The Dark Age (19 page)

Alone now, Maelgwn was enfolded by the darkness and he lost all concept of time; was his period of reflection nearly over or just beginning?

These trance states of fasting and isolation had been a part of Maelgwn's childhood tuition, and he had found them similar to Tory's meditation. The discipline brought about a greater level of consciousness by enabling him to access other realms of awareness. Taliesin had taught him, as a young boy, that all mystical paths can only be experienced when one can suspend normal awareness and rational thought. An empty mind allows an alternative level of transpersonal experience.

As part of the traditional inauguration, the Prince was given a mild hallucinatory drink. Taliesin explained it to be, ‘An inspiring drink, aged over five brewing cauldrons.' This brew of kings was intended for the main part of the ceremony, when the Prince would emerge from his reflections to face the Otherworld spirits who would name his quest and final judgement.

Only a few select descendants of Cunedda had undergone such an inauguration and amongst the number was Ambrosius. Ambrosius Aurelianus was descended from a warrior's son granted charge of land around Gwent Is Coed, where Aurelius Caninus now ruled. This lineage had since turned to the Roman faith, however, thus improving its trade relations with the main continent. The other ruler in Prydyn at this time
was Vortipor, in Dyfed. Of Scottic (Irish) blood, Vortipor had been born in Britain and at one time had secured the support of Rome to seize his kingdom. Known as the Usurper of Dyfed, Vortipor also carried the title of ‘Protector' and his dynasty was known as the Desi clan. He was of the native faith by birth, but he hadn't descended from the same great liturgy of kings as had Maelgwn. The Prince's predecessors, while inhabiting and ruling Prydyn, had created its Otherworld legends. No doubt the Desi had brought with them from Scotia (Ireland) their own legends and names for their Otherworld ancestors and deities. Chiglas in Powys, although of the native faith and a great great grandson of Cunedda, maintained no real spiritual understanding of the ways of his ancient forefathers. He knew the legends and teachings as well as any British king, yet he observed the festivals and rites of his people mainly for the sake of celebrations. His bards were foolish men who had failed to give him any real evidence of Otherworld support.

‘There art three main prerequisites thee must have to be a king,' the Prince recalled Taliesin saying to him. ‘The ability to rise above inevitable setbacks. To adjust the views thee may hold true in the light of new evidence. And most important of all, one must adhere firmly to that which one knows deep inside to be right and just, for true wisdom and awareness come from the realisation that one knows very little, compared with all there be to learn and know.'

And wisdom be not synonymous with knowledge
, Maelgwn resolved.

The Prince became comfortably numb as the hours passed, yet every now and then he was sure he felt something stroke against his skin. Maelgwn remained motionless and without fear, for no one could have found him without the High Merlin's consent. Through the darkness, he heard soft humming voices, whispering and chattering; the same sweet, high-pitched sound that the Prince knew to be synonymous with the Tylwyth Teg or fairy folk.

Maelgwn hadn't considered their interest in him, even though it was common knowledge that the fairy folk inhabited Gwynedd in vast numbers. This partly explained his dynasty's great wealth, which came primarily from the livestock and abundant crops harvested each year from the farmlands of Gwynedd. Of course, the fairy folk be eager to see me resume the old ways, Maelgwn realised, so as to ensure they art not driven from here, as they have been from other kingdoms in Britain. Knowing this, the Prince didn't object to them painting his skin for the initiation. It was, no doubt, for luck and part of the sacred tradition of his forefathers.

 

The ladies and Bryce had completed their second full day of training and Tory's two newest students were already showing great promise. Dedication and willpower were essential for mastering these techniques, and Ione and Bryce had both in abundance.

Lady Gladys was besotted with Bryce, seeing in him her long-since grown babe. Here stood her own dear grandson. Whether Calin cared to admit to the
infidelity or not was of no consequence to her, the Brockwell traits were unquestionable. As the child's grandmother, Lady Gladys had the legal right to claim Bryce, in her husband's name, as her own. If Calin chose not to recognise the boy, she would. Thus Bryce became Calin's brother and was granted his rightful title of Earl.

