Queen Sacrifice

by Tony Riches

  ‘There is another castle at a place called Caerphilly, here,’ said Cadell.

  ‘Where is the king’s residence?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ lied Cadell, noting that the map omitted the finger of land that formed the peninsula where he had visited Pennard.

  Llewelyn did not challenge him and they worked on the map for another hour or so, adding landmarks, hills and tracks where they could until the warlord seemed satisfied.

  ‘I am grateful for your help,’ he said. ‘I plan to use this map when I leave for the south.’

  ‘When are you going, my lord?’

  ‘Right away. I have someone close to the Gwyn queen who will help me find her. When I do, this war will be quickly over. I feel it will be soon.’

  Cadell looked at the elderly warlord and made a mental note not to underestimate him. He also had to find a way to send the information had had gained to Sir Gwynfor, before it was too late. Even as he thought about returning to the south he knew he never would. He had won the respect of the people of the Du. Sir Gwynfor paid him well but treated him like a servant. Cadell had become a warrior of the Du.

  Llewelyn’s servant Bryn was disappointed he would not be accompanying the warlord on his journey to the south but was reconciled with the knowledge that his time would come. He whistled an old Du song tunelessly as he packed his master’s few possessions. Bryn was fond of the old man and would be glad to see him safely back. Without telling Llewelyn, he carefully removed the old warlord’s sacrifice knife, used in secret Druid rituals, from its hiding place and placed it in his master’s pack, for good luck.

  Llewelyn had selected a band of trusted warriors to travel with him and left on the first boat to the mainland early the next morning. Before heading south, they rode to visit Queen Rhiannon. Llewelyn had been close to Rhiannon’s father in his youth and felt a close bond to her after his untimely death.

  Rhiannon was pleased to see him. ‘Come, Llewelyn, I want you to see Prince Evan.’

  The baby prince was by the fireside with Rhiannon’s sister Ceinwen. He smiled at the sight of the man dressed in black.

  ‘The child has your eyes, Rhiannon, and reminds me a little of your father.’

  ‘He has the ways of the king, Lord Llewelyn,’ said Ceinwen. She too remembered the old warlord and would always be grateful for his protection when they were young girls.

  ‘I have heard from the king,’ said Llewelyn, ‘He has asked me to protect the west.’

  Rhiannon was not surprised, Gethin had told her of his plans before leaving for Flint. ‘Will you stay and be our guest for the night?’

  ‘I must see my men and horses are looked after, then I would be honoured, Rhiannon.

  After he had left Ceinwen looked at her sister. ‘Do you think it would be right to ask Llewelyn to look out for Hywel?

  ‘Of course, though you need not worry so much Ceinwen, I am sure Hywel can look after himself.

  *

  The garrison army of Pembroke had received orders from the king to march to the port of Abertawe. As well as being able to directly support the king, from this central base they could march quickly in any direction and better protect the border with the north. The castle was busy with noisy activity as men were divided between those who would stay to defend the west and the men who had been chosen to make the sixty mile march. A long caravan of wagons and carts were loaded with supplies and the men assembled in straggling rows outside the castle, their breath misting in the frosty morning air. Some had made the mistake of celebrating their departure in the town’s taverns and looked worse for it, but their commander was more concerned to see that none had deserted, rather than face the war. This was no easy task, as the sheer number of new men brought to the castle for training meant that the records were unreliable.

  Once he was satisfied they were all present and correct, he gave the command to march and the long procession slowly made its way out of the town, towards the open countryside. The men at the front struck up an old Gwyn marching song, which helped them keep a good pace and also kept up their spirits. Some girls from the village called good luck to them and small children ran alongside until they had passed the town boundary.

  The long column of men arrived at the town of Carmarthen after thirty miles of marching, tired and hungry. As one of the main training towns of the area since Roman times, Carmarthen had many merchants, so some who could afford it were able to supplement the very basic rations or pay for a room. Others made the mistake of spending the little pay they had in the town’s taverns and had to sleep in a barn or even in the open. In the morning they were greeted by thunderous skies and a stiff wind, and the commander had trouble again ensuring that all the men resumed their march to Abertawe.

