Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,16

know Prince Drustan?’ Meredith’s question broke Branwen from her giddying daydreams. She blinked herself back into grievous reality.

‘I do,’ she replied thickly, disturbed by how her mind had wandered.

‘What’s he like?’

Branwen paused for a moment, gathering her wits. ‘Have you never met him?’

‘Never.’

‘I think you will like him,’ Branwen said slowly, conjuring an image of the nineteen-year-old heir to the throne of Powys in her mind’s eye. ‘He is tall and dark, like his father. Not overly sturdy, but no weakling. Well-knit, I’d call him. He has some skills with a sword and a bow and he has a sharp mind, I think.’

She omitted speaking aloud her other impressions. The boy is more open and frank than his father, I’d say. There is something about King Cynon that always makes me feel he’s keeping his true thoughts and desires secret. The king never laughs, but Drustan is often merry. Perhaps the burdens of kingship weigh too heavy for mirth. But, given all for all, I’d say Drustan has a kindlier and more generous heart than his father.

‘Do you think he will like me?’

The question took Branwen aback a little. ‘Why would he not? You have a comely face, and you know how to behave in highborn company. When I left Pengwern he was away on some urgent errand, meeting with the lords of the southern citadels. But I am sure he will hurry back to meet his intended bride.’ She wrinkled her brow as a sudden thought struck her. ‘How do you feel about being sent to marry a boy you have never met?’

‘It is my bounden duty to Powys, and to the house of my father,’ Meredith said quickly, as though repeating a carefully learned lesson. ‘I will be the mother to a long line of kings. It is an honour to do this. A great joy.’

‘Really?’ Branwen twisted to look into Meredith’s face. ‘Do you feel a great joy inside you then, Meredith?’

‘I must,’ said the girl, shifting her eyes away from Branwen’s face.

‘I certainly had no feelings of joy when I set off on the journey that was to end with me becoming the bride of Hywel ap Murig of the house of Eirion in Gwent,’ Branwen replied. ‘In fact, I resented it, if I am honest with you. But then, I had already met Hywel and knew him to be a spiteful little wretch with the face of a sickly, bloated toad.’

How curious that seemed, now she thought of it. It would not have occurred to Branwen to think for a moment that she had anything in common with the princess – and yet both of them had been sent from home to marry a stranger for the greater good of Powys. That was a bond of sorts, to be sure.

Meredith smiled a little. ‘Is Drustan handsome, then?’

‘I suppose he is, all in all.’

A spark came into Meredith’s eyes. ‘As handsome as Iwan, for instance?’ she asked pointedly. ‘I seem to recall he had eyes for you in Doeth Palas – and you liked him, too, I think.’

Branwen turned away from the princess, feeling her cheeks redden. ‘Where has Fain got to? I don’t like it when he’s away too long.’

At her back, Meredith sang softly a snatch of a song that Branwen had never heard before.

… and the maiden she cried, I will not be your bride,

For your looks and your antics I cannot abide.

But the plain truth was this, that for heart’s ease and bliss

She would give all she owned for a single sweet kiss …

And now Branwen was very glad indeed that she was facing away from the princess of Doeth Palas, as she felt her cheeks begin to burn like a raging fire.

On and on through the snow. Horses struggling where the drifts were high, moving more easily when the snow was only fetlock deep. But all the time, the unending whiteness of the world seeping into Branwen’s brain so that her thoughts were deadened and senses numbed.

‘Caw!’

Branwen was jerked out of a waking stupor by Fain’s harsh cries. The light had changed since last she had been paying attention. The day had grown more grey, the distances more indistinct. Was it late afternoon or early evening?

‘Caw! Caw!’

These were not Fain’s usual cries. He was agitated – alarmed.

‘Enemies approach from the north!’ shouted Blodwedd from the end of the line. ‘Many Saxons on horseback!’

Branwen was alert now, all drowsiness banished. She stared into the dim and grainy north. Across the grey blanket