Chapter Fourteen. S ee to him!” said Owain, looking downimpassively at the fallen man

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S ee to him!” said Owain, looking downimpassively at the fallen man. Gwion’s hands stirred andgroped feebly in the polished pebbles, faintly conscious of touchand texture. “He is not dead, have him away and tend him. Iwant no deaths, more than are already past saving.”

They made haste to do his bidding. Three of the front rank, andCuhelyn the first of them, ran to turn Gwion gently on his back, tofree his mouth and nostrils from the churned-up sand. They made alitter from lances and shields, and muffled him in cloaks to carryhim aside. And Brother Cadfael turned from the shore unnoticed, andfollowed the litter into the shelter of the dunes. What he had onhim by way of linen or salves was little enough, but better thannothing until they could get their wounded man to a bed and lessrough and ready care.

Owain looked down at the pool of blackening blood in the shingleat his feet, and up into Otir’s intent face.

“He is Cadwaladr’s man, sworn and loyal.Nevertheless, he did wrong. If he has cost you men, you have paidhim.” There were two of those who had followed Gwion lying inthe edge of the tide, lightly rocked by the advancing waves.

A third had got to his knees, and those beside him helped him tohis feet. He trailed blood from a gashed shoulder and arm, but hewas in no danger of death. Nor did Otir trouble to add to the tollthe three he had already put on board ship, to sail home forburial. Why waste breath in complaint to this prince whoacknowledged and deserved no blame for an act of folly?

“I hold you to terms,” he said, “such as weunderstood between us. No more, and no less. This is none of yourdoing, nor any choice of mine. They chose it, and what came of ithas been between them and me.”

“So be it!” said Owain. “And now, put up yourweapons and load your cattle, and go, more freely than you came,for you came without my knowledge or leave. And to your face I tellyou that if ever you touch here on my land again uninvited I willsweep you back into the sea. As for this time, take your fee and goin peace.”

“Then here I deliver your brother Cadwaladr,” saidOtir as coldly. “Into his own hands, not yours, for that wasnot in any bargain between you and me. He may go where he will, orstay, and make his own terms with you, my lord.” He turnedabout, to those of his men who still held Cadwaladr sick with gallbetween them. He had been made nothing, a useless stock, in amatter conducted all between other men, though he was at the heartand core of the whole conflict. He had been silent while other mendisposed of his person, his means and his honor, and that withmanifest distaste. He had no word to say now, but bit back thebitterness and anger that rose in his throat and seared his tongue,as his captors loosed him and stood well aside, opening the wayclear for him to depart. Stiffly he walked forward on to the shore,towards where his brother waited.

“Load your ships!” said Owain. “You have thisone day to leave my land.”

And he wheeled his horse and turned his back, pacing at adeliberate walk back towards his own camp. The ranks of his menclosed in orderly march and followed him, and the bruised anddraggled survivors of Gwion’s unblessed army took up theirdead and straggled after, leaving the trampled and bloodied beachclear of all but the drovers and their cattle, and Cadwaladr alone,aloof from all men, stalking in a black, forbidding cloud ofdisgust and humiliation after his brother.

In the nest of thick grass where they had laid him, Gwion openedhis eyes, and said in a fine thread of a voice, but quite clearly:“There is something I must tell Owain Gwynedd. I must go tohim.”

Cadfael was on his knees beside him, staunching with what linenhe had to hand, padded beneath thick folds of brychans, the bloodthat flowed irresistibly from a great wound in the youngman’s side, under the heart. Cuhelyn, kneeling withGwion’s head in his lap, had wiped away the foam of bloodfrom the open mouth and the sweat from the forehead already chilland livid with the unhurried approach of death. He looked up atCadfael, and said almost silently: “We must carry him back tothe camp. He is in earnest. He must go.”

“He is going nowhere in this world,” said Cadfael asquietly. “If we lift him, he will die between ourhands.”

Something resembling the palest and briefest of smiles, yetunquestionably a smile, touched Gwion’s parted lips. He said,in the muted tones they had used over him: “Then Owain mustcome to me. He has more time to spare than I have. He will come. Itis a thing he will wish to know, and no one else can tellhim.”

