by Tony Riches
She sensed that she was being watched. Rhiannon had grown up with the knowledge that she was looked at wherever she went, even before she became queen but this was different. Somehow sinister. She called for the guards. The door burst open but instead of the young guards, she saw a large old man wearing a brown cowl, half covering his face. Rhiannon ran out into the kitchen of the lodge only to find that she was trapped, as the only exit had been barred and locked by the guards for her own security. She looked quickly around the room for something she could use as a weapon and chose a dangerous looking meat cleaver that had a satisfying weight in her hand as she waited to see what the stranger would do.
Cledwin entered the kitchen and reacted quickly, seeing the queen holding the cleaver and fairly sure she would hesitate to attack an unarmed man. He crossed the room and grabbed her wrist, twisting the weapon from her hand.
‘Guards!’ The queen was surprised they couldn’t hear her. ‘Guards!’
Cledwin ignored her shouts. She was stronger than he expected and nearly escaped his grip but he had thought long and hard about what to do next. He took the length of cord that he had been carrying around his waist and tied both of her hands tightly behind her back. As he held her close he felt an unfamiliar stirring. She was wearing a delicate perfume and her body was well toned and attractive. For a moment he was tempted by her, then he shook such thoughts from his head and made double sure she could not escape before he led her back into the main hall.
She looked at him angrily. ‘What do you want?’
‘You are my prisoner now, Queen Rhiannon of the Du.’ he answered quietly.
Rhiannon suddenly struggled to break free but the cord was tied tightly. It was her worst fear. The stranger would be richly rewarded for handing her over to the Gwyn, who could then use her to force Gethin to surrender.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, a note of desperation in her voice. He was dressed like a poor man but his voice was rich and educated. She had at first thought him old yet he was quick and strong. There was something about him that scared her yet was familiar. He looked kindly but had shown he was dangerous. She had hoped to divert the attention of the Gwyn but the stranger had ruined her plan.
Cledwin looked around the hall then saw what he was searching for. A long black cloak the queen would have worn when she arrived. He put it round her shoulders and fastened the silver clasp at her neck. Although her hands were tied behind her back it should avoid drawing attention to her, if only he could think of a way to stop her shouting. He looked intently into her dark eyes, making a judgement. She could yell as much as she liked, the only guard still at the lodge would be of little help to her.
‘If you run, you won’t be able to go far and when I catch you… I will make sure you can’t run again.’
‘Where are you taking me?’ She already knew the answer.
‘Across the border into Gwyn territory. It is not far.’
*
Rhiannon looked around for the guards but there was no sign of them. The stranger was right, it would be hard to run far with her hands behind her back. She would have to play for time and pretend to have given in to the old man. It was getting dark as he pushed her through the doorway into the cold air of the valley and carefully closed the door of the lodge behind them. She realised her mistake in sending one of the guards with her letters, as the others must have gone to the village. Even when they returned she knew they would think she had simply gone to sleep. She wouldn’t be missed until the morning.
Cledwin took the queen by the arm and led her out of the valley, keeping a watch for the guards. He needn’t have worried, as they saw nobody before they reached the cover of the old oak trees. The woods were dense and dark, so they had to walk slowly to avoid the brambles and twisted branches reaching out across the rarely used path. He couldn’t believe he had captured one of the most important women in the land single handed. He would never be able to return to his old life, but King Gwayne would be grateful and his wealth would enable him to live out his days in comfort.
Rhiannon was becoming increasingly desperate. Once over the border, she would be lost. She stopped on the path and turned to the stranger.
‘The king will pay you, in gold, whatever you ask for my safe return.’
‘I don’t want your Du gold.’
‘Why then?’ She needed to find his weakness.
‘For my son. I am taking you back so that my son did not die in vain.’
Rhiannon saw the sadness in his eyes. ‘I have a son, his name is Evan and he needs a mother.’ She felt a flicker of hope as he looked at her impassively.
