by Troy A Hill
I felt something change, ever so slightly inside me. The goddess had touched some part of me, and I felt more deeply connected to her than before.
“I feel warm,” Enid whispered. “What just happened?”
“A blessing,” Rhian said. Nesta and Enid each had looks of awe on their faces.
“That was different…” Nesta said, “and unexpected. Do you do that often? Call magic like that?”
“The Holy Lady has blessed your families,” Gwen said. “I know not what awaits, but your families will be the keys to help us face whatever evil comes our way. The Holy Lady would not have blessed this blade if not.”
"Then we shall stand together," Nesta said. She pulled her hands off the top of the pile. The others did as well. I still held the sword. Its glow had faded out. The metal had warmed. Whether from their touch or the magic, I wasn't sure. I had the distinct feeling that when the light faded, it hadn't died off. The blade had absorbed it.
Gwen held the leather scabbard toward Enid. “Take your family’s blade, with the blessing of The Lady.”
Enid grasped the hilt. A glimmer of light ran along the blade as her hand closed on the cord wrapped grip. She raised the sword before her face, in salute to Gwen, then dipped it to slide it into the leather sleeve.
Enid laid it reverently on the bed. Her hand lingered as she traced the line of the blade up to the pommel.
36
Wedding Vows
Gwen and I excused ourselves an hour and returned to our room to dress for the ceremony. Back in the great hall, now devoid of tubs, the floor swept and cleaned, Lady Penllyn gave directions to servants who bustled about the keep. She wore a dark blue dress with elaborate embroidery, and a headscarf to match. Scattered around the great hall, older girls, children of various landholders from both cantrefi wore blue or green dresses and adorned with wreaths of flowers atop their heads. Ladies in waiting for the bride to be.
Rhian saw us and waved us over. A woman stopped Gwen to chat. Rhian caught my eye and held up a brass torc, a round u-shaped necklace. She cocked her head at me, an unspoken request for assistance. I stepped toward her.
“Thank you,” she said. “I always get my hair caught in these two-part ones when I do it by myself.” She passed me the metal torc, and I almost jerked my hand away. The torc was brass but inlaid with silver. The smell of the cold metal caught my senses. But, as long as the metal didn’t cut me, I could touch it.
I steeled myself and took the neckpiece from her. Fortunately, it couldn't harm me like Onion Breath's silver blades had.
Unlike a necklace made of chain or braided cords, the torc was two curved solid pieces of metal, about as wide as my main finger. This piece was carved with more curving, circular Celtic designs. Ornate silver balls capped the open ends of the neckpiece. I could see where the piece split in the middle. The two halves were joined in the middle, and rotated so a wearer could turn the sides, one up and one down, to widen the gap between the ends for ease of donning the piece.
The Lady Penllyn turned away and held her auburn hair and her headscarf away from her neck. I slid the torc on her and twisted it shut.
“Thank you, Mair,” she said. A deep knock on the main doors reverberated through the great hall. “And so, it begins…”
Several men had gathered outside the door. All wore clean tunics of bright colours. Lord Cadoc wore a dark green tunic and trousers; his leather boots glinted in the midday sun from their polish. Dark green decorated the cantref's pennants and seemed to be one of Penllyn's colours. Next to him was his father. Off to the side stood Ruadh, with a clean grey tunic, and his cross displayed on a cord around his neck. He winked at me as we stepped behind Rhian.
Enid's father, Caerwyn, stood next to Cadoc. His tunic was a light blue. Blue and green were the colours of Enid's wedding outfit, which suggested a joining of the lands.
“Lady Penllyn,” Caerwyn said. “This man,” he gestured toward Cadoc, “your son, asks that our families be joined in marriage. Do you consent to this union?”
“Lord Meirionnydd, I so consent.”
"As do I," Nesta's voice rang out from behind us. She approached her husband, with a familiar scabbard in hand. Her dress was a similar shade of light green. She held forth the leather baldric from which the blade hung. "Milord Husband, we lack a son to carry the family blade today. Will you carry it to the wedding site with my blessing?"
Caerwyn stood straighter. His grey hair seemed to glow as he stood framed in the sunny doorway. Both his tunic and her dress had intricate Celtic designs embroidered on the sleeves and around the collars. He reached out and took hold of the leather scabbard.