Cuhelyn drew back the tangle of black hair that lay damp onGwion’s brow, for fear it should discomfort him now, when allcomfort was being rapt away all too quickly. His hand was steadyand gentle. There was no hostility left. There was room for none.And in their opposed fashion they had been friends. The likenesswas still there, each of them peered into a mirror, a darkeningmirror and a marred image.

“I’ll ride after him. Be patient. He willcome.”

“Ride fast!” said Gwion, and shut his mouth upon thedistortion of the smile.

On his feet already, and with a hand stretched to hishorse’s bridle, Cuhelyn hesitated. “Not Cadwaladr?Should he come?”

“No,” said Gwion, and turned his face away in asharp convulsion of pain. Otir’s last defensive parry, nevermeant to kill, had struck out just as Owain thundered hisdispleasure and split the ranks apart, and Gwion had dropped hisleveled sword and his guard, and opened his flank to the steel. Nohelp for it now, it was done and could not be undone.

Cuhelyn was gone, in faithful haste, sending the sand sprayingfrom his horse’s hooves until he reached the upland meadowgrass and left the dunes behind. There was no one more likely tomake passionate haste to do Gwion’s errand than Cuhelyn, whofor a brief time had lost the ability to see in his opposite hisown face. That also was past.

Gwion lay with closed eyes, containing whatever pain he felt.Cadfael did not think it was great, he had already almost slippedout of its reach. Together they waited. Gwion lay very still, forstillness seemed to slow the bleeding and conserve the life in him,and life he needed for a while yet. Cadfael had water beside him inCuhelyn’s helmet, and bathed away the beads of sweat thatgathered on his patient’s forehead and lip, cold as dew.

From the shore there was no more clamor, only the briskexchanges of voices, and the stir of men moving about theirbusiness unhindered now and intent, and the lowing and occasionalbellowing of cattle as they were urged through the shallows and upthe ramps into the ships. A rough, uncomfortable voyage for them inthe deep wells amidships, but a few hours and they would be ongreen turf again, good grazing and sweet water.

“Will he come?” wondered Gwion, suddenlyanxious.

“He will come.”

He was coming already, in a moment more they heard the softthudding of hooves, and in from the shore came Owain Gwynedd, withCuhelyn at his back. They dismounted in silence, and Owain came tolook down at the young, spoiled body, not too closely yet, for feareven dulling ears should be sharp enough to overhear what was notmeant to be overheard.

“Can he live?”

Cadfael shook his head and made no other reply.

Owain dropped into the sand and leaned close.“Gwion… I am here. Spare to make many words, there isno need.”

Gwion’s black eyes, a little dazzled by the mounting sun,opened wide and knew him. Cadfael moistened the lips that openedwryly, and labored to articulate. “Yes, there is need. I havea thing I must say.”

“For peace between us two,” said Owain, “I sayagain, there is no need of words. But if you must, I amlistening.”

“Bledri ap Rhys…’ began Gwion, and paused todraw breath. “You require to know who killed him. Do not holdit against any other. I killed him.”

He waited, with resigned patience, for disbeliefrather than outcry, but neither came. Only a considering andaccepting silence that seemed to last a long while, and thenOwain’s voice, level and composed as ever, saying:“Why? He was of your own allegiance, my brother’sman.”

“So he had been,” said Gwion, and was shaken by alaugh that contorted his mouth and sent a thin trickle of bloodrunning down his jaw. Cadfael leaned and wiped it away. “Iwas glad when he came to Aber. I knew what my lord was about. Ilonged to join him, and I could and would have told him all I knewof your forces and movements. It was fair. I had told you I waswholly and for ever your brother’s man, you knew my mind. ButI could not go, I had given my word not to leave.”

“And had kept your word,” said Owain. “Sofar!”

“But Bledri had given no such word. He could go, as Icould not. So I told him all that I had learned in Aber, whatstrength you could raise, how soon you could be in Carnarvon,everything my lord Cadwaladr had to know for his defence. And Itook a horse from the stables before dark, while the gates wereopen, and tethered it among the trees for him. And like a fool Inever doubted but Bledri would be true to his salt. And he listenedto all, and never said word, letting me believe he was of mymind!”

“How did you hope to get him out of the llys, once thegates were closed?” asked Owain, as mildly as if hequestioned of some ordinary daily duty.

