This Present Past

by Traci Harding

  During Gwion’s first ride in a chariot, he decided that he preferred this mode of transport to riding on horseback or travelling by carriage. The most appealing aspect of the chariot was that they had a charioteer, and he had only to hold on and enjoy the ride.

  ‘You were right.’ Creirwy smiled at him as they pulled up in front of the old forum where the King and his new affianced were waiting to greet them. ‘This is more fun than expected.’ She gripped his free hand with hers. ‘Thank you for persuading me to come. I had quite forgotten what enjoyment felt like.’

  Gwion stepped off onto the street first and then assisted the Lady Tegid. As soon as her foot hit the pavement, horns sounded to announce her arrival, and everyone waiting to enter the forum moved aside.

  The King and the Lady Ganhumara came to stand in the portico that led through to the inner courtyard of the old forum, where they had been greeting guests as they arrived. But as the Lady Tegid was representing the Goddess at this event, she took precedence over everyone. All bowed before her, including the King and his new consort.

  Gwion spared a glance aside to the woman on his arm – gone was the depleted, disillusioned young woman of recent months. Creirwy exhibited the same regal, dauntless countenance Gwion had witnessed that first morning as she’d seduced the Saxons to their deaths. The Lady Tegid was indeed the ‘hired muscle’, and her Goddess facade was on.

  It was decidedly awkward to have his king, and indeed every king, cohort and soldier within eyeshot, kneeling around him – so as they came to a stop before the King, Gwion went down on bended knee before the Lady also.

  ‘My beloved combrogi, the Goddess showers her blessings upon you all,’ Creirwy spoke and all was silent. ‘She commends your bravery and support of the Sons during the dispatch of all the invaders that have ravaged our lands since the night of the Long Knives. May your mighty forefathers now rest in peace, and the Cymry prosper long under the divine leadership of their anointed Sons.’

  ‘So be it!’ the crowd replied.

  Creirwy’s attention came to rest on the King and his new lady, still kneeling, heads bowed and waiting to be addressed. ‘Arise, Majesties.’

  As the King and his betrothed stood, everyone else present followed suit.

  ‘The Goddess trusts that Powys shall prosper and thrive under your guardianship. Let it be known that the great crossroads of Viroco are a safe haven for travellers and traders once more!’

  The Lady applauded the King for his victory and the crowd joined her with fervour. The King grinned, flattered by the accolades, but he held up both hands to quiet them once more.

  ‘It is our great honour to welcome the Goddess and her legate to Viroco. May I introduce the Princess Ganhumara, daughter of Gogyrfan, King of the Cornovii.’ Owain was doing a great job of hiding how uncomfortable he must have felt in this moment, for Creirwy was an unpredictable creature.

  The Princess was a slender, pretty young woman, with long golden braids, big blue eyes, and flowers laced all through her hair. She appeared to be brimming with good will and excitement. ‘Your esteemed presence at our wedding is a great compliment, for which we are eternally grateful, great Lady, and we would be greatly honoured if the Goddess would preside over our nuptials?’

  Gwion found himself holding his breath as he awaited Creirwy’s response – so Owain most certainly was.

  The Lady smiled, quite sincerely. ‘Of course, we would be delighted to officiate over this auspicious union, for your king—’ Creirwy locked eyes with Owain ‘—has done the Goddess and her people proud, and is deserving of every happiness.’

  Owain swallowed hard, surely appreciating her gracious address.

  Creirwy then looked to the Princess and took hold of her hands. ‘The Ancestors and the Otherworld rejoice in this alliance, and the Gods wish you every blessing.’

  The younger woman’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I am overwhelmed by such esteem, Highness.’

  ‘All well deserved, I’m sure.’ Creirwy let go of Ganhumara’s hands and Gwion noted the glimmer of a tear in the corner of his lady’s eye – perhaps the young woman’s admiration and joy were overpowering his lady’s senses? Or perhaps Creirwy felt quietly sorry for the pending queen? ‘And I would not have missed the spectacle of your city of light! I suspect these amazing lanterns are the product of Cornovii craftsmanship?’ She brought the conversation back to less emotion-fuelled subject matter.

