Chapter Four. T he prince’s cortege mustered in the dawn,in a morning hesitant between sullenness and smiles

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T he prince’s cortege mustered in the dawn,in a morning hesitant between sullenness and smiles. There was themoisture of a brief shower on the grasses as Cadfael and Markcrossed to the church for prayer before saddling up, but the sunwas shimmering on the fine drops, and the sky above was the palestand clearest of blues, but for a few wisps of cloud to eastward,embracing the rising orb of light with stroking fingers. When theyemerged again into the courtyard it was already full of bustle andsound, the baggage horses being loaded, the brave city of tentsalong the hillside above folded and on the move, and even the frailfeathers of cloud dissolved into moist and scintillatingradiance.

Mark stood gazing before him with pleasure at the preparationsfor departure, his face flushed and bright, a child embarking on anadventure. Until this moment, Cadfael thought, he had not fullyrealised the possibilities, the fascinations, even the perils ofthe journey he had undertaken. To ride with princes was no morethan half the tale, somewhere there was a lurking threat, a hostilebrother, a prelate bent on reforming a way of life which in theminds of its population needed no reform. And who could guess whatmight happen between here and Bangor, between bishop and bishop,the stranger and the native?

“I spoke a word in the ear of Saint Winifred,” saidMark, flushing almost guiltily, as though he had appropriated apatroness who by rights belonged to Cadfael. “I thought wemust be very close to her here, it seemed only gracious to let herknow of our presence and our hopes, and ask herblessing.”

“If we deserve!” said Cadfael, though he had smalldoubt that so gentle and sensible a saint must look indulgentlyupon this wise innocent.

“Indeed! How far is it, Cadfael, from here to her holywell?”

“A matter of fourteen miles or so, due east ofus.”

“Is it true it never freezes? However hard thewinter?”

“It is true. No one has ever known it stilled, it bubblesalways in the centre.”

“And Gwytherin, where you took her from thegrave?”

“That lies as far south and west of us,” saidCadfael, and refrained from mentioning that he had also restoredher to her grave in that same place. “Never try to limither,” he advised cautiously. “She will be wherever youmay call upon her, and present and listening as soon as you cry outyour need.”

“That I never doubted,” said Mark simply, and wentwith a springy and hopeful step to put together his smallbelongings and saddle his glossy nutbrown gelding. Cadfael lingereda few moments to enjoy the bright bustle before him, and thenfollowed more sedately to the stables. Outside the walls of theenclave Owain’s guards and noblemen were already marshalling,their encampment vanished from the greensward, leaving behind onlythe paler, flattened patches which would soon spring back intolively green, and erase even the memory of their visitation. Withinthe wall grooms whistled and called, hooves stamped lively, muffledrhythms in the hard-packed earth, harness jingled, maidservantsshrilled to one another above the general babel of male voices, andthe faint dust of all this vigorous movement rose into the sunlightand shimmered in gilded mist overhead.

The company gathered as blithely as if they were going maying,and certainly so bright a morning invited to so pleasant a pastime.But there were certain graver reminders to be remarked as theymounted. Heledd made her appearance cloaked and ready, serene anddemure of countenance, but with Canon Meirion keeping close on oneside of her, with tight lips and downdrawn brows, and Canon Morganton the other, equally tightlipped but with brows arched intouncompromising severity, and sharp eyes dwelling alternately onfather and daughter, and with no very assured approval of either.And for all their precautions, at the last moment Bledri ap Rhysstepped between them and lifted the girl into the saddle with hisown large and potentially predatory hands, with a courtesy soelaborate that it glittered into insolence: and, worse, Heleddaccepted the service with as gracious an inclination of her head,and a cool, reserved smile, ambiguous between chaste reproof anddiscreet mischief. To take exception to the behaviour of eitherparty would have been folly, so well had both preserved theappearance of propriety, but both canons perceptibly beheld theincident with raised hackles and darkening frowns if they kepttheir mouths shut.