  *

  Lord Llewelyn said farewell to the queen and her sister and led his men towards the mountains, heading directly south. He had wondered if he would ever ride with the warriors again and thanked his gods for answering his prayers. His old bones would suffer on the long ride ahead but if he had to die before he saw his lands again, he would make sure it was a warrior’s death.

  Unlike Lord Vorath’s men, who rode the mighty black fighting horses, Lord Llewelyn preferred the Welsh Cob. The legacy of Roman occupation of their land long ago was that the invader’s Arabian horses bred with the native mountain ponies, producing a hardy horse, with spirit. His own black stallion was a good jumper, able to carry a substantial weight on his back for many hours.

  Llewelyn suspected that his men thought the horse too old for battle but they had been through a lot together. Although he would not discuss the matter, some of his favourite stories were about how the old horse had saved his life on more than one occasion. Once he had been alerted to an impending ambush by the stallion’s ears, which twitched at the unusual sounds, just in time for Lord Llewelyn and his men, who pounced instead on the would be ambushers.

  Llewelyn’s stallion had also fathered many fine black horses, and the warlord had spent years improving the breed for the harsh land, training the Cobs to haul heavy loads on the upland farms and timber to the top of the hill fort. His tough black horses could cover great distances, matching Vorath’s heavy war horse’s stride for stride at the trot. They also had the advantage of being trained to drink well when water was available and, if necessary, press on when it was not. The Cob was also content to graze the rough pasture they were now riding through, so there was no need to carry or find food for them on a long journey.

  The mountains on the skyline broadly followed the dotted line on the map he had drawn, and as he looked across the open ground to them he recalled the adventures of his youth. He had told the stories many times, of fighting off invaders who came by sea and over those mountains, sometimes following rumours of Du gold and silver. The tribes of the Du had seen off the foreigners, each time becoming more skilled at their own form of warfare, using their knowledge of the land. In his heart, however, Lord Llewelyn knew that the Gwyn were not so different from him. They had more men, with better weapons and powerful allies. He would never admit it to anyone but as he rode ever further south, he prayed to the ancient secret gods.

  *

  Elvina was shocked at the sudden death of the Du warrior. She had looked into his face and seen a handsome man, with kind eyes. She watched as the guards buried the man where he had fallen. It was hard work as the ground was stony and they had no proper tools to dig with. The grave was shallow, so Elvina ordered them to make a cairn of stones over it to protect the body from scavenging animals. She felt it was the least they could do. She had never intended him to be killed, as any knowledge he may have had of the positions or the battle plans of the Du had died with him.

  Elvina was wondering about the death of the man she had never known, if he had a family, a wife, or children, when one of her guards interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘We must go, my lady,’ he said, ‘There will be more where he came from.’

  Elvina was torn between wanting
to head back to meet with Sir Gwynfor and the tantalising prospect of seeing the mysterious lands in the north. They were so close to the border and the idea that the king could forbid her to go there simply strengthened her resolve to do it. She was the sister of the king of all England and was used to getting her way but there was another reason. Elvina loved her brother and shared a terrible secret with him that created a bond between them. When their father King Edward died Athelstan was not the first in line to succeed, as they had an elder brother, Aelfweard. She was the only person other than Athelstan to know that Aelfweard’s sudden death before he could be crowned was not an accident.

  She could have sent a message to her brother to help her become the queen of all Wales but she wanted to succeed without his help. The key to this would be to learn more about the strengths and weaknesses of the people called the Du, but most of all she was intrigued by their queen. All Bethan had been able to tell her was her name, Rhiannon, and that she live on the far north coast, not in a palace or a castle but in a simple house.

  ‘I wish to travel to within sight of the lands of the Du,’ she said to the guard, ‘Please bring the others.’