‘Keep quiet or I will have to gag you.’ His voice was grim.
They walked in silence through the dark woods until they reached a clearing.
‘The cord is cutting into my hands,’ said Rhiannon. ‘Please can you loosen it?’
‘You know what will happen if you run?’
Rhiannon nodded and he took off her cloak and untied her hands, watching her closely as she massaged her wrists.
‘Please can I have a drink of water?’
Cledwin could see no harm in her request and reached for the leather bottle slung over his back. He was not expecting her to reach inside her gown and remove something from a hidden pocket. She put it in her mouth and swallowed.
Rhiannon saw the stranger looking at her in confusion and felt her sight become blurred. It was as if the man had a bright blue halo around his head.
‘What was that? Cledwin asked. ‘What have you done?’
‘A quick death,’ she said sadly.
‘What is it? He did not want to hear the answer.
‘Digitalis. A potion from the leaves of the Foxglove. One of the herbs our people use.’ Rhiannon began to feel deep pain in her stomach and sank to her knees. Cledwin held her closely. There was nothing he could do.
‘Gethin… Is that you?’ She was beginning to hallucinate and imagined that the king had come just in time to rescue her. Cledwin prayed for forgiveness while she gave in to the pain. Her fight was over.
Chapter Fifteen
An important part of the work of Bishop Emrys was to visit each of the small chapels in his diocese, offering support and encouragement, as well as checking on the welfare of his priests. It was also a good way to collect and send messages, and now they were at war with the Gwyn, to learn of the latest developments. On the way home from meeting with Bishop Cledwin he was doing exactly this when he was astounded by the news that the queen had left for the south. The young priest who told him had no details, other than she had asked for Emrys before she left. He couldn’t help wondering if he had seen her instead of meeting Bishop Cledwin, he may have been able to persuade her to stay in the relative safety of the royal household.
He was also surprised to receive a message that Archbishop Renfrew of the south had now asked to see him. The prospect of meeting Renfrew again interested Emrys, as he liked the archbishop, who had fascinating knowledge of the church politics and the world outside of Wales and connections at the Saxon court. Emrys decided it made sense to meet with the archbishop, as he was already closer to the suggested meeting place than he was to home. It was a long ride and the roads were poor, so he was tired when he arrived and found the archbishop talking to the elderly priest in the thatched house next to the church.
The archbishop greeted him warmly. Emrys thought Renfrew had turned greyer since they had last met, but still had the engaging manner that had led to his rapid progress through the church.
‘Thank you so much for coming, Bishop Emrys,’ said Renfrew. ‘I am grateful that you have saved me having to make the trip all the way north.’
‘Your visit is timely, your grace,’ replied Emrys, ‘These are challenging times for the church.’ Noticing that Renfrew was wearing a gold crucifix with a large ruby, he remembered that the role of the church was very different in the south.
‘Indeed, Bishop Emrys. Come in, come in.’ Renfrew turned to the priest. ‘W
ill you take the Bishop’s horse, please?’
‘Of course, your grace, and I will prepare a bed for the Bishop in the back room of the house,’ said the priest.
Their talks went on through the evening and well into the night. By the time Renfrew went to bed he was feeling tired but content that he had done what he could. It had been a difficult discussion, as Bishop Emrys had strongly held views about the need to keep the north free from Saxon influence. He had seemed to think Queen Elvina was changing the whole of the south into an English territory, so was a little reassured when Renfrew explained that she was now fluent in the Welsh language and keen to understand their laws and traditions. As he suspected, Emrys advised there would be no persuading King Gethin to reconsider. He did agree that, as advisor to Queen Rhiannon, he had some influence and would be meeting with her as soon as he could to discuss any chance at this late stage of some compromise or truce.
