hostility of former times. As fearsome as the witch girl might be, and as dreadful were the gods she followed, she had proved herself an invincible enemy of the Saxons.
And so Branwen and the Gwyn Braw had helped the people of Pengwern to try and put back together the fragments of their shattered lives. There was silence and awe as they passed, but the hatred and rancour were gone.
Riders had been sent out, north, east and south, and they had returned with good news. Not a Saxon could be found west of the River Dee, and those who rode furthest and sought hardest learned that General Ironfist’s great army had fallen to pieces. The levies had fled back to their homes and the captains had ridden north to give the grievous news to the king of Northumbria. His general was dead. His dreams of conquest were done.
The burned gate towers of Pengwern had been pulled down and the timber used to make a great pyre upon which King Cynon and Prince Llew had been burned. Lesser fires had taken the rest of the dead, while Rhodri and the physicians of Pengwern worked tirelessly to save those that could be saved, and to give some measure of peace to those who could not.
New towers were already under construction, trees being felled on the western hill and the timbers being shaped and cut while new postholes were dug for the founding piles.
Now a kind of heart-sore quiet had come over the citadel – a storm-wrecked stillness, as though the stunned soul of Pengwern had succumbed at last to a much-needed sleep. In a few days the citadel of the king of Powys would reawaken for the wedding of Drustan and Meredith, but on this cold and blustery winter’s day, all Branwen could do was clutch her cloak close around her body and stare longingly at the northern horizon and wish for home.
‘It’s a cold morning to be admiring the view, Branwen.’ Startled from her daydreams, Branwen turned at the sound of Meredith’s voice. The young princess stood swathed in a long, thick ermine cloak with a deep hood that left only her pale face visible.
‘How is your sister?’ Branwen asked. She had not seen the two girls since the funeral of their father. Romney had been inconsolable as the consuming flames had leaped, clinging to Meredith and weeping as though her tears had no end.
‘She is as you would expect,’ sighed Meredith, stepping up to stand at Branwen’s side. ‘She loved our father with all her heart.’ She glanced sidelong at Branwen. ‘They were very similar,’ she said. ‘Stubborn, proud and headstrong.’ She paused as though weighing her words. ‘Not always wise in their choices. Not always fair.’
Branwen looked at her, not sure how to respond.
‘I have had long talks with Drustan these past days,’ Meredith continued. ‘We are both the children of great fathers, but we are not like them.’ Her eyes burned into Branwen’s face. ‘I am not like my father, and Drustan is not like his father. I wanted you to know that.’
Branwen nodded.
Meredith’s voice softened. ‘My father was not a traitor, Branwen,’ she said. ‘I will never believe he was a traitor. He died fighting for Powys.’
‘He did,’ Branwen agreed, although she could have said a great deal more.
‘Drustan would like you to stay here,’ Meredith said. ‘Will you stay?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Meredith bit her lip, her hand slipping from her cloak to touch Branwen’s arm. ‘Stay,’ she said. ‘If not for our sakes, then for your own. The gods you worship will destroy you, Branwen, I am sure of it.’
‘I do not worship them,’ Branwen murmured. ‘And do you forget how you were saved by one of those gods?’
‘No, I don’t forget,’ Meredith replied. ‘But fire is a friend when tamed and a