Outside all was chaos, flames leapt and danced in the black sky and the air was filled with choking smoke. Horses were screaming and I knew that some of them had not been saved.
Men and women sped about, seeking escape, and I saw Envys, her mouth wide, waddling through the mire with her skirts held high above her fat knees.
Another scream, louder than the rest, and a man ran from the barn to throw himself into the slush of the farmyard in an attempt to quench the flames that engulfed him.
There was nothing I could do to help him and my duty lay with my children. Barely able to see through the smoke, I scanned the scene, unsure of where to run. Father Daffydd was gathering women and children to him in the churchyard, offering them the protection of his cloth; he was praying loudly to comfort the stricken.
I began to run toward him but, suddenly, one of Gruffydd’s henchmen grabbed my arm. He was dressed for battle, half of his face obscured by his helm.
‘Over here, Lady, mount up and prepare to ride out when you hear the order, don’t look back and stop for nothing.’
The ponies he indicated were poor muddy creatures, they pranced about, pulling at their tethers, unsettled by the tumult. I wondered where Glimmer was but then, just as quickly, thrust the thought away.
Anwen helped me into the saddle and handed Nest up to me and then set Maude on her mount with Maredudd before her. I wrestled with the reins, securing a better grip, and looked up to see Anwen mounted and wrapping her cloak about Idwal’s thin frame, the better to shield him from the cold. Idwal’s eyes were huge, his face corpselike, all colour washed from his lips.
I smiled at him encouragingly. ‘Do you have your sword, Idwal?’ I asked, ‘twill be a fine adventure and you may need it.’
He nodded earnestly and freed his arm from the cloak, indicating his wooden sword strapped to his waist.
‘Good boy,’ I said, ‘now hold on tight, it may be a wild ride.’
He nodded again and my heart turned over in sudden fear for my children, so vulnerable and afraid. Then Gruffydd’s voice cut through the commotion and, as the gates opened, the small cavalcade leapt into life and thundered through the gates and down the hill toward the river.
Hoof beats were drawing nearer and, knowing our pursuers were close, I kicked my pony mercilessly and we sped on, the icy wind cutting at my cheeks. Beneath my cloak Nesta clung to me although she made not a sound, and all the while I prayed for our safe deliverance.
Urging my mount faster through the steadily falling snow, I risked a glance behind me and could see horseman galloping, as recklessly as I, along the treacherous road. At the river crossing, where we were forced into single file, my horse’s hooves slipped in the slushy mire but he regained his footing. As hard as I tried, I knew I was falling behind the rest of the party so I dug my heels into the pony’s side again, desperate to catch up.
The foothills loomed before us, Tangwystl and Llyward were far ahead with the teulu but Anwen and Maud rode a little in front of me, crouched forward, their cloaks flapping behind them. I heard Gruffydd shout something but I could not distinguish his words and, too late, I saw Maude’s pony leaping over an obstacle. I gathered my reins belatedly but he mistimed his jump, clashing his foreleg into the fallen bough. As he began to fall I fought to keep my seat but, hampered as I was with Nesta, I flew over his head and landed heavily on the ground. Curling my body to protect the child, I rolled to the side of the trackway and struck my head upon something concealed beneath the snow.
The horse fell heavily beside me and then scrambled to his feet to stand, his reins trailing and his leg hanging useless. Dazed and winded, I tried to sit up and, as my head cleared, I heard Anwen’s voice cry out in panic. I thought she was turning back for me and I tried to scramble up but, as I gazed blearily through the driving snow, I saw the indistinct figure of Gruffydd. His horse sidestepped and pranced in the snow for a brief moment before I heard his voice for the last time.
‘Leave her.’ he cried and, seizing Anwen’s bridle, they galloped off into the hills.
Nest was whimpering and shivering with fright. I tried to scramble to my knees but they would not hold me. I held her close. ‘It is alright,’ I whispered, ‘Mother’s here,’ but I knew it was far from alright and that I was in worse straits than I had ever been.
