Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,40
might as well hand over his crown at the same time.
‘Thank you for your counsel, Branwen of the Gwyn Braw,’ said the king. ‘Go you now and fetch the Saxon messenger while we debate the exact nature of the words we would send back to General Ironfist.’
‘But, my lord—’
‘Do as the king commands,’ said Angor, glaring at her. ‘Or do you think the demons you worship allow you to question the king’s wishes?’
‘No, Captain, I do not,’ Branwen replied, holding back her anger. ‘But I know twisted counsel when I hear it, and I would rather face Ironfist in open battle than defeat him by stealth and falsehoods.’
Bowing to the king, she turned and strode quickly from the hall, well aware that malevolent eyes followed her.
‘It is called diplomacy,’ Iwan said earnestly. ‘Branwen, we have spoken of these things before. More wars are won by lies and deceits than by swords and axes.’
‘I know!’ Branwen replied sullenly. ‘But I hate it all the same.’
‘You are too honourable,’ said Banon.
‘Maybe I am,’ sighed Branwen. ‘But this kind of trickery sickens me.’ She jumped up. ‘Banon! Come, spar with me! I need to clear my head!’
It was the afternoon of the same day. The Saxon messenger had been sent back with the king’s reply and as he had departed snow had begun to fall. Although Branwen had brought Eanfrid Hunwald to the Hall of Araith, she had been sent away without hearing exactly what was said to him. Not that she wanted to listen to such shameful, dissembling words.
Now she was with her followers in the long house, joining in with their arduous training regime, trying to block out her apprehension with hard physical effort.
She worked every muscle as she fought sword against sword with Banon. The gangly warrior girl was a wily, lithe opponent who seemed never to be quite where Branwen expected, and who moved around the field of contest like a hare made mad in the spring. Banon was not the strongest of her followers, but all the same, Branwen found it hard to get the better of someone who in two long-legged springs could be behind her and swinging her sword at the back of her neck almost before she could turn round.
They fought till Branwen found an opening in her opponent’s guard. Sweeping Banon’s sword arm aside, she brought her blade to a stop a hair’s-breadth from piercing the lanky girl’s exposed stomach. They stood panting, looking at one another with shining eyes.
‘One day I shall get the better of you, Branwen,’ said Banon.
Branwen gave a crooked smile. ‘But not today.’ She turned. ‘Aberfa? A little exercise?’
‘Indeed,’ said Aberfa, getting to her feet and hefting her spear.
Branwen spread her feet, raising her shield to her eyes, gripping her sword tightly, preparing herself for battle. Aberfa stood gazing at her. Smiling, she raised a hand and beckoned. Narrowing her eyes, Branwen moved in.
Aberfa was powerful and deadly – it was like attacking a tree, but a tree that could swing around with startling speed and give Branwen a buffet on the side of her head. Two or three times in their contest, Branwen fell back, her head ringing and eyes full of stars.
‘Well hit!’ Iwan roared as Branwen retreated again from Aberfa’s attack, feeling as if wasps swarmed in her burning ears. ‘Are you half asleep, barbarian princess?’
‘If she was, that blow will have woken her!’ declared Dera, watching the contest with excited eyes.
Branwen narrowed her eyes, pushing back the annoyance she felt at having been bettered like that. Had Aberfa’s spear shaft been a Saxon axe, her skull would have been cloven in two!
Pay attention! Forget everything but the foe in front of you! Focus your mind!
But that was easier said than done when images of Prince Llew kept drifting into her head, breaking her concentration and making her vulnerable.
Aberfa came at her like a raging bear. Instinct took over from thought in Branwen’s mind. She dived forward, curling up, her shoulder striking the ground first as she rolled at the advancing girl’s feet.
Aberfa stumbled, taken off balance as Branwen’s shoulder and back took her feet out from under her. The ground shook as Aberfa came down in a sprawling heap. Branwen bounded to her feet again, pivoting, her sword held high above her shield, the point angling down.
She came down heavily astride Aberfa’s back, the sword point at her neck.
Dera and Iwan and Banon applauded. Aberfa spluttered and shook herself.