by J. M. Hofer
“Come now, it’s time to go down. You look absolutely splendid.”
Igerna led the way and together they followed the sounds and smells of the feast that was already underway. Igerna had insisted they not go down until the guests had already been there awhile. The music got louder as they approached the feasting hall. “Oh, how I’ve missed music and dancing!”
“We’ll dance until dawn, if you wish it,” Igerna promised.
They walked into the main hall to find it transformed into a feast like those Arhianna had attended in Gwythno. Amlawth and his wife sat together at the head of the table, with Emrys and Uthyr on either side of them. There were but two empty places left in the hall.
A servant came to escort them to their seats, and all men present stood up at their arrival.
Amlawth smiled at his daughter. “Gentlemen, may I introduce the last of my daughters, Lady Igerna, and her companion, Lady Arhianna of Mynyth Aur, which lies in Gwyneth.”
Emrys addressed them first. “It is an honor.”
Arhianna thought she might be the only one in the hall to notice the stunned look on Uthyr’s face as he beheld Igerna, for everyone else in the hall was staring at her as well. It was as if she had enchanted the entire hall the moment she entered.
“This is my brother, Uthyr,” Emrys said to them.
Igerna looked over at Uthyr, who quickly adopted a stiff and formal manner to hide his interest. “Lady Igerna, Lady Arhianna,” he said, with a short nod to each of them in turn.
They sat down at the table, freeing the men from their obligation to stand at attention, and the servants approached to pour them some mead. Platters of roasted venison, goose, salmon and boar sat swimming in their juices on the table, surrounded by harvest stews featuring parsnips, leeks, and cabbage. Bowls of apples and baskets of fresh bread sat near every guest. Arhianna’s mouth watered. She wanted nothing more than to grab a large piece of boar meat, her favorite, and sink her teeth into it but she waited to see what Igerna would choose. To her disappointment, her friend took only a small portion of salmon and a bit of bread. She glanced at Igerna’s sisters, hopeful at least one of them was eating something a bit more substantial. Gwee’s plate looked much like Igerna’s, as did Golie’s. Thank the gods for Willeth, she thought, noticing the heaping serving of boar meat on the girl’s plate. She took a slightly smaller portion to ensure propriety, and contented herself with that.
She listened with care to everything that was said, watching the interactions around the table with deep interest. Emrys had clearly been raised to rule. He spoke, drank, ate, smiled and laughed with a quality that she had only ever known one other person to possess—Taliesin. It was a dream-like quality that seemed to inform the senses that something of the gods lived just beneath the skin of the person blessed with it. Emrys’ younger brother, Uthyr, on the other hand, was quite different. He was noble enough in manner, but it was clear his blood ran much hotter.
***
Amlawth was quick to pledge his support to Emrys in the fight against Vortigern and Hengist. Over the next few days, Arhianna and Igerna eavesdropped on several conversations regarding battle plans, the number of men Amlawth could contribute to Emrys’ army, and other dukes and chieftains in the area whom he believed would also lend their support.
One afternoon, while Arhianna and Igerna were out riding, a servant came running out on the moor, looking for them. “Mistress Igerna, your father bids the Lady Arhianna come to his hall. He has something he wishes to discuss with her.”
A wave of fear paralyzed Arhianna. Has he found out? Has Jørren tracked me here? She grew increasingly anxious as they neared the castle, her worries mounting. She summoned her courage, knowing if she had been discovered, nothing could be done about it now.
They rode into the courtyard within the hour. “You’re sure you have no idea what this is about?” Igerna questioned.
“No,” Arhianna said, praying her suspicions were wrong.
“Very well—I’m off to wash. Come and tell me everything when you’ve finished.”
“I will.”
Arhianna reported to the hall, as commanded, pushing open its heavy oak doors. Amlawth looked up at the sound. “Ah, Lady Arhianna! Please, come here.”
Relief washed over her at the sight of his smile. He was standing in the hall with Emrys and Uthyr by his side. The three of them were bent over something on the table that she assumed was a map or document of some sort.
