Lludd and Caswallawn come home.

Leaving his fortress in the huge and capable hands of his Pencampwr Berwyn, Caswallawn had spent many days in the saddle to be here and his body ached from the ordeal. His son Tasgyofan was too young yet to competently serve in that vital position, but his champion was an astute leader and ruled well in his absence with a hard but fair hand. A young arwein headed his way, breaking his reverie and came to bow deeply before him.

“You asked me to let you know Majesty when riders approach.” He said in his lilting local accent and was about to continue when the thunder of hooves outside pre-empted him, making Caswallawn laugh.

“Fetch food and fresh ale lad!” The High-King of the Southern Brythons demanded of the boy with a smile, who bowed again before hurrying off to the kitchens.

Caswallawn moved tenderly to the door and pulled it open with a dry creak from its post-hinges, where he ducked under the tatty fringe of the thatch and stepped out into the cool evening air. A clear black and starlit dome was spread above him and from where a cheerful crescent of Derwen moon smiled down on him. There were about a dozen steaming, jostling horses and men now at the long stable-block across the yard and a pair of these late arrivals left their steeds with squires, before turning and heading his way.

The unmistakeable figures of two of the most famous rulers in Prydein approached him, the King of Cymbri Lludd Llaw Ereint along with his son and heir Crown Prince Afalach, ruler of the Essyllyr forces from his Capital stronghold of CaerLlanmelyn in the heartlands of southern Cymbri. Caswallawn’s fabled brother and his honoured nephew crossed the large courtyard, skirting the wide base of the high dream tower and both were smiling as they trod wearily toward him. Lludd raised his left hand in greeting and Caswallawn smiled broadly back at them both, noticing how similar they looked now they were so close together. They looked like brothers as Lludd looked a fit man in his thirties, belying almost twenty years with his rugged good looks and lack of any grey hair on his noble head and if Caswallawn hadn’t known better, he would have accused him of supping the Beltain dew.

Afalach was twenty-eight in years and was as tall and impressive as his father, but broader across the shoulders with more developed limbs and a chest like a barrel, which displayed the fabled war-hammer cygil of the Gorddofic royal house.

Recalling all the years of Afalach’s life, Caswallawn thought back twelve or-so years to a time when this young Prince had been virtually uncontrollable and had gone buck-wild with a rowdy gang of followers, living in the forest and generally making a nuisance of themselves. In his opinion back then the boy and all his merry band of sycophantic brigands were destined for the rope, for all they did was get blind drunk around their forest camp-fires and bother the locals. They would hunt anywhere they chose-to and go cross border cattle-raiding, embarrassing his all-powerful family and undoing much diplomatic work in those same neighbouring territories. It had taken a concerted family effort to bring the unruly young Prince back into the fold and on the right track, but the Sons of Beli Mawr always achieved what they set out to achieve.

Caswallawn was proud that Afalach had found his own way back into usefulness, recommitting to a more acceptable ‘regal’ life and regaining much lost respect and family standing. In those intervening years, he had grown into an excellent leader and a much-feared fighter. Caswallawn was proud too of his own input into this great family success story and his nephew now looked to be an exceptionally strong and capable warrior. His face echoed the features of his handsome father and the eyes were the same piercing intelligent blue which missed nothing and could blaze with a cold, dangerous blue light when they were aroused.

Both were dressed for long-distance riding, in long boots and longer leather coats with deep hoods but the hoods were thrown back and royal Torcs gleamed at their throats in the moonlight, leaving no doubt as to their lofty status and lineage.

“Caswallawn!” Lludd was the first to speak, throwing his arms open and the brothers embraced warmly.

“Lludd, it’s been too long brother!” Caswallawn admitted, thumping his brother on the back, before turning to his nephew, who bowed.

“Afalach, my cu-nai!” He declared, calling him by his familiar name of beloved-nephew and giving him the same enormous bear-hug, followed by a similar good thumping on the back.

“Honoured Uncle, it is a true pleasure to see you again Lord King.” Afalach responded respectfully with a cough, as his lungs settled back into place.

