The sound of footsteps brought her from her musings. Elisedd walked toward her with a clay jug in each hand. He set the pitchers down on the rim of the stone well and yanked the rope to pull up the large wooden bucket, then filled the jugs with water.
Branda took over from there. She lost herself in the pleasure of delicately arranging the flowers just so, until they looked perfect.
She handed a jug of daffodils to Elisedd. “For Carthann.”
“You are sweet for a Saxon.”
Feeling light and bubbly she smiled. “My thanks.”
Elisedd nodded and with long, bold steps walked toward the sunroom.
He liked her now. She’d grown on him. Carthann would suspect the flowers came from her. Branda liked her too, but what of Blaise? What did he think of her?
* * * *
“Blaise, Blaise, Blaise…when will I see you again?” As she mumbled his name into the dark stone well her voice vibrated off the walls in a clear echo.
She pressed the pitcher of daffodils to her chest and languidly headed to the grianan, dawdling with every step, so as not to disturb a tryst between King and Queen. She reached the sunroom with perfect timing for at that moment Elisedd stepped out.
The grin on his face fled and was immediately replaced with a warrior’s scowl, but he couldn’t fool her. Branda knew her meddling had worked. The Queen had received the attention she deserved; now Carthann and Elisedd were sure to think fondly of her. She’d become less of a hostage and more of a guest.
She curtsied to Carthann. “M’lady, a fair morn to you.”
“Branda, the daffodils are lovely.” Carthann gestured to the window ledge where her jug of yellow flowers sat brightening the hard stone.
“The King picked them for you.”
“I know.”
The smile on the Queen’s face was rapt with joy. A buoyant feeling of pure elation kindled in Branda’s chest and spread out, engulfing her in a glow of warmth. She walked to the ledge and set her pitcher of wild flowers next to the Queen’s.
* * * *
Before she went to bed that night, Branda smiled at the cheerful gold flowers. She drifted into a deep sleep and saw a man’s head float freely, without its body, above a field of daffodils.
It was an oval face with weather-worn skin, all its features, nose, cheeks and lips appeared attractive yet big. The mop of fiery red hair which draped the head was matched by a long drooping moustache and beard.
This severed head spoke in a deep, melodic voice. “I am Bran, god of the Celts. Hark my words, Branda. To stay where you belong, you must seek the treasure I hid in Dinas Bran long ago.”
Branda had no fear. Instead, she wanted the strange head to stay and talk with her. “Tell me more.”
The head and the daffodil field suddenly vanished.
Upon awakening, she glanced at the daffodils to get her perspective. “No floating head.”
She nudged Leri from her sleep. “I must tell you about my dream.”
Leri listened intently to every word. “Well, Bran was a god, and his greatest treasure was the cauldron of eternal life.”
Branda remembered the guard she rode with to Dinas Bran said the hill fort once held the Holy Grail. “Leri, this cauldron you speak of, do you mean the Grail?”
“One is a Christian belief, the other an ancient Druid tale. They may be one and the same, or two different treasures. It depends on whom you speak to.”
“So Elisedd could be the keeper of the Grail?”
“I’ve never thought of it. I don’t know.”
“Yes, but the Druid would know.”
“Neilyn?” Leri arched her eyebrows. “Do you mean to ask him?”
“Yes, and you are coming with me.”
“Now?” Leri pushed up from the bed into a seated position.
“He’s at his best in the morning, for throughout the day he grows crankier.”
“He’s a grouchy old man, but, Branda, you should never criticize a Druid. It could bode ill for you. It would be very bad.”
Chapter Seven
Branda waved at the honking geese in their wooden pen as she followed Leri inside the Druid’s temple. With the door flap pushed aside the morning light struck a silver scrying bowl that lay in the center of the room. It glistened like a sunlit mountain mere.