Nor was that the only sudden cloud in this clear sky, forCuhelyn, appearing already mounted in the gateway, too late to haveobserved any present cause for offence, sat his horse with drawnbrows, while his intent eyes ranged the entire company within untilhe found Bledri, and there settled and brooded, a long-memoried manof intense passions, measuring an enemy. It seemed to Cadfael,surveying the scene with a thoughtful eye, that there would be aconsiderable weight of ill will and not a few grudges among therich baggage of this princely party.

The bishop came down into the courtyard to take leave of hisroyal guests. This first encounter had passed off successfullyenough, considering the strain he had put upon it by invitingCadwaladr’s envoy into conference. He was not so insensitivethat he had not felt the momentary tension and displeasure, and nodoubt he was drawing relieved breath now at having survived thedanger. Whether he had the humility to realize that he owed it tothe prince’s forbearance was another matter, Cadfaelreflected. And here came Owain side by side with his host, andHywel at his back. At his coming the whole bright cortege quiveredinto expectant life, and as he reached for bridle and stirrup, sodid they all. Too tall for me, eh, Hugh? Cadfael thought, swingingaloft into the roan’s high saddle, with a buoyancy that sethim up in a very gratifying conceit of himself. I’ll show youwhether I have lost my appetite for travel and forgotten everythingI learned in the east before ever you were born.

And they were away, out of the wide-open gate and headingwestward after the prince’s lofty fair head, uncovered to themorning sun. The bishop’s household stood to watch themdepart, warily content with one diplomatic encounter successfullyaccomplished. Such threats as lingered uneasily from lastnight’s exchanges cast their shadows on these departingguests. Bishop Gilbert, if he had believed in them at all, couldlet them withdraw unchallenged, for they were no threat to him.

As those within the enclave emerged into the green trackwithout, Owain’s officers from the encampment fell into neatorder about them, lining either flank, and Cadfael observed withinterest but without surprise that there were archers among them,and two keeping their station a few yards behind Bledri apRhys’s left shoulder. Given this particular guest’sundoubted quickness of perception, he was equally aware of them,and just as clearly he had no objection to their presence, for inthe first mile he did not let it inhibit him from changing hisposition two or three times to speak a civil word in CanonMorgant’s ear, or exchange courtesies with Hywel ab Owain,riding close at his father’s back. But he did not make anymove to edge his way through the attendant file of guards. If theywere keeping him in mind of his virtual captivity, so was he benton assuring them that he was perfectly content, and had nointention of attempting to remove himself. Indeed, once or twice helooked to left and right to take the measure of the prince’sunobtrusive efficiency, and seemed not unfavorably impressed bywhat he saw.

All of which was of considerable interest to an inquisitive man,even if at this stage it remained undecipherable. Put it away atthe back of the mind, along with everything else of oddity value inthis expedition, and the time would come when its meaning would berevealed. Meantime, here was Mark, silent and happy at his elbow,the road westward before him, and the sun bright on Owain’spennant of bright hair at the head of the column. What more couldany man ask on a fine May morning?

They did not, as Mark had expected, bear somewhatnorthwards towards the sea, but made due west, over softly rollinghills and through well-treed valleys, by green trails sometimesclearly marked, sometimes less defined, but markedly keeping adirect line uphill and down alike, here where the lie of the landwas open and the gradients gentle enough for pleasant riding.

“An old, old road,” said Cadfael. “It startsfrom Chester, and makes straight for the head of Conwy’stidal water, where once, they say, there was a fort the like ofChester. At low tide, if you know the sands, you can ford the riverthere, but with the tide boats can ply some way beyond.”

“And after the river crossing?” asked Mark,attentive and glowing.

“Then we climb. To look westward from there, you’dthink no track could possibly pass, but pass it does, up and overthe mountains, and down at last to the sea. Have you ever seen thesea?”

“No. How could I? Until I joined the bishop’shousehold I had never been out of the shire, not even ten milesfrom where I was born.” He was straining his eyes ahead as herode now, with longing and delight, thirsty for all that he hadnever seen. “The sea must be a great wonder,” he saidon a hushed breath.

“A good friend and a bad enemy,” said Cadfael,beckoned back into old memories. “Respect it, and it will dowell by you, but never take liberties.”