“There are ways… I was in Aber a long time. Noteveryone is always careful with keys. But in the waiting time hewas noting all things within your court, and he could count as wellas I, and weigh chances as sharply, while he so carried himself asto put all suspicion of his intent out of mind. What I thought washis intent!” Gwion said bitterly. His voice failed him for amoment, but he gathered his strength and resumed doggedly:“When I went to tell him it was time to go, and see himsafely away, he was naked in his bed. Without shame he told me hewas going nowhere, he was no such fool, having seen for himselfyour power and your numbers. He would lie safe in Aber and watchwhich way the wind blew, and if it blew for Owain Gwynedd, then hewas Owain’s man. I called to mind his fealty, and he laughedat me. And I struck him down,” said Gwion through baredteeth. “And then, since he would not, I knew if I was to keepfaith with Cadwaladr I must break faith with you, and go inBledri’s place. And since he had so turned his coat, I knewthat I must kill him, for to make his way with you he wouldcertainly betray me. And before he had his wits again I stabbed himto the heart.”

Some quivering tension in his body relaxed, and he drew andbreathed out a great sigh. He had done already almost all thattruth required of him. The rest was very little burden.

“I went to find the horse, and the horse was gone. Andthen the messenger came, and there was no more I could do.Everything was in vain. I had done murder for nothing! What it wasentrusted to me to do for Bledri ap Rhys, whom I killed, that Idid, for penance. And what came of it you know already. But it isjust!” he said, rather to himself than to any other, but theyheard it: “He died unshriven, and so must I.”

“That need not be,” said Owain with detachedcompassion.

“Bear with this world a little while longer, and my priestwill be here, for I sent word for him to come.”

“He will come late,” said Gwion, and closed hiseyes.

Nevertheless, he was still living when Owain’s chaplaincame in obedient haste to take a dying man’s last confessionand guide his failing tongue through his last act of contrition.Cadfael, in attendance to the end, doubted if the penitent heardthe words of the absolution, for after it was spoken there was noresponse, no quiver of the drained face or the arched lids thatveiled the black, intense eyes. Gwion had said his last word to theworld, and of what might come to pass in the world he was enteringhe had no great fear. He had lived long enough to rest assured ofthe absolution he most needed, Owain’s forbearance andforgiveness, never formally spoken, but freely given.

“Tomorrow,” said Brother Mark,“we must be on our way home. We have outstayed ourtime.”

They were standing together at the edge of the fields outsideOwain’s camp, looking out over the open sea. Here the duneswere only a narrow fringe of gold above the descent to the shore,and in subdued afternoon sunlight the sea stretched in cloudyblues, deepening far out into a clear green, and the long, drownedpeninsula of shoals shone pale through the water. In the deepchannels between, the Danish cargo ships were gradually dwindlinginto toy boats, dark upon the brightness, bearing out on a steadybreeze under sail, for their own Dublin shore. And beyond, thelighter longships, smaller still, drove eagerly for home.

The peril was past, Gwynedd delivered, debts paid, brothersbrought together again, if not yet reconciled. The affair mighthave turned out hugely bloodier and more destructive. Nevertheless,men had died.

Tomorrow, too, the camp at their backs would be dismantled ofits improvised defenses, the husbandman would come back to hisfarmhouse, bringing his beasts with him, and return imperturbablyto the care of his land and his stock, as his forebears had donetime after time, giving ground pliably for a while to maraudingenemies they knew they could outwait, outrun and outlast. TheWelsh, who left their expendable homesteads for the hills at theapproach of an enemy, left them only to return and rebuild.

The prince would take his muster back to Carnarvon, and thencedismiss those whose lands lay here in Arfon and Anglesey, beforegoing on to Aber. Rumor said he would suffer Cadwaladr to returnwith him, and those who knew them best added that Cadwaladr wouldsoon be restored to possession of some part, at least, of hislands. For in spite of all, Owain loved his younger brother, andcould not shut him out of his grace much longer.

“And Otir has his fee,” said Mark, pondering gainsand losses.

“It was promised.”

“I don’t grudge it. It might have cost farmore.”

And so it might, though two thousand marks could not buy backthe lives of Otir’s three young men, now being borne back toDublin for burial, nor those few of Gwion’s following pickedup dead from the surf, nor Bledri ap Rhys in his chill, calculatingfaithlessness, nor Gwion himself in his stark, destructive loyalty,the one as fatal as the other. Nor could all these lost this yearcall into life again Anarawd, dead last year in the south, atCadwaladr’s instigation, if not at his hands.