She approached the table and, to her surprise, saw they were not looking at a map at all, but rather at the sword Amlawth had purchased in Calleva.
“Good afternoon, my lady.”
“Good afternoon.”
“I trust your ride was enjoyable?”
“It was. Most enjoyable. Thank you.”
“Good.” He smiled at her as well. “Amlawth told me your brother forged this sword. Is this true?”
“It is.” Arhianna pointed to Gareth’s insignia on the hilt. “That’s his mark.”
“Well, this is some of the finest work I have ever seen. Where might I find your brother and speak to him?”
“Our home lies at the foot of Mynyth Aur, in the north, not far from the old Roman fort of Llanfor.”
Emrys nodded. “Your father is chieftain there, Amlawth tells me.”
“Yes. Bran of the Oaks. My brother’s name is Gareth.”
Emrys smiled. “My army is going to need many swords to win this war. I would like to meet your father.”
“I’m certain he would be honored.”
Uthyr had been eyeing Amlawth’s sword with the same intense, hungry look Arhianna had seen on his face when he had first beheld Igerna. She feared he was a man who was never refused anything he desired, or, perhaps worse, simply took it. “May I?” Uthyr asked Amlawth.
“Yes, of course.”
Uthyr picked up the sword and swung it a few times, but that was not enough to satisfy him. He looked around the room, impatiently searching for something, until his eyes fell upon a bowl of fruit. He strode over, took an apple, threw it in the air, and swiftly sliced through it. “Ha!” he cried, watching the two perfect halves sail to the ground. His face exploded into a wide grin. “I must have a sword just like this. When can we visit this Bran of the Oaks?”
Amlawth turned to Emrys. “Your grace, it was my intention to escort the Lady Arhianna home in the spring and there negotiate with her father to commission swords for my men. Perhaps this would be of interest to you as well?”
“Oh, it would,” Uthyr interrupted.
Emrys smiled, indulging his brother. “Uthyr will be in charge of my armies and the procurement of their weapons,” he explained. “Of the two of us, he has the more military mind.” He then turned to Arhianna. “Thank you, my lady. We’ve kept you long enough. I trust we shall have the pleasure of your company tomorrow night?”
“Yes, my lord. It will be my pleasure.” She curtseyed and left.
The following night was to be the farewell feast for Emrys and his men. The next morning, they would continue their campaign throughout the remaining kingdoms of Brython, rallying as many chieftains as they could to their cause. It was Amlawth’s belief this would not be hard to do. Many lamented the loss of Constantine and prayed for his sons to return and take the throne from Vortigern, whom they blamed for the Saxon problem that now threatened their kingdoms.
Igerna was waiting for her with wide eyes. “What did my father want?”
“Emrys, or rather, Uthyr wants to commission swords from my father.”
Igerna’s expression changed at the mention of Uthyr’s name. Arhianna had noticed it always did, and assumed her friend was laboring under the effect he had on her. On more than one occasion, Arhianna had noticed Uthyr’s eyes fixed on Igerna like a wolf stalking a deer. It was no different the following night at the feast. In fact, he seemed to have grown hungrier for her.
The farewell feast for Emrys and his men was more lavish and much larger in scope than the we
lcome feast had been. Amlawth had invited every man of influence he called friend, and none had refused the invitation. Between the treachery at Ambrius and the timely arrival of Emrys and Uthyr, every kingdom from Dumnonia to Gododdin was aflame with talk of war and vengeance. It was clear that, in the coming moons, every chieftain in Brython would be forced to choose a side in the brewing war. Those at Amlawth’s feast had already chosen their side and wanted to be certain Emrys knew he had their support. Notable among the evening’s guests were Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, and Eldol, Duke of Caer Glou, both expressly eager to devote themselves to Emrys and exact revenge against Vortigern and Hengist for the terrible wrongs they had committed.
