Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,14
world was bleak and barren, chilling to the bones. As Branwen had predicted, the world ahead of them was lost beneath the snow, the undulating white landscape broken up here and there by a black thicket or patch of woodland, or by the dark wound of a cliff or crag or bluff too steep for the lightly falling snow to settle upon.
All else was a void, a frozen wasteland that stretched away for ever, trackless, lifeless. The cold gnawed relentlessly, smarting in the eyes, sharp as flint in the throat.
Branwen had organized the party in a similar fashion to the previous evening, save that she now took the lead. Terrwyn was the strongest of the horses, and his task was to forge a way into the high snowdrifts, making a passage through which the others might more easily follow. After her came Banon and Aberfa, followed by Angor, to whom she had now given the charge of Romney. With the child in his care, she hoped he would be less likely to cause problems on the way. Branwen had noticed that the little princess had become subdued and withdrawn since the avalanche. Maybe she was feeling guilty that Linette had been hurt rescuing her. Or maybe she simply lacked the strength to carp and whine. Either way, Branwen was glad of the silence.
Behind Captain Angor came his four soldiers, and keeping a watchful eye on them, riding alone in case she had to take some swift action, was Dera. At Dera’s back rode Iwan, the hastily made stretcher tied to his saddle, jutting down at an angle into the snow, its wooden ends jolting a little over the trampled ground. Linette slept deeply now, tied securely to her rough cradle under a heap of warming blankets, her face as bloodless as the snow.
Bringing up the rear of the party were Rhodri and Blodwedd, Rhodri wincing at every jolt and jar of the makeshift carrier ahead of him.
Meredith sat at Branwen’s back as before, but she did not cling on so tight now they were on more level ground; instead, Branwen could feel her fists clutching handfuls of her cloak.
‘How long will it take us to get to Pengwern?’ Meredith asked as they came down out of the mountains and began to tunnel their way through the featureless snow banks and into the bleak east.
‘A single day’s ride, even at this slow pace,’ said Branwen. ‘The further east we travel, the less deep will the snow be. I’ll see you safe and warm in King Cynon’s court before the sun goes down.’
‘You’ve become very sure of yourself,’ Meredith murmured. ‘You were so uncertain when you first came to my father’s Great Hall. At the welcoming feast, you were tricked into challenging Gavan to combat. Do you remember?’
Branwen remembered it very clearly. Gavan ap Huw had been a formidable warrior of the old wars. He had become her mentor for a brief time, showing her how to fight with sword and shield in the forest outside Doeth Palas. In rescuing Rhodri from Prince Llew’s clutches, she had betrayed his trust in her – and worse had come. Much worse. It had been her poor leadership that had taken them into the forest ambush where he had been killed.
And yet perhaps some good had come of it in the end. It had been his dying wish that had driven her to Pengwern while Merion of the Stones and Caradoc of the North Wind had wished her to follow a different path.
Oh, yes – Branwen remembered the grizzled warrior very well.
‘And whose mischievous idea was it that I challenge him?’ asked Branwen.
‘Mine,’ Meredith admitted. ‘But Iwan was quick enough to egg you on once I had put the idea in his head.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Iwan has changed, as well. I mean, he is still sharp-witted and quick of tongue, but I no longer see the frivolous boy I knew from Doeth Palas.’ She sighed. ‘But I do not understand how he could fight against my father. How he could ally himself with that weak man …’
Branwen half turned in the saddle, trying to look into Meredith’s face. ‘What “weak man”?’
‘Cynon of Pengwern,’ said Meredith, her voice grown quieter now, as if she preferred not to be overheard saying such things. ‘He is not the warrior king we need in such times as these. He should have stepped aside and let my father lead our armies into battle. All this bloodshed,