  ‘You are very observant, Lady.’ Ganhumara smiled broadly and motioned to an older chieftain, who was standing close by. ‘My forefathers were the major producers of such items for the Romans for hundreds of years.’

  The Princess led the Lady Tegid towards her relatives, who were all eager to be introduced.

  Gwion could not have been prouder of how Creirwy conducted the entire affair, and his king appeared like a man who’d just dodged an assassin’s arrow. ‘Off to a good start.’

  The King nodded, clearly still wary of the evening ahead. ‘A drink may be in order.’

  The feast was held in the restored basilica, located in a complex adjacent to the new forum in the city centre, along with the elite public baths and a smaller, more lavish forum. Arched stone columns lined the covered walkways of the old Roman forum, leading around the open courtyard in both directions to the double doors of the basilica directly opposite the entrance. Inside, double stone colonnades ran the length of the massive oblong hall. These columns supported a row of arched openings that allowed light and air within. The wood coffered ceiling had ornate frescoes in each of its square sunken panels. But the eye was immediately drawn to the eastern end where a large semicircular domed apse, painted with bright depictions of Roman gods, dominated the space. The floors were an equally splendid mosaic display of intricate woven designs with all manner of motif intertwined.

  This building had once been used as a law court and for large public assemblies to intimidate the locals with the display of Roman supremacy and ingenuity. But in the building of these structures, local craftsmen had been used, and that knowhow had been passed down through the generations, and was now being garnered by the local kings to rebuild these spectacular villas and fortifications.

  Beneath the apse, a banquet table had been set, which was completely round in shape, but for a gap to one end that allowed servants access to a void in the centre. Gwion thought this extremely prudent of the young king as no seat at the table took precedence over the others. Around the outside of the table long reclining chairs were positioned with the raised cushioned end inwards towards the table – one for each of the King’s esteemed guests. Other long tables were set in two long rows down the room for the other nobles, warriors and merchants of the realm.

  As guests entered and were offered refreshments before being seated, Gwion was introduced to the King’s two younger siblings, Caswallon and Cadfer.

  It was easy to identify Caswallon and Owain as brothers; they looked very much alike – dark hair, eyes, large wide lips and gleaming smiles. Caswallon was slightly shorter in stature and rounder of face, but seemed to have the same pleasant demeanour as his older brother.

  Cadfer, on the other hand, had fair hair that exhibited none of the curl so evident in his brothers’ locks. His eyes were also dark, as was his expression for one so young. Cadfer, as the bastard, dressed all in black and presented as the wild child of the family.

  ‘I should like to come and visit Castell Tegid some day,’ Cadfer commented, upon being introduced to Gwion, ‘being that it is within my Eryri.’

  Gwion sensed some resentment that the Goddess had not invited him already. ‘My mistress is preoccupied with a personal project at present, which is why she has not attended these celebrations in person.’

  ‘Not to worry.’ Cadfer smiled with forced kindness. ‘Perhaps the Lady Tegid could accommodate me? That would be most agreeable.’

  Neither Gwion nor Owain looked kindly upon his deviant implication.

  ‘You both have certainly benefited from your
association with her.’ The bastard prince eyed her with predatory scrutiny as she was being introduced to their sister across the room.

  Inside Gwion was beginning to fume, but he quashed the childish emotion before it was an issue.

  ‘Perhaps I can set up a meeting with the Night Hunter?’ Cadfer suggested, whimsically.

  Owain shifted in Cadfer’s direction, but both Caswallon and Gwion stepped in between them before they caused a scene. ‘You will show respect—’ Owain whispered the order.

  Cadfer was grinning broadly at having riled Owain and leaned in between the two men forming a defensive wall to ask, ‘Does your new queen know about your little tryst with the lovely Lady Fey?’

  Owain’s eyes widened in horror.

  ‘I didn’t think so.’ Cadfer backed away, grinning from ear to ear, and thankfully left their company before Owain took a swing at him.