“I think we can dispense with all that lord and king nonsense Afalach! Come in and you can both eat as we talk.” Caswallawn offered, throwing his right arm around the broad, muscular shoulders of his nephew and leading him into the refectory and they both had to stoop to pass under the drooping thatch and it seemed Caswallawn’s aches had vanished. For the first time in over three years, two of the four remaining infamous Red Dragons of Prydein were in one place together, along with their fierce Dragonet and all were the bri-laden issue of Beli Mawr himself and even the indolent Gods sat up to take notice.

Caswallawn had already eaten but enjoyed watching the two hungry men tear into the venison, pork, lamb and ham laid before them, with soft warm bread from the bakery and freshly brewed curmi-da. He sipped warm mead himself, from a beautiful silver cup and as the latecomers relaxed and drained their logs of beer, he brought them up to date with all the preparations and achievements of the earlier crychiad, the promises made and the oaths he had taken.

Lludd belched hugely and wiped his mouth, before smiling at his brother.

“Ahh, the most excellent Cwrmi Seithenyn!” He sighed smacking his lips. “It’s the Gorse they add to the mash here brother as you-know and I have missed its unique flavour.” Lludd smiled again and took another deep draught of his favourite Ganganian beer.

"Ay, and strong enough to float a horseshoe!" Afalach gasped, his eyes swimming as he slammed the empty wooden drinking log to the table.

Caswallawn nodded smiling, knowing well his family’s love of fine ale but it was one he didn’t share, and he quickly changed the subject.

“How was AurArian Fawr?”

 “He is well of-course and all matters religious have been decided brother, following a successful Imbolc and amidst much ritual and crucial sacrifice, as is their ponderous way.” Lludd answered him with a wry grin, rolling his eyes and wiping his voluminous moustaches with a finger.

“How is Tasgyofan? I haven’t seen him in so long!” Lludd asked in return and Caswallawn nodded with an indulgent smile.

“He is well Lludd, seventeen soon!” He said of his son and his own surprise at how the years had flown was mirrored on the faces of his guests.

“And Nynniaw, how is our good brother?” Caswallawn countered, as he knew Lludd had visited Llŷn Gorddwyg, the deep lake at the foot of Arglwydd Wyddfa and its small shore side Treflan, before climbing the high ramparts to the infamous Dragon’s Lair.

Nynniaw’s towering Capital fortress of DunGorddwyg and its growing attendant citadel was a challenging climb, but once there he could greet their brother and rest, before continuing on his way up to Môn and more spiritual duties.

“He is well Caswallawn but full of complaint as ever.” Lludd answered him and they shared a smile at this age-old truth regarding their brother. “His royal duties have kept him from the sword-post of late and the hunt, which as you well know galls him above all else and he has gained a few pounds, but his spirit is strong. You know I see his son Gwerdded more often than he, as he is in his ninth year of training as a Dewin, so he keeps me abreast of events at our northern Capital.” Lludd reminded him and Caswallawn smiled at the mention of their highly intelligent but also highly-strung nephew, who was not only nine years-in to the ferocious training of the warrior-wizard order of the Dewin, but also ran the sacred and newly acquired Gorddofic stronghold of Caer y Tŵr on Môn.

The now famous high hilltop fortress of Caer y Tŵr, dominated a smaller island off the north-eastern coast of the mother-isle, in vassal Decawangly territory and had been a valuable island lookout post to the tribe for generations. The hillfort possessed stunning views east back across Môn and south to Eryri but more importantly, it had a fine outlook west across the sea to the distant Iweriuan shore, which was usually a purplish hazy smudge low on the horizon. The Decawangly tribe had been Druid-ordered to give up the hill-top Dun in favour of Gorddofica in a truly dark period in the history of the country, when Prydein had lost its High-King and Queen; these monarchs’ legendary parents.

 “Gwerdded is flourishing brother.” Lludd brought Caswallawn’s thoughts back to the present with a jolt and his far-gazing eyes back to him, naming their brother’s son.” It seems the more we test him the more he excels, and his intellect is ferocious. HênDdu saw something in him when he was just a boy and he was right. I think Gwerdded could be the finest Dewin ever to swear on the golden acorn crown!” He said seriously, and both his companions tilted their heads in approbation.

