Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,53
Ones, despite what had happened? Or the hope that they would be rid of the Old Powers and free to live and love and fight and maybe die among their own kind?
Just as Blodwedd was about to mount the horse that had carried her and Rhodri to the hilltop, Rhodri broke into a run, pounding through the snow towards her, his face twisted with love and concern. She turned, hearing him coming, and she held out her arms to him.
They clung to one another as though their hearts would break at the parting, and Branwen saw the owl-girl’s face tilt up to Rhodri’s, and his head come down so that they kissed – and that was something Branwen had never seen happen between them before.
And as they kissed, the world turned and the sun beat down and the wind blew soft from the south.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Branwen spent the latter part of the day alone in the small hut where Linette had died. Occasionally, footsteps crunched through the snow close by, but no one came in; at times she heard voices, but no one called out to her. She was, as she had wished, utterly alone. She wallowed in her solitude, needing it and hating it at the same time.
Mostly, she sat gazing into the fire. She had hoped for some kind of enlightenment to come to her – some understanding, some explanation of why her comrade had died – but her mind was heavy and blank and the time passed in miserable monotony. Not even the spirit of Linette ap Cledwyn lingered with her in that dreadful place.
As the day faded, Branwen threw herself down by the fire and floated on sleep’s troubled surface, often awake, sometimes asleep but dreaming she was awake, her eyes always full of the brawling of the red flames, whether they were closed or open.
A hand on her shoulder brought her out of her stupor.
She gazed up at the figure crouched by her side, the face bathed in ruddy light. It was Dera.
‘I have grim news,’ said the young warrior girl. ‘We must act, Branwen – or the king will be betrayed.’
Branwen sat up, shaking her head loose of dreams. ‘What has happened?’
‘My father asked that I sleep in his chamber in the Hall of Araith,’ Dera began urgently. ‘I obeyed, wanting to do all I could to please him. And so we doused the candles and prepared for slumber. But I could not sleep and I felt the need to be with my comrades in the long house. Once I was sure my father was asleep, I crept from his chamber, meaning to quit the hall. But as I was about to depart, I heard men speaking privately just outside the doors.’ Her eyes burned. ‘One was Angor, and the other was Prince Llew. They were discussing the meeting that is to take place with the Saxons.’
‘The meeting where land will be offered as tribute to hold Ironfist’s army back?’ Branwen’s mind was sharp as flint now. ‘What of it? What did you hear?’
‘The arrangements have been made,’ Dera said urgently. ‘The message that Hunwald brought from the Saxon general was that Ironfist would only agree to discuss a treaty on the condition that the king and Prince Llew meet him face to face.’
‘That would be madness,’ gasped Branwen. ‘Ironfist will betray them to their deaths!’
‘It is not Ironfist’s treachery we need fear,’ Dera said grimly. ‘Listen to me close, Branwen. The meeting is to take place on the mound of Bwlch Crug-Glas in the east.’ Branwen knew of the place – a bare and solitary tumulus crowned by an ancient ring of standing stones. It was no more than half a morning’s ride from Pengwern. ‘The king and Prince Llew are to ride out at dawn this very morn, with a troop of twenty-five armed warriors,’ Dera continued, speaking rapidly now. ‘The warriors are to be left at the foot of the mound, and Llew and the king are to ride to the crest alone and without weapons. There they will meet with Ironfist and one of his captains – also unarmed.’
‘Ride into ambush?’ interrupted Branwen.
‘Worse than ambush!’ growled Dera. ‘I heard Llew command Angor to pick twenty-five warriors of Doeth Palas as the escort – twenty-five men who are loyal to the prince. And when Llew rides at the king’s side to the top of Bwlch Crug-Glas, it will be to betray the king and to hand him over to Ironfist!’