“I like people who say what they think. You may speak your mind around me my dear and well you made a good impression on my nephew.”
“Excuse me?” said Gwen and the surprise showed in her amber brown eyes. She had been certain that Pryderi was so displeased with her he would have whipped her had her father let him.
“He requested that I invite you here.”
“Yes, my father told me,” said Gwen remembering what the conniving Prince had told her.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m very glad you are here but I wouldn’t have known to invite you had he not insisted so aggressively. In fact he said to me, aunt do invite the Godwyn’s youngest daughter, Lady Gwendolyn to attend you. She amuses me and she’s very gifted and will be perfect to attend the children.”
“Oh,” was all Gwen could say for she felt rather choked for words at that moment. Perhaps he was one of those wicked men who liked to torture people. Perhaps he wanted to get even with her for calling him a half-wit. At that moment she glanced down at him again and he looked up at that moment with his large marbled blue eyes bearing into her and Gwen felt mesmerized and when she could bear it no longer she quickly stepped away. “Come, my dear. I will see you to your room. You will want a rest before dinner.”
Gwen was led to a large room in one of the facing towers. She lost count as they went up and down staircases and finally she was placed in what Lady Anwyn said was one of the best rooms in the castle. And Gwen was dubious as it seemed miles from the entrance to the castle but when she walked in she was overcome with pleasure. It was a beautiful room like something out of fairytale and Gwen beamed with delight. It was perfect with a four poster bed, with a feminine touch and overlooked the sea and village of Caenarfon. It was spectacular. The room had a four poster bed covered in burgundy and gold damask and soft blue drapes hung around the top. There was a chair next to a large stone fireplace and Gwen lay down on the bed and fell asleep for some time and she wasn’t even sure of the time when she woke so she quickly dressed and left her room to head downstairs. On this night, she wore a lovely white gown edged in gold and her hair hanging over her shoulders and as it was a cool night she wore a long red velvet overcoat.
As Gwen walked along the halls of the castle she was intrigued by all the odd eccentricities of Caenarfon and if any place on earth had it eccentricities, Caernarfon was high on the list. There were winding staircases leading off to the unknown and unusual carvings along the walls. There were trinkets and treasure boxes and painted murals of dragons and unicorns and beautiful lords and ladies that left Gwen speechless and captured her attention. As she came to the heart of the castle, she noticed one wall was carved with horse images and sitting high on a pillar of stone was one great horse’s head sculpture. Light shone in brilliantly from somewhere above and shining upon the great pillar and Gwen paused and inspected it momentarily. It was the proud image of a horse with a solid neck and marbled eyes and Gwen wondered to what famous equine it gave prestige and her eyes rested upon the words, Brenin at the base of the statue. He must have been some horse she thought to have earned a pillar in such a marvelous facade. She wondered momentarily before moving down the hall again. At the end of that hall was a great tower and Gwen noticed the words Eryr engraved across the entranceway and Gwen knew the words to mean Eagle and therefore, Eagle tower. She peered up at a spiraling staircase going up some seven floors and she grimaced at its height for it certainly seemed a long way up. The staircase to the lower level must be around somewhere she thought and she turned in the opposite direction and followed a winding staircase and as she climbed she realized that if one didn’t know there way well, they would get lost and that was what happened to Gwen this particular evening as Pryderi and his aunt waited for her patiently in the main hall.
“Perhaps, she’s lost dear,” said Lady Anwyn.
“Perhaps,” said Pryderi as his eyes glanced upward at the maze of stairways and Sir Trystan grinned with amusement.
“Perhaps you should go look for her and escort her to the dining hall,” said Lady Anwyn.
“Perhaps,” he said after a moment of speculation and he headed off up the stairs in pursuit of her.
