The sun climbed to the crest of the sky as they worked, and they sweated under their winter cloaks until they had to shed them for relief.
It was a little past noon when the steady thud and thunk of pick and spade was broken into by the sound of hooves on the hillside.
Dera rode up silently to the graveside. She dismounted, her face closed and grief-stricken. Without speaking, she held out her hand for Banon’s pick. Without speaking, Banon gave it to her. Still without speaking, Dera jumped down into the grave and began to dig as though her life depended on it.
At last the awful work was done. Aberfa and Dera were hauled up out of the pit, their reddened faces running with sweat. Iwan and Rhodri lowered Linette into her grave and all stood around the dark slot, hands clasped, heads bowed, tears running.
The long, mournful silence was broken by a soft chant, as Rhodri began to speak a song Branwen had never heard before.
She rides now as the sun sets upon her
Taken from us, glad and true and full of hope
Far, far into the deeps, on the winding path to Annwn
She rides to the court of Arawn, the great huntsman
Branwen lifted her eyes and gazed into the west.
The snow was a formless dazzle under the flood of sunlight. But was there something out there between the long hill and the mountains? A shape? Man-like, yet not quite a man. She screwed her eyes against the glare. Did she see antlers rising from a high forehead? Did she see from afar a faint glint of green, like emerald eyes shedding emerald tears?
Did she?
Gatherer of souls, eternal chieftain
She will feast now with the departed,
Feasting and fighting and rejoicing for all time
In the great halls of the merry unliving
And was there a gentle, shimmering movement out in the fathomless snow? A lady in white riding upon a white horse? And did the horse turn away and did the lady beckon?
Branwen felt that her heart was stilled in her chest. A small figure followed the lady in white as she rode away through the snow. A slender shape, walking lightly on lithe legs. And the head turned, and the hair was a tumble of curls the colour of new-ripened corn, and the eyes shone and the lips smiled.
She rides now as the great doors close behind her
We shall see her nevermore
Glad and true and full of hope
Taken from us, we who loved her so deeply
steeped in the pain that she has left behind
We who mourn.
As the song ended, so Branwen felt a profound silence come down over the world. The air was still. The sun halted in the sky. Not a twig stirred. Not a breath was taken.
The sound of a horse approaching from behind broke the spell and the pulse of the world seemed to miss a beat and when Branwen looked again to the place where she thought she had seen Linette and Rhiannon, there was nothing but smooth, endless snow.
‘Are we come too late?’ asked a familiar voice. Branwen turned from the grave. Drustan had brought his horse to a halt on the hilltop, a few paces away from them. Seated before him in the saddle was Romney, swathed to the nose in a thick winter cloak. Behind him, also swaddled deep against the cold, sat Meredith.
‘Too late for what, my lord?’ asked Dera.
‘To show respect,’ replied Prince Drustan. ‘Will one of you help Princess Romney down? She is not used to riding and she is afraid that she will fall.’
For a moment no one moved, as though none felt inclined towards helping the child whose actions had caused Linette’s death. But then Branwen looked into the small, round, petulant face and saw under the selfishness and the pride, a genuine spark of sorrow. She came up to the horse and lifted her arms. Romney reached down and with Drustan’s help, the little girl was set safe on the ground.
The prince and Meredith also dismounted, and Branwen noticed how they held hands as they moved to the graveside.
So, a love-match after all. How fate can smile when it chooses to.
The others parted to allow them to come to the brink of the dark hole. Romney followed, pressing herself in between them, taking a grip on Meredith’s hand, staring down at Linette’s body under its white shroud.
‘How did you get leave to come here?’ Dera murmured.
‘I am the king’s son,’ Drustan replied. ‘I need no permission.’
‘Does their father know of it?’ asked Iwan.
Drustan lifted his head and looked into Iwan’s face. ‘I did not think to ask,’ he said. ‘Meredith and Romney sent word that they wished to speak with me. I came to them and they told me that they wanted to pay their respects at the graveside of your fallen comrade. And so we are come.’
‘I hope we do not intrude on your grief,’ said Meredith. ‘The wish to do this came from Romney.’