The prince had set a steady, easy pace that could be maintainedmile by mile in this undulating countryside, green and lush,patterned with hamlets in the valleys, cottages and church snuglyhuddled together, the fringe of cultivable fields a woven tapestryround them, and here and there solitary, scattered throughout thetref, the households of the free landowners, and no less solitary,somewhere among them, their parish church.

“These men live lonely,” said Mark, taking in thedistinction with some wonder.

“These are the freeborn men of the tribe. They own theirland, but not to do as they please with it, it descends by strictlaw of inheritance within the family. The villein villages till thesoil among them, and pay their communal dues together, though everyman has his dwelling and his cattle and his fair share of the land.We make sure of that by overseeing the distribution every so often.As soon as sons grow to be men they have their portion at the nextaccounting.”

“So no one there can inherit,” Mark deducedreasonably.

“None but the youngest son, the last to grow into aportion of his own. He inherits his father’s portion anddwelling. His elder brothers by then will have taken wives andbuilt houses of their own.” It seemed to Cadfael, andapparently to Mark also, a fair, if rough and ready, means ofassuring every man a living and a place in which to live, a fairshare of the work and a fair share of the profit of the land.

“And you?” asked Mark. “Was this where youbelonged?”

“Belonged and could not belong,” Cadfaelacknowledged, looking back with some surprise at his own origins.“Yes, I was born in just such a villein tref, and coming upto my fourteenth birthday and a slip of land of my own. And wouldyou believe it now?—I did not want it! Good Welsh earth, andI felt nothing for it. When the wool merchant from Shrewsbury tooka liking to me, and offered me work that would give me license tosee at least a few more miles of the world, I jumped at that opendoor as I’ve jumped at most others that ever came my way. Ihad a younger brother, better content to sit on one strip of earthlifelong. I was for off, as far as the road would take me, and ittook me half across the world before I understood. Life goes not ina straight line, lad, but in a circle. The first half we spendventuring as far as the world’s end from home and kin andstillness, and the latter half brings us back by roundabout waysbut surely, to that state from which we set out. So I end bound byvow to one narrow place, but for the rare chance of going forth onthe business of my house, and laboring at a small patch of earth,and in the company of my closest kin. And content,” saidCadfael, drawing satisfied breath.

They came over the crest of a high ridge before noon, and therebelow them the valley of the Conwy opened, and beyond, the groundrose at first gently and suavely, but above these green levelsthere towered in the distance the enormous bastions of Eryri,soaring to polished steel peaks against the pale blue of the sky.The river was a winding silver thread, twining a tortuous coursethrough and over shoals of tidal mud and sand on its way northwardto the sea, its waters at this hour so spread and diminished thatit could be forded without difficulty. And after the crossing, asCadfael had warned, they climbed.

The first few green and sunny miles gave way to a rising trackthat kept company with a little tributary river, mounting steeplyuntil the trees fell behind, and they emerged gradually into alofty world of moorland, furze and heather, open and naked as thesky. No plough had ever broken the soil here, there was no visiblemovement but the ruffling of the sudden wind among the gorse andlow bushes, no inhabitants but the birds that shot up from beforethe foremost riders, and the hawks that hung almost motionless,high in air. And yet across this desolate but beautiful wildernessmarched a perceptible causeway laid with stones and cushioned withrough grass, raised clear of the occasional marshy places,straddling the shallow pools of peat-brown water, making straightfor the lofty wall of honed rock that seemed to Brother Markutterly impenetrable. In places where the firm rock broke throughthe soil and gave solid footing, the raised sarn remained visibleas a trodden pathway needing no ramp of stones, but alwaysmaintained its undeviating line ahead.

“Giants made this,” said Brother Mark in awe.

“Men made it,” said Cadfael. It was wide where itwas clearly to be seen, wide enough for a column of men marchingsix abreast, though horsemen had to ride no more than three inline, and Owain’s archers, who knew this territory well, drewoff on either flank and left the paved way to the company theyguarded. A road, Cadfael thought, made not for pleasure, not forhawking or hunting, but as a means of moving a great number of menfrom one stronghold to another as quickly as possible. It tooksmall count of gradients, but set its sights straight ahead,deviating only where that headlong line was rankly impossible tomaintain, and then only until the obstacle was passed.