“That good? Stronger than you Tad?” Afalach asked him pointedly with a twinkle in his eyes, earning a wry grin from his father.

“Yes son, maybe even me in time but he has a long and difficult road to travel yet, in terms of the order anyway but his leadership and stewardship of Caer y Tŵr is highly commendable. HênDdu told me some things about our esteemed nephew which could confirm his latent promise, I can’t go into any details of course but Gwerdded will I believe, found an astonishing dynasty one day!” Lludd added with a thoughtful, distant look.

“If he lives that long!” Caswallawn stated the brutally obvious from across the table, as was his custom. Lludd and Afalach both nodded their agreement to a cold and hard fact of life in Prydein.

“Penarddun is growing fast Tad, you should see her.” Afalach mentioned one of his royal wards, his young aunt and regal sister to both these Kings.

“Gwddw-Gwyn must be eleven now!” Caswallawn said in wonder, using their familiar name for his sister Princess Penarddun ‘white-throat’ and he was amazed at how the time seemed to have evaporated, like water spilled on a hot hearth-stone. Although only four summers old and a toddler at the time, their young sister had been deeply traumatised by witnessing their parent’s violent death those seven years ago. She had been in the care of a distinguished nursing Matron of the Essyllyr at Afalach’s CaerDolforwyn ever since and she had been making good progress of late.

“It’s been a slow process but Mag Heulwen seems to know what she’s doing. It would be a damn-sight easier without that unholy little terror Llŷr though!” Afalach said with feeling, drawing knowing looks from the other two men, as they considered Afalach’s other ward, the wildly rebellious and equally traumatised fourteen-year-old orphaned monster, Princeling Llŷr Lleddiarth ap Baran. The boy's parents had perished bravely beside their own, in the infamous and tragic death of these giants of Prydein. The extended royal family had all been overcome by the King and Queen’s violent death, brought about by stealth and treachery whilst campaigning in Italy but its obligation to the boy’s safety and future, had been assumed by the family from that moment.

“I caught the little tyke putting a centipede in Penarddun’s siot one morning and I lost my composure.” Afalach admitted with a grim look.

“How so my son?” Lludd asked him with a grin, winking to his brother across the table.

“I took a leather belt to his arse Tad, until he was hopping and squealing like a gelded pig!” Afalach told them and couldn’t help but smile, as his uncles both roared with laughter.

“Something you should have done long ago my cu-nai!” Caswallawn laughed. “I would have beaten the little bastard black and blue years ago!” He declared jovially and neither of his relatives doubted it for one moment but Lludd put his hand on his son’s arm.

“Some children need to be reached out-to Afalach and if you don't, no matter how often or how hard you beat them, all you do is drive them into themselves, where inevitably they will fester and foment resentment and before you know it, you have a viper in your house, with death in its eyes - for you!” Lludd said seriously and both Caswallawn and Afalach looked at him, nodding at his wisdom.

“That’s exactly what I was saying brother!” Caswallawn said defensively, holding both hands up with a wholly unconvincing, innocent look on his face. “Reach out to the boy with both hands and - strangle the little bastard!” He made a throttling action, making them all laugh again and in all their serious and busy lives, it was only on these increasingly rare occasions they spent together, that they felt the liberty and ease to laugh freely and all three clearly revelled in it.

“No but in all seriousness Afalach make sure the little horror is monitored well as if he really is interfering with Gwddw-Gwyn’s recovery, we will have to place him elsewhere!” Caswallawn considered seriously and Afalach nodded.

“I have thought that too Uncle, but I spoke to Penarddun and she seems to be coping with his antics and for most of the time they’re good friends. So, I will take your advice and step-up the vigilance but keep them together for now, as there is no-one else of her age in my Caer and it might be counter-productive to remove Llŷr now.” He seemed to come to the decision right there and seemed pleased to have done so. “I will take your sage advice too Tad and try to reach out to the boy when I get back, as I can’t just keep walloping him.”