I looked for somewhere to run and saw in the distance that the squalid huddle of huts outside the llys walls were burning and that more flames leapt within the stronghold walls. Rhuddlan was vanquished and, as I watched through fogged eyes, the destruction of my home and heard the screams of the dying, I knew that Gruffydd had lost all and that my fate now lay in the hands of the Saxons.
Our pursuers approached. They almost rode past the place where I cowered in the snow but one of them saw me and drew to a halt, signalling to his companions to stop. The leader jumped down, leaving the reins dangling, he stooped and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back to look upon my face.
‘Well, wot ‘ave we ‘ere?’ he said, his Saxon tongue strange to my ears. His face was pushed close to mine and I could smell his unwashed body. ‘A wench fer th’ takin, boys and a foine lookin’ one too. Let’s tek ‘er back wiv us, I’m damned if I’m gonna rut wiv ‘er out ‘ere in the snow.’
He gripped my upper arm and pulled me to my feet where I swayed dizzily from the blow I had received to my head. I wrestled weakly against him until he twisted my arm, snatching Nest from me and throwing her to the ground. I screamed and fought him, kicking and scratching, trying to gouge his eyes but my soft boots made no impact on his leather leggings and he easily overwhelmed me, pinioning my arms to my side. He shoved me against his horse,
‘Come along, missy, show some willin’ now, like a lady,’ he said and, through the light material of my nightgown, I felt his hands on my body.
Nesta was crying in earnest now and I struggled, wanting to get to her but his arms held me fast, he lowered his face toward me but I whipped my head away, feeling his wet mouth slide across mine and the harshness of his beard scrape across my face.
‘Noooo.’ I screamed, as soon as my mouth was free, ‘Get off me.’ and, of a sudden, he was gone, struck down from behind. Finding myself suddenly freed, I slumped to the ground while my attackers grabbed their mounts and thundered back toward the blazing settlement.
I was on my hands and knees, the snowy biting cold through the thin cloth of my night gown. I looked up, blinking through the falling snow.
A horse, splendidly caparisoned, reared above me, his breath dragon-like in the frigid air. He pranced, snatching at his harness while his rider, swathed in furs and sitting tall in the saddle, curtailed his restiveness with a gauntleted hand.
I scrambled to where Nesta was bawling and cradled her to me; she was wet through, cold and shaken from her fall but we were trapped. I sent up a desperate prayer, awaiting our fate.
Thrusting his sword into its sheath, the fighting man took off his helmet, his hair falling in golden waves to the fur collar of his mantle.
‘Come, Madam,’ he commanded, reaching down his free hand to help me mount.
I hesitated, wildly weighing up my options. His expression was level and calm, his mouth framed by sweeping moustaches and his body richly clad. There was no doubting who he was, for he could be no other and, recognising defeat, I reached for the proffered hand and scrambled up before him onto his horse.
My head was level with his chin and, with both hands on the reins, his arms encircled Nesta and I in the warmth of his body, his hot breath whispering close to my ear.
At his signal, the horse leapt beneath us and we galloped away east, toward the Saxon border. Through a mist of tears, I saw Rhuddlan, that for five years had been my home, smouldering in the snow. Further off toward the coast further leaping flames bore witness to Gruffydd’s blazing fleet of warships.
All was lost. I was escaping Gruffydd’s punishment but at what cost? I wept, not for myself, but for my friends who were dying there, for the love I had kn
own there and for the life I was leaving forever. But, most of all, I wept for my sons who, with every passing moment, were being taken further and further from my reach into the fastness of Snowdonia.
The Fighting Man
Night was falling on the third day before we clattered into the yard at Kingsholm. Our arrival broke the evening hush and all was hubbub for a while. Children and dogs tumbled from within and curious members of the household appeared in their wake. Harold dismounted and lifted me down, steadying me while I found my feet after the long ride. My arms were numb from nursing Nesta and I smiled at a young female who gestured that she would take her from me. Handing the reins to a waiting groom, Harold said to the assembled household,
‘You can address her in Saxon, she isn’t a heathen; this is the Lady Eadgyth, daughter of Ælfgar and wife of the Welsh king. She will be lodging with us for a spell. You, Æthel, take her inside and see to her needs.’