“Just as you have honoured me, my wife, I will honour our daughter and carry the blade until she presents it to her husband.” Lady Meirionnydd released the blade to her husband.
Caerwyn looped the leather belt over his head and shoulder, so it crossed his body, and the sword hung at his hip. "Miladies Gwenhwyfar and Mair, will you accompany us and oversee the vows?"
Gwen stepped forward, and I followed a beat after her. “We will gladly administer the vows to the new couple, in the name of The Lady, and all that we hold Holy.”
Caerwyn nodded and motioned the others to proceed. Gwen and I followed. Just outside the building stood Emlyn, the Penteulu. His stance was casual, yet alert. His thumbs tucked into his crossed belts where his hands could move to the pommels of his sheathed swords. As we departed, he stayed behind, with Caerwyn.
Cadoc, Bleddyn, and the portly Lord of Mechain led us toward a small grove of oak trees at one end of the wooden-walled compound atop the hill. Here the rocky hillside sloped upward behind the trees and made a small ridge behind the weapons practice field. A thin fissure split open the rocky shelf in the hill between the weapons field and the top where the grove sat. The crack which was big enough, barely, for a man to walk through, led back into darkness.
We climbed the path to the top where a grove of old oak trees stood. About fifty feet away, on the far side of the grove, the ground dropped off. This side of the hill was a rocky cliff. Yesterday, as Gwen, Ruadh and I approached Caer Penllyn from the road, I remembered a sharp and steep wall of rock on this end of the hill, probably two hundred feet high.
In the grove, a trellis of flowers and vines were woven into the tree branches. Roses and lilies littered the ground underneath and the trellis above.
"Is that the family crypt?" Einion asked Bleddyn and pointed at the fissure below.
“It is. I have spent some time prowling the deeper parts and discovered some Roman crypts.”
“The Roman invaders have left their traces everywhere,” Gwen said. She took my arm, and steered me toward the trellis, then stepped toward its rear. Our backs were toward the cliff, with the entrance to the crypt caves down the path, below and to the right of where we stood. I found the juxtaposition of a wedding celebration near the crypts interesting.
Trees, however, were scarce in the fort because of the settlement and wooden fortifications. The idea that generations of inhabitants of the fort had kept this grove and not cut it for lumber or firewood impressed me. A dozen trees would have been tempting in a hard winter, or when they needed lumber for a new building.
“Oaks are sacred to the old Celtic faith,” Gwen sent into my mind. Her hand still touched my arm. “The Lords of Penllyn have respected the land for generations. They still respect the old ways, despite the shift in faith from the old gods.”
Gwen gazed at the canopy of vines and flowers overhead. She closed her eyes and held her hands out, palms up. I sensed her golden cord to the Otherworld humming. The flowers overhead sent out shoots and multiplied. Their numbers doubled then tripled. The vines spread toward the back, lengthened and cascaded down behind us. The men gathered with us either gasped or chuckled.
Gwen opened her eyes and grinned at them.
“I have a special way with plants,” she said. “The Holy Lady smiles on this wedding.”
Music drift
ed up from below. The bride's party emerged from between the last of the buildings of the main complex and passed the spits and fire pits where the boars were roasting. Several of the older children of the landholders played their pipes or jingled bells as they skipped along ahead of the bride's party. Behind them walked the bridesmaids dressed in their fine blue or green dresses, with crowns of flowers perched atop their heads.
Caerwyn, Lord of Meirionnydd approached, his hand on the pommel of the sword his wife had presented to him. Both mothers accompanied Lady Enid; each wore their beautiful gowns. Behind them, his hands near his weapons strode Emlyn. He seemed attentive, and ready for battle, despite the joyful atmosphere. Seren and her husband — after his tussle with Lady Seren, I refused to use his noble title — came along behind the bride's party with other nobles that were to witness the ceremonies.
As the party neared us, the musicians and bridesmaids parted to either side, and the Lord of Meirionnydd strode into the grove between them. He stepped off away from the centre. Nesta stepped beside him and slid her arm through his. Rhian joined Bleddyn and laid her hand in the crook of his arm. Both sets of parents stood by their respective son or daughter. Emlyn watched the land below as he guarded the hilltop. I wasn't sure who was going to invade and make it all the way up here, but he was ready.
