“Have you seen Brast?” Cadwy demanded of Hefin,
clearly unhappy at the delay but Hefin shook his head and curled his lip.
“Have you tried his thatch in the town?” His
combrogi offered with a smile, knowing the stress of impending fatherhood was
weighing heavily on Cadwy in these final hours.
“Brast has a house in town?” Cadwy queried with a
slight frown, as it was news to him.
“Mm yes, he shares it with a very fine lady
called Siân, you know the lady who makes our coats and waterproof capes?” Hefin
asked him with a sparkle in his eye, pleased he had something to distract Cadwy
with.
“Siân Gwniyddes? Yes of course I know her, but
how on earth did Brast manage to secure that particular lady’s affections?”
Cadwy asked Hefin, his frown deepening. “I would have thought that she was a
little aristocratic for our good Brast ap Bwlch, and perhaps a little young?”
Cadwy finished thoughtfully, but with a grin breaking out on his face for the
first time in many days.
“You know Brast, now he’s a Lord there’s no
stopping him!” Hefin chuckled in response. “Siân is certainly all-woman though,
so you have to admire his courage Cadwy and he has lost a little weight
recently, which isn’t a bad thing.” Hefin added with a smirk, making Cadwy laugh.
“That’s all very well Hefin my combrogi, and while
Brast’s ambition and recent fitness is perhaps to be admired, he is listed as
being on active duty, as-per the day’s roster, is he not?”
Cadwy didn’t even wait for a reply, reaching for
one of the aforementioned Lady Siân’s fine overcoats and Hefin stood to join
him.
“I think we should pay him a visit don’t you
Hefin? Let us see what our ennobled combrogi is up to in this secret town-house
of his!” Cadwy growled and that shark-like smile which Hefin knew so well
promised some fine entertainment, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Hefin
scuttled after Cadwy out of his private lodges and followed him down the stairs
with a matching grin.
Cadwy had only knocked once, when the newly
painted door in the pretty thatch off Stryd Fawr of Draenwen was opened by a
tall, statuesque woman of around forty summers in experience. She stood smiling
in the doorway and between an overflowing pair of bloom-filled hanging baskets,
making quite an impression on both young men.
“Siân
Gwniyddes?” Cadwy enquired politely and with a respectful bow, whilst a
grinning Hefin did the same alongside him and the lady of the house’s eyes
grew, as recognition blossomed in them. This lady was no shrinking violet
however and she covered her surprise at such unannounced and royal company with
a very attractive and engaging smile, showing perfect white teeth.
“Your majesty Prince Cadwy and your highness
Prince Hefin, it is a great honour to receive you both in my humble home, Brast
has told me so much about you!” She informed them with an unfathomable look on
her attractive face. “Please come in and make yourselves to home!” She smiled
at them and both men understood completely Brast’s fascination with this tall
and beautiful Lady, who seemed to exude a feminine grace unmatched by any of
her local contemporaries in Draenwen.
“Let me fetch you both some mead my Lords and I
will let Brast know you are here.” Siân smiled and bowed again as they entered
with deep bows of their own, before their glamorous hostess retreated to her
well-organised kitchen, and both young men were compelled to watch her swaying
departure.
A loud crash of something getting knocked over
and which didn’t bounce, came from behind a screened-off chamber at the back of
this long oval thatch and it made both visitors grin, as their abrupt arrival
was clearly causing some consternation to this lady’s unseen partner. The bead
curtain was swept aside abruptly and Gŵyr Brast came forward to greet them
blushing furiously, as his dishevelled hair and soft woollen dressing gown were
evidence enough of his impromptu stand-easy. Before he could bow and offer his
formal greeting to both Princes, Cadwy forestalled him.
“Ah Gŵyr Brast, I have been looking for you!”
Cadwy informed him with that enigmatic smile he had come to know so well and
Brast couldn’t meet his Prince’s eyes, shuffling his feet on the doeskin floor
in acute discomfort. “Nothing of any great import, but as you are declared on
active duty by the roster, I sought you out in the barracks but to no avail. I
didn’t know you had vacated your billet in my Caer and taken up residence in
the town?” He challenged Brast politely but the edge to his voice although
subtle, was discernible to both his male listeners.