Neilyn sat by the scrying bowl with his legs folded beneath him on a pile of pelts. Dried flowers and herbs hung from the ceiling, their musky, tangy scents mingling into an aroma so strong she could taste it on her tongue.
“Royal Druid, we need your assistance.” Branda flashed her sweetest smile.”In my dream a man named Bran, with no body, only a head and long red hair, told me I must find the treasure in Dinas Bran.”
“What treasure?” Neilyn’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Leri stepped closer to Neilyn. “Could he mean the Grail or the cauldron?” She spoke rapidly, her voice raised an octave.
“I know of the legend, but there is no Grail.” He shook his gray head from side to side. “It’s naught but a Christian version of the tale of the true cauldron,” he said stressing the word true.
“Could the cauldron be hidden in Dinas Bran?” Branda asked.
“No, Princess. It shattered into as many shards as the stars in the night sky.” He waved his hand as if pushing that part of the tale away for later. “What puzzles me is that the man you saw in your dream can be no other than Bran the Blessed, a god of the Celts.” Neilyn cupped both his knees and leaned back. “During his sister Branwen’s wedding feast, Bran gifted her new husband Matholwch, King of Erin, with a magic cauldron which revived the dead. Later, Bran and his brothers found out that Matholwch made Branwen a slave.” He glanced from one Princess to the other as he continued the tale. “They sailed back to Erin to rescue her. Bran and his brothers fought Matholwch’s army but were losing, for each night Matholwch revived his dead soldiers with the cauldron. Upon discovering this, Bran’s half-brother Evnissyan hid under the corpses of the dead. Matholwch’s men unknowingly threw him into the cauldron. In so doing Evnissyan broke the magic vessel but sacrificed his life, for he had used so much strength that his heart failed.
“It was at this battle Bran was mortally wounded and had his companions cut off his head.” Neilyn paused a moment to let his words sink in. “Bran’s severed head still spoke, and he ordered his companions to bury him in a mound in London so he could protect the island from invaders. So it was, until King Arthur dug up his head.”
“Could there be other treasure?” Branda’s body squirmed with anticipation. “Mayhap his brothers or his men stole something from Matholwch before they departed?”
“This hill fort is very old. It stood hundreds of years before the Romans came. Elisedd is from the royal bloodline of Vortigern himself.” He glared at them with deep, drawing eyes. “All manner of treasure could be hidden here but it belongs to our ancestors.” He tilted his head. “Neither of you should dig it up and risk disturbing the spirit of Dinas Bran.”
“We will not disturb anything, but Bran has sent me on this quest.” Branda shot him a firm glare.
“I cannot waylay you from a god’s quest.” Neilyn leaned forward and grasped his knees tightly. “Do what you will.” He raised his finger. “However, Leri, I am charging you to keep the Saxon Princess out of harm.”
“Yes, Arch Druid. I will watch over her and keep her from mischief,” Leri said with a smile, in her soft, clear voice.
“Then on with your quest. I ask that you tell me of any prize you take from the god’s hiding place.” He cocked his head. “I do wonder why Bran would appear to you, a Saxon.”
“He said the treasure is my fate.”
Neilyn nodded his head as if that explained everything. “I wish you well on your quest.” He stood, walked to his work
table, then began mixing and crushing herbs.
Branda and Leri hiked up their skirts and departed the temple. As they walked past the sacred white geese, Branda recalled the bodiless head which spoke to her. She wrung her hands. Neilyn knew the man was Bran, just as he’d said in the dream. This was strange indeed, but the quest was fun. She could think of hunting treasure instead of missing Blaise.
“Leri, we have to find the treasure, but where would a Celtic god hide his cache?”
“It’s an ancient treasure.” Leri dropped her shoulders a little. “The oldest section of the fort is the tombs. Let us begin our quest in there.”
“The tombs?” Branda cocked her head. “With the dead?” She nibbled on her fingernails.
“Come, I’ll show you.” Leri walked at a brisk pace while Branda made every effort to stay right behind her.