The feast went late into the night. Arhianna listened intently to every word said, committing all names and places mentioned to memory. Unfortunately, Lady Gwen stood up before the discussions were over. “My daughters and I have stayed up long enough, we must to bed.” She smiled and bid the men good-night on their behalf, leaving her husband and his distinguished guests to discuss the finer points of war and politics. Arhianna felt deeply disappointed, but she dared not stay without the others. She was about to find a safe place to eavesdrop when Igerna took her aside. “Come sleep in my bed tonight,” she whispered. “I must talk to you, in private.”
“Of course,” Arhianna agreed. She despaired, feeling she could not afford to be ignorant of what was happening right now. Where might Jørren be in all this? And Father? Not knowing would be torture. “Igerna, I don’t feel so well.”
Igerna turned toward her, her expression so troubled that Arhianna quickly regretted her lie. “That is, I hope I don’t keep you awake by tossing or turning about.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I doubt I’ll be sleeping at all tonight.”
Arhianna nodded, resigning herself to learning what she could from the servants the following morning, though she knew the finer points of politics would be lost on them. She followed Igerna to her chamber, quite certain she knew exactly what vexed her good friend. Uthyr.
Once they were settled in for the night, Igerna turned to Arhianna. “Please, I need your counsel about Uthyr.”
“What kind of counsel? Has he asked for your hand?”
“No, though I suspect he might.”
“As do I.”
“I’m not certain he is a good man. I mean, not good in the way that my father is good.” She shook her head. “I’ve never felt this way about a man before. I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Try.”
Igerna looked up at the ceiling. “It’s as if…somehow…I’ve been gripped by a spell. When he looks at me, I feel as if I’m being held prisoner by his eyes—pinned by them, like an animal, in a trap.”
“Ugh,” Arhianna grimaced. “That sounds disagreeable.”
“It is,” Igerna said and paused, “and it isn’t. When he looks at me, I can’t move. My heart feels like a rabbit trapped in a sack.”
Arhianna did not know what to say. She had experienced the thrill of Jørren’s desire for her, but what Igerna was describing seemed much more frightening—as if, somehow, Uthyr might eclipse or devour her with his desire.
Igerna sighed. “Is this love, do you think?”
Arhianna shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I think it’s something else—something that can become love if planted within a woman’s heart, but rarely becomes love within a man’s.”
Her mother had spoken those same words to her regarding Jørren. In her case, her mother had been wrong. Jørren did love her—deeply. Her throat tightened as she imagined his arms around her, holding her close. It took all her willpower to force down the sobs wanting to leap out of her.
“Then I shall treat it as the enemy,” Igerna proclaimed.
“I think that would be wise,” Arhianna whispered, “for the moment, at least.”
Wise as it might be, however, she did not have much hope that Igerna would be able to resist Uthyr when he came for her, and come for her, he would—that was the one thing Arhianna felt certain about.
***
The days grew shorter, and winter closed in around them. The pleasant sea breezes that had danced around the castle like maidens had aged into cruel old hags. Cold and lonely, they probed every crack in the castle’s stone walls with their long icy fingers, seeking warm flesh to pinch heat and steal youth from. To defend its denizens against their cruel touch, fires burned day and night in the castle hearths.
The days, though short, passed slowly for Arhianna. Important men did not come to Amlawth’s castle with as much frequency as they had when she first arrived. The exciting news that had flowed through his hall like a river had slowed to a trickle. She did not know why. Perhaps Emrys was quietly preparing for war and biding his time through the winter. Perhaps he was far in the north, rallying men to his cause. Perhaps, by now, her father was among them. It was torture for her not to know. Each night, she went to sleep feeling more restless than the last.
She prayed to Freya every morning as she had done since the day she had first visited the goddess’ temple, but, after that, she struggled with how to spend the hours. She had never been content to amuse herself with embroidery or other such tedious women’s pastimes. She was accustomed to hunting and riding alongside the men in her clan, but such activities were considered dangerous and unseemly for women within Amlawth’s household. She contented herself with fashioning games for Llyg, who followed her around the castle like a puppy, and practicing her archery in the courtyard. This, too, Llyg wanted to be a part of. She taught him everything she knew. Soon, to his immense delight, he could outshoot his brothers from time to time.