  ‘If he—’

  ‘He won’t,’ Caswallon cut Owain off and prevented him pursuing the issue. ‘He may be a pain in the arse who adores winding you up for attention, but . . . he’s not stupid. He winds me up about my wife too; I’ve learned to ignore him.’

  Caswallon’s queen, Meddyf verch Maeldaf, daughter of Dylan Traws of Nant Conway, was heavy with child, yet she had married Caswallon only six months before. It was not difficult to see what Caswallon found so alluring. Her long brown hair was tinged with auburn, her skin was near as fair as the Lady Tegid’s, but freckled over her nose and across her cheeks. Her large green eyes and red pouting lips gave her the appearance of a complete innocent. It could have just been that she was fed up with carrying her child, but she exuded an air of boredom and wantonness that often gave rise to mischief and promiscuity. Still, the Lady Tegid had also seemed more needing of attention when she was near full term of her pregnancy.

  Caswallon’s view of Cadfer gave Gwion hope that the bastard Prince was not serious about seeking the services of the Lady Tegid to meet with Gwyn ap Nudd – for if he did, she would be bound to oblige him.

  ‘Does he think this is a game we’re playing?’ Owain was having difficulty shaking off his ill-will. ‘We’re not kids any more.’

  ‘That’s the trouble, we never were, and Cadfer least of all.’ Caswallon was obviously used to playing the mediator between his siblings, and he was good at it. ‘Come on . . . you are not going to let that little ratbag spoil your big day. Let’s feast!’ A slap to Owain’s shoulder saw the smile return to his face.

  Rather than the traditional alternating male, female seating arrangement, male, male, female, female, was the code for the evening, which made for more relaxed conversation. Thus, rather pleasantly, Gwion found himself seated between the King and Creirwy. Beside his lady was the King’s sister Gladys and her new husband, Cyngen Brockwell.

  ‘You appear to be faring well, my Lady.’ Gwion finally had Creirwy’s attention as they were all led to their seats around the table.

  ‘I’ve been learning all about slicing bone for those lovely lanterns.’ She made it sound riveting, yet he knew she was being sarcastic. ‘Did you know that you can split up to eleven layers of bone from one steer horn?’

  ‘I did not.’ Gwion grinned.

  ‘Lady Gladys had to tear me away, just as I was learning all about the flattening process.’ She referred Gwion to the Lady next to her.

  ‘I’ve not had the honour.’ Gwion stood to be introduced.

  ‘The honour is all mine.’ Gladys held out her hand to Gwion, which he was honoured to accept and he bowed respectfully.

  She had all her brothers’ comely features and some besides, but her hair was dark honey brown, and curled at the end of her braids. The Princess had a very relaxed air about her – she was not dainty in her manner like Ganhumara or Meddyf – but seemed perfectly capable of holding her own among the men; not surprising with three younger brothers.

  ‘Your deeds are notorious, Sir . . . I have even heard it said that you were the one who released the dragon to aid Caswallon.’

  Gwion straightened up and looked to Brockwell, who had seated himself upon his wife’s lounge in order to oversee their introduction. ‘Is that what they say?’

  ‘Don’t look at me.’ Brockwell denied any such claim.

  Gwion turned around, and was not surprised to find Owain following the conversation. ‘Am I to take the blame for that too?’

  ‘So you deny it?’ Gladys was amused, for clearly she had been trying to get to the bottom of the dragon mystery.

  Gwion’s mouth was gaping open; he hated to lie to a princess of the realm. ‘Only the Goddess could permit such a thing.’

  ‘With the Night Hunter’s permission, of course,’ Creirwy expanded on his inference.

  Gladys seemed to know she was not getting the whole truth, but was not given a chance to pursue her inquiry.

  Caswallon entered the void in the table to speak with the King directly. ‘Some of my soldiers have been attacked by a monster in a mist outside of Oswestry.’

  Gwion and Creirwy exchanged a knowing glance.

  ‘The dragon?’ Owain queried quietly.

  ‘No.’ Caswallon appeared a little uncomfortable, and spoke in a hushed tone. ‘They say it had long black tentacles, like an octopus.’

  Owain looked to the Lady Tegid; only Gwion and Brockwell knew it was a look of accusation.