Emrys woke suddenly, coughing violently as his lungs filled with acrid smoke. The heat of the fire scorched his face as he realised what must have happened. The old priest had given him a tall church candle for light when he went to bed, but he was so tired he had neglected to blow it out. That small flame was now growing into a serious blaze, setting fire to the simple furnishings in the room. He looked around desperately and saw the earthenware pitcher of water he had used to wash. He reached for it and threw it at the flames, which died down with a loud hiss, then returned almost immediately as they found new wood to burn. ‘Renfrew!’ he shouted as loudly as he could. ‘Fire!’
Renfrew quickly appeared and grabbed him by the arm. We must get out!’ They both rushed through the billowing smoke and flames and out into the cold night air. He turned to Emrys, his dark eyes wide with shock. ‘Are you hurt?’
Emrys had a coughing fit and found it hard to answer, as the smoke had made it hard for him to breathe. ‘I am so sorry, your grace… It must have been the candle?’
Renfrew watched as smoke streamed into the night from the small windows of the wooden house. ‘At least we are safe,’ he said. ‘We must get water from the well and make sure none of the embers land on that thatched roof.’ He had turned towards the well when he suddenly remembered. ‘The Vetus Latina! The Bible is on the table by my bed!’
Before Emrys could stop him, Renfrew dashed back into the house. It was so unexpected that Emrys stood for a moment, wondering what to do, then followed the archbishop through the door into the billowing smoke. It was impossible to see anything at first but then Emrys could make out the figure of the archbishop through the smoke. He called to Renfrew to get out and thought he saw the figure stoop to pick something up when the thatched roof suddenly ignited with a roar of flames. A huge gust of fresh air swept into the room and fanned the flames out of control.
Renfrew watched in horror as his precious Bible, the life’s work of many men and symbol of his faith, started burning in his hands. Flames began licking at the edges of the beautifully embossed cover, then leapt from the pages of the irreplaceable book. He sank to his knees in prayer as he felt his hair and clothes catch fire, then sudden searing pain as he realised his flesh was also burning. His prayers were answered by a heavy oak beam that smashed down from the roof and ended his suffering in an instant.
Bishop Emrys lay on his back in the cool grass looking at the terrifying flames engulfing the old wooden house. He was overcome by the heat and struggled to draw breath from his smoke damaged lungs. His mind was still trying to comprehend what had happened when he heard a heart rending, inhuman scream. His first thought was that it was Archbishop Renfrew, but just before he lost consciousness he remembered the horses, in the wooden stable at the back of the house.
The arrival of King Gwayne at Caerphilly castle was marked by a fanfare of trumpets and rousing cheers from the huge garrison now based there. White pennant flew from the high towers and the people of the town had turned out in large numbers to welcome the king. The men had been training hard for weeks and were more than ready for battle, yet the king had chosen to keep them in reserve, favouring the garrison at Pembroke as the main defenders of the Royal Llysoedd.
Now he had decided to make the castle his base for the duration of the war. This meant chances of promotion for the more ambitious men of the garrison and prosperity for the town’s merchants and traders. His main reason was the proximity of his Saxon allies, although he had no intention of escape over the English border.
As soon as he had settled in his new rooms at Caerphilly the king sent for Sir Padrig’s man Kane. As well as being a skilled master of the longbow, his old friend Padrig had told him that Kane seemed to understand the people of the Du. Padrig had also confided to the king that there were some who suspected Kane of being a Du spy, but anyone who had witnessed him in battle was left in no doubt of his allegiance. Gwayne had also heard allegations that Kane was a Druid, although no evidence of his involvement in the banned belief was ever put forward.
Kane arrived quietly and observed the king at work while he waited to be introduced. King Gwayne was questioning the officers about the readiness of the men, the latest reports from the east and the whereabouts of the Du. It was obvious to Kane that the king was skilled at winning the confidence of men. He was impressed by the way Gwayne managed to find the truth, rather than letting people tell him what they thought he wanted to hear. The king finally turned to Kane and immediately recognised him by his Celtic tattoos and long dark hair.