“But through that sheer wall,” Mark marveled,staring ahead at the barrier of the mountains, “surely wecannot go.”

“Yes, you will find there’s a gate through, narrowbut wide enough, at the pass of Bwlch y Ddeufaen. We thread throughthose hills, keep this high level three or four more miles, andafter that we begin to descend.”

“Towards the sea?”

“Towards the sea,” said Cadfael.

They came to the first decline, the firstsheltered valley of bushes and trees, and in the heart of itbubbled a spring that became a lively brook, and accompanied themdownhill gradually towards the coast. They had long left behind therivulets that flowed eastward towards the Conwy; here the streamssprang sparkling into short, precipitous lives, and made headlongfor the sea. And down with this most diminutive of its kind wentthe track, raised to a firm level above the water, at the edge ofthe cleft of trees. The descent became more gradual, the brookturned somewhat away from the path, and suddenly the view openedwide before them, and there indeed was the sea.

Immediately below them a village lay in its patterned fields,beyond it narrow meadowland melting into salt flats and shingle,and then the wide expanse of sea, and beyond that again, distantbut clear in the late afternoon light, the coast of Angleseystretched out northward, to end in the tiny island of Ynys Lanog.From the shore towards which they moved the shallow water shimmeredpale gold overlaid with aquamarine, almost as far as the eye coulddistinguish color, for Lavan Sands extended the greater part of theway to the island shore, and only there in the distance did the seadarken into the pure, greenish blue of the deep channel. At thesight of this wonder about which he had dreamed and speculated allday long, Mark checked his horse for a moment, and sat staring withflushed cheeks and bright eyes, enchanted by the beauty anddiversity of the world.

It happened that Cadfael turned his head to see where someoneelse had reined in at the same moment, perhaps in the same raptdelight. Between her two guardian canons Heledd had checked and satstaring before her, but her sights were raised beyond the crystaland gold of the shallows, beyond the cobalt channel to the distantshore of Anglesey, and her lips were austerely drawn, and her browslevel and unrevealing. She looked towards her bridegroom’sland, the man against whom she knew nothing, of whom she had heardnothing but good; she saw marriage advancing upon her all toorapidly, and there was such a baffled and resentful sadness in herface, and such an obstinate rejection of her fate, that Cadfaelmarveled no one else felt her burning outrage, and turned in alarmto find the source of this intense disquiet.

Then as suddenly as she had halted she shook the rein, and sether horse to an impatient trot downhill, leaving her black-habitedescort behind, and threaded a way deeper into the cavalcade toshake them off at least for a few rebellious moments.

Watching her vehement passage through the ranks of theprince’s retinue, Cadfael absolved her of any deliberateintent in drawing close alongside Bledri’s mount. He wassimply there in her way, in a moment she would have passed by him.But there was intent enough in the opportunist alacrity with whichBledri reached a hand to her bridle, and checked her passage kneeto knee with him, and in the intimate, assured smile he turned uponher as she yielded to the persuasion. There was, Cadfael thought,one instant when she almost shook him off, almost curled her lipwith the tolerant mockery which was all she truly felt for him.Then with perverse deliberation she smiled at him, and consented tofall in beside him, in no hurry to free herself of the muscularhand that detained her. They rode on together in apparent amity,with matched pace and in easy talk together. The rear view of themsuggested to Cadfael nothing more than a continuation of a somewhatmalicious but enjoyable game on both parts, but when he turned hishead cautiously to see what effect the incident had had upon thetwo canons of Saint Asaph it was all too plain that to them itimplied something very different. If Meirion’s drawn browsand rigid lips threatened storms towards Heledd and rage towardsBledri ap Rhys, equally they were stiff with apprehension of whatmust be going on behind the controlled but ominous rectitude ofMorgant’s fleshy countenance.

