The Summer of the Danes (20 page)

“And
I am to take his word for that, without security?” Cadwaladr demanded. But by
the guarded gleam in his eyes he was not displeased with this approach. “As you
know very well that you can,” said Mark simply.

Yes,
he knew it. Every man there knew it. Ireland had had dealings with Owain
Gwynedd many times before this, and not always by way of contention. He had kin
over there who knew his value as well as it was known in Wales. Cadwaladr’s
face had a glossy look of contained pleasure, as though he found this first
exchange more than encouraging. Owain had taken warning, seeing the strength of
the invading force, and was preparing to be conciliatory.

“My
brother is known for a man of his word,” he conceded graciously. “He must not
think that I am afraid to meet him face to face. Certainly I will go.”

“Wait
a little, wait a little!” Otir shifted his formidable bulk on the bench where
he sat listening. “Not so fast! This issue may well have arisen between two
men, but there are more of us in it now, invited in upon terms to which I hold,
and to which I will hold you, my friend. If you are content to let go your
assets on any man’s word, without security, I am not willing to let go mine. If
you leave here to enter Owain’s camp and submit yourself to Owain’s persuasion
or Owain’s compulsion, then I require a hostage for your safe return, not a
hollow promise.”

“Keep
me,” said Brother Mark simply. “I am willing to remain as surety that Cadwaladr
shall go and come without hindrance.”

“Were
you so charged?” Otir demanded, with some suspicion of the efficacy of such an
exchange.

“No.
But I offer it. It is your right, if you fear treachery. The prince would not
deny you.”

Otir
eyed the slight figure before him with a cautious degree of approval, but
remained sceptical. “And does the prince place on you, Brother, an equal value
with his own kinsman and enemy? I think I might be tempted to secure the one
bird in hand, and let the other fly or founder.”

“I
am in some sort Owain’s guest,” said Mark steadily, “and in some sort his courier.
The value he sets on me is the value of his writ and his honour. I shall never
be worth more than I am as you see me here.”

Otir
let loose a great bellow of laughter, and struck his palms together. “As good
an answer as I need. Stay, then, Brother, and be welcome! You have a brother
here already. Be free of my camp, as he is, but I warn you, never venture too
near the rim. My guards have their orders What I have taken I keep, until it is
fairly redeemed. When the lord Cadwaladr returns, you have due leave to go back
to Owain, and give him such answer as we two here see fit.” It was, Cadfael
thought, a deliberate warning to Cadwaladr, as well as to Mark. There was no
great trust between these two. If Otir required a surety that Cadwaladr would
come back unmolested, it was certainly not simply out of concern for
Cadwaladr’s safety, but rather taking care of Otir’s own bargain. The man was
his investment, to be guarded with care, but never, never, to be wholly
trusted. Once out of sight, who knew what use so rash a princeling would make
of whatever advantage circumstances offered him?

Cadwaladr
rose and stretched his admirable body with sleek, pleasurable assurance.
Whatever reservations others might have, he had interpreted his brother’s
approach as wholly encouraging. The threat to the peace of Gwynedd had been
shrewdly assessed, and Owain was ready to give ground, by mere inches it might
be, but sufficient to buy off chaos. And now all he, Cadwaladr, had to do was
go to the meeting, behave himself seemly before other eyes, as he knew well how
to do with grace, and in private surrender not one whit of his demands, and he
would regain all, every yardland that had been taken from him, every man of his
former following. There could be no other ending, when Owain spoke so softly
and reasonably at the first advance.

“I
go to my brother,” he said, grimly smiling, “and what I bring back with me
shall be to your gain as well as mine.”

