Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,48

a faint light was growing beyond the door. Dawn already?

This was not the first time Branwen had sat benumbed at the side of the dead body of someone she loved. She’d had good practice at this over the past year!

Who had been the first? Geraint, her brother, of course. Slain by a Saxon rider at Bevan’s farm while she stood trembling at the forest’s eaves and did nothing to help him. And her dear father, cut down from his horse at the gates of Garth Milain and hurt to the death because she had chosen to go to the aid of her mother. And she could never forget Gavan ap Huw, staunch warrior of the old wars, defender of kings, Cadwallon’s standard-bearer, brought to his death by a foolish girl’s pride, fallen in a woodland ambush that could have been so easily avoided.

Yes, the tally of good people at whose side she had mourned grew long – too long by far. And how soon before it would be her body that was laid out cold and lifeless on the ground and some other soul torn asunder by her death? Rhodri, perhaps. He would grieve, yes he would, faithful and loving friend! Or Iwan. What had he said, just a brief time past? You are a marvel to me, Branwen. A marvel still, with the worms gorging on her flesh? A marvel, with the ravens pecking at her eyes? A marvel, with so many deaths on her lifeless, skeletal hands?

‘We must give thought to her funeral,’ said Iwan, speaking for the first time since they had returned to the hut.

‘We shall build her a pyre fifteen ells high,’ said Branwen, not looking at him. ‘She shall depart this world among leaping flames.’

‘I don’t think that will be possible,’ said Banon. ‘All cut wood is needed for winter fuel, and fresh-hewn timber will be wet and hard to stack and to burn.’

Branwen sighed. ‘No pyre, then? Does it matter? Shall we toss her from the walls and let the animals of the wild have their fill of her. Would that be honour enough?’

‘There are stones enough in Pengwern to build a cairn,’ said Aberfa. ‘The ground will be hard, but we will be able to dig her a grave. And then over her head we will pile stones to keep her safe from harm.’

Rhodri began to whisper a snatch of an old song.

Dig her grave both wide and deep,

That she shall be disturbed not in her sleep,

And on her breast plant a weeping willow tree,

To show she died for love of thee and of me …

‘Say rather she died to save a stupid child,’ muttered Branwen darkly.

‘Romney is not to blame,’ Iwan said. ‘She ran the wrong way, that is all. Blind fate did the rest. Blame fate and this cruel winter.’

‘And who brought the cruel winter down on us?’ asked Aberfa.

Branwen glared at her. ‘Caradoc of the North Wind,’ she said, giving voice to the thoughts flooding her mind. ‘One of the Old Gods, whom I so arrogantly defied. If it be his wrath, or his sport, then … the blame rests with me.’

‘I did not mean that,’ Aberfa muttered.

‘You are too quick to apportion blame!’ said Blodwedd, sitting apart from the others by the doorway, staring out into the growing daylight. ‘Is every death then the result of ill judgement or malice? If Branwen ap Griffith chooses unwisely, is the death of every bird that falls from the sky to be laid at her foot? And when man makes war upon man, is Branwen ap Griffith there as each man gasps out his final breath?’ The owl-girl stared at Branwen, her eyes burning golden. ‘Death is not in your hands, Branwen,’ she said solemnly. ‘No more than is life. There are births. There are deaths. The world teems. The world rejoices. The world mourns. It’s none of your doing!’

‘And what of the Shining Ones?’ asked Banon.

‘Did they promise that no harm would ever come to you and yours?’ Blodwedd asked Branwen. ‘Did they ever say to you “follow our lead, and all will be well”?’ She frowned. ‘You do not know of the mercy and love that the Shining Ones bestow on this world!’

‘ “Mercy and love”?’ said Iwan grimly. ‘I see precious little of that coming out of the west. If you have such faith in the benevolence of the Old Gods, go and find them, Blodwedd – ask them to bring the torment of this winter to an