“Owain has sent a courier to Canon Meirion in Aber,”said Mark, “to put his mind at rest for his daughter. By thishe knows she is here safe enough, with her bridegroom. The princesent as soon as Ieuan brought her into camp last night.”

His tone, Cadfael thought, was carefully neutral, as though hestood aside and withheld judgement, viewing with equal detachmenttwo sides of a complex problem, and one that was not his tosolve.

“And how has she conducted herself here in these fewhours?” asked Cadfael. Mark might study to absent himselffrom all participation in these events, but he could not choose butobserve.

“She is altogether dutiful and quiet. She pleases Ieuan.She pleases the prince, for she is as a bride should be, submissiveand obedient. She was in terror, says Ieuan, when he snatched heraway out of the Danish camp. She is in no fear now.”

“I wonder,” said Cadfael, “if submissive andobedient is as Heledd should be. Have we ever known her to be so,since she came from Saint Asaph with us?”

“Much has happened since then,” said Mark,thoughtfully smiling. “It may be she has had enough ofventuring, and is not sorry to be settling down to a sensiblemarriage with a decent man. You have seen her. Have you seen anycause to doubt that she is content?”

And in truth Cadfael could not say that he had observed in herbearing any trace of discontent. Indeed, she went smilingly aboutthe work she found for herself, waited upon Ieuan serenely anddeftly, and continued to distil about her a kind of luster thatcould not come from an unhappy woman. Whatever was in her mind, andheld in reserve there with deep and glossy satisfaction, itcertainly did not disquiet or distress her. Heledd viewed the pathopening before her with unmistakable pleasure.

“Have you spoken with her?” asked Mark.

“There has been no occasion yet.”

“You may essay now, if you wish. She is coming thisway.”

Cadfael turned his head, and saw Heledd coming striding lightlyalong the crest of the ridge towards them, with purpose in herstep, and her face towards the north. Even when she halted besidethem, it was only for a moment, checked in flight like a birdhovering.

“Brother Cadfael, I’m glad to see you safe. The lastI knew of you was when they swept us apart, by the breach in thestockade.” She looked out across the sea, where the ships hadshrunk into black splinters upon scintillating water. All along theline of them her glance followed. She might have been countingthem. “They got off unhindered, then, with their silver andtheir cattle. Were you there to see?”

“I was,” said Cadfael.

They never did me offence,” she said, looking after theirdeparting fleet with a slight, remembering smile. “I wouldhave waved them away home, but Ieuan did not think it safe forme.”

“As well,” said Cadfael seriously, “for it wasnot entirely a peaceful departure. And where are you goingnow?”

She turned and looked at them full, and her eyes were wide andinnocent and the deep purple of irises. “I left something ofmine up there in the Danish camp,” she said. “I amgoing to find it.”

“And Ieuan lets you go?”

“I have leave,” she said. “They are all gonenow.”

They were all gone, and it was safe now to let his hard-wonbride return to the deserted dunes where she had been a prisonerfor a while, but never felt herself in bondage. They watched herresume her purposeful passage along the edge of the fields. Therewas barely a mile to go.

“You did not offer to go with her,” said Mark with asolemn face.

“I would not be so crass. But give her a fairstart,” said Cadfael reflectively, “and I think you andI might very well go after her.”

“You think,” said Mark, “we might be morewelcome company on the way back?”

“I doubt,” Cadfael admitted, “whether she iscoming back.”

Mark nodded his head by way of acknowledgement, unsurprised.“I had been wondering myself,” he said.