Ah, well! Two days more, and it should be over. They would besafely in Bangor, the bridegroom would cross the strait to meetthem, and Heledd would be rapt away to that mist-blue shore beyondthe faint gold and ice-blue of Lavan Sands. And Canon Meirion coulddraw breath in peace at last.

They came down to the rim of the salt flats andturned westward, with the quivering plane of the shallowsreflecting glittering light on their right hand, and the green offield and copse on the left, rising terrace beyond terrace into thehills. Once or twice they plashed through tenuous streams tricklingdown through the salt marshes to the sea. And within the hour theywere riding alongside the high stockade of Owain’s royal seatand tref of Aber, and the porters and guards at the gates had seenthe shimmer of their colors nearing, and cried their comingwithin.

From all the buildings that lined the walls of the great courtof Owain’s maenol, from stables and armoury and hall, and thearray of guest dwellings, the household came surging to welcome theprince home, and make his visitors welcome. Grooms ran to receivethe horses, squires came with pitchers and horns. Hywel ab Owain,who had distributed his hospitable attentions punctiliously duringthe journey, moving from rider to rider with civilities as hisfather’s representative, and no doubt taking due note of allthe undercurrents that drew taut between them, with hisfather’s interests in mind, was the first out of the saddle,and went straight to take the prince’s bridle, in an elegantgesture of filial respect, before ceding the charge to the waitinggroom, and going to kiss the hand of the lady who had come out fromthe timber hall to welcome her lord home. Not his own mother! Thetwo young boys who came leaping down the steps from the hall doorafter her were hers, lithe dark imps of about ten and seven years,shrilling with excitement and with a flurry of dogs wreathing roundtheir feet. Owain’s wife was daughter to a prince ofArwystli, in central Wales, and her lively sons had her richcolouring. But an older youth, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, followedthem more circumspectly down the steps, and came with authority andconfidence straight to Owain, and was embraced with an affectionthere was no mistaking. This one had his father’s fair hairdeepened into pure gold, and his father’s impressive malecomeliness refined into a startling beauty. Tall, erect, with anathlete’s grace of movement, he could not emerge into anycompany without being noticed, and even at a distance the brilliantnorthern blue of his eyes was as clear as if an inner sun shonethrough crystals of sapphire. Brother Mark saw him, and held hisbreath.

“ His son?” he said in an awed whisper.

“But not hers,” said Cadfael. “Another likeHywel.”

“There cannot be many such in this world,” saidMark, staring. Beauty in others he observed with a particular,ungrudging delight, having always felt himself to be the plainestand most insignificant of mortals.

“There is but one such, lad, as you know full well, forthere is but one of any man that ever lived, black or fair, Andyet,” owned Cadfael, reconsidering the uniqueness of thephysical envelope if not of the inhabiting soul, “we go closeto duplicating this one, there at home in Shrewsbury. Theboy’s name is Rhun. You might look at our Brother Rhun, sinceSaint Winifred perfected him, and think one or the other amiraculous echo.”

Even to the name! And surely, thought Mark, recalling withpleasure the youngest of those who had been his brothers inShrewsbury, this is how the pattern of a prince, the son of aprince, should look—and no less, a saint, the protege of asaint. All radiance and clarity, all openness and serenity in theface. No wonder his father, recognizing a prodigy, loves him betterthan all others.

“I wonder,” said Cadfael half to himself,unwittingly casting a shadow athwart Mark’s contemplation oflight, “how her two will look upon him, whenthey’re all grown.”

“It is impossible,” Mark said firmly, “thatthey should ever wish him harm, even if land-greed and power-greedhave sometimes turned brothers into enemies. This youth no onecould hate.”

Close at his shoulder a cool, dry voice observed ruefully:“Brother, I envy your certainty, but I would not for theworld share it, the fall is too mortal. There is no one who cannotbe hated, against whatever odds. Nor anyone who cannot be loved,against all reason.”