“I er, yes we have..”
“I see, I see!” Cadwy interrupted him
mercilessly, beginning to walk around this pleasant thatch and taking-in its
spacious interior, as Brast stood involuntarily to attention in his dressing
gown behind him.
Cadwy swept his gaze around this tidy and vibrant
interior, which reflected their hostess’ warm and friendly personality and it
was clear too with barely a glance, that this homestead accommodated two people and more than that, it was
evident to Cadwy that its occupants were a couple.
“You kept all this under your helmet you old
rogue!” Cadwy growled at Brast with a canine grin as he drew alongside him, and
Brast responded with one of his own, still blushing and unable to hide his
pride. His quiet smugness was interrupted by his lady and the two Prince’s
hostess, as Siân approached them carrying a tray laden with steaming mead and a
plateful of her own delicious-looking butter biscuits. The mouth-watering
biscuits caught Hefin’s eye but Cadwy held Brast’s gaze in his own with no
compassion, his expression unreadable, and Brast was compelled to shuffle his
feet again as Siân joined them.
“You have kept the big-day a total secret too
Brast and your modesty does you proud, but if I’m not mistaken, I’m betting the
good Lady Siân would like to make a grand day of it?” Cadwy enquired of them
both quite loudly and out of the blue, accepting a horn of mead from his
gracious hostess.
Brast suddenly looked as if he’d been shot with
an arrow, whilst Hefin alongside him looked just as shocked and strangely
guilty, as if it was him who had shot him. Hefin gulped with a dawning
realisation and his eyes grew, as barely suppressing his surprised mirth, he
watched Brast blush to his roots alongside him, and stand open-mouthed at his
Prince’s presumptive but painfully incisive words.
The Lady Siân in comparison was as quick as a
whip, and knew immediately what her royal visitor was about, adopting a
questioning look herself and appraising her co-habiting partner with an arched
eyebrow. Brast blustered something unintelligible under this cold and
unavoidable scrutiny but then he ran out steam and ideas, to just stand there
looking at Cadwy and Siân like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s torchlight. Cadwy
was without mercy still and took the lady’s hand, leading her to the cushioned
bench against the brightly coloured eastern wall of her own living room with the
utmost courtesy.
“You must let me introduce you to my amazing
Gwraig y Let - Lydia Lady Siân, as she has organised so many wonderful
handfastings, she could do it blindfold I’m sure. My wife Princess Eirwen will
also be sure to want the celebration in the great hall of my Caer, and I too
would be most honoured to accommodate you for the happy event!” Cadwy beamed at
her and turned to the two men watching, who were clearly gripped by precisely
opposing emotions.
A bulging, bug-eyed Hefin looked as though he was
about to explode into an apoplectic vapour, whilst a wide-eyed, crumbling Brast
seemed to be gripped by some frantic but silent seizure alongside him, which
for some unknown reason forced the poor man to flap his hands about in acute
discomfort.
Cadwy completely ignored Brast’s furious
gesticulations with that predatory grin of his, turning back and becoming
effusive once more in his generosity to the Lady Siân beside him, and it was
Hefin who broke first.
He couldn’t hold it-in a moment longer and Hefin
duly exploded into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, falling to the hide
matting and rolling about on Lady Siân’s floor, hooting with hilarity, as Brast
glowed like a forge-fire above him. Cadwy and Siân looked-on with cool
expressions from the sofa but they couldn’t hold the façade anymore either.
Hefin’s irrepressible amusement was as infectious as snake venom and in a
flash, they were all laughing, and the tears rolled down their faces including
Brast ap Bwlch’s, who nodded and moved to his Lady Siân, put his arm around her
shoulders and grinned fit to bust.