“Lord and Ladies, welcome to this holy place,” Gwen’s arm swept out in a gesture to encompass the small grove. “May the Most Holy Lady, Mother of Britain and all within her boundaries, lay her blessings upon this land, and all who have gathered here on this special day.”
Even though we were not touching, I could feel Gwen's bond with the Otherworld tingling; I felt the warmth of the goddess. A single ray of late-afternoon sunlight highlighted Gwen. The light created a silver halo about her person.
Gwen asked of the gifts that each family was presenting to the bridal couple. Bleddyn and Caerwyn responded with details. Gwen motioned that the couple should step forward. They did so and turned to face each other. “Cadoc and Enid, you are here on this day to proclaim each other as spouse. Lord Cadoc, do you now accept Lady Enid as your wife and Lady?”
“I do” he whispered as he gazed into Enid’s eyes.
Her mouth moved and breathed a single word, meant only for his ears. “Louder.”
“I DO.” He said.
“Lady Enid, do you now accept Cadoc as your husband and Lord?”
“I do,” the girl exclaimed for all to hear.
Gwen touched my elbow. She had given me instructions earlier on how to bind their hands. I pulled the cloth belt from my waist and draped the sash over their hands and wrapped it around their wrists. Then I tied a loose knot with the ends.
"Let it be known that Enid and Cadoc are one, joined in wedlock," Gwen proclaimed. Cadoc leaned in and kissed his bride before all. I untied the sash. No sooner had it come loose, than Enid's hands rose to cup his face and she lengthened the kiss for several seconds, while the guests gave a loud cheer.
Once they parted, Gwen whispered her congratulations. Then she asked aloud, “Have you a gift for the bride?”
"I do," Cadoc said. He pulled his baldric over his head and held its sword sideways toward his bride. "I give you this, the sword of my family, to keep for our son to use, in protection of his family."
Enid accepted the gift. She stepped toward her father, who already had his family blade and scabbard ready, the one we had blessed earlier. He passed it to her. Her father kissed her on her cheek during the exchange.
Enid returned to her groom. He bent so she could loop the baldric with the new blade across him.
“You must be able to keep your family, and your lands safe from harm.” She said as she draped the leather baldric across him. “I give you the blade of my family to guard our home, our family and our lands.” Cadoc knelt and took Enid’s hands in his.
"I will do my best to protect us from harm, my Lady Wife." He kissed each of her hands. She leaned down and kissed him again. The cheers from those gathered resounded throughout the grove and across the hilltop.
From down the hill, by the main gates of Caer Penllyn, a pole rose with a strip of cloth tied to it. It waved back and forth. Emlyn, who stood at the edge of the grove, glanced back at Lord Penllyn. Their eyes narrowed. Both men wore tight-lipped expressions of tension.
Below, a procession of some sort rode into the fort. Each of the men on horseback led an empty mount. Behind them, a horse drew a small wagon. One of the lead men carried a banner I didn't recognise. Emlyn and Bleddyn had though. Both frowned when they spied it as it stirred in the breeze.
The young minstrels led the bridal couple down the hill. Cadoc held Enid’s hand on the way down. Their families followed the bride and groom. Other guests were close behind. Only Emlyn and Bleddyn seemed troubled at first. When Rhian saw the flag waving by the gate, she shifted her demeanour in an instant. Back straight and head held high. Her eyes had gone steely in their gaze. Her eyelids narrowed.
“Trouble?”
“Lord Fadog decided to attend.”
“The one who kidnapped Rhian on her wedding day?”
“No,” she replied, “Emlyn slew that Lord Fadog. This one is his son. Just as low and despicable though.”
“This could get interesting,” I said.
37
Fadog
Emlyn and Bleddyn detoured from the folks who waited to congratulate Cadoc and Enid. Instead, they headed to where Fadog and his men at arms stood by their horses. Emlyn motioned toward the gate guard from the day before, Gerallt. Together they directed guards around the edges of the stable yard where Fadog's men had stopped.