Branwen looked at the little girl in surprise. She had assumed Romney had been forced to come against her will.
‘I wanted to give her something,’ Romney piped, her voice thin and strained. ‘She was nice to me and I was not nice to her and I’m sorry she’s dead and I wish she was still alive.’ And so saying, she took something from within the folds of her cloak and dropped it down into the grave. It shone on the white cloth. A golden brooch. ‘There,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I want to go back now.’
‘Well, there was a marvel of sorts, to be sure,’ breathed Iwan as they watched Drustan and the two princesses riding back to Pengwern. ‘I would not have thought the little brat had such a heart in her. Do you think she did it of her own will, or was there coercion?’
‘I think it was as Drustan said,’ replied Branwen. ‘I think she was genuinely saddened by Linette’s death.’
Aberfa picked up a spade and thrust it into the mound of fresh earth. She took the heaped spade to the graveside. ‘Farewell, sweet sister,’ she said. ‘We’ll meet again, anon.’
‘But not too quickly, I hope,’ murmured Iwan, taking another spade and joining Aberfa in heaving earth into the grave.
The white shroud gradually vanished under the brown earth. For a while, they heaped the earth over Linette, working in diligent silence while the day wore on. At last, they beat down the filled grave with the flat of the spades and then fetched the grey stones. Branwen watched, standing slightly apart from the others, while Banon and Rhodri and Blodwedd ferried the stones from the saddlebags and Iwan and Aberfa positioned them over the grave.
Dera came and stood silent at her side.
‘You were gone a long time,’ Branwen said. ‘I thought perhaps you had made a final choice.’
‘I made that choice last summer,’ said Dera. ‘I have not changed my mind since then. I am yours, Branwen, for all that is worth.’ A miserable edge came into her voice. ‘But it is hard beyond endurance to feel the displeasure of my father.’
‘And so you are torn,’ said Branwen. ‘I understand.’
Dera looked sideways at her. ‘There is more to it than that,’ she said. ‘My father’s blessing would mean a great deal to me, it’s true, and I linger at his side to show him that I remain his loving daughter.’ She frowned. ‘But there is something else. He is uneasy … he will tell me nothing in plain words – but I believe that this truce between the king and Prince Llew worries him.’
Dera now had Branwen’s full attention. ‘He fears treachery?’
‘If he was sure that Llew ap Gelert was false, he would speak out,’ said Dera. ‘But I see him watching the prince and Captain Angor at times, and he has a troubled brow, as though he senses something bad is brewing – like a faint rank smell on the air.’
‘And has he spoken to you of what word the Saxon messenger brought from Ironfist?’ asked Branwen. ‘Was he there when Ironfist’s message was delivered?’
‘He was not. The king and Prince Llew spoke to Hunwald alone in an antechamber, but the word is that some trysting place has been agreed – neutral ground where all may feel safe – and that emissaries of King Cynon and General Ironfist will mee
t there soon to talk terms. Apart from that, I know nothing else.’
Branwen looked into Dera’s eyes. ‘If you learn more, will you tell me of it?’
‘On my honour, I will,’ said Dera.
‘And meanwhile we must kick our heels and bury our dead and hope for better weather …’
Dera gazed up into the clear blue sky. ‘Is this bright day not enough, Branwen?’
‘I was thinking of the bitter winds and stormy clouds that gather in Pengwern,’ said Branwen, also looking up into the crystalline sky. ‘Of this … I do not know.’
Blodwedd looked at them, as though she had somehow guessed what had just been said. She walked forward, her arms outstretched. ‘It is the Lord Caradoc who has given us this day,’ she said. ‘Do you think it happenstance that the wind blows from the south on this day of all days?’
‘A curious compassion, it is,’ growled Aberfa, standing up from having placed the final stone at Linette’s head. ‘To strike Linette down with an avalanche, and then to have the sun shine down upon her burial. Too much and too little, I’d call that.’
‘You do not understand the workings of the Shining Ones,’ said Blodwedd.
‘Then enlighten us, Blodwedd,’ said Iwan, leaning on his spade. ‘Make us understand.’