“I can’t have one of my most senior Gŵyr running
around like an uncivilised soldier can I Brast, especially as I have set-aside
some land for you to the north?” Cadwy pointed out casually and Brast’s open
mouth shut with an astonished snap of his teeth. Cadwy glanced at him and
smiled again. “Yes that abandoned farm estate above Bryn Collen which I’ve seen
you covet. It needs governance Brast, if it is ever to recover and begin
feeding our people again and I thought you could do with a new challenge!” He
informed his senior Gŵyr, who looked as though he had just swallowed an egg, as
the ramifications of the Prince’s easily spoken words could not be overlooked.
Prince Cadwy was elevating Gŵyr Brast ap Bwlch
again, this time to a landed Tumon
and Brast had to sit down at this point. Even the erudite Lady Siân looked
shocked and robbed of words at this life-changing event, and her tears
demonstrated that the gravitas of today’s events were suddenly very clear to
her, and her stunned-speechless partner.
“What about Beltain? You can’t beat a spring
wedding!” Cadwy broke the shocked silence with an ever-broader grin. “Anyway,
whatever you both decide will be fine with us all I’m sure, but please let me
know, as quite a few of us will need new coats for the occasion!” He winked at
Siân and the laughter came back with a decidedly happy ring to it.
Barely an hour later and high in the private
royal lodges of CaerCarwyn’s western corner tower, its ruling Tywysog had
returned, as had his anxiety. The lines of concern on his face now competed
with the ungainly scar across his forehead and he found it almost impossible to
keep still. He sat fidgeting in his armchair by the window once more and chewed
on his already ragged fingernails when he wasn’t playing with Eirwen’s puppy
for the distraction.
Lydia was in with Eirwen, as were several hand-picked
nurses and experienced midwives, and they were all sure that it would be soon.
Eirwen had been in labour these last twelve hours and Cadwy had paced the
passageways and hallways of CaerCarwyn like a caged beast, and it was only
Hefin who could approach him without incurring any serious and lasting injury. They
had both taken a chance at a few hours at the hunt in Coedwig Collen earlier
and at Hefin’s insistence. The break would take Cadwy’s mind off the looming
event admirably and they headed for the stables.
Cadwy, Hefin and a dozen archers had just entered
Cwm Collen on the spoor of a family of wild boar, when a rider had caught up
with them, effectively ending the all-too short hunt before it had even begun.
Then it had been a frantic dash back to the Caer as fast as their chargers
could carry them, and Cadwy had stalked these corridors the same way ever
since; with the murderous step of a deadly hunter.
The tension in the birthing chamber could be felt
through the oak door, or at least it did to Cadwy’s feverish imagination. He
fondled Eirwen’s gangly but adorable puppy again as he waited in his agony and
longing.
It was a pale, long-legged and shaggy hunt-hound
of around eight weeks old which distracted him, and this agreeable puppy had
been sent north with a trading caravan, all the way from Cymbri and at the
behest of that maternal country’s high-king Lludd Llaw Ereint. The hound was
only recently whelped, and its grey-white coat was already tough and springy,
ideal for the physical challenges of the uniquely privileged hunting life ahead
of it. It would not however suffer the punishing life of a hunting dog of the
werrin, who had to earn their meagre keep day after day but would sojourn on
the odd aristocratic hunt in fine style and unhurried pleasure. The rest of
this dog’s fortunate life would be filled by being the adoration of his
mistress, who was missing this day, but this little puppy knew none of this,
and was happy having his long and sculpted belly tickled by Cadwy. Curiously
and uniquely to the hunting dogs of the Cymbri, Llew had rusty red tips to his
pointed ears, one of which would stand pricked, whilst the other bowed and
flapped as carelessly as its entirely demented owner, wriggling furiously now
in its master’s lap, demanding his undivided attention.
Infant screaming suddenly punctured the air and
punctuated his thoughts just as effectively, making Cadwy’s eyes fly open. He
stood up abruptly and returned Llew
to his stout timber pen in a daze, but then didn’t have a clue what to do, and
just stood there in the middle of the chamber, glowing and grinning fit to
bust. His ears strained to hear the staccato screams of Olwydd ap Cadwy in the
berthing chamber next door, over the whining of the now abandoned and forgotten
dog, and Cadwy felt rooted and stunned into inactivity.