  The guard looked concerned. ‘We have orders from the king to ensure your safety.’

  ‘Now you have new orders,’ the Du are coming and this may be the only chance we have to see this place that men are prepared to die for.

  Warily and against the advice of their guards, Elvina and Bethan followed the path the warrior of the Du had taken. The ground became hilly and more densely wooded. Bethan was becoming nervous. ‘I think we should turn back, my lady, there could be an ambush.’

  ‘Yes, I wanted to see the country on the other side of these woods but they seem to go on forever.’

  ‘I have asked Owen to wait behind. If we do not return before sunset he is to raise the alarm and organise a search.’

  One of the guards had been sent to scout ahead and was the first to find the sunlit clearing in the woods with the marked grave. He could see it had been freshly made, and took the sword out of the ground to examine it. As he did so, he saw the silver crucifix. It looked valuable and he considered taking it but he was a superstitious man and it seemed wrong to take it from a grave. Instead he went back along the trail and explained to the queen about the grave and showed her the crucifix.

  ‘I know this, she said quietly, I have seen it round the neck of Bishop Cledwin.’

  *

  Bishop Emrys lived at the church close to Rhos Point, a finger of land jutting out into the Irish Sea. The old chapel was founded by a 6th Century Saint, St Trillo, but Emrys knew the altar was built over a pre-Christian well and it had originally been King Maelgwn’s church, visited as a place of Christian pilgrimage for the holy water. He had commissioned a comfortable lodge to be built next to the church and it was here that he was relaxing with a large goblet of his best wine and reflecting on his recent visit to Queen Rhiannon.

  Bishop Emrys had looked at Rhiannon’s writing and complimented her on her progress. She had been pleased.

  ‘Thank you Emrys,’ she had said, ‘I am grateful for your teaching. It is important for a queen to be able to read and write the language of her people.’

  He had been waiting for such a moment and chose his words carefully.

  ‘I fear our knowledge will be lost if it is not written soon.’ His words had the desired effect, as he noticed her eyes went to the old oak chest where he knew she kept her secret writing. She had smiled and took the key, opening the compartment where she hid her papers. Pulling the first page from the growing pile of parchment, she handed it to him.

  ‘I have been doing my best to write the history of our people.’

  Emrys remembered reading her vivid and passionately written account of the earliest days of the tribes. She had looked at him with a new fondness. His patience teaching her to read and write had been repaid many times over, as the queen now looked forward to his visits to feed her own hunger for learning. Emrys smiled to himself. If he had not been a bishop the king would never have let them spend so much time together.

  His peace was disturbed by a knock on the door. He opened it and recognised one of his young priests. A pale man with darting eyes and a shaven head, he was leading a pack mule and looked relieved to see the bishop.

  ‘You are a hard man to find, Bishop Emrys!’

  ‘In the Lord’s name, it is a surprise to see you at this hour.’ Emrys helped him to take the mule to the rear of the lodge, where there was a small stable. ‘You travel alone? It is a dangerous time for such a long journey. Did you know there is a war starting?’

  ‘That is why I am here, Bishop Emrys. I found Bishop Cledwin of St Davids, who had lost his way and have given him sanctuary in my chapel.’ He looked grim. ‘I fear he cannot stay there much longer but he asked me to see if you would meet him on neutral ground, to talk about how the position of the Church in regard to the war.’

  Emrys nodded. He had no liking for Bishop Cledwin, but he was a wealthy man of some influence in the south and it could be useful to have a closer alliance with him if the tide of the war turned in the favour of the Gwyn. ‘You are welcome to my modest home. I have no servants here but can make some mutton broth to warm you.’

  ‘Thank you Bishop Emrys, may the lord be with you.’

  In the morning they set out together, taking the old drover’s road to save time. It was a long journey so they were tired when they arrived at the little stone chapel, to find Bishop Cledwin of the Gwyn kneeling at his prayers. He looked up when he saw them.

  ‘Bishop Emrys, it has been a long time. You look well.’

