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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

BOOK: The Wind From Hastings
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As I leaped to my feet to give emphasis to my words, the chessboard clattered to the floor. The cunningly wrought knights and bishops and yeomen scattered everywhere, as many a real court has done, and the hapless white king rolled straight into the fire. As many a king has done.
Quarrels among the young were taken lightly, but the careless destruction of a family treasure was cause for severe reprimand. It fell to my lady mother to chastise me.
I have said little about my lady mother, for, in truth, there is little to say. She was a handsome woman with wheaten hair, but was so quiet and deferential to my father that she had little color in our household. After the Earl's banishment she became timid and nervous, slow to speak and quick to cry. Her cowing encouraged my brothers to disobey her openly. Lacking the
Earl at her side, she became the shadow without the sun.
After supper she came to me, twisting her hands nervously in her skirt as she did much. “You have injured the ancient law of hospitality, Edyth,” she said in her soft voice, “so you must give up a treasure yourself.”
In truth I had little, only my own jewelry and clothes. Already I was thinking in terms of the dowry I hoped to need, and nothing could be spared. I answered as best I could, telling her my possessions could not be spared to replace a rather foolish toy.
Her sad face grew sadder still. “I see you are selfish as well as bad-tempered. You are of an age when the blood runs hot, so mayhap you will outgrow your temper. But the vice of selfishness can ride you all your life. I feel shame that the daughter of Aelfgar would begrudge one of her trinkets to someone who sheltered us in our trouble.”
What she said was painfully true, but I would not have her think so of me. I used the only weapon in my defense.
“Lady Mother, by year's end we will be restored to the earldom! Father is sworn to that; even now he raises troops to win back what is rightfully ours! When we go home I will be of an age to marry—indeed, I am now. So you see, I cannot give up the few valuables I possess. I will need them, and many more, for I must go to my husband well dowered!”
The poor lady could not summon the heart even to insist; she just left me alone. Later, I saw that she had given her own favorite brooch to the Lady Maeve, and I felt ashamed. My outburst of temper had cooled as quickly as it flared, and all I had to show for it was my mother's reproach and my own embarrassment. In the sanctuary of my bed I reflected on the folly of rash actions, and the wisdom to be found in a gentle demeanor. It was as Emma said, only I could bring shame on myself.
On the day next I sought out Brian and apologized. The words stuck in my throat, which made me seem more meek than I felt, but Brian appeared pleased. He accepted my plea with grace and was charming to me all that day.
Another lesson learned, thought I. Men prefer soft women. Life is more pleasant when we are more pliable. So.
After that I took care to see that there were no more outbursts of temper, and if a rebellious spirit flared up in me, I nursed it in the quiet of my own bed and did not inflict it upon others. My brothers behaved otherwise and seemed to be always in trouble.
Where would I be today, had I not learned to be compliant and yielding?
We were well into the season of Christ Mass when word came at last of the Lord Aelfgar. The Lady Maeve and her steward were in the town, Edwin was lurking somewhere around the docks, and my lady mother and I sat in the late afternoon gloom, mending clothes. Our wardrobes were beginning to show signs of much wear, but our position was thought too precarious to allow the purchase of new cloth. I was thinking bitterly that soon I would be dressing in rough cottage wool when we heared a knock at the door.
No member of the household would knock! We exchanged nervous glances; then I leaped to my feet and raced to the door.
In the muddy forecourt a dark and handsome man waited with perfect composure, though his clothes were common and stained. When he saw my face he broke into a radiant smile. In his transformed features I saw a likeness to my father's Owain—our visitor was a Welshman! He proved me right by beginning to speak in a musical voice that tripped nimbly over the Saxon words and turned them into something like song. (How sweetly they sing, the Cymry!)
“Greetings to the house of Maeve Mac Mael-nambo,
and the compliments of my Prince to the family of Aelfgar, Earl of East Anglia!”
I heard my mother gasp behind me. Even our Irish hosts had not referred directly to my father as Earl of East Anglia. Flustered, I bade our visitor enter without asking either his name or rank. My mother remembered her manners even if I did not; in a twinkling she had him seated at the hearth, a servant fetching him beer and cakes, and was questioning him eagerly.
“You come from the Prince, in Wales?”