Hefin came bursting through the door then with Brast
and Bleddyn at his heels, and they all stood there with the most stunned
expressions on their faces as another volley of infant screaming erupted from
beyond the door. They crowded this ante-chamber now but none of them knew what
to do next, as a frisson of panicky emotion swept through the four of them.
Then the door to the bed chamber opened, making all their heads turn and a
smiling Lydia held it open. Cadwy just beat Hefin through the doorway and he
rushed to the bedside with Brast and Bleddyn in hot pursuit.
Gripping Eirwen’s hand and staring into those mesmerising
eyes and her smiling face, Cadwy knew all he needed to know in that instant,
and it will always be that way between them. Cadwy turned, and there in the
midwife’s bloody hands was his son and heir, and he felt his very soul soar
into the heavens at that enervating moment.
His indignant little face was deeply wrinkled and
purple in protest, and he was squealing fit to bust with his anger at such rude
and undignified treatment. Cadwy simply glowed with an incomparable pride and
still in a daze, he reached for him, his eyes glistening and his heart banging
in his chest.
“My son, Olwydd ap Cadwy ap Cridas, of Selgofa
and Albion!” He growled with the overwhelming emotion, a look of wonder now on
his face, as the nurse handed over the warm and squealing baby in its first
swaddling.
“You may have to revise that statement darling.”
Eirwen told him laconically, watching him closely from one elbow.
Cadwy was hardly listening, as he was staring
deeply into his son’s eyes and all the things he planned for this fortunate
young boy were written across his awe-struck face, at that unique and
life-enduring, first moment between
father and son.
“How so my love?” He asked absently, lost in the
perfect beauty of his son’s flawless face. “Isn’t he just adorable?” He asked
them all. Eirwen, Lydia and all these nurses chuckled in response.
Cadwy looked up with that star-struck expression
still softening his normally warlike features and filling his eyes with a new
and undiscovered paternal love, which was suddenly so powerful Cadwy could
hardly draw breath. “Olwydd!” He cooed, lifting the child and his indulgent
smile deepened.
“Just so Cadwy, as our first child will need to
be called Olwen, Bronwen or something else very similar!” His wife told him
mysteriously and finally the acorn dropped, and the look which took hold of his
face at that educational moment was a priceless one, and it drew a throaty
laugh from his wife. “She is a perfect little girl Cadwy and we have surely
been blessed by Brigida herself!” Eirwen added dreamily and the fire of that
same new and burgeoning maternal love which was growing alarmingly within her,
blazed from her beautiful emerald eyes.
Cadwy stood stunned and surveyed his daughter
anew, and the most engaging smile erupted from them both at that delightful and
edifying first moment between
daughter and father, and so he lifted her even higher and laughed.
“My Gods I have a daughter and all Prydein should
now be shaking in their boots, for with the conjoined blood of the old-enemy
coursing through her little veins, this warrior-princess will one day rule all
of northern Prydein!” He declared theatrically, his neck flushing pink with the
oath made for amusement, but his glittering eyes gave credence and lent a
certain gravitas to it.
“What about Gwenddoleu?” Eirwen proposed from her
bed and Cadwy’s smile was so broad, you could see his gums.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the honourable,
fierce and unassailable Princess Gwenddoleu ferch Cadwy ap Cridas, of Selgofa
and Albion!” Cadwy tried out the title for the first time with a sense of immense
and unique pride. Applause broke out among these nurses, but it was quickly
swollen by the people crowding the door, the leader of which was a beaming and
clapping Hefin.
To a loud and tuneful call of three horns, the
vibrant flags of celebration unfurled on the high battlements of CaerCarwyn and
the cheering of the werrin in Draenwen far below was loud, even from this
remove. The news flashed outwards over greater Bidog like a wild summer fire,
along with the name; Gwenddoleu!
The canny, forward thinking brewers, butchers and
bakers of Draenwen got up from their bracken and regardless of the uncommon
hour, they went to work with knowing looks.
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