Lludd & Caswallawn; Elder sons of the great Beli Mawr and two of the Red Ravagers of Prydein.
It was raining hard in
south-western Breged. A sharp, semi-frozen rain was driven from the frozen
heights of the borderland mountain range to their west, to sweep down across
the lowlands with little mercy and it was punishing to man and beast alike. Lludd
and his son had parted an hour ago and Afalach now forged into the teeth of
this sleeting downpour, heading for the darkness of the western hills and
mountain passes, which lead their tortured routes to Cymbri and his own lands. Afalach’s six freezing but capable guards had
thundered off alongside him, as they pursued the dying sun home.
Caswallawn and Lludd had talked for
hours on the long, difficult journey at the head of their accompanying
horsemen, mostly at how much the world seemed to be changing around them. The
heartland and southern tribes were becoming more pastoral and less hostile with
each year that passed and the cross-border raiding was almost a thing of the
past now. Even the glory of head-hunting was fading and these two Prydeinig legends
were in a unique position to perceive these subtle changes over the years. The
manner in which their fabled father had wrested and held power over all of
Prydein was etched into these men’s characters and their souls, making
imperative growth by any and all means a burning ambition within each. Their
whole lives had been spent in the pursuit of power and whilst Cymbri’s borders
were ancient and inviolate, their discussion inevitably got around to the
future position of Casufelawny and its minor Kingdoms. The name of Caswallawn’s
House meant Kings of War in the old dialect and he was determined with his
brother’s help, to prove that the Casufels
were still exactly that today.
Over the hard days on horseback,
the two brothers had come to agree on many things and now they gratefully
approached the high and dark battlements of CaerUricorn; the midland Capital of
King Iddel ap Madoc of the House Cornafau Calon. Their freezing and weary
riders were slumped in their saddles behind them and all were soaked to the
skin from the cold, incessant sleet they had ridden through for many hours.
They had pressed-on hard this day, to make Iddel’s great Caer before sunset and
day’s end, as another night-camp in this weather was just unacceptable to these
noble brothers. Moreover, Iddel the Generous’ hospitality was legendary and so
their relief was great on arrival, as they were truly exhausted from the long
journey south-east, as were their horses. Much of this riding had been done
in the face of a stiff wind and across roads and lanes which were ever
difficult to negotiate, as if you were going against the grain of the land
somehow, or stroking a dog the wrong way.
In daylight hours, it had been an
uncommon easterly wind which had assaulted them, unusual even for the
changeable weather of early spring, but it had also lent its exhausting weight
to the toll of the journey and the freezing rain it carried had turned the
crossing into a nightmare. The brothers and their retinue had fought the
elements and terrain constantly, being buffeted by a westerly for the last two hours as the wind had about-faced from
the approaching dusk, but the sons of Beli Mawr were not the quitting kind and
they had pushed-on without pause. Luckily, the two famous Sovereigns’
appearance was enough to compel the Gate Master to yell for arwein and quickly
throw open the horse-gate in the outer palisade.
Over a score of tired and wet horses plodded through the outer gate and up the steep ramparts, their heads hanging along with their weary riders, as they approached the imposing and towering twin gates of Iddel’s CaerUricorn. The soldiers were shown the tavern and their billet for the night, whilst the royal siblings were shown to the croeso hall, bedecked in bunting as it was for the impending festival, where they took a comfortable seat. It was a matter of moments before a tall and thin arwein presented himself, with two deep and respectful bows.
“Honoured King Lludd ap Beli Mawr
and honoured King Caswallawn ap Beli Mawr, my name is Befen and it is a
singular and great honour to meet such legendary heroes of Prydein!” The boy
blushed as he remembered his duty. “I offer you both the welcome of King Iddel
ap Madoc and if you follow me please, I will show you to our guest lodges where
you may rest.” He offered in a cultured but boyish, musical voice, still
blushing furiously and both men grinned, long used to the hero-worship of
Brythonic youth. Befen the arwein had a long, serious
face and he informed them that King Iddel would be informed of their arrival
and that he would be honoured to fetch whatever refreshments they desired, in
fact the page was capable of delivering a great many services and pleasures.
Lludd requested food and ale only, followed by six hours of privacy so he could
sleep and recover, and his brother did much the same. They followed the tall
servant along two long stone passageways and under the countless split-tree
rafters above their heads, before he opened the door to a dry and pleasant room.
Caswallawn made his farewells to Lludd in the passage and they shook hands
warmly, as he was leaving early to complete his long return journey south.