The tide was on the ebb, but not yet so low as toexpose the long, slender tongue of sand that stretched out like areaching hand and wrist towards the coast of Anglesey. It showedpale gold beneath the shallows, here and there a tuft of tenaciousgrass and soil breaking the surface. At the end of it, where theknuckles of the hand jutted in an outcrop of rock, the stunted saltbushes stood up like rough, crisp hair, their roots fringed withthe yellow of sand. Cadfael and Mark stood on the ridge above, andlooked down as they had looked once before, and upon the samerevelation. Repeated, it made clear all the times, all theevenings, when it had been repeated without witnesses. They evendrew back a little, so that the shape of them might be lessobtrusive on the skyline, if she should look up. But she did notlook up. She looked down into the clear water, palest green in theevening light, that reached almost to her knees, as she trod thenarrow golden path towards the seagirt throne of rock. She had herskirts, still frayed and soiled from travel and from living wild,gathered up in her hands, and she leaned to watch the cold, sweetwater quivering about her legs, and breaking their lissome outlinesinto a disembodied tremor, as though she floated rather than waded.She had pulled all the pins from her hair; it hung in a black,undulating cloud about her shoulders, hiding the oval face stoopedto watch her steps. She moved like a dancer, slowly, withlanguorous grace. For whatever tryst she had here she came early,and she knew it. But because there was no uncertainty, time was agrace, even waiting would be pleasure anticipated.

Here and there she halted, to be still, to let the water settleand be still around her feet, and then she would lean to watch thetremulous ardor of her face shimmering as each wave ebbed back intothe sea. A very gentle tide, with hardly any wind now. ButOtir’s ships under sail were more than halfway to Dublin bythis hour.

On the throne of rock she sat down, wringing the water from thehem of her gown, and looked across the sea, and waited, withoutimpatience, without doubts. Once, in this place, she had lookedimmeasurably lonely and forsaken, but that had been illusion, eventhen. Now she looked like one in serene possession of all that layabout her, dear companion to the sea and the sky. The orb of thesun was declining before her, due west, gilding her face andbody.

The little ship, lean and dark and sudden, came darting downfrom the north, surging out of the concealment of the risingshoreline beyond the sandy warrens across the strait. Somewhereup-coast it had lain waiting off Anglesey until the sunset hour.There had been, thought Cadfael, watching intently, no compact, nospoken tryst at all. They had had no time to exchange so much as aword when she was snatched away. There had been only the inwardassurance to keep them constant, that the ship would come, and thatshe would be there waiting. Body and blood, they had been superblysure, each of the other. No sooner had Heledd recovered her breathand accepted the fact of her innocent abduction than she had cometo terms with events, knowing how they must and would end. Why elsehad she gone so serenely about passing the waiting time, disarmingsuspicion, even putting herself out, who knows how ruefully, togive Ieuan ab Ifor some brief pleasure before he was to pay for itwith perpetual loss. In the end Canon Meirion’s daughter knewwhat she wanted, and was ruthless in pursuing it, since no oneamong her menfolk and masters showed any sign of helping her to herdesire.

Small, serpentine and unbelievably swift, oars driving as one,Turcaill’s dragon-ship swooped inshore, but held clear ofbeaching. It hung for a moment still, oars trailed, like a birdhovering, and Turcaill leaped over the side and came wadingwaist-deep towards the tiny island of rock. His flaxen hair shonealmost red in the crimson descent of the sun, a match for OwainGwynedd’s, as dominant and as fair. And Heledd, when theyturned their eyes again on her, had risen and walked into the sea.The tension of the ebbing tide drew her with it, skirts floating.Turcaill came up glistening out of the deeper water. They metmidway, and she walked into his arms, and was swung aloft againsthis heart. There was no great show, only a distant, brief peal ofmingled laughter rising on the air to the two who stood watching.No need for more, there had never been any doubt in either of thesesea creatures as to the inevitable ending.

Turcaill had turned his back, and was striding through the surfback to his ship, with Heledd in his arms, and the tide, recedingmore rapidly as the sun declined, gave back before him iniridescent fountains of spray, minor rainbows wreathing his nakedfeet. Lightly he hoisted the girl over the low side of his dragon,and swung himself after. And she, as soon as she had her footing,turned to him and embraced him. They heard her laughter, high andwild and sweet, thinner than a bird’s song at this distance,but piercing and clear as a carillon of bells.

All the long, sinuous bank of oars, suspended in air, dippedtogether. The little serpent heeled and sped, creaming spray, roundinto the clear passage between the sandy shoals, already showinggolden levels beneath the blue, but more than deep enough yet forthis speedy voyager. She sped away end-on, small and ever smaller,a leaf carried on an impetuous current, borne away to Ireland, toDublin of the Danish kings and the restless seafarers. And afitting mate Turcaill had carried away with him, and formidableprogeny they would breed between them to master these uneasy oceansin generations to come.

