Caradoc of the North Wind - By Allan Frewin Jones Page 0,97

was wrong to do so.’

‘What of the king?’ demanded Branwen. ‘Is he afraid to face me, after the treachery he worked upon me?’

Drustan looked solemnly at her. ‘My father is dead,’ he said. ‘He led the first charge from the citadel and was cut down by many Saxon warriors as he fought to prevent them crossing the causeway. Prince Llew is also among the slain, as are Captain Angor and many another brave warrior of Doeth Palas.’ Drustan looked steadily at her. ‘I owe you a blood-debt, Branwen of the Gwyn Braw. You have done nothing but good for us, and we have treated you shamefully.’ His eyes flashed. ‘Be assured that the new king of Powys will ever be your friend, Branwen of the Shining Ones.’

Branwen gazed at him, not quite able to grasp the reality of what he had told her. King Cynon dead? And Llew ap Gelert too? She had always imagined that she and the prince of Bras Mynydd would face one another at sword’s length before the feud between them was ended. But he had been killed, after all, defending the land he had tried to betray. There was at least some strange kind of justice in that.

Her attention was taken from Drustan as Dagonet ap Wadu came forward, bowing his head to her. ‘For my part in your betrayal, I offer you my atonement,’ he said. ‘I was too ready to listen to the whispered words of the prince of Bras Mynydd – as was my king.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘We were wrong to do so.’

‘You were!’ said Dera, trembling as she confronted her father, her dark eyes burning with outrage. ‘You should throw yourself upon the ground and beg her mercy for your actions! It was base and it was wrong!’

‘A warrior cannot question the commands of his king, Dera,’ Drustan said mildly. ‘Forgive your father, as you would forgive all those who believed in Prince Llew’s twisted counsel.’ He looked out over the battlefield, his forehead creased in sorrow. ‘Much damage has been done this day, and some can never be put right. But in one thing the new king of Powys will not fail.’ He looked at Branwen. ‘You will be honoured, Princess, and you will have for ever a high place among my counsellors. I will have my captains search the fallen and see if any can be saved. The rest shall be laid to rest, be they warrior of Brython or of Mercia. In the meantime, I will hold true to the pledge between my father and the prince of Bras Mynydd. I will wed the daughter of Llew ap Gelert and our children will rule in Powys for a hundred generations.’ He reached out his hand to her. ‘Come, Branwen. Enter the citadel at my side. You and all the Gwyn Braw with you. I promise that you will receive the welcome you deserve – for it is by your hand and the hands of those great ones you follow that we have won this victory today.’

‘I will go with you, King Drustan,’ said Branwen. ‘I will enter Pengwern with my people, because they deserve warmth and rest and comfort after all they have been through. But as for the rest – as for a seat at your right hand – well … that is something I cannot promise. My destiny may make other demands on me.’ She glanced at Rhodri. He was watching her closely, but his expression was unreadable. ‘For I am Destiny’s Child,’ she continued, ‘and my burdens and my duties go beyond the kingdom of Powys!’

‘So be it,’ said the new king, and they all mounted and with slow, sombre dignity rode together across the battlefield and in through the burned gates of Pengwern.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Branwen stood upon the ramparts of Pengwern, gazing northwards and thinking of her mother. Of Caradoc’s storm, all trace had gone; the snow melted away, the freezing wind abated. But it was bitter cold all the same, and Branwen stared out over a bleak winter landscape of mud and brown earth and bare black trees.

Three days had passed since the battle had been won. Three days filled with hard, bitter toil. Too many had died on the battlefield for the survivors to rejoice in their victory, and the manner of their delivery from the Saxons was too uncanny for them to feel at ease with it. But at least Branwen and the Gwyn Braw were saved the outright