Gwen had ended up in a secluded room at the back of the castle on the second floor and it was some sort of armory with lots of weapons displayed on walls and side tables and around a grand fire place. There were swords and crossbows and many items she had never seen before. However poised on its own pedestal in the centre of the room was a fabulous sword. There was a horse’s head on the handle and Gwen was intrigued by it. She lifted it from its place and inspected it thoroughly with reverence wondering of its journeys across Britain and the battles it had fought in. In spite of any hardships it had endured its blade shined with brilliance and she took note of its fine engraved craftsmanship around the handle with a horse and several small black stones. For the second time that day she was mesmerized in this castle and she moved the weapon one way and then the other like a warrior in battle. Then she held it up towards the light of the candelabrum and she grinned with sheer delight and it was at that moment that Pryderi appeared.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked with excitement building and his eyes beheld a mixture of fear and bewilderment. Was there anything this girl wouldn’t do?
Gwen was startled and she dropped the sword and centuries of fine workmanship hit the floor with a clunk. “I’m sorry sir . . . I was . . . just playing. I got carried away.”
“Playing?” he said firmly. “Give me that thing!” He picked it up off the cold stone floor and placed it back on its stand. “It’s not a bloody toy for goodness sake! You shouldn’t play with weapons, Gwen. It’s dangerous!”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was just so fabulous; the gemstones and it shined so exquisitely and I began to wonder of its journey, you know. What sort of song would it sing?”
“I assure you it wouldn’t be a pretty one. It would be a song of lament and sorrow for it has seen many battles and wars.”
“But surely it has a tale of victory,” said Gwen. “It’s displayed in a place of honour.”
“It’s seen its days of victory and glory to be sure, but with great sacrifice.”
“Of course,” said Gwen. “I’m sorry.”
“Come Lady Gwendolyn. Shall we make our way to the dining hall? My Aunt will think we have run off and eloped or something.”
“Of course, sir,” said Gwen and she blushed uncomfortably at his comment as she laced her arm through his and they walked along the hall together up and down stairways and through narrow passages and Gwen’s mind was still on the fabulous weapon. “So who did it belong to?”
“What?”
“The sword!”
“Oh, that. It belonged to an ancestor.”
“Which one?”
“His name was Cadwallader.”
“Cadwallader? Really?’” she asked with excitement now glowing in her eyes.
“I take it you’ve heard of him or you’ve heard some silly stories.”
“He was a great king of old, a king of myth and legend.”
“He wasn’t a myth, he was my ancestor and that sword belonged to him.
“How do you know?”
“Well it’s passed down from generation to generation just like anything else. Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Yes!” she said with excitement. “This is so fascinating! I’m staying in the faerie tale castle of Cadwallader! And I held his magic sword!”
Pryderi rolled his eyes. “Oh for goodness sake. I...”
“There you are,” said Lady Anwyn standing in the doorway of the great hall. “I was about to send out a search party for you.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Gwen. “I got lost.”
“Well at least my nephew found you and oh! Look at you! You look like an exquisite princess. Aren’t you just beautiful!”
“Thank you,” she blushed.
“Isn’t she beautiful, Pryderi?”
&
nbsp; “Yes Aunt. Lady Gwendolyn is very beautiful this evening as always.” And Gwen noticed his voice quivered and she blushed even more and Sir Trystan was grinning sweetly.
“Shall we all be seated now and eat this lovely meal before it goes cold.”
They all took their seats around the beautiful carved wooden table and there were several candle’s glowing on the table and around the room and a mural on the wall of a family member on a horse and Gwen assumed it was Pryderi’s father. Then the servants brought out roasted meats and vegetables and there was lovely red wine and Gwen enjoyed herself talking with Pryderi and his aunt and Sir Trystan.
“I hear your elder sister has recently been won in a tournament,” said Lady Anwyn.
“Yes,” said Gwen.
“Your parents must be delighted.”
“Yes, they are and we are all very happy and pleased for her but she will be greatly missed.”
“Yes, I remember my sister being won in a tournament. I thought I’d never get over it when she left. We were very close you see.”
“And you never married?”
“I was married for several years and my husband, Lord Victor Powell has now passed on.”
“I’m sorry,” said Gwen. “I didn’t know.”