 

Tory stood in the doorway and watched as a storm cut its way across the heavens. The brilliant spectacle had been menacing the night sky for hours — booming thunder threatened to bring rain, yet not one drop fell. The locals said this was because it was the night of judgement for the initiate, and the performance of the ancient rites was evoking the spirits. Rain would mean that the Prince had been denied any right to his claim of king. If the storm cleared without a drop, he'd been found worthy by his forefathers and had set out upon the task they'd given him, which he was required to complete by the wedding date.

‘Why did we not elope?' Tory wondered out loud, not noticing Drusilla who had come to collect her dinner tray.

Drusilla, the head maid at Aberffraw, had assumed Katren's duties in the wake of her new appointment. She'd once been handmaiden to Queen Sorcha, and it pleased her to be in the service of the Goddess again as she missed the Queen terribly. ‘Do try not to worry about His Majesty, lady. He will return in time, thee will see.'

‘I hold every confidence that he will.' Tory smiled briefly before turning back to watch the stormy scene outside.

‘Lady Goddess.'

Tory looked around to find Bryce standing at the top of the stairwell. ‘My dear Earl of Penmon, what drives thee from thy bed at this hour?' She received her answer as he was startled by a clap of thunder and ran to grasp hold of her around the legs.

‘The spirits art angry.'

‘Nay,' Tory laughed, as the child's simple fears took her mind off her own. ‘I have it on good authority that as long as it doth not rain, the Prince still holds their favour.' She crouched down to him and took up his hands in her own. ‘Thee must not fear nature's forces if thou art to become a brave knight like Sir Brockwell. If thee can see the beauty of the storm, admire and draw upon its power, then it be not such a fearful thing.'

Tory stood, raising her arms high into the air, and while the thunder pounded out its fury she cried, ‘I am not afraid of thee.' She looked down at Bryce, who was staring back at her in wonder. ‘Can thee do that?'

Bryce thought a moment. Then, with a deciding nod, he turned to face the storm and waited for the thunder.

Katren appeared at the top of the stairwell, just in time to catch the child's proclamation. To Tory's surprise, Brockwell was with her.

‘I am not afraid of thee,' Bryce yelled at the storm with conviction. He repeated the statement over, more confident each time as his fear left him. ‘I shall be a brave knight,' he told Tory, his head high in triumph.

She knelt and held up her hand for a high-five. ‘Aye,' she said as he slapped her palm as hard as he
could. ‘Thou art truly legend material, Bryce, but thee must get some sleep as thou hast much work ahead of thee yet.'

He bowed deeply and did an about-face like a soldier, to find Katren and Calin. ‘Sir Brockwell!' He was overcome by the presence of his hero and bowed low.

Katren, seeing Brockwell at a loss for what to say to the child, intervened. ‘Off to bed with thee now, we have important matters to discuss.'

As she led Bryce to the stairwell the boy looked back at Calin, a little disappointed not to have been introduced.

Brockwell just shrugged his shoulders at the child being hauled away. ‘Women will be telling thee what to do thy whole life … may as well get used to it.'

‘I already am.' Bryce smiled, pleased to have been acknowledged, and left them for his bed without further objection.

Tory stood, looking at Brockwell. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?' she asked, adopting a more aggravated tone.

Katren came forward to explain, although she seemed disinclined to do so. ‘Sir Brockwell would like to speak with thee, but as he be forbidden, he hast asked that I act as a mediator. Regrettably, I promised him I would do this but only if it be pleasing to thee.'

‘Fine, whatever works. I just want to know why thou art doing this to me?' Tory aimed her frustration directly at Brockwell.

Katren looked at Calin, who was finding the situation extremely difficult.

‘Ask her if she be aware that any grandson to a King of Gwynedd, such as I, hast the right to lay claim to her throne?'

Katren's eyes opened wide at his words, as she was not aware of this. Tory spoke first, ‘What art thou saying, that thou hast —'

‘The right, by law, to challenge the Prince for thy hand. And I very nearly did,' Brockwell declared, turning to Katren as if it were Tory he was addressing. ‘The sight of thee did drive me to such distraction, that I actually considered betraying my oath to Gwynedd to have thee. Maelgwn hast since spoken of thy love for each other, and I realise now that I would be wrong to pursue thee further. So please understand why I must stay away.'