Gwen guided me to a bench near the stables where we could stay in the shade and within earshot of the confrontation with the new arrivals.
“What brings you to Penllyn, Fadog?” Lord Penllyn said. His tone was cautious.
Fadog was a good ten years younger than Bleddyn. His brown moustache dripped down both sides of his mouth, like thin serpents that outlined his mouth, all the way down his chin.
“Ah, Penllyn,” Fadog said. “Congratulations on tying your cantref to Meirionnydd.”
“Thank you, Fadog,” Lord Penllyn’s tone was tired. He pointed to the extra horses. “You brought additional mounts because you are riding farther tonight?”
“No Penllyn,” Fadog smiled with mischief. “These are your horses. What’s left of a herd that had crossed into the area Mercia stole from Fadog.”
“What do mean, ‘what’s left?’ where’s the rest of the herd?”
"Perhaps you should take better care of your assets, Penllyn." Fadog grinned, his eyes were full of mischief. "Mercia won't always have your back, protecting the borderlands they stole from me. That valley is Fadog territory, no matter what Penda and his cut-throats say."
"Your dispute is with Penda," Bleddyn said. I was amazed at how calm his temper was. He was used to the jibes Fadog threw at him.
“You rode all this way to return my horses?”
"And the herdsman set to watch them, what's left of him," Fadog's smile grew larger, as he pointed at the wagon. "Poor lad's been clawed to pieces. Found a horse near him. It had been mauled just as badly. Whatever killed them, took down several more horses, slashed them and left them to die. There's a beast on the loose in the area. Perhaps you should ask Penda if it's one of his."
Cadoc, along with Lord Meirionnydd, strode up just then. I noticed the several archers with bows ready stood on the walls watching Fadog’s party.
“Gwilym is dead?” Cadoc asked.
“Was that the groom?” Fadog asked the young lord. Cadoc gave one grim nod of his head.
"Too bad about your horses," Fadog said. "And your man," he continued after a beat. "That's the problem with sending young men so far away from where they should be. A predator comes along and does what they're supposed to do: look for prey. Your man and his herd seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." Fadog had a sly grin as he spoke. He appeared to relish his rol
e as the bearer of bad news.
"I see about a dozen steeds. That herd had almost thirty head in it," Cadoc said, his voice flat. One of Fadog's men moved his hand toward his sword. Emlyn cleared his throat. The man glanced at Penllyn's Penteulu, then shifted his hand away from the sword.
"Thirty? You are bold to have that large a herd in Fadog territory." He grinned at Cadoc. "Penllyn horses are well respected throughout all of Britain, including the Deira and Bernicia." Fadog sounded like he mimicked a local saying. "You might find a few in those northern kingdoms if you were to travel through Fadog to pay them a visit." He glanced at the other Lord, then said to Bleddyn. "Powys would be a strong kingdom today if you had backed me for the throne. Our two cantrefi could have united and controlled half of Cymru. Instead, Powys is splintered with Mercian brigands have cut us off from the rest of the kingdom."
“You came to Penllyn to push a border dispute with Mercia?” Lord Meirionnydd said. Fadog’s mischievous grin broadened. “Neither Penllyn nor Meirionnydd took any land from you. Your complaint is with Mercia.”
“Penda told Fadog,” Bleddyn said, “that he’d be a head shorter if he ever stepped foot into Mercia. If he heard what Fadog just said about trying to take the throne of Powys, Penda might ride to ask Ffransys about the matter.”
“Have you offered to carry a message to King Penda for Fadog?” Caerwyn asked, a sly grin on his face.
“No,” Bleddyn replied, “but we expect one of his thanes here this fall to get another twenty head of good Penllyn horses. I could send a message back then.”
Fadog, nervously stroked his moustache as he watched the other two lords discuss his problems with the Mercian King.
"Perhaps you could return this fall when the Mercians come to trade for the horses," Bleddyn said to Fadog. His grin was wide. "Penda has sent word that he might visit us himself this year or next." The colour faded from Fadog's face, and his hand drifted down to rest on his sword. I'd seen that worried expression on too many men who had boasted in an ale room. Too often their mouths got them in trouble, and they needed to back up their words with action.