Though she adored Igerna and her family, she often regretted not having pushed north from Calleva. What if spring comes, and the countryside erupts into war, cutting off the roads? How will I make it home, then? Every day, she suffered these thoughts, and, every day, she came to the same conclusion: It’s too late to do anything about it now. As eager as she was to leave, she would have to wait until Amlawth decided it was safe enough to escort her home.
Gratefully, things livened up as they approached the winter solstice. The entire castle bristled with activity as everyone set to work preparing for the yuletide celebrations. Amlawth’s household observed both Christmas and Yule traditions. Lady Gwen felt it was important to honor all the gods—the old and the new.
The week before the solstice feast, Igerna and Arhianna helped dip candles. Lady Gwen wished to have the entire castle alight for the festivities, and that meant hundreds of candles.
“She seems to be making more of an effort than usual,” Igerna noted. “We usually celebrate well, but not this well.”
“Perhaps she’s expecting a special guest,” Arhianna suggested with a wink.
Igerna’s smile disappeared. “Oh, do you think so? But why would she not tell me?”
“Perhaps it’s meant to be a surprise?”
Igerna nearly dropped her candle into the vat of wax she was standing over. “Oh, dear.”
Arhianna smiled. She could tell from the look on Igerna’s beaming face that whatever reservations she might have had about Uthyr were gone.
***
The Yule feast came, and there were many important guests, but Uthyr, strangely, was not among them.
“Perhaps we were wrong about everything,” Igerna said as the evening drew to a close.
They were about to retire when Amlawth stopped his daughter. “Igerna, your mother and I desire to speak to you. I’ve received a most auspicious and generous offer for your hand in marriage tonight.”
“Of course.” Igerna turned to Arhianna and whispered, “Wait up for me.”
Arhianna smiled and nodded. Perhaps Uthyr was unable to attend the feast, and had sent a trusted messenger instead. She was happy for her friend and waited up for her as she had requested. When Igerna came into the room, however, she looked as if she had seen a ghost.
“Oh, gods—what’s wrong?”
She
came over and joined Arhianna by the fire. “Gorlois,” she said, sitting down in the chair. “They wish to wed me to Gorlois!”
Arhianna could tell her friend felt devastated so did her best to remain cheerful. “Why, that’s quite an honor!” she encouraged. “Gorlois is very gracious and kind.”
Igerna slumped down in her chair and let out a long sigh. “Yes, I know it could be worse.”
Arhianna poured them both some wine. “You’re not pleased.”
Igerna took a sip, and then stared into the fire pensively, fiddling with the bottom of her cup. “I feel ungrateful...and foolish,” she finally said. “I just thought that… “ She paused and looked out the window, biting her bottom lip.
“I know.” Arhianna took her friend’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “He may still. Must you give Gorlois an answer straightaway?”
“Father says I could not hope for better—that Gorlois is Emrys’ most-trusted ally, and sure to be his right hand when he becomes the High King of Brython. Both he and Mother were over the moon about it.”
“But, perhaps, if your father knew of Uthyr’s interest?”
Igerna shook her head. “He’s done nothing but stare at me from across the hall. That’s not nearly enough to warrant refusing a man of Gorlois’ wealth and status. It sounds ridiculous to me just saying it. If Uthyr has any intentions toward me, he hasn’t made them known. I thought, surely, after the farewell feast, he would propose—or fashion a way to come and visit Father again. But he’s done nothing at all. Not so much as a note or token. And….” Igerna broke off and began turning her cup around in her hands again.
“And, what?” Arhianna prompted.
“I dream of him. Nearly every night.”
“You do?” Arhianna grew more interested. Only something of importance to the gods appeared in one’s dreams night after night. “Tell me about your dreams.”
Igerna looked around, perhaps fearful the servants might overhear her. “I’m ashamed to share them,” she said in a low voice.
Arhianna leaned in closer and whispered, “You have nothing to fear from me. We can’t choose what dreams come to us. This is beyond our will. Even if we could, I wouldn’t judge you.”