Cuhelyn had approached them unnoticed, threading a way throughthe stir of men and horses, hounds and servants and children. Forall his black intensity, he was a very quiet man, unobtrusive inall his comings and goings. Cadfael turned in response to theunexpected observation, just in time to see the intent glance ofthe young man’s shrewd eyes, presently fastened with a wry,indulgent warmth upon the boy Rhun, sharpen and chill as anotherfigure passed between, and follow the transit with a fixity thatsuggested to Cadfael, at first, nothing more than detachedinterest, and in a matter of seconds froze into composed butindubitable hostility. Perhaps even more than hostility, a measureof restrained but implacable suspicion.

A young man of about Cuhelyn’s years, and by no meansunlike him in build and colouring, though thinner in feature andsomewhat longer in the reach, had been standing a little apart,watching the bustle all round him, his arms folded and hisshoulders leaned against the wall of the undercroft, as though thistumultuous arrival concerned him rather less than the rest of thehousehold. From this detached stance he had moved suddenly,crossing between Cuhelyn and the linked pair, father and son, andcutting off the view of Rhun’s radiant face. Something to beseen here certainly mattered to this young man, after all, someonehad been sighted who meant more to him than clerics from SaintAsaph or the young noblemen of Owain’s guard. Cadfaelfollowed his vehement passage through the press, and saw him takeone dismounting horseman by the sleeve. The very touch, the veryencounter, that had drawn taut all the lines of Cuhelyn’scountenance. Bledri ap Rhys swung about, face to face with theyouth who accosted him, visibly recognized an acquaintance, andguardedly acknowledged him. No very exuberant welcome, but on bothparts there was one momentary flash of warmth and awareness, beforeBledri made his visage formally blank, and the boy accepted thesuggestion, and began what seemed to be the most current of courtcivilities. No need, apparently, to pretend they did not know eachother well enough, but every need to keep the acquaintance onmerely courteous terms.

Cadfael looked along his shoulder, and briefly, atCuhelyn’s face, and asked simply: “Gwion?”

“Gwion!”

“They were close? These two?”

“No. No closer than two must be who hold by the samelord.”

“That might be close enough for mischief,” saidCadfael bluntly. “As you told me, your man has given his wordnot to attempt escape. He has not pledged himself to give up hisallegiance beyond that.”

“Natural enough he should welcome the sight of anotherliegeman,” said Cuhelyn steadily. “His word he willkeep. As for Bledri ap Rhys, the terms of his sojourn with us, I will see kept.” He shook himself briefly, and tookeach of them by an arm. The prince and his wife and sons wereclimbing the steps into the hall, the closest of their householdfollowing without haste. “Come, Brothers, and let me be yourherald here. I’ll bring you to your lodging, and show you thechapel. Use it as you find occasion, and the prince’schaplain will make himself known to you.”

In the privacy of the lodging allotted to them,backed into the shelter of the maenol wall, Brother Mark satrefreshed and thoughtful, looking back with wide grey eyes at allthat had passed during this arrival in Aber. And at length he said:“What most caused me to watch and wonder, was how like theywere, those two—the young liegemen of Anarawd and ofCadwaladr. It is no mere matter of the same years, the same mannerof body, the same make of face, it is the same passion within them.In Wales, Cadfael, this is another fashion of loyalty even than thebond the Normans hold by, or so it seems to me. They are onopposing sides, your Cuhelyn and this Gwion, and they could bebrothers.”

“And as brothers should, and by times do not, they respectand like each other. Which would not prevent them from killing eachother,” Cadfael admitted, “if ever it came to a clashbetween their lords in the field.”

“That is what I feel to be so wrong,” said Markearnestly. “How could either young man look at the other, andnot see himself? All the more now that they have lived together inthe same court, and admitted affection?”

“They are like twins, the one born left-handed, the otherright-handed, at once doubles and opposites. They could killwithout malice, and die without malice. God forbid,” saidCadfael, “it should ever come to that. But one thing iscertain. Cuhelyn will be watching every moment his mirror imagebrushes sleeves with Bledri ap Rhys, and marking every word thatpasses between them, and every glance. For I think he knowssomewhat more of Cadwaladr’s chosen envoy than he has yettold us.”