Brother
Mark sat with Cadfael in a hollow of the sand dunes overlooking the open sea,
in the clear, almost shadowless light of afternoon. Before them the swathes of
saud, sculptured by sea winds, went rolling down in waves of barren gold and
coarse, tenacious grass to the water’s edge. At a safe depth offshore seven of
Otir’s ships rode at anchor, four of them cargo hulls, squat and sturdy,
capacious enough to accommodate a wealth of plunder if it came to wresting
their price out of Gwynedd by force, the other three the largest of his
longships. The smaller and faster vessels all lay within the mouth of the bay,
where there was safe anchorage at need, and comfortable beaching inshore.
Beyond the ships to westward the open, silvery water extended, mirroring a
pallid, featureless blue sky, but dappled in several places by the veiled gold
of shoals.

“I
knew,” said Mark, “that I should find you here. But I would have come, even
without that inducement. I was on my way back to the meeting-place when they
passed by. I saw you prisoners, you and the girl. The best I could do was make
for Carnarvon, and carry that tale to Owain. He has your case well in mind. But
what else he has in his mind, with this meeting he has sought, I do not know.
It seems you have not fared so badly with these Danes. I find you in very good
heart. I confess I feared for Heledd.”

“There
was no need,” Cadfael said. “It was plain we had our value for the prince, and
he would not suffer us to go unransomed, one way or another. They do not waste
their hostages. They have a reward promised, they are bent on earning it as cheaply
as possible, they’ll do nothing to bring out the whole of Gwynedd angry and in
arms, not unless the whole venture turns sour on them. Heledd has been offered
no affront.”

“And
has she told you what possessed her to run from us at Aber, and how she contrived
to leave the llys? And the horse she rode—for I saw it led along with the
raiders, and that was good harness and gear from the prince’s stable—how did
she come by her horse?”

“She
found it,” said Cadfael simply, “saddled and bridled and tethered among the
trees outside the walls, when she slipped out at the gate behind the backs of
the guards. She says she would have fled afoot, if need had been, but there was
the beast ready and waiting for her. And what do you make of that? For I am
sure she speaks truth.”

Mark
gave his mind to the question very gravely for some minutes. “Bledri ap Rhys?”
he hazarded dubiously. “Did he indeed intend flight, and make certain of a
mount while the gates were open, during the day? And some other, suspicious of
his stubborn adherence to his lord, prevented the departure? But there was
nothing to show that he ever thought of leaving. It seemed to me that the man
was well content to be Owain’s guest, and have Owain’s hand cover him from
harm.”

“There
is but one man who knows the truth,” said Cadfael, “and he has good reason to
keep his mouth shut. But for all that, truth will out, or the prince will never
let it rest. So I said to Heledd, and the girl says in reply: ‘You foretell
another death. How does that amend anything?’”

“She
says well,” agreed Mark sombrely. “She has better sense than most princes and
many priests. I have not yet seen her, here within the camp. Is she free to
move as she pleases, within limits, like you?”

“You
may see her this moment,” said Cadfael, “if you please to turn your head, and
look down to the right there, where the spit of sand juts out into the shallows
yonder.”

Brother
Mark turned his head obediently to follow where Cadfael pointed. The tongue of
sand, tipped with a ridge of coarse blond grass to show that it was not quite
submerged even at a normal high tide, thrust out into the shallows on their
right like a thin wrist and hand, straining towards the longer arm that reached
southward from the shores of Anglesey. There was soil enough on its highest
point to support a few scrub bushes, and there a minute outcrop of rock stood
up through the soft sand. Heledd was walking without haste along the stretched
wrist towards this stony knuckle, at one point plashing ankle-deep through
shallow water to reach it; and there she sat down on the rock, gazing out to
sea, towards the invisible and unknown coast of Ireland. At this distance she
appeared very fragile, very vulnerable, a small, slender, solitary figure. It
might have been thought that she was withdrawing herself as far as possible
from her captors, in a hapless defence against a fate she had no means of
escaping in the body. Alone by the sea, with empty sky above her, and empty
ocean before her, at least her mind sought a kind of freedom. Brother Cadfael
found the picture deceptively appealing. Heledd was shrewdly aware of the
strength, as well as the weakness, of her situation, and knew very well that
she had little to fear, even had she been inclined to fear, which decidedly she
was not. She knew, also, how far she could go in asserting her freedom of
movement. She could not have approached the shores of the enclosed bay without
being intercepted long before this. They knew she could swim. But this outer
beach offered her no possibility of escape. Here she could wade through the
shallows, and no one would lift a finger to prevent. She was hardly likely to
strike out for Ireland, even if there had not been a flotilla of Danish ships
offshore. She sat very still, her bare arms wreathed about her knees, gazing
westward, but with head so alertly erect that even at this distance she seemed
to be listening intently. Gulls wheeled and cried above her. The sea lay
placid, sunlit, for the moment complacent as a cat. And Heledd waited and
listened.