He whirled off into the dusk as I followed the women into the lodge. It was pleasantly warm within after the bitter cold outside, the walls were hung with rich tapestries and cushioned chairs were pulled up close to the roaring hearth. The luxuries of the Saxon palace surpassed the more spartan comforts of Rhuddlan but I still yearned for the far off halls of home. Æthel smiled at me.
‘You must be exhausted after such a hard ride, shall I show you to your chamber and have food sent to you there?’
The thought of a warm bed and dinner was more than I could resist so I nodded and reached for Nesta again;
‘It’s alright, Lady, I will bring her, we will be right behind you.’
How strange it seemed to hear the rhythm of Saxon speech again, the round vowel sounds sounded strange to my Welsh attuned ears. Music issued from somewhere within the palace confines but I was shown into a side room and, when I saw the sumptuous chamber with its roaring fire and the side-table laden with food, I was overcome. I plumped my bottom onto the nearest stool and let Æthel bring food to me, uncaring of what I ate or drank. There were apples, tangy and sweet, and nuts, rich pastries and a game pie. I ate as if I had not eaten for a twelvemonth and Nesta, when she stirred, saw the food and fell upon it too.
‘What is this place?’ I asked, once my appetite was quieted. Æthel looked up from my feet where she was engaged in easing off my slippers
‘Kingsholm, Lady, near Gleawanceaster. Tis King Edward’s hunting lodge. The king and his court are here for Christ’s mass celebrations, it is a favoured palace of the royal family.’
I put down my knife and watched Æthel as she regarded the slippers with some disgust before throwing them onto the fire.
‘The King is here? He sent the army forth into Wales from here?’
‘Yes, Lady, the King and Earl Harold have been talking of little else all through the celebrations. King Edward is right glad to have struck the enemy so hard.’
The Enemy. That was me, I recalled with a start.
‘I see,’ I said, although I didn’t really. I did not understand how it had been possible for Harold and his troop to have ridden so freely into Wales and all but murdered the king’s household in their beds.
‘We must find you some fresh garments, Lady. How came you to be abroad in your nightshift?’
I looked down at myself, muddied and mired from the mad ride.
‘Your army came upon us unawares as we slept. We fled the burning llys with little warning; the rest of our party rode into the mountains but I fell from my horse and was captured.’
‘Gracious God. ‘Tis lucky you have your child with you madam and she is unharmed. You must not be worried for your safety now, Earl Harold does not make war on women and children.’
I pondered upon the fate of the children of Rhuddlan that I had seen running from Saxon swords. I recalled the screams of the women as they fell victim to Saxon lusts and then I remembered Idwal’s stricken expression as we prepared to take that last ride.
‘My sons were carried off by their father, into the mountains.’
Æthel sat up.
‘Oh, Lady, I knew not that you had sons. I am certain they will be safe with their father, for every father values his sons above all else.’
She continued to wash my muddy feet and legs while the memory of Gruffydd’s disdain for Rhodri reared wraithlike before my eyes. I hoped he would not vent his hatred for me upon his children.
‘I will pray that your words are true, Æthel,’ I said as I climbed into the high wooden bed, ‘but their father is quite unlike other men.’
When Nest and I snuggled down into the soft linen for all my exhaustion I could not sleep at first. I watched her eyes grow heavy, her lids drooping, closing and opening again but, over come by the comfort, I could not stay awake long enough to see her fall asleep.
Hours later I was roused by a loud knocking on the chamber door and I heard Æthel in conversation.
‘She sleeps still, Lord, you must come back later.’
‘But tis past noon, woman, she has slept for hours.’
‘Tis the trauma, Lord. Wrenched from her bed as she was and then falling from her horse and captured, only to be dragged across country on horseback. She told me all about it, tis no wonder she sleeps still.’
‘You, my girl, are too argumentative for your own good but I suppose you speak true. I trust you will send her to me should she wake?’
As Æthel turned from the closed door she saw me watching her and put a finger to her lips.