At supper in Owain’s hall there was goodfood and plenteous mead and ale, and harp music of the best. Hywelab Owain sang, improvising upon the beauty of Gwynedd and thesplendour of her history, and Cadfael’s recalcitrant heartshed its habit for a half-hour, and followed the verses far intothe mountains inland of Aber, and across the pale mirror of LavanSands to the royal burial-place of Llanfaes on Anglesey. In youthhis adventurings had all looked eastward, now in his elder yearseyes and heart turned westward. All heavens, all sanctuaries of theblessed lie to westward, in every legend and every imagination, atleast for men of Celtic stock; a suitable meditation for old men.Yet here in the royal llys of Gwynedd Cadfael did not feel old.

Nor did it seem that his senses were in the least dulled orblunted, even as he rejoiced in his dreams, for he was sharp enoughto detect the moment when Bledri ap Rhys slid an arm aboutHeledd’s waist as she served him with mead. Nor did he missthe icy rigidity of Canon Meirion’s face at the sight, or thedeliberation with which Heledd, well aware of the same maledictorystare, forbore from freeing herself immediately, and said a smilingword in Bledri’s ear, which might as well have been a curseas a compliment, though there was no doubt how her fatherinterpreted it. Well, if the girl was playing with fire, whosefault was that? She had lived with her sire many loyal, lovingyears, he should have known her better, well enough to trust her.For Bledri ap Rhys she had no use at all but to take out hergrievance on the father who was in such haste to get rid ofher.

Nor did it appear, on reflection, that Bledri ap Rhys wasseriously interested in Heledd. He made the gesture of admirationand courtship almost absentmindedly, as though by custom it wasexpected of him, and though he accompanied it with a smilingcompliment, he let her go the moment she drew away, and his gazewent back to a certain young man sitting among the noblemen of theguard at a lower table. Gwion, the last obstinate hostage, whowould not forswear his absolute fealty to Cadwaladr, sat silentamong his peers, and enemies, some of whom, like Cuhelyn, hadbecome his friends. Throughout the feast he kept his own counsel,and guarded his thoughts, and even his eyes. But whenever he lookedup at the high table, it was upon Bledri ap Rhys that his glancerested, and twice at least Cadfael saw them exchange a brief andbrilliant stare, such as allies might venture to convey worlds ofmeaning where open speech was impossible.

Those two will somehow get together in private, Cadfael thought,before this night is out. And for what purpose? It is not Bledriwho so passionately seeks a meeting, though he has been at libertyand is suspect of having some secret matter to impart. No, it isGwion who wants, demands, relies upon reaching Bledri’s ear.It is Gwion who has some deep and urgent purpose that needs an allyto reach fulfilment. Gwion who has given his word not to leaveOwain’s easy captivity. As Bledri ap Rhys has not done.

Well, Cuhelyn had vouched for Gwion’s good faith, andpledged a constant watch upon Bledri. But it seemed to Cadfael thatthe llys was large enough and complex enough to provide him with adifficult watch, if those two were resolved to elude him.

The lady had remained with her children in private, and had notdined in hall, and the prince also withdrew to his own apartmentsearly, having been some days absent from his family. He took hismost beloved son with him, and left Hywel to preside until hisguests chose to retire. With every man now free to change hisplace, or go out to walk in the fresh air of the late evening,there was considerable movement in the hall, and in the noise ofmany conversations and the music of the harpers, in the smoke ofthe torches and the obscurity of the shadowy corners, who was tokeep a steady eye upon one man among so many? Cadfael marked thedeparture of Gwion from among the young men of the household, butstill Bledri ap Rhys sat in his modest place towards the foot ofthe high table, serenely enjoying his mead—but in moderation,Cadfael noted—and narrowly observing everything that passedabout him. He appeared to be cautiously impressed by the strengthand strict order of the royal household, and the numbers,discipline and confidence of the young men of the guard.

“I think,” said Brother Mark softly intoCadfael’s ear, “we might have the chapel to ourselvesif we go now.”