“Yes, my lady, I just arrived this day after a most unpleasant voyage in a dreadful Irish coracle. My Lord Griffith, son of the Prince Llywelyn, sent me at utmost speed to inform you of the victory of his forces and those of the Earl Aelfgar. My Lord Griffith feared you would be distressed and worried, and he would not leave ladies in that condition.”
My mother and I exchanged glances, and her eyebrows were lifted almost into her hair. Such consideration for women was not a common thing in our acquaintance, even among the nobility. What sort of man was this Griffith that he would dispatch a messenger all the way across the water to reassure his ally's family?
“My good fellow,” began my lady mother, “I do not believe I know your name … ?”
“I am Madog son of Gwyn, my lady, and servitor to the Court of Gwynedd.” He spoke with great pride, his chin held high, not at all as one of our servants would have spoken. I felt some confusion; was our messenger of noble breeding, then? (It was only in Wales that I learned that all Welsh speak that way. Like the Irish, the Cymry believe that every man is a king. It makes it difficult to determine station.)
Madog began straightway with an accounting of all that had happened since my father had arrived at Holyhead with a force of eighteen Viking dragonships whose alliance he had won!
The monks at Holyhead had arranged guides to take
my father to the Welsh Prince's court. The dragonships with their cargo of fighting men sailed on to the port of Caernarvon and were disembarked there. Thus it was that, in a few days, the Earl and a very sizable complement of men-at-arms arrived at the court of Gwynedd. The Prince greeted them with hospitality, even lodging the Vikings with his own servitors. He listened to Aelfgar's story sympathetically, although he could not refrain from commenting many times on the treachery of the English court and on the barbarism of the Godwines in particular.
How odd it was that the Prince of the wild Welsh thought Saxons and Danes barbaric!
“But how did the Earl come by the Viking dragonships?” I could not resist asking.
Madog chuckled. “I understand that the Vikings prefer fighting to food and drink. The Earl recruited them right here in Dublin harbor, with a promise of much bloodletting and a share of the spoils.”
“But they will be fighting against their own kind!” my lady mother protested. “It was the Danes who spoke against my husband in the Witan and had him outlawed!”
Madog looked pityingly at us women, who could not understand simple warfare. “Men always fight most savagely against their own kind; it is easier to stir up grievances against someone you know.”
The Earl had put his proposition to Prince Griffith, and they agreed to join forces “after the Lord Aelfgar offered sufficient inducements,” according to Madog. The joint force set out with little delay. It was agreed that the most vulnerable target, that which would hurt the English most, was the town of Hereford. Before the Earl Ralph's family had risen from dinner in his castle, the village was attacked. The raiders pillaged the town, putting it all to the torch, and even sacked the pretentious cathedral of the Bishop Athelstan, an outspoken foe of the Welsh. By daylight on the twenty-fifth of October, a train loaded with booty and captives
was making its unchallenged way back to the safety of Wales.
The horror of the English court was easy to imagine. A new Welsh uprising, led by a Prince with a reputation for war and an exiled Saxon Earl who obviously still possessed power! Harold Godwine went straightway to Gloucester in the King's name.
He was able to put together a fighting force and march them westward, but the hastily assembled English fyrd was ignorant about mountain warfare and could never even get close to Griffith. At last Harold settled for refortifying the ruined town of Hereford and went to Winchester to advise King Edward to negotiate for peace.
The Lady Maeve returned just in time to order torches lit and hear the last of Madog's recital. The last, and the best.
“And so, it is my happy duty to inform you that a treaty has been concluded. My Lord Griffith is given all that border land which has long been in dispute, and the Lord Aelfgar is restored to his title and holdings!”
So long had we waited for these words, we could not believe we had heard aright. Madog had to repeat himself twice before my mother would accept it, then she burst into such a storm of weeping we were all frightened for her. Poor Madog was most perplexed to see his glad tidings merit such a reaction, and Maeve was distraught—as well she might be, now that we were suddenly made persons of great importance once more. Only when a scented linen had been applied to my mother's temples did she regain some composure. By that time the Lady Maeve had become so solicitous of her guest's health that her hovering was making us all nervous.
