu into Penllyn sends a strong
message to any would-be Powys kinglets eager to extend their holdings,”

  "We don't want to leave Penllyn at reduced strength," Nesta added, "and have Emlyn and the men a week's ride away from their borders."

  “Has there been any incursions from Fadog, this season?” Gwen asked.

  “Not yet.” Lady Penllyn said. “Bleddyn has sent riders along the border. He has them make quiet patrols every week or two. He’ll want to speak with you tonight. He’s convinced that something is brewing, but he’s not sure what it is. Our men have seen signs of movement along the borderlands, but can find no trace of camps.”

  "We shall welcome his inquiry tonight," Gwen said.

  “Thank you,” Nesta said. “Your wisdom in matters of state is most welcome. But, we have a guest who is unfamiliar with our political manoeuvrings.” Nesta shifted her gaze toward me. “I’d love to hear more about you, dear Mair,” she said.

  “I’m originally from Rome,” I said. “But married the Comte de Meron in Francia. My husband died, a year ago, and left me enough interest in his family’s trading business, that I felt the need to see what I could of it.”

  “Did you have children?” Lady Enid asked.

  “No, dear,” I said to her. “Our ages were far apart, and he died in his elderly years. He had purchased a title from the Merovingians, so I gained access to the matters of the royal court.”

  “Purchased a title?” Rhian asked. Her eyes had widened at my pronouncement.

  “Everything is for sale in Francia,” I said. “My husband’s eldest son has re-purchased the title from the Merovingian throne. He and his brother were happy to have me travel and allow them uncontested control of the business. I’m supposed to oversee the agents we have here on Britannia. Unofficially, I wanted to travel, and they wanted me away from the main business.”