‘Sssh, twill do him no harm to bide awhile. Did his knocking wake you, Lady? Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes …’ I said, pulling myself up gently so as not to disturb Nest who lay beside me, her face rosy with sleep, ‘…like the dead.’
‘She is a rare beauty, Lady, she will break some hearts when she is older.’
I sipped the drink that Æthel offered me before replying. ‘She is like her father’
‘Gruffydd? Goodness, I held a very different picture of him in my mind.’
Remembering to whom I spoke, I corrected my line of thought. ‘Oh, I’m told he was different in his youth. Our old cook Envys …’ I said, swallowing my sorrow as I recalled that she was probably dead, ‘told me some fine tales about his youth. It seems he was both a musician and a scholar before he turned to warfare.’
Æthel held out some gowns for my inspection.
‘Shame he didn’t stick to singing then, Lady. Good folks, both sides of the border, have suffered around here for Gruffydd’s blood lust. We found these gowns, Lady, they used to belong to Queen Edith but she says you are welcome to them. I think you are of a size, although you might be a touch broader across the shoulder. Come, wash your face and hands and we will try them on. Earl Harold wishes to speak with you when you have broken your fast.’
Harold was alone when I was brought before him. He turned and looked me up and down.
‘Ah.’ he cried, ‘the Lady Eadgyth, I hardly knew you in your clothes.’
I blushed and lowered my head, curtseying but not too lowly, remembering I was a queen to his Earl.
‘Earl Harold,’ I murmured, ‘I thank you for your hospitality.’
‘Now look,’ he said, ‘don’t be formal with me; I don’t like it. My name is Harold so please address me as such. I suspicion you think of me as an enemy, well I’m not, your brothers told me to fetch you back, should I have the chance.’
‘My brothers? Why ever should they do that?’
‘War is an unpleasant thing, Lady, and they wanted you out of it. ‘Course I couldn’t promise ‘em anything but there you were and so I brought you … and your daughter too. ‘Twas just a piece of luck.’
‘Whether I wanted to come or no.’ I exclaimed; annoyed at the assumptions he was making. ‘I am not my brothers’ property, Lord, any more than I am my husband’s.’
My cup clashed as I replaced it on the table making Harold look up, surprised at my ire.
‘We assumed you would want to come. You are Saxon aren’t you? Why should you wish to st
ay on the heathen side of the dyke? Good Lord, things aren’t going to be pretty there ye know. All Gruffydd’s possessions are forfeit, ‘tis only a matter of time before he is captured and killed. His men turn against him.’
I thought briefly of the gentle folk I had lived with in Cymru, people who fought for their perceived rights, people who grieved for past defeats but determined to fight on anyway.
If love and compassion for one’s countrymen and empathy with the land of one’s birth were heathen impulses, then the Welsh were indeed heathen. The idea of Wales, war torn and defeated, sent a twist of dread into my guts; fear for my sons sickened me.
‘Which men?’ I asked when I was sure I would not vomit.
‘tis not for me t’ name names, Lady, but we were able to ride unchallenged through both Powys and Gwyneydd. There is much discontent beneath your husband’s rule, are you unaware of that?’
Remembering the surly faces of the household when Gruffydd was near by, I wondered for the first time how widespread discontent was outside Rhuddlan. He was a harsh leader, I knew that, but he had united all Wales and fought to control and protect the country from its enemies. There was no denying that the good of Wales lay at the heart of all his callousness. At what cost had that protection come though? I recalled the stories of his conquest of neighbouring princedoms, of his reckless justice. I remembered the smell of death on his clothes when he came home from campaigning and I knew that Harold spoke the truth. I turned to him with tears on my lashes.
‘But what of the people of Rhuddlan? They did not deserve to die? They were good people. They were my people. Why did you order your troop to deal so harshly with them? With the women and children … who could do you no harm?’
Harold straightened his jerkin and came closer, fixing me with his thick lashed blue eyes.
‘Had you seen the burned out homesteads along the border, Welsh and Saxon alike, you would not ask that, Lady. I have ridden into settlements where there remained not a creature living or unmolested after your Lord’s troop has passed through. You would not ask, Lady, had you seen what I have seen. You know not what that man is capable of’.
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