  ‘So do you, Bishop Cledwin, so do you.’ Emrys made a sign to the priest, who made his excuses and left them.

  Cledwin looked at the Du bishop. ‘Thank you for travelling so far to see me, Emrys. I will come straight to the point. We both know this war is going to change everything.’

  ‘You are right, Cledwin, so what do you propose?’

  ‘When the Gwyn secure a victory over your king I will see to it that you and your priests are treated well.’

  ‘You seem sure of the outcome of this war, Cledwin?’

  Cledwin looked at him, making a judgement. ‘Privately, I am not,’ he confided. ‘Bishop Renfrew has worked for an alliance with the Saxons, yet so far I see little outcome from his efforts.’

  ‘You have a Saxon queen?’

  ‘One woman is not going to shift the balance of power in this country.’

  ‘I know you well enough, Cledwin, to be sure there is a price for your offer?’

  ‘You are right, Bishop Emrys. I need you to help me meet in secret with your king.’

  Bishop Emrys was surprised to hear Cledwin’s request. ‘With what purpose?’

  ‘If the war is won by the Du, I need to be certain that my lands at St David’s are safe. I know, Emrys, that if your warriors reach St Davids you could do nothing to stop them. It has to be the king, he is the only one they would listen to.’

  ‘Why do you think the king of the Du would bargain with a bishop of the Gwyn?’

  ‘I have information, Emrys. Vir sapiens et fortis est et vir doctus robustus et validus!’

  ‘Proverbs from your Vulgate Bible? A wise man is strong, yet a man of knowledge increases strength.’

  ‘Exactly. My knowledge is my greatest asset.’

  ‘You would side with the Du?’

  ‘The Church does not take sides, Emrys, we respect any king who rules Wales.’

  ‘It will not be easy for you to see the king. He is organising the men in the east and may not return for some weeks.’

  Cledwin looked at him with shrewd eyes. ‘The queen then?’

  ‘I think the queen could be persuaded to see you, Cledwin.’

  They shook hands on the deal, unaware that their actions would soon have the country in turmoil.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bishop Cledwin decided to stay at the isolated chapel for a few days, as he
could not resist the opportunity to find out more about the plans of the Du. He had been grateful to the pale young priest for his hospitality and for arranging the meeting with Bishop Emrys. As well as finding a way to do what he could to secure the safety of his lands at St Davids, the bishop had learnt much that would be of value to his neighbour, the knight Sir Gwynfor of Picton.

  With a little careful prompting, the priest told Cledwin he had heard King Gethin was rallying a great army of warriors to the east, at the castle in Flint. Cledwin confided in return that there was a plan for the Saxon allies of the Gwyn to invade the north. It was not entirely true but he knew the priest travelled widely and hoped that word would spread. If it reached the Du king there was just a chance he would be forced to keep enough of his warriors back to defend their eastern border.

  He had also found out from the priest that there was a Du encampment near a natural spring not far from the little chapel. The men of the tribes would stop there for water and to rest their horses, so although it was within Du territory, Bishop Cledwin hoped he would be able to visit without drawing attention to himself. He could not take his own white horse, as there was a risk it would mark him as a man of the Gwyn. Instead he borrowed a heavy black woollen cloak from the priest to keep out the chill of the wind and proceeded on foot. Cledwin removed the valuable gold rings he always wore and remained unshaven. It also helped that he looked too old and out of condition to be a fighting man, so when he arrived at the encampment the men seemed indifferent to him. None of the men in the camp asked where he had come from or what he was doing there and he knew better than to volunteer the information.

  The nomadic Du had few permanent towns or villages, preferring instead to build temporary shelters that could be easily transported. This meant much of the land was common grazing and farmers would simply move to the best areas with the seasons. As Cledwin explored the camp, smoke from the many fires caused the bishop to cough and made his eyes water. Worst of all was the unpleasant smell reaching his nose, which he realised must be caused by the lack of proper drainage.