“Did
ever creature seem more forlorn!” Brother Mark wondered, half aloud. “Cadfael,
I must speak with her as soon as may be. In Carnarvon I have seen her
bridegroom. He came hotfoot from the island to join Owain, she should know that
she is not forsaken. This Ieuan is a decent, stalwart man, and will put up a
good fight for his bride. Even if Owain could be tempted to leave the girl to
her fate here—and that is impossible!—Ieuan would never suffer it. If he had to
venture for her with no forces but his own small following, I am sure he would
never give up. Church and prince have offered her to him, and he is afire for
her.”

“I
do believe,” Cadfael said, “that they have found her a good man, with all the
advantages but one. A fatal lack! He is not of her choosing.”

“She
might do very much worse. When she meets him, she may be wholly glad of him.
And in this world,” Mark reflected ruefully, “women, like men, must make the
best of what they can get.”

“With
thirty years and more behind her,” said Cadfael, “she might be willing to
settle for that. At eighteen—I doubt it!”

“If
he comes in arms to carry her away—at eighteen that might weigh with her,” Mark
observed, but not with entire conviction in his tone.

Cadfael
had turned his head and was looking back towards the crest of the dunes, where
a man’s figure had just breasted the rise and was descending towards the beach.
The long, generous stride, the exuberant thrust of the broad shoulders, the
joyous carriage of the flaxen head, bright in the sun, would have given him a
name even at a greater distance.

“I
would not wager on the issue,” said Cadfael cautiously. “And even so, he comes
a little late, for someone else has already come in arms and carried her away.
That issue, too, is still in doubt.”

The
young man Turcaill erupted into Brother Mark’s view only as he drew towards the
spit of sand, and scorning to go the whole way to walk it dryshod, waded
cheerfully through the shallows directly to where Heledd sat. Her back remained
turned towards him, but doubtless her ears were pricked.

“Who
is that?” demanded Mark, stiffening at the sight.

“That
is one Turcaill, son of Turcaill, and if you saw us marched away to his ship,
you must have seen that lofty head go by. It can hardly be missed, he tops the
rest of us by the length of it.”

“That
is the man who made her prisoner?” Mark was frowning down at Heledd’s minute
island, where still she maintained her pretence at being unaware of any
intruder into her solitude.

“It
was you said it. He came in arms and carried her away.”

“What
does he want with her now?” Mark wondered, staring.

“No
harm. He’s subject to authority here, but even aside from that, no harm.” The
young man had emerged in a brief flurry of spray beside Heledd’s rock, and dropped
with large, easy grace into the sand at her feet. She gave him no
acknowledgement, unless it could be considered an acknowledgement that she
turned a little away from him. Whatever they may have said to each other could
not be heard at such a distance, and it was strange that Cadfael should
suddenly feel certain that this was not the first time Heledd had sat there,
nor the first time that Turcaill had coiled his long legs comfortably into the
sand beside her.

“They
have a small private war going on,” he said placidly. “They both take pleasure
in it. He loves to make her spit fire, and she delights in flouting him.”

A
children’s game, he thought, a lively battle that passes the time pleasantly
for both of them, all the more pleasantly because neither of them need take it
seriously. By the same token, neither need we take it seriously.