‘You must be Kane,’ said the king. ‘Sir Padrig speaks very highly of you.’
‘I have been… fortunate in having Sir Padrig’s guidance, my lord.’
‘What do you know of the Du they call Vorath?
‘I know… that Vorath is a dangerous enemy, my lord. If we can defeat him this war is won.’
‘How do we defeat him? What are his weaknesses?’
Kane thought carefully before answering. ‘We need to fight him on our own terms, my lord. He has to be brought in range of my longbow men.’
Gwayne nodded. ‘You are right, Kane. We should not be drawn into chasing this Vorath through the woods, where he has advantage. What do you suggest?’
‘A trap must be set, my lord.’
The king looked into Kane’s unfathomable eyes. ‘And what do we use to bait this trap?’
‘You, my lord. You already draw him to us.’
*
Unaware of Kane’s words, Lord Vorath and his men were already camped in the mountains of Brychan, to the north east of Caerphilly, waiting for word from the scouts. Vorath cursed the relentless rain that had turned their camp to mud while they waited for news from scouts, sent under cover of night to meet with Du sympathisers. He cursed again when they returned, as the news was not good. It seemed that the king of the Gwyn had taken himself to the strongly defended castle at Caerphilly.
Vorath was afraid of no one and his band of warriors had fought bravely but they had suffered losses in the fight with Hayden and his men. Several of his best men had died from their wounds and others would need time to recover to full fighting condition. Vorath sent the worst of the wounded men back to the castle at Flint with a message for King Gethin. It was time for the warriors at the castle to begin the long march south.
If Vorath had been any other leader he would have waited for the main army to arrive, but that was not his way. They left early in the morning, taking advantage of a break in the weather. An attack on the castle at Caerphilly was out of the question until their reinforcements arrived, but luck had been on their side. The men who rode with him were the strongest and bravest fighters he had ever known and Vorath knew how to sap the spirit of his enemy. He would show the people of the south that they should side with the Du or face the consequences.
Vorath and his men had been riding for less than an hour when a sudden flash of flame on the hillside caught his eye. He held up his hand as a sign for them to stop and rode up the steep hill to investigate. It was a brazier, burning brightly on the highest point. He could not s
ee who had started the fire but its purpose was clear, as high on the next hill far in the distance a second flame burst into life. The Gwyn had set up a chain of warning beacons. He smiled at their ingenuity. He wanted them to fear his arrival.
*
The lighting of the beacon triggered a frenzy of events at Caerphilly castle, as it was the warning sign for an invasion. The lookout who spotted the closest beacon flame started ringing a heavy bronze bell in the high wooden tower of the castle. The bell was new and had only been rung once before, when it was installed, so most of the men assumed the loud clanging was a test and continued with their work until the trumpeters sounded the signal for stand to arms.
King Gwayne watched unimpressed as soldiers swarmed from everywhere, some hastily putting on armour and others grabbing whatever weapons they could find. Although they had practised stand to arms every day, it had never before been called at noon and caught many of them unawares. He waited until they were all assembled then addressed them, his deep voice booming across the courtyard.
‘Soldiers of the Gwyn, we have received warning of an attack.’ He looked at the men, noting that some of them grinned and others looked alarmed. It may be a false alarm,’ he continued, ‘If it is I am glad you have seen the need to be ready!’
Gwayne looked around for the archer, Kane, and spotted him standing alone at the back. ‘I am appointing Kane as acting commander while I find out who or what has caused the beacons to be lit. I will take twenty of the best archers, longbow men. The rest of you are to man the battlements and be vigilant. We will not be taken by surprise!’
A cry of ‘Long live the king!’ was echoed by the men, who hastily began preparations for battle. Kane had no difficulty selecting the longbow men and asked permission to lead them on the reconnaissance instead of the king, but Gwayne refused. He wanted to lead by example, and if this was an attack by the Du, his place was at the front, not hiding in the castle.