“Take him hunting Afalach!” Lludd suggested. “Nothing silly, just a bit of tracking, a bit of rabbit archery and a couple of nights under the stars, you know some basic stuff.” He said with raised eyebrows and his son shrugged his mouth and nodded in agreement.

“Sounds like a plan to me Tad, I remember when you used to take me hunting!” He smiled, his eyes shining and Lludd smiled with him, sharing the same treasured memories.

 Lludd called for more ale and mead, before returning to business.

“Our Cymbric Llwgwaed, as you know brother was oath-sworn with our blood at Imbolc!” He told Caswallawn what he knew already. “As we were eager to avenge the slaughter of our combrogi in Gallia and thus-sworn, we could send warriors to Gwened in support. Not only in resistance to Roman aggression but to try and restore our ancient sources of trade and access routes, which as you know lie in tatters. All that now remains is the swearing of the great Llwgwaed of the Northern Triad, which will take place at Lughnas on Fro Uswer in Bellnor’s fortress of Breganta.” Here Lludd paused. “And of-course yours.” He added pointedly, aware of the difficulties Caswallawn was having in achieving the same unity among the houses of his southern Brythons.

Caswallawn snorted, shaking his head. “I know brother, but I am doing all in my power to bring it about. I doubt very much that I will be able to do so for Beltain, so I too plan for Lughnas” His response was pragmatic, but he shook his head again. “Almost half of the Belgic Houses want to sue for terms and we don’t even know for sure if the Roman bastard’s coming here yet! If he does, he’s not fool enough to come before the harvest. That wet fool Dunfallawn was the creator of this traitorous movement, as gold was ever his mistress. He, Ochor and his three vassal Houses had been doing all the Roman arse-licking, with sycophantic emissaries flitting here and there. Dunfallawn and Commios had been busy in spreading this treason across southern Prydein and the world and his wife knows how much Commios hates me and has always sought the downfall of Casufelawny. Something had to be done brother! I had to risk much and send many good men to remove Dunfallawn and I know what people say, that I slayed him for gold and political gain and both accusations are quite true. But both however, were done for the right benefactor!” He said, his eyebrows arched in challenge. “All men of wisdom know we will need much gold if we are to mobilise nearly all Prydein’s great warriors and effectively prosecute this war we know is coming. The bastard of Rome won’t come until after Lughnas I’m certain, but I am also fairly sure he will come, as his debts are large and pressing.” He pointed-out sagely and his two guests nodded at this wisdom of the age. “And the political advantage of subduing my weak neighbours at the very root of the rebellion, is Prydein’s more than it is mine!” He said with feeling. “And it is me who will have to live alongside them and I will be forced to continually subdue them at great personal cost I’m sure, as they are ever a vengeful set of Belgic tribes and it is widely known that they carry a Galanas for centuries!” He paused bitterly, to get his breath back and to take a long drink.

“This possible ‘blood-feud’ that concerns you brother is unlikely, as the people who need to know, know well your motives Caswallawn but the primary concern remains, as it would be unthinkable for you not to complete the necessary blood-oath of Undeb, being the host Nation and the most threatened!” Lludd cautioned his brother, who nodded grimly at him. “Is there anything we can do to aid you in this regard brother?” He added and Afalach sat up, signalling his own interest.

“Your presence at our great Cymgad in CaerGwlyb at the end of Collen, a little more than two months hence would be much appreciated brother, as would yours Afalach!” Caswallawn nodded to his nephew.

“We will both be there brother, on that you can depend, whatever good it will do but we will of course confirm the proposed great blood-oaths of the allied Triads at your great council at Lughnas. We will also try to illustrate the impossible position northern Trinobanta and the Belgau face and with little choice in reality, if a catastrophic civil war is to be avoided and at the worst time imaginable!” Lludd said gravely.

“The Gods deny!” Afalach voiced their joint prayers and all three kissed iron to avert the ill omen in the spoken words.