Then Edwin and Morkere returned and the news had to be repeated for them. With each telling I became more convinced that it was true—and also that there was something still to tell. The Lady Maeve set
out a splendid supper for us and even brought in a paid minstrel, which showed that she was as unsure of Madog's status as I. When we were all fat with eating—I found my appetite much improved—I drew Madog aside to question him about my father's safety.
“The Earl Aelfgar is truly well, my lady,” he assured me. “Not one wound did he receive. Only one of his Vikings was killed, and he was knifed by a wench he raped in Hereford.”
I chose to ignore that lurid detail. “I rejoice that my lord father is well, and I thank your Prince for sending you to tell us the good news.”
He smiled a little ruefully. How I enjoyed the way his dark eyes admired me! “I must confess, my lady, that being the herald of victory was not my only mission.”
Aha! I was right! “And what other have you?”
“Your safe conduct, Lady Edyth.”
I was startled. “My safe conduct! Do you not intend to provide us all safe conduct back to East Anglia?”
“No, my lady, I understand the Earl Aelfgar is sending a ship for his wife and sons that will take them to England. I am to bring you to my Lord Griffith.”
I went cold with shock. “What are you saying?” His smile became gentler, a little amused. “Your father has affianced you to wed my Prince, in return for his support. That was the sufficient inducement I mentioned. You will accompany me to Wales to marry Griffith ap Llywelyn, Prince of Wales, King of Gwynedd, Powys, Deheubarth and Morgannwg.”
And the unfamiliar names rolled from his tongue like a peal of bells.
T
HE HOUSEHOLD WAS thrown into disarray by Madog's news. We had gone from being poor to rich again within the length of a cat's tail; it meant a lot of adjustments for everyone.
The Lady Maeve had always treated us well, I thought, but after hearing the news of the Earl's restoration she made such an effort on our behalf that her previous hospitality seemed slight by comparison. It was interesting to observe the difference.
“Power,” Edwin commented, “is most notable in the effect it has on others. For myself, I feel exactly the same as before, but I seem to appear much improved to the girls of the household!”
As my lady mother and the boys readied themselves for the return to East Anglia, I felt myself set apart from my family for the first time in my life. There were preparations to make for me, too—extensive ones. Although in actuality I hardly possessed a thing, I had to be properly dowered for my Welsh Prince. Seamstresses were hired, bolts of cloth brought, and finery
appeared as if by magic to be heaped into the dower chest. The Lady Maeve gave of her finest goods, though I have no doubt she expected to be repaid in still finer coin by the Earl Aelfgar.
I found myself confronted with a whole new bag of fears that I had never faced before. It is one thing to dream of a prince, dreams being your own creation and easily controlled. But to face the actuality of the thing is something else. The child in me wanted to go back to the safety of the dream, the adult in me was extremely fearful of the coming reality. How to imagine a man, a place, a completely unfamiliar life?
Worst of all, there was no one to confide in. Emma was of the opinion that I was very fortunate and should count my blessings. “Then you go in my place,” I offered her sulkily.
“Not me, childie! I'm no use to a prince!”
“You should be glad of the chance to start a new life on your own,” Edwin commented. “I have no doubt that our lord father will continue to get himself involved in these skirmishes with the Godwines, and it will only mean more trouble. You'll be well out of it.”
I doubted that, since it seemed Prince Griffith was our father's chief ally. But there was never any point in arguing with Edwin; his opinions were begotten in stone and only grew more unyielding.
I took my doubts to my lady mother. “How shall I behave in Wales? Are they so very different from us? Will they like me?”
She stared at me as if I had no right to ask such a question. “You will behave as the daughter of a noble Saxon, that is enough. They are all barbarians, anyway; it matters not what they think of you.”
“But what about the Prince?” I persisted. “Will he like me?”
“Lord deliver us from plague!” my mother exclaimed. “He agreed to take you, didn't he? So I suppose
he shall like you well enough, you're young and comely and you can bear him sons.”
I realized I was annoying her, but I had to ask anyway. “What if I don't like him? What if he's gross and mean and treats me badly?”
Her eyes were pitying when she looked at me, but there was no answer in them. “I told you before, Edyth. You are the daughter of a Saxon Earl, you come from an old and honored lineage. You will behave always in keeping with your station. Now let us have no more of this nursery whining!” With her own restoration to being a person of circumstance, my lady mother had regained much of the backbone she had seemed to lose.