Blodwedd frowned, as though thinking. ‘There is a story from long, long ago,’ she began as the others gathered around her. ‘A Druid priest and his wife came to do homage to Lord Govannon once on a time. They rode through the forest on a great white stallion that was their pride and joy. They came to ask the Lord Govannon to bless them with a child, for they had been childless in ten years of marriage.’
‘And did Govannon help them?’ asked Banon.
‘Lord Govannon killed their horse and told them they would never have children,’ Blodwedd said dispassionately. ‘Then he sent them from him.’
Iwan blinked at her. ‘And this is a story to show us how the Shining Ones love us?’ he asked in amazement.
‘Hush,’ said Branwen. ‘There is more.’
Blodwedd continued: “What Lord Govannon knew but the man and his wife did not, was that the woman was ill to the death. She would have died within the week had Govannon not blessed her with life. But a life had to be forfeit for the woman to remain in the world, and so Lord Govannon took their horse in her place.’
‘A strange tale,’ breathed Dera. ‘But why were they left childless?’
‘Because it was foretold that their firstborn would grow evil and madness, and that upon his twentieth birthday, he would slaughter his parents in their sleep.’ Blodwedd looked around at the puzzled faces that surrounded her.
‘And how does this twisted tale relate to us?’ asked Iwan.
‘Because we cannot know what purposes drive the actions of the Shining Ones,’ Blodwedd responded solemnly. ‘Only a fool judges the depth of a lake from the shine upon its surface!’ She turned to Branwen. ‘Now, with your leave, I will ride west as I promised.’
‘Go,’ said Branwen, moving forwards and putting her arms around Blodwedd’s narrow shoulders, stooping a little to hold her close. ‘Be swift as you can, and bring back good word from the Shining Ones. We will wait.’ She released Blodwedd from her embrace. ‘Rhodri? You may go with her if you wish,’ she said.
‘No,’ Blodwedd said quickly. ‘I must travel alone.’ She walked over to where Rhodri was standing and took him by both hands. ‘I will return to you, my friend,’ she said, her voice low and full of emotion as she looked up into his eyes. ‘Look to the west and think of me when you may.’
‘I will,’ said Rhodri. ‘Be safe for my sake.’
Blodwedd smiled and moved away. All eyes followed her as she walked among the horses, but Branwen could not begin to imagine what thoughts were in those looks. The wish, perhaps, that they still had the love and protection of the Shining Ones, despite what had happened? Or the hope that they would be rid of the Old Powers and free to live and love and fight and maybe die among their own kind?
Just as Blodwedd was about to mount the horse that had carried her and Rhodri to the hilltop, Rhodri broke into a run, pounding through the snow towards her, his face twisted with love and concern. She turned, hearing him coming, and she held out her arms to him.
They clung to one another as though their hearts would break at the parting, and Branwen saw the owl-girl’s face tilt up to Rhodri’s, and his head come down so that they kissed – and that was something Branwen had never seen happen between them before.
And as they kissed, the world turned and the sun beat down and the wind blew soft from the south.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Branwen spent the latter part of the day alone in the small hut where Linette had died. Occasionally, footsteps crunched through the snow close by, but no one came in; at times she heard voices, but no one called out to her. She was, as she had wished, utterly alone. She wallowed in her solitude, needing it and hating it at the same time.
Mostly, she sat gazing into the fire. She had hoped for some kind of enlightenment to come to her – some understanding, some explanation of why her comrade had died – but her mind was heavy and blank and the time passed in miserable monotony. Not even the spirit of Linette ap Cledwyn lingered with her in that dreadful place.
As the day faded, Branwen threw herself down by the fire and floated on sleep’s troubled surface, often awake, sometimes asleep but dreaming she was awake, her eyes always full of the brawling of the red flames, whether they were closed or open.
A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her stupor.
She gazed up at the figure crouched by her side, the face bathed in ruddy light. It was Dera.
‘I have grim news,’ said the young warrior girl. ‘We must act, Branwen – or the king will be betrayed.’
Branwen sat up, shaking her head loose of dreams. ‘What has happened?’