“Indeed Afalach, but much must be achieved by mortal man first, before the Gods will deign to support us.” Caswallawn stated the obvious. “All the vassal Kings, Princes and the Gŵyrd must attend, as they are Druid commanded by HênDdu himself as you well know.” He continued in the same concerned vein. “I believe Tasgyofan and I have made inroads with Eppyll of late, so I think Atrebata will be neutral at least, whilst the rest will do as instructed but I still worry about the three disgruntled houses of northern Trinobanta! That nest of treacherous vipers who must also be there and will do nothing but sow dissent, without a damn King to control them!” Caswallawn admitted with another shake of his head. “And as the world and his wife knows, the next-in-line to the Trinobantan throne is Prince Afarwy, only he isn’t bloody Prince Afarwy is he? He hasn’t been for years!” Caswallawn spat. “He is at this moment in Galedon, leading a delegation of Ambassadors in my supplication for allied assistance, as one Lord Androgeus! Ye Gods, it’s all so bloody complicated!” He swore again and Lludd laughed.

“The machinations of mortal man were ever thus brother!” Lludd informed him with a grin.

“Ay the truth shines from your words brother but what choice do we men of ambition have?” He countered with a canine grin of his own. “Although unfinished, CaerGwlyb is big enough to accommodate all who must attend, including their large retinues and all which may be required is in place.” He brought them back on-topic once more but Lludd’s smile endured. “I suppose CaerMencipiwr would have done at a push, but we have decided on my east-midland Capital for the pivotal crychiad and all preparations are in-hand.” Caswallawn finished with a flourish, beckoning an arwein.

“Mencipiwr? I know it’s from the old dialect, but I’ve always thought it a strange name brother. ‘Place of the snatchers’?” Lludd queried with a raised eyebrow and Caswallawn nodded.

“If you walked around the Tref at night, you’d discover why!” He qualified with a grin, causing both his guests to laugh. “There is a broad plain of land which lays further north-east above CaerGwlyb and is spacious enough to accommodate the assembly of soldiers and my inner Caer is more than large enough for the ceremony. I would very-much welcome your presence.”  Caswallawn nodded to them both, the smile gone.

“We will be there Uncle and if these treacherous vassals cause a disturbance, we will deal with them harshly!” Afalach spat and Lludd nodded at his side with that wicked, terrifying smile of his, as both men were used to total and immediate compliance from their subordinates.

Caswallawn relaxed now, his mind moving to other matters as he sipped his warm mead.

“Well I’m hoping it won’t be necessary, as if Androgeus returns in time to claim his throne and attends as King Afarwy, we won’t have a problem. He could make it back but it’s getting out of Galedon that takes the longest, especially if the weather is bad.” Caswallawn ventured from bitter experience.

“The weather’s always bad in Galedon!” Afalach qualified drily, from similar personal experience and they all laughed at the inherent truth in the jest.

“How is business at Aber Tafwys?” Caswallawn asked Lludd across the table, as he was ever the entrepreneur but more importantly, Lludd’s new development on the great south-eastern Linn and estuary of Arglwydd Tafwys which the Belgic tribes call the Tamesa, was of great interest to him. Regardless of Arglwydd Tafwys’ obvious sanctity, wealth producing and spiritual power she was Caswallawn’s only possible access to sea. The new and vital trade her outflow offered him was invaluable but only gained through his brother, as officially it had always been denied him. Caswallawn’s Kingdom of Casufelawny and Atrebata to his south were the only two landlocked territories in all of Prydein and had never been blessed with access to open sea. Both had thus been held to ransom over foreign trade, particularly in regard to port and border fees.

“Business is good Caswallawn, very good. In-fact CaerAulidar runs itself really, especially with Twrgadarn at the helm, as his abilities in this regard are much envied brother as you know. However, my trading ventures on the Tafwys are exceeding all my expectations and have taken much of my time of late. Largely due to the freedom allowed by the excellence of my champion but as a result, I am now in need of more ships, more crews and many more warehouses, as the demands for my imports far outweigh my ability to service them at the moment.” Lludd responded cheerfully and the lilt of his Cymbric dialect added a melody to his deep voice, mostly when he was relaxed and in trusted company.

Caswallawn smiled at the memory of much happier childhood days together, when the five brothers had been the indestructible sons of a living God and life’s promise had stretched out infinitely to an unseen and unperceived horizon. Their uniquely privileged future had seemed to reach gloriously and endlessly before them into a bejewelled summer glade of eternal sunshine, until the dark clouds had come to claim their parents one Beltain, seven long years ago.