Brockwell's confession was driving Katren insane. She wanted to throw her arms around him to comfort him, yet his affection was directed at Tory. ‘Excuse me, I am so sorry.' Katren had to leave before she fell to pieces.

‘Lady Katren, please.' Brockwell watched her disappear downstairs.

‘It would seem we've lost our mediator,' Tory sighed. ‘Never mind, there be a few things I have been wanting to say myself, if it be pleasing to thee?'

Brockwell took a seat, folding his arms as he nodded to let Tory know he was prepared to listen. This made Tory smile, as Brian used to behave this way when he didn't want to hear her out.

‘The blame for our situation hast fallen on the wrong shoulders, Calin. If I had not made the mistake
of treating thee as my brother, this would never have happened. Perhaps I should have continued to vex thee, life seemed much easier when we hated each other.' Brockwell smiled in agreement. ‘Understand that Brian was my other half, and thou dost look and act so much like him.' Tears welled in her eyes and her voice faltered. ‘He seemed infallible, I never dreamt I might lose him … and when he died, a huge part of me died with him.' Tory drew a deep breath. ‘How could he just die without warning like that? I miss him so much.' Tory turned away and, with a sniffle, brushed the tears from her face. ‘Perhaps thou art right to stay away from me, Calin. I will obviously keep misleading thee, as it would seem I cannot help it.'

As Katren returned, Brockwell rushed over to resume her services. ‘Please Katren, tell the Lady Tory that I do look forward to our time together in the twentieth century, and tell her I promise to try not to die next time round.'

Tory smiled at his words, though poor Katren hadn't a clue what he was raving about.

‘But for the time being,' he continued. ‘I would consider it a great honour if the future Queen were to continue to regard me as her kin.'

‘Doth he mean it, Katren?'

Brockwell looked Katren straight in the eye, and gave a firm nod.

‘I think so,' Katren replied.

‘Then may I ask thee a favour, Calin?' Tory turned to him.

‘Aye, anything!' he besought her, or rather Katren.

‘As my only living relative at this time, would thee stand in for my father at my wedding? If I am asking too much please say so.'

‘Nay, it would be a fine thing, I agree.'

‘Only we may have to blindfold him. His oath did say he could not look upon thee till after thou hast wed,' Katren pointed out.

‘Then so be it,' Brockwell insisted. ‘I shall be honoured, all the same.'

 

The Prince gradually became aware of the presence of light in the room, so he gathered that his isolation was drawing to a close. The fairy folk had left him ages ago, and as he slowly stretched his limbs he viewed the detailed artwork of deep blue with which they had covered his body. The Prince considered he looked rather like one of the Northern Pictish warriors before a battle, but even the Picts' body paint was not as ornate as this.

The folk had depicted beasts from the legends of the Old Ones. On the Prince's chest was the head of a lion, representing the greatest of the Otherworld deities — Gwydion, ‘Lion of Greatest Course'. The God of Science, Music, and Light, Gwydion represented the old truths as they were brought to the isles from across the water; thus it was he who set the task that would be required of the initiate. Serpents wound around the back of Maelgwn's hands, around his arms and over his shoulders; these creatures had long been associated with wisdom and magic. The Prince looked in a mirror to follow the tails, finding they crossed to form a crow with
its wings spread wide in flight. The crow was synonymous with the Goddess of Life and Death. Below it was the head of the stag, its antlers reaching up to the bird. This beast represented the male companion, protector or masculine side of the Goddess, like Pan. When Maelgwn brushed the hair from his forehead he viewed his own affiliate, the Dragon.

‘
Dost thou know who put it there?
'

The memory of Tory revealing the mark to him the first day they'd met, sprang to mind. Maelgwn smiled, wondering if she would think him mad when he told her that the fairy folk were responsible for branding her with his mark.

Taliesin was proud and delighted when he beheld the folk's handiwork. ‘The Tylwyth Teg have not left a blessing on an initiate for a very long time. This be a splendid sign for thee indeed, but I must say, not entirely unexpected.' Taliesin felt he did owe himself some credit. ‘After thy time away I feared they might reject thee. Still, as they have marked thee as one of their Chosen Ones and a Lord of Beasts, thy success be as good as assured.'