“That’s alright dear and as I told you earlier. We had no children.”
“Did he win you in a tournament?” asked Gwen.
“Oh heavens no,” said Lady Anwyn. “We met at a ball. It was King Frederic’s birthday and we took a liking to each other straight away. It would be a dreadful thing to be won in a tournament.”
“Yes,” said Gwen. “I imagine you’d feel like a trophy or something and no choice in the matter. Imagine someone you weren’t fond of winning? That would be heartbreaking.”
“Yes, I daresay that many young girls’ hearts have been broken because of the outcome of a tournament but alas there are many magical love stories that have come out of them as well. I had a close friend who was the trophy of a tournament and it was lovely and romantic. Days before the event he sent her poetry and roses and on the eve of the event he sang her songs outside her window and he was the one who won. It turned out favourable.” And did the tournament have a favourable ending on your sister’s part? Was she happy with the conclusion?”
“Well . . . not really. I mean the young man won the tournament on behalf of his brother who is apparently away at sea so we never got to meet him. His name is Artemis Munro and his brother is Fingal.”
“The Munro clan, aye? I’m not too familiar with them. The only thing I know of the Munro’s is . . . the monster in the loch.”
“Really!” said Gwen. “That’s what I’ve heard too.”
“Oh Aunt, please, not that,” said Pryderi as he placed his goblet down with a thud.
“Do you think he is real?” asked Gwen.
“Of course he’s real,” said Lady Anwyn with excitement. “I know of someone who saw him.”
Gwen gasped with delight and Pryderi was shaking his head and Trystan was laughing. “It was my great uncle, a knight of King Frederic the first. He was travelling north on the Loch in a small boat with two others and they heard this strange rumbling under the water and said there was suddenly lots of bubbles that appeared on the surface and then a great disturbance and the water rose up like a tower splashing over the boat and they looked up into the fierce eyes of the creature of Loch Ness.”
“Ohhhh!” Gwen sighed with fearful delight. It was exactly what her creative mind wanted to hear.
“That’s the crazy side of the family,” said Pryderi as he washed down the rest of his wine. “What she failed to tell you is that they were eating wild mushrooms from a nearby field before they got in the boat.”
“Pryderi doesn’t like to talk about the monster.”
“And what happened?” asked Gwen with a slight smirk for she figured that someone like Pryderi, a suave sophisticated prince/knight wouldn’t admit to believing in something such as dragons.
“Well it just looked at them and then disappeared back under the surface and as you can imagine they rowed that small boat as fast as they could back to the shore.”
“Well, I know people that have seen it too. I suppose it’s similar to all the dragon legends that roam the isles,” said Trystan.
“Yes, I saw an interesting account of fiery dragons written in the Chronicles of the Anglo Saxons. It seemed so believable!” she said with excitement. “And . . . it was written by a monk. Surely a monk wouldn’t lie, would he? It must be a faithful account.”
“Yes, I’m sure they walked the land at one time,” said Lady Anwyn. “Warriors of the past have annihilated them and they are now the legends we tell our children and their children.”
“Have you heard the one about Tintagel Castle?” asked Trystan as he picked up a carrot and munched into it. “Well, apparently it’s haunted by the ghost of a dragon that was slain by one of Arthur’s knights. He guards a doorway into some magical realm and some believe there is a beautiful princess locked in one of the old towers but you have to get past the dragon and into this other realm. No one’s been able to do it.”
“Oh for goodness sake!” snapped Pryderi. “Don’t tell her that ridiculous stuff! You know what I think of all this?”
“I think that is just so fascinating,” said Gwen. “A beautiful princess locked in the ruins of an old castle for thousands of years and the doorway is guarded by an ancient dragon and a gallant prince shows up to set her free. That’s just so, so . . . romantic,” she smiled.
Pryderi lifted his brow sharply. “Well you know what I think. Perhaps they are dramatic exaggerations of the truth. You know the made up tales of knights and soldiers to make their journey’s sound more interesting,” said Pryderi.