“Thankfully, your LludsDun will allow me to trade without the criminal wharfing fees levied by the Trinobantau and Caintau, who as you know I was forced to deal with at prohibitive cost.” Caswallawn said in gratitude, pushing his childhood memories aside.

“Ha it’s hardly a Dun yet brother, more a trading post currently but work is progressing on the new wharf and the bridge repairs are now complete. The foundation walls of the fort are growing taller each week.” Lludd informed them both thoughtfully. “The outer palisade is complete now and there is a huge sprawl of thatches and workshops about the place, neither of you would recognise it!” He added jovially. “It’s a verminous, murderous place brother, full of the refuse and dregs of life. The people work hard and they do as instructed, but even I would hesitate to walk its dung-covered streets at night!” He said seriously but to-much laughter and he couldn’t help smiling himself at the nonsense.

There was a brief lull in the conversation as an attentive arwein refilled their cups before withdrawing and Lludd awaited his departure before continuing, from long habit.

“I import so many things these days from plates and bowls of Gallic, or Greek pottery and fine glassware, gallons of wine of course and olive oil for the nobles." He checked his normal manifest off his living fingers with a crooked little finger of silver, now they were alone once more. "Farmer’s seeds for the werrin, metal ingots and even fish-sauce from Iberia for the Essyllyr!” He declared to them both enthusiastically. “Not to forget the big pots of Goshe, that foul poppy-milk that everyone in the world wants now, not least the physicians and the Druids! This potion comes many hundreds of miles beyond the counting, from a mystical, ancient place known only as the Deep East, wherever the cnuch that is. But the bloody price of it now is exorbitant, especially with those Roman bastards roaming the land like fleas on a dog!” He cursed, curling his lip. Lludd wet his whistle with the fresh beer before continuing. “As you know I export much too, slaves, weapons, skins and furs, even dogs and horses as both journeys must pay but I desperately need more ships and more men!” He said with feeling. “The output at Cwm Ystwyth has dwindled to almost nothing sadly, regardless of the number of slaves I have digging up there and unless I find some new deposits of gold soon, I shall have to tighten my purse strings and it won’t be until after the harvest, when I’ll be able to oversee another dig. Sadly, we may be rather busy down on your south coast then!” He proposed with a smirk.

“I will supply you with enough gold to build three new ships brother and to crew them, as your success on Linn Tafwys is entirely in my interest!” Caswallawn ventured, ignoring the jibe and Lludd’s face lit-up. He smiled at him, nodding.

“Business partners it is then!” Lludd held out his vital left hand and Caswallawn took it warmly in the usual way. “I will send a bird with instruction for the work to begin and you must come soon, along with your gold and see the progress for yourself. I am in your debt brother.” He thanked Caswallawn with a bow of his head.

“Don’t mention it, it will be Dunfallawn’s gold anyway!” Caswallawn replied raffishly, with an exaggerated wink and the two men laughed. “In truth!” He held his hands up. “I am returning half of Dunfallawn’s treasury to Afarwy, Androgeus or whatever name in Lugs-arse we call him!” Caswallawn cursed. “Especially his father’s arms, whether he takes the throne or not, as I believe it is his inheritance. But the other half will cover my outgoings in our national preparations for war, and our new business venture!” He said with a magnanimous nod and the faces of his familial guests around the long table were inscrutable in the firelight.

“I know a number of proven seamen in my Trefs, good fighters too who would travel for permanent work father. I will send them to you after the harvest.” Afalach offered from alongside him and with a responding smirk, Lludd threw his sword-arm about his son’s broad shoulders.

“Yes Afalach, you had better send them along to me because they won’t go to Caswallawn will they, as he isn’t exactly known for his shipping fleet!” Lludd said with a wink and Afalach slapped his knee and hooted with laughter, whilst his Uncle adopted a regal air of imperious aloofness, but his eyes sparkled, and he smiled smugly at them both.

“I am now!” He grinned.

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