It was about the hour of Compline. Brother Mark would not restif he neglected the office. Cadfael rose and went with him, outfrom the doorway of the great hall into the cool and freshness ofthe night, and across the inner ward to the timber chapel againstthe outer wall. It was not yet fully dark nor very late, thedetermined drinkers still in hall would not end their gatheringyet, but in the shadowy passages between the buildings of themaenol those who had duties about the place moved without haste,and quietly, going about their usual tasks in the easy languor ofthe end of a long and satisfactory day.

They were still some yards from the door of the chapel when aman emerged from it, and turned along the row of lodgings thatlined the wall of the ward, to disappear into one of the narrowpassages behind the great hall. He did not pass them close, and hemight have been any one of the taller and elder of the frequentersof Owain’s court. He was in no haste, but going tranquillyand a little wearily to his night’s rest, yet Cadfael’smind was so persistently running upon Bledri ap Rhys that he wasvirtually certain of the man’s identity, even in thedeepening dusk.

He was quite certain when they entered the chapel, dimly lit bythe rosy eye of the constant lamp on the altar, and beheld theshadowy outline of a man kneeling a little aside from the smallpool of light. He was not immediately aware of them, or at leastseemed not to be, though they had entered without any great care topreserve silence; and when they checked and hung back in stillnessto avoid interrupting his prayers he gave no sign, but continuedbowed and preoccupied, his face in shadow. At length he stirred,sighed and rose to his feet, and passing them by on his way out,without surprise, he gave them: “Goodnight, Brothers!”in a low voice. The small red eye of the altar lamp drew hisprofile on the air clearly, but only for a moment; long enough,however, to show plainly the young, intense, brooding features ofGwion.

Compline was long over, and midnight past, andthey were peacefully asleep in their small, shared lodging, whenthe alarm came. The first signs, sudden clamour at the main gate ofthe maenol, the muted thudding of hooves entering, the agitatedexchange of voices between rider and guard, passed dreamlike anddistant through Cadfael’s senses without breaking his sleep,but Mark’s younger ear, and mind hypersensitive to theexcitement of the day, started him awake even before the murmur ofvoices rose into loud orders, and the men of the household began togather in the ward, prompt but drowsy from the rushes of the halland the many lodgings of the maenol. Then what was left of thenight’s repose was shattered brazenly by the blasting of ahorn, and Cadfael rolled from his brychan on to his feet,wide-awake and braced for action.

“What’s afoot?”

“Someone rode in. In a hurry! Only onehorseman!”

“They would not rouse the court for a little thing,”said Cadfael, clawing on his sandals and making for the door. Thehorn blared again, echoes ricocheting between the buildings of theprince’s llys, and blunting their sharp edges against walls.In the open ward the young men came thronging in arms to the call,and the hum of many voices, still pitched low in awe of the night,swelled into a wordless, muted bellowing like a stormy tideflowing. From every open doorway a thread of light from hastilykindled lamps and candles spilled into the dark, conjuring here andthere a recognizable face out of the crowd. A jaded horse,hard-ridden, was being led with drooping head towards the stables,and his rider, heedless of the many hands that reached to arresthim and the many voices that questioned, was thrusting a waythrough the press towards the great hall. He had barely reached thefoot of the steps when the door above him opened, and Owain in hisfurred bed-gown came out, large and dark against the light fromwithin, the squire who had run to arouse him with news of thecoming close at his shoulder.

“Here am I,” said the prince, loud and clear andwide awake. “Who’s come wanting me?” As he movedforward to the edge of the steps the light from within fell uponthe messenger’s face, and Owain knew him. “You, is it,Goronwy? From Bangor? What’s your news?”

The messenger scarcely took time to bend his knee. He was knownand trusted, and ceremony was waste of precious moments. “Mylord, early this evening one came with word from Carnarvon, and Ihave brought that word here to you as fast as horse can go. AboutVespers they sighted ships westward off Abermenai, a great fleet inwar order. The seamen say they are Danish ships from the kingdom ofDublin, come to raid Gwynedd and force your hand. And thatCadwaladr, your brother, is with them! He has brought them over toavenge and restore him, in your despite. The fealty he could notkeep for love he has bought with promised gold.”

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