  ‘I fear your men have been drinking, Sire . . .’ she commented coolly, and the room was amused. ‘Or committing some mischief they wish to mask with this fabulous story.’

  ‘I trust these men,’ Caswallon addressed his brother, to avoid engaging with their Otherworldly guest.

  ‘The Goddess sees all. In peacetime warriors get bored and spoils are not so plentiful. Your men were not set upon but fended off.’

  Creirwy sounded so confident that Caswallon looked back to the soldier who had reported the incident. ‘Is that true? Did you attack first?’

  The soldier was horrified, and rather than challenge the word of a goddess, he ran from the building.

  ‘I think you have your answer,’ Owain concluded on Creirwy’s behalf, and she served him half a smile.

  ‘Many thanks for the clarification.’ Caswallon was humiliated, but bowed to the Lady Tegid and the King and departed to see the men in question rounded up.

  ‘What do you see for me, Lady Tegid?’ Gladys asked playfully, to lighten the mood, but Brockwell cringed.

  ‘You should not tempt fate by asking such things.’ Cyngen moved back to his own lounge, hoping to avoid hearing the answer.

  ‘Ignore him,’ Gladys insisted. ‘My husband is a lion in battle, but mention anything mystical and he’ll run a mile.’

  Being that it was Gladys’s children Gwyn ap Nudd wanted on the throne of Powys, Gwion was quietly considering that the query was loaded with danger.

  ‘Due to your husband’s aforementioned bravery, and healthy respect for the Otherworld,’ Creirwy obliged Gladys, while her husband pretended not to listen, ‘the Night Hunter greatly favours your family and will protect you, for he has a great future planned for your descendants.’

  ‘So you see children?’ Gladys extracted more insight from the prophecy.

  ‘I see a son,’ she stated most certainly, and Gladys gasped with joy. ‘Not immediately; the timing of his birth is very important.’

  Brockwell was openly paying attention now, as he came to sit by his wife once more, and placed his hand over hers.

  Creirwy appeared to go into a trance, and Gwion was worried she might not be entirely aware of what she was saying.

  ‘So beloved by all is he. Fearless. A champion of Cymru, like his father.’ She looked to Cyngen, who couldn’t hide the fact that he liked what he was hearing. ‘He will take your name, and will do it proud.’

  The Goddess gasped, her eyes widening, and all looked worried, until the Lady smiled. ‘He has a twin – a girl! So fair. So compassionate. So wilful.’ Creirwy shook her head as if to clear it, and smiled to see how happy she’d made the couple
before her, who observed one another like the greatest treasure on earth.

  ‘A toast then.’ Cyngen raised a goblet, as did the ladies and Gwion. ‘To the baby Brockwells.’

  Their goblets clanked and they drank.

  All the speeches done, a good part of the feast, much wine and mead consumed, Owain slid his legs down off his lounge and reached over to poke Gwion and grab his attention from the ladies. ‘We have that matter to attend,’ Owain whispered, wavering about and grinning like a fool.

  ‘Do you think a sabbatical is wise, this inebriated?’ Gwion managed to raise himself up to sitting, but he’d eaten so much his stomach felt like it had a boulder in it.

  ‘If you have the sense to ask, you’re not druck enough—’

  ‘Drunk,’ Gwion corrected, clearly not as impaired as the King.

  ‘—to let me get in trouble?’ Owain grinned at his ability to finish his thought. ‘I command you to . . . you know what. Let’s go!’

  Gwion had a whisper in his lady’s ear and with a nod she dismissed him, and returned to her conversation with Gladys.

  Out in the forum, Gwion found his king loitering in the shadows by a pillar.

  ‘Shall we take a chariot?’ Owain clearly thought that could be fun.

  ‘Ah . . .’ Gwion imagined the King getting his hands on reins in his current state and the vision ended in disaster. ‘If this is to be a secret, Majesty, should we not try to be a bit more discreet?’

  ‘I jest.’ The King slapped Gwion’s sternum with the back of his hand unexpectedly, and near winded him. ‘I know a back way out of here.’ He pulled his cape forward over his shoulders and raised the hood.