Canon Meirion need not fret that his daughter would everreappear to imperil his status with his bishop, his reputation orhis advancement. Love her as he might, and wish her well as heprobably did, he had desired heartily that she should enjoy hergood fortune elsewhere, out of sight if not out of mind. He had hiswish. Nor need he agonize, thought Cadfael, watching thatresplendent departure, over her happiness. She had what she wanted,a man of her own choosing. By that she would abide, wise or unwiseby her father’s measure. She measured by other means, and wasnot likely to suffer any regrets.

The small black speck, racing home, was barely visible as a dotof darkness upon a bright and glittering sea.

“They are gone,” said Brother Mark, and turned andsmiled. “And we may go, too.”

They had overstayed their time. Ten days at themost, Mark had said, and Brother Cadfael would be returned safe andsound to his herb garden and his proper work among the sick. Butperhaps Abbot Radulfus and Bishop de Clinton would regard thetruant days as well spent, considering the outcome. Even BishopGilbert might be highly content to keep his able and energeticcanon, and have Meirion’s inconvenient daughter safelyoversea, and his scandalous marriage forgotten. Everyone elseappeared well content to have so satisfactory a settlement of whatmight well have been a bloody business. What mattered now was toreturn to the level sanity of daily living, and allow old grudgesand animosities to fade gradually into the obscurity of the past.Yes, Cadwaladr would be restored, on probation, Owain could nottotally discard him. But not wholly restored, and not yet. Gwion,who by any measure had been the loser, would be decently buried,with no very great acknowledgement of his loyalty from the lord whohad bitterly disappointed him. Cuhelyn would remain here inGwynedd, and in time surely be glad that he had not had to domurder with his own hands to see Anarawd avenged, at least uponBledri ap Rhys. Princes, who can depute other hands to do theirless savory work for them, commonly escape all temporary judgments,but not the last.

And Ieuan ab Ifor would simply have to resign himself to losinga delusory image of a submissive wife, a creature Heledd couldnever become. He had barely seen or spoken with her, his heartcould scarcely be broken at losing her, however his dignity mightbe bruised. There were pleasant women in Anglesey who could consolehim, if he did but look about him here at home.

And she… she had what she wanted, and she was where shewanted to be, and not where others had found it convenient to placeher. Owain had laughed when he heard of it, though considerately hehad kept a grave face in Ieuan’s presence. And there was onemore waiting in Aber who would have the last word in the story ofHeledd.

The last word, when Canon Meirion had heard and digested thetale of his daughter’s choice, came after a deep-drawn breathof relief for her safety at least—or was it for his owndeliverance?

“Well, well!” said Meirion, knotting and unknottinghis long hands. “There is a sea between.” True, andthere was relief for both of them in that. But then he continued:“I shall never see her again!” and there was as much ofgrief in it as of satisfaction. Cadfael was always to be in twominds about Canon Meirion.

They came to the border of the shire in the earlyevening of the second day, and on the principle that it was as wellto be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, turned aside to pass the nightwith Hugh at Maesbury. The horses would be grateful for the rest,and Hugh would be glad to hear at first hand what had passed inGwynedd, and how the Norman bishop was rubbing along with his Welshflock. There was also the pleasure of spending a few placid hourswith Aline and Giles, in a domesticity all the more delightful tocontemplate because they had forsworn it for themselves, along withthe world outside the Order. Some such unguarded remark Cadfaelmade, sitting contentedly by Hugh’s hearth with Giles on hisknees. And Hugh laughed at him.

“You, forswear the world? And you just back fromgallivanting to the farthest western edge of Wales? If they manageto keep you within the pale for more than a month or two, evenafter this jaunt, it will be a marvel. I’ve known yourestless after a week of strict observance. Now and againI’ve wondered if some day you wouldn’t set out forSaint Giles, and end up in Jerusalem.”

“Oh, no, not that!” said Cadfael, with serenecertainty. “It’s true, now and again my feet itch forthe road.” He was looking deep into himself, where oldmemories survived, and remained, after their fashion, warming andsatisfying, but of the past, never to be repeated, no longerdesirable. “But when it comes down to it,” saidCadfael, with profound content, “as roads go, the road homeis as good as any.”

The End

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