That was another thing to ponder. Was courage and dignity a pose, at least for some? A mask they assumed when they were unchallenged, a mask behind which a frightened child might hide? If adults could hide like that, what about me? Behind what mask could I conceal my own fears and cowardices?
A ship was being sent for my family the way we had come to Ireland, down the Saxon Shore. So it would be many weeks before my mother and brothers left the household of the Lady Maeve. For me time was growing short. As soon as I was properly prepared and dowered, I was to leave straightway for Wales with Madog.
How hard it was to go! How dear each familiar face suddenly became; even haughty Edwin and sullen Morkere were at once magicked into my sweet and beloved little brothers whom I might never see again! Perhaps I had misjudged them. I could even forgive Edwin, and chuckle to myself, when I heard him boasting outrageously, “My sister is going to marry the King of Wales, you know. She will be more important than anyone in Ireland!”
When our ship at last nosed out into the harbor and I set my face to the east, I felt that I was leaving my
own self behind on the shore, like the skin of a locust split asunder.
That trip was different from the one to Ireland. Now I was the important personage on board, and I saw that it made quite a difference. Foods were specially prepared to tempt my appetite, and even my Emma was treated almost like a lady. Madog seemed always to be hovering at the rim of my vision, anxious to be of service. It was “my lady this” and “my lady that” and “Please advise the Captain that my lady wishes …” I had of a once acquired much authority;
I was a person to be pleased and feared!
I began to understand in some small measure why it is that men seek power.
Then I stood at the rail and saw the coast of Wales rise from the ocean once more, beautiful and forbidding, and my heart pounded in my throat unbearably.
We sailed past Anglesey and Llandudno, heading for the mouth of the river the Welsh folk call Clwyd. Our destination was the Castle of Rhuddlan, Griffith's foremost stronghold. The bitter wind of the Irish Sea became sweeter as we neared landfall, and the gulls wheeling to meet us sang a haunting song that seemed different from their raucous cries in Dublin harbor.
“They feel the hwyl come upon them,” Madog told me.
The what? How could I ever learn this language?
Madog was patient. “The ‘hoo-ill,' the spirit of the land. It is a pride and a glory, my lady; it affects every living thing in the land of the Cymry.”
“Perhaps it doesn't apply to Saxons,” I remarked.
It was not a bustling city where we cast anchor; it seemed more a poor fishing village. The coastline was not so rugged here; as we approached I could see that the land beyond appeared to be a great upland plateau. A huddle of modest huts stood back from the shore, dark buildings of timber and wattle.
“That is the tref, the village,” Madog explained.
“These folk do some fishing, but mostly they farm the
uplands and keep some sheep. They will all be turning out to see you, my lady. The arrival of our Prince Griffith's bride will be the occasion of much feasting.”
Madog spoke truly. Before a smallboat could be put down to take us ashore, a crowd had gathered on the beach, vomited out of every hut and hovel.
They were dark, the Cymry, with wild locks that blew in the constant wind, and they moved with the grace of flowing water. Dressed in robes of rough wool, knotted about the waist with thongs of leather, men and women together they came to greet us. As the bottom of our boat scraped against the shell beach, a dozen pairs of eager hands seized it and dragged it forward.
“Sweet Mary!” breathed Emma behind me. “They are a wild, dark people for sure, my lady! You are given to wed a savage!”
I had been thinking something of the kind myself until Emma spoke, and glancing aside I saw the red stain of a blush on Madog's cheek. He had been good to me; I would not have him embarrassed by my nursery-maid. Something perverse took hold of me then and overrode my fear.
“Be silent!” I commanded her as I would not have dared a month before. “We know Madog and the Earl's Owain, and they are men of much quality! Already I like this land, and these people are my … my husband's subjects. We will be friends.” I looked into the nearest pair of dark eyes and smiled my brightest smile.
The shout that went up was so sudden it affrighted us all. The Cymry could not understand my Saxon tongue, but they understood a hopeful smile well enough. They lifted me out of the boat with a mighty heave, snatching me right past the astonished Madog and the oarsmen, and lifted me to their shoulders!