The room looked comfortable with a roaring, shrouded hearth and a soft looking bed, making Caswallawn smile. Befen bowed deeply to him from the doorway.
“I will be back shortly Majesty,
with food and warm mead.” Befen bowed deeply again, before turning and leading
Lludd around the corner.
Caswallawn slumped to the bracken
frame with a sigh of relief, as his legs, buttocks and back were aching with
the seemingly endless days of riding and battling the elements, but he was
gratified with developments, pleased with the things he had been able to
discuss and agree with Lludd during their onerous days and hours of riding in
the rain. As he prepared himself for
bed, his thoughts for the future of Casufelawny returned and he smiled, as all
was on schedule.
He had subdued the aged King Anted’s Dobunny tribe to his west two years previously, reducing them to vassal status just through the threat of his military power, but Caswallawn was no fool and his demands on the old King had been almost non-existent, so far. Old Anted and his Gŵyrd were content with their position, as-long as it guaranteed them the peace they needed to prosecute their businesses. However, unknown to them Caswallawn had designs on a great bow of their fine fertile land, one which bulged into Casufelawny’s western border like an enormous beer-belly. It had long irked him, and the huge and extremely valuable crescent of broad farmland which stretched the whole length of his western border, had filled his thoughts of late. Caswallawn was determined that in time, that particular big belly of land would be nourishing the people of Casufelawny’s bellies and not the Dobunny.
Atrebata to the south was proving more problematic, as Commios’ hatred of him and all of Casufelawny was no secret. It was anything but, as Commios’ acidic animosity toward Casufelawny was so vociferous and illogical, it had prompted Bards to compose hilarious and discourteous englyns on the subject, denigrating the Belgic King and feeding the fires of his hatred. It went without saying that Caswallawn had made several attempts on Commios’ life, and the same was true in reverse of course, but that was no excuse to become irrational in Caswallawn’s opinion. Caswallawn had long accepted that Commios would always be a thorn in his side but since his forced exile he had been making good inroads with his son Eppyll, who now held the reins of Atrebata with his brother Tyncomarog. It was a quarrelsome partnership by all accounts and a third, even more belligerent brother known as Ferica lay brooding in the wings of Tyncomarog’s CaerCalli.
Caswallawn had reached-out to the young Prince Eppyll at his fortress of CaerFuddai and with the help of his own son Tasgyofan who had known Eppyll as a child, he had made inroads of late. The small successes gained with Eppyll however, were not so easily accomplished with his brother Tyncomarog and his Gŵyrd. That sibling Prince’s larger and more militarily organised warrior-class didn’t fear Caswallawn’s might, as did old Anted of Dobunny but if he could by some means do more than bring them under his ‘Rheol y Grym’, Atrebata would be a huge and valuable asset. Atrebata also represented a stepping stone to the small House of Rhegin below them to the south. Rhegin played a vital part of his longer-term plan of regional ownership, as it was flanked by the equally small and powerless Kingdoms of Caint to the east and Belga to the west and would be the springboard of his planned conquest, as if all were subdued beyond vassal status to the point of ownership, the new territories would double the size of Casufelawny. Total conquest of this broad southern region would make Casufelawny immensely powerful and wealthy, but even more-so in future from its broad access to the oceans and its many ports, especially under the rule of one powerful Warlord.
The eternally belligerent and war-loving Eceni to Caswallawn’s north-east were not even worth considering, as they were unconquerable in his opinion, but he had thought that of Trinobanta once too but that had changed last Autumn when he had slaughtered Dunfallawn. The Triple-Crown was far from being his legal possession yet however, as the circumstances over the channel had drawn the beacon-light of National and European interest across him and his lands. This unwanted scrutiny illuminated his manoeuvres and effectively prevented him from capitalising on his recent gains with impunity, and so his opportunity of eastern conquest had passed, for now. Although it seemed that Trinobanta’s throne may soon be restored by his own Ambassador; Andgrogeus, Caswallawn possessed the upbringing to know that nothing was written in stone. Atrebata and Rhegin to the south, the other two jewels of his planned future southern Kingdom still lay as tantalisingly out of reach as Trinobanta, and it galled him beyond reason. Caswallawn burned with an uncomfortable, aggravating passion that drove him ever onwards, on toward that all-consuming glittering goal but with all that was in play nationally and all that lay just over the horizon, he had the knouse to put his plans of conquest on the back-stone once more, as sometimes conquest could take a generation or more. Whilst some of his neighbours were content to soften into placid pastoralism, Caswallawn scorned their weakness, as he still burned with the fire-blood of great Beli Mawr and he would make them pay dearly for their descent into beardless-timidity, or he would die in the attempt.