“Like the sword of Cadwallader?” said Gwen sweetly and Pryderi frowned.
“Have you seen the sword?” asked Lady Anwyn.
“Yes,” said Gwen. “It was very fascinating,” said Gwen. “It was positively surreal to behold the sword of Cadwallader.”
“Did you tell her the whole story?” asked Lady Anwyn to her nephew and Pryderi frowned.
“Story?” asked Gwen.
“Yes, the legend of the two swords of Cadwallader,” Lady Anwyn began the legend and she had Gwen’s and Trystan’s wide eyed attention. Pryderi listened as well frowning and rolling his eyes from time to time. “ The one you saw upstairs was his battle sword but there is the legend that he had another sword believed to have been made of the finest metals and overlaid with gold and precious gemstones. Some say it was forged by Saint George, others say it was given to him by the great Viking king, Sigrun who inherited the sword from the ancient warlord believed to be Beowulf himself who defeated the monster, Grendel. And still others believed it was forged by the Lord of heaven himself to aid Cadwallader in a great battle with a fierce dragon and that is what the sword was used for. It was a sword to defeat a great fiery dragon that was devastating the British Isles. The land was inhabited by dragons long before man came here but they were slowly defeated by ancient heroes like Cadwallader. There was one great dragon that was causing havoc and devastation around the coastal areas and it seemed as if the land was doomed for no one could defeat its strength and Cadwallader, our ancestor was given this special sword to defeat this dragon. Cadwallader was a God fearing man who believed in miracles and he defeated the dragon.”
“My word!” said Gwen how fascinating. “What happened to the sword?”
“It simply disappeared,” said Lady Anwyn.
“No one knows of its whereabouts,” said Pryderi.
“It disappeared just as mysteriously as its appearance. Apparently it was the only sword that could kill the great black dragon of Wales. Some believe that it was stolen by one of the dragon clans who wanted to keep the race of dragons and some believed God took it back to heaven because it was no longer needed. It was a fabulous piece of this family’s history and written on it was the word, gwirionedd welsh for t
ruth. You see it is only with faith and the truth of God that we defeat the enemy of our soul.” Lady Anwyn grinned at her nephew. “Now, to change the subject, tell me Gwendolyn who was the Munro’s opponent in this tournament of love to win your lovely sister?”
“It was Sir Gregory.”
“The young man jousted against Sir Gregory?” asked Lady Anwyn with shock. Who could joust against Sir Gregory and walk away and especially some young unknown warrior?”
“Yes,” said Pryderi. “It was very unfortunate. An adder ran in the path of his horse and he fell to the ground. Instant disqualification. Young Artemis Munro was a lucky man indeed.”
“Oh goodness. I had no idea the opponent was Sir Gregory. Now that would bring great disappointment to your sister. Was she acquainted with him before the event?”
“Yes but it’s a long story.”
“I think he was very disappointed too,” said Trystan. “That’s what I’ve heard anyway.”
Gwen looked away sadly as the all the talk about her sister made her miss Ceridwyn even more and there had been no word from her since she left. “Would you like some more wine?” asked Lady Anwyn..
“That would be lovely,” said Gwen. “So tell me Sir Trystan, how did you come to know Sir Gregory? I noticed you and he seemed very well acquainted.”
“Yes, I’ve known him all my life. I met him when I was only eight. I was sent to his father as a page boy. We grew up like brothers believe it or not and the things I could tell you about him. He hasn’t always been that suave, charming young man you see at the tournaments.”
“Really?” Gwen giggled. ‘That’s amusing. I can’t imagine him any way other than gallant and sophisticated.”
“Well, he was tall and scrawny without a muscle on his body and those soft golden waves were always straggly and covered in dirt. He could barely get near a horse let alone sit on one. He was terrified of them for ages.”
“No way!” said Gwen with more amusement. “I can’t imagine him like that at all.”
Kingdom of Dragons (Kingdom Series Book 2) Page 13