Branda took a deep breath as they approached the tombs. She followed Leri down a set of stairs hewn from stone ages ago. As she moved slowly down the steep steps, her chest vibrated with a mix of zeal and doubt. When they reached the bottom, Leri pushed aside a thin cobweb wall.
“I hope there are no spiders.” A layer of dust coated Branda’s tongue and clung to the back of her throat. She coughed.
Leri pulled a piece of flint and a hunk of steel from the pouch belted to her side. She struck flint with steel until it sparked and lit the torches, set in sconces on the rock wall. They cast light into the darkness but also caused large, looming shadows. Leri grabbed one of the torches. Branda placed her hands on Leri’s shoulders as they moved as one into the dark, damp bowels of the mountain. Branda’s heart hammered. She peered over Leri’s shoulder as they walked warily down a long tunnel. Huge standing stones formed an eerie line at the end of the gloomy passage.
“The blocking stones,” Leri said. “Come.” She squeezed through a small space between two of the tall, hard stones.
Leri held the torch steady as Branda followed. A dank, mildew stench seeped through the rocks. Branda craved fresh air but she had to find this treasure. Leri swung her foot forward but found nothing there because the ground was uneven. She stumbled forward and Branda let out a sharp scream as she fell with her. Leri managed to fall so that she held the torch upright. It still blazed. Branda, who landed on her rump, slowly pulled herself to her feet and then offered Leri a hand.
As Leri shone the torch upon the floor they saw a step eroded with time. Leri walked with a limp, having scraped her hip on the stone floor. Branda’s legs felt shaky but they moved on across the gravel floor, past long-standing stones. The torch still burned brightly.
Leri stopped and inhaled deeply. “This is the forecourt.” Holding the brightly burning torch as Branda gripped her other hand, she followed the stone walls to the end of the passage.
The murky hall opened into a long corridor. At a scurrying sound, Leri squeezed Branda’s hand tightly.
“Rats, I think,” Leri gasped.
Each high-pitched rodent squeak made Branda jump inside, but she fought her fears. She had to find Bran’s treasure. It was her fate. She scanned the tunnel, which housed four large chambers: one south, east, west and north, with several smaller tombs in between. Standing stones blocked the entrance to each chamber.
Leri shone the torch upon one of the long stones etched with circular carvings. Branda ran her hand across the thin white lines in the hard, gritty rock.
“Branda, beware; standing stones often fall.” Leri pointed to one of the chambers where a huge fallen stone blocked the lower part of the entrance. Branda stepped back. She screamed at a noise which sounded like the roar of a gust of wind.
She looked up. “Leri!”
“Blessed Bran! Duck!”
A storm of small black-winged creatures swooped over their heads as they huddled together. The flock of bats thundered forth from an upper crack in one of the smaller tombs. Branda’s entire body shuddered.
“Let’s go back! The chambers are blocked. We cannot enter them.”
Leri arched her brows and widened her eyes. “Yes, come.”
She grabbed Branda’s hand and held the torch high as they hurried as fast as they could back down the tunnel to the graveled forecourt.
Cautiously, they made their way across the gravel floor. Leri stepped up to the unleveled ground and helped Branda up. She clutched the torch and clung tightly to Branda as they squeezed through the small space between the blocking stones. They moved as fast as they could through the dank, dusty tombs.
Branda was overcome with a horrible feeling of something furry upon her foot. She glanced down in time to see the long tail of a huge rat brush across her shoe then scurry off. She squirmed and screamed. Leri jumped.
They rushed on and finally came to the steps. Branda stuck the torch back into the sconce on the stone wall and they climbed up the steep steps, making their way back into the center yard of Dinas Bran.
Her lungs were starved for fresh air. As she inhaled, her chest filled with a warm, glowing energy. Leri was overcome with a choking cough. Branda grabbed Leri’s arm and pulled her toward the old well where she released her and wrapped her fingers around the hemp rope. She pulled up a wooden pail of cool water and together they drank half the bucket.