Imperative conquest had been what his Tad, his Taid and all his progenitors had lived-for and it was what he lived-for - burned for. A vital concept he had been fully engaged in instilling into Tasgyofan for the last fifteen years, for as long as the boy could talk. The immutable truth; that security only came from control, through power by oppression, by ownership via conquest or vassal submission of your surrounding competitors and it is an everlasting truth. It wasn’t just about the growth of Casufelawny in Caswallawn’s opinion, as winning wasn’t enough alone; they - your competition had to lose! Caswallawn hoped Tasgyofan would eventually pass-on this golden knowledge to his own sons, as he lay down on the soft bracken to await the food and medd-melys with another great sigh.
Befen threw open another door to a similar chamber and Lludd smiled at the boy as he repeated the same promise to return soon with refreshments, before turning on his heel and striding away on his long, thin legs. Closing the stout door, Lludd left the bronze hook unlatched and eased his aching posterior onto the clean woollen floor rug, leaning back against the side of the big bed frame. He squeezed the large horse-hair stuffed, canvas bed-cushion behind him with an appreciative nod, pleased too that the bracken under it was fresh and springy and he looked forward to its comfort.
Reclining against the soft side of the mattress, Lludd unbuckled the leather straps that secured his silver hand to the stump of his right forearm and the relief was immediate. He placed the priceless prosthetic on the rug at his feet and massaged the aching and red-looking stump and its great crescent-shaped wound, which began to throb now it was free of the encumbrance. Lludd then drew a small bronze pot of ointment with a tightly fitting lid from an inside pocket and he prised this off with his teeth. Rubbing this vaguely greenish paste into the inflamed flesh of the glowing pink stump, he sent a fleeting prayer of thanks to his mentor HênDdu, the creator of this amazing and unctuous salve, which whilst smelled vaguely of swamp weed and frog spawn, cooled the inflamed skin and within a few minutes relieved all pain. More importantly it dispelled all swelling and redness, but he used it infrequently as for a man with his training, most pain was a simple matter to overcome, so Lludd used the ointment for its astonishing ability to cause and support the advanced physical repair of damaged flesh. His arm only protested after long hours of supporting the heavy burden but the chaffing of many prolonged days of hard-riding was the main cause of the pain and inflammation tonight but within the hour, it would all be gone without a trace. Befen came and went, leaving the excellent cold cuts, the fine warm bread and the excellent beer and Lludd wolfed them down, single-handed.
Once fed and watered, Lludd sat again on the floor and brought his feet together now, crossing his legs at the ankles and raising his knees, adopting the poise and seated form of the hunt-lord. Focussing on his form with a straight back, Lludd began to prepare for the ancient, regular deep-breathing exercises of Chwyth-Cornonnyn, which had been part of his astonishing training as a Dewin and he filled his great lungs now. Lludd exhaled powerfully, relaxing his body and his mind imagining himself with a long-practised clarity, in the form of the Lord Cornonnyn in all his fundamental glory.
Lludd saw himself seated cross-legged clearly in his mind with the sanctified Crown of Antlers on his own head, the sacred ram-horned Serpent of Ultimate Power writhing in his outstretched left hand and the Torc of Ultimate Authority glowing in his missing right. He emptied his mind completely and consciously relaxed his shoulders, bringing his great focus to bear as he dominated the small pain in his limb, easily forcing it from his mind with his iron-hard will. He began the second stage then of the elite martial art of the ‘Breath of Cornonnyn’, by breathing deeply and steadily to the most ancient of all human rhythms - his heartbeat. In a few minutes time seemed to slow, as Lludd gratefully entered the white zone of Cornonnyn through his Dewin trained mind, as both his breathing and heartbeat slowed too.
The subtle smells of the forest filled his nostrils now, thickened by the bovine reek of deer, boar and bull as Cornonnyn’s spiritual beasts gathered around the seated Dewin. His left hand writhed and his missing right glowed and slowly but surely, Lludd came to reside serenely in a place where there was no pain, no feeling and no thought. An hour spent in this healing, revitalising zone refreshed the body and mind, like four hours of undisturbed sleep but it was mostly done by his elite warrior-priest colleagues before battle, or to recover quickly from sickness or injury.
Within the hour, the great dark and brooding hilltop Caer of Iddel was silent and both brothers were soundly asleep.
Excerpt from Iron Blood & Sacrifice (The Sons of Beli Mawr)
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