They splashed through the scallops of foam at the sea's edge and ran with me inland, toward a place where a huge pile of wood was built up. Men lit
torches and held them to the stack until it ignited, sending a tower of fire into the twilight sky. All around me was the music of voices singing, chanting, with words I could not understand but with tones of joy and happiness.
They set me down gently on a low block of carved red sandstone, a sort of small altar set up at the tide's limit. Although it was still too cold for the blooming of flowers, garlands had been made of shells and leaves and braided hair; these were hung around my neck while all nodded approval. The women reached out their hands and touched my cheeks and the yellow of my hair and looked at each other wonderingly. The Cymry women were smaller than Saxon women, their bones fine and delicate; in spite of my furs and velvet I felt like a great lump compared to them.
All the men wore robes of varying lengths, tattered about their calves. My eyes missed the clean look of our Saxon garb, the short tunic and colored hose with cross garters. But I found the men handsome of face and form; they did not repel me as they danced about me, singing.
Then Emma came scurrying up the beach, frantic as a mother hen after a lost chick. “My poor lady, what have they done to you?” she cried, wringing her hands over my imaginary misfortune.
“I think they have done me homage, Emma,” I told her as calmly as I could.
“So they have, my lady!” called Madog cheerfully. He did not seem at all upset by the rowdiness of my reception. “Saxons are not usually welcome here, but this woman, Angharad”—he gestured to the matron whose stare I had met with that first smile—“she has the Sight. Your soul cannot lie to her; she always knows the truth of a person. She has accepted you and that is enough.”
I was much flattered by my welcome, but at the same time I felt a touch of contempt for people who would base their acceptance of a stranger on such a
slender thread. How easily these Welsh must be fooled, I thought. Then.
The feasting Madog had spoken of began. The bonfire was used like an oven, haunches of meat with pikes thrust through them were being held in the flames to be roasted. Flagons of mead were passed from hand to hand, and I was given a big wad of bread with a fish paste spread upon it.
The ship was being unloaded by torchlight. From my seat of honor on the sandstone I saw my dowry trunks deposited on the shore, and each new one was eagerly inspected by the villagers. They never touched them, however, just circled round them pointing and exclaiming. My hastily assembled trappings of wealth were making an impression.
“The bonfire light will be seen by the watch-guard at the caste,” Madog assured me. “Eat lightly, my lady. Soon they will be coming to take you to Rhuddlan.”
Even as the wind freshened from the sea and Emma began rummaging in the chests to find me a warmer cloak, they came, a long procession of men, winding down the sloping face of the headland to the white beach where I waited, heart a-thud once more.
First came a troop of fierce-faced warriors, bearing shield and glaive. They marched single file, which I was to learn later was a wise maneuver in a mountain land. They were followed by a band of courtiers, much more richly dressed than my welcoming party from the beach. They were mounted on the most beautiful ponies I ever saw, clever little beasts with large liquid eyes like deer.
Emma looked fearfully at the procession as it approached. “There is no litter, my lady!” Shock was in her voice.
“I understand that the Lady Edyth can ride well,” Madog commented. “Prince Griffith was muchly pleased by that. I am sure that a fine mount has been provided her.”
I had to look down and toy with the garland around
my neck to keep from laughing outright. I fear it was not concern for my dignity that prompted Emma's upset. More likely it was her horror at discovering that she herself must walk or ride a pony. On formal occasions my nurse had always shared the litter with me. “I am a woman grown, Emma,” I reminded her. “I no longer require you at my elbow; I am sure the Prince's men will find you a suitable place.” My speech befit my new station, but I was hurt by the hurt in her old eyes.
I was greeted straightway in the name of Griffith ap Llywelyn, Prince of Gwynedd and Ruler of All Wales. With much deference and ceremony I was given the reins of a little gray horse who won my heart the first moment, and when I forgot my new dignity and vaulted onto his back I was given my second spontaneous cheer of the day.
In all the excitement there was one disappointment. In my girlish dreams Prince Griffith had come to greet me, but not in the flesh. After all my anxieties I would have liked it much if he had been there, that I might see him straightway and know my fate.
Up we went and up, good Madog riding at my side. We followed a path cut in white limestone that glowed eerily in the torchlight, with a great hedge of hawthorn and ivy springing up beside us. I glanced at its black bulk.

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