She looked down at her once blue dress. Covered with ancient dirt, it was now a murky gray and ripped at the hem. She glanced at Leri’s hair coated with dust and her brocaded Celtic gown which looked like that of a beggar woman’s from where she fell, and she was still limping.
“Leri!” She stepped back and pointed. “A spider. There’s a spider in your braid.”
“Get it out, Branda! I detest the creatures!”
She took a deep breath and swatted the spider out of Leri’s hair. They both screamed and jumped back.
“It’s gone.” Branda heard the shaky tone in her voice. “I want a hot bath.”
“I as well,” Leri said, still shuddering from the spider.
* * * *
She scurried to the ladies’ bower with Leri limping behind. They entered and dropped down onto cushioned chairs. At Leri’s order, a servant filled the wooden tub with heated water. Branda sensed she was close to discovering the treasure. The memory of the fallen stone Leri had pointed out to her kept teasing her mind. There was something odd but she couldn’t figure it out. She had to go back and look at that stone again, but not now. She had enough of the tombs for today.
Branda shed her torn, smelly clothes, climbed into the tub and sat down. She washed the soot and muck off her skin and lay back in the soothing bath.
“My turn.” Leri sat in the chair, examining her leg to make sure there were no cuts or swelling other than her skinned knee. “You’ve been there a good while.”
Branda rose and dried herself off as Leri sent servants to bring two more buckets of clean, heated water.
She walked to the bed and looked down at Leri’s leg. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. It’s just scrapes and bruises.” Leri pushed herself off the bed, hobbled over to the tub, and gingerly climbed in.
A servant helped Branda dress into a red Celtic gown and plaited her hair into four long braids. The other serving girl returned with the additional buckets of clean, hot water and poured it in the tub. Leri managed to keep her skinned knees out of the water, but as this downpour splashed on her scrapes, she cringed from the sting.
Branda lay down on the bed. Warm and relaxed, she drifted off into a peaceful nap. In her dream she called out to Blaise. He appeared before her, handsome as ever, with his fluffy red hair, bright-blue eyes, brawny shoulders and muscular thighs. The image roused a warm, tingling sensation through her body.
She called to him in her dream. “Do not worry about my sire or yours. Even though you have gone to get the ransom from my father, do not be troubled. I won’t have to return to him. I can stay with
you.”
A wide smile broke on his lips. “Is this true? You are to be mine?”
“Yes, oh yes, my love. An ancient god of your people appeared to me and sent me on a quest for treasure and this prize. When I find it, it will allow me to stay with you. Bran has spoken.”
Blaise covered her mouth with his and a sweet, melting sensation filled her. He slid and twisted his lips over hers as he hungrily kissed her. Then he pulled her into the warmth of his arms, so male and embracing, and carried her away into his bower at Dinas Bran. She woke from the dream and opened her eyes.
Chapter Eight
Branda sat up in bed and covered her mouth with her palm as she yawned.
“Are you awake? You still look half asleep,” Leri said.
“What time is it?” She rubbed her eyes to try to clear her head of grogginess. “Is it morning?
“It’s time to sup.” Leri had one hand on her hip. “I called your name so many times. I finally had to shake you until you woke.”
“Ah, I was dreaming.”
“About Bran?” Leri cocked her head to the side.
“No, something else.” Branda glanced away toward the ample windows at the soft glow of the low-hanging sun. Ah, I napped a long time, she thought.
She took a deep breath and tugged a blue tunic dress on over her head. Leri wrapped a plaid brat around her shoulders, and they went to the feasting hall. They hiked up their skirts and walked past groups of people clustered in circles of rank. One behind the other, the princesses stepped upon the dais and settled into the intricately carved chairs behind the thick oaken table where Elisedd, Carthann and Brochfael were seated.
The Prince of Powys Page 7