‘My father asked that I sleep in his chamber in the Hall of Araith,’ Dera began urgently. ‘I obeyed, wanting to do all I could to please him. And so we doused the candles and prepared for slumber. But I could not sleep and I felt the need to be with my comrades in the long house. Once I was sure my father was asleep, I crept from his chamber, meaning to quit the hall. But as I was about to depart, I heard men speaking privately just outside the doors.’ Her eyes burned. ‘One was Angor, and the other was Prince Llew. They were discussing the meeting that is to take place with the Saxons.’
‘The meeting where land will be offered as tribute to hold Ironfist’s army back?’ Branwen’s mind was sharp as flint now. ‘What of it? What did you hear?’
‘The arrangements have been made,’ Dera said urgently. ‘The message that Hunwald brought from the Saxon general was that Ironfist would only agree to discuss a treaty on the condition that the king and Prince Llew meet him face to face.’
‘That would be madness,’ gasped Branwen. ‘Ironfist will betray them to their deaths!’
‘It is not Ironfist’s treachery we need fear,’ Dera said grimly. ‘Listen to me close, Branwen. The meeting is to take place on the mound of Bwlch Crug-Glas in the east.’ Branwen knew of the place – a bare and solitary tumulus crowned by an ancient ring of standing stones. It was no more than half a morning’s ride from Pengwern. ‘The king and Prince Llew are to ride out at dawn this very morn, with a troop of twenty-five armed warriors,’ Dera continued, speaking rapidly now. ‘The warriors are to be left at the foot of the mound, and Llew and the king are to ride to the crest alone and without weapons. There they will meet with Ironfist and one of his captains – also unarmed.’
‘Ride into ambush?’ interrupted Branwen.
‘Worse than ambush!’ growled Dera. ‘I heard Llew command Angor to pick twenty-five warriors of Doeth Palas as the escort – twenty-five men who are loyal to the prince. And when Llew rides at the king’s side to the top of Bwlch Crug-Glas, it will be to betray the king and to hand him over to Ironfist!’
‘No!’
‘By my soul, yes!’ hissed D
era. ‘Once the king is in Ironfist’s hands, Llew ap Gelert will be crowned the puppet king of Powys, and will allow the Saxon armies to enter Brython – and our beloved land will be in Saxon thrall for a thousand years!’
Branwen jumped up, burning with hatred and anger for the faithless prince of Bras Mynydd. ‘So, it is as I thought,’ she cried. ‘This treaty between him and the king is all sham and pretence!’ She swept up her shield and drew her sword. ‘Let’s to his chamber and take the head from his neck while the opportunity is there!’
‘No!’ Dera’s voice was sharp. ‘He is surrounded by warriors. We would be cut down before we came close, no matter how fiercely we fought.’
‘Then we go to the king!’
‘Our word against Prince Llew’s?’ said Dera. ‘Cynon would not believe us.’
‘He will, by the Old Gods!’ growled Branwen. ‘I’ll see to that!’
‘I think not,’ insisted Dera. ‘Remember, he trusts Prince Llew – even to the point of making him overlord of all the armies of Powys.’ She rested her hands on Branwen’s shoulders. ‘Besides, he knows we hate the prince – he will think that we purpose the prince’s downfall for our own reasons.’ Branwen looked into Dera’s eyes, knowing she was speaking the truth. ‘I have a better plan, Branwen. A surer plan that will reveal Llew ap Gelert’s treachery in a way that cannot be refuted!’
‘Tell me.’
‘We two should depart Pengwern upon this moment,’ explained Dera.
‘We should go to Bwlch Crug-Glas and hide ourselves among the standing stones and await the coming of the king and Llew and Ironfist. They will be unarmed, as was agreed – but we shall keep our swords at the ready! And the moment that Prince Llew seeks to betray the king, we will rise and strike!’
‘By the Old Gods, I like that plan!’ said Branwen. ‘Three birds killed with but one stone! The king rescued, Llew ap Gelert exposed and, with luck, Ironfist run through with cold iron! But we should not go alone, Dera – we should take the others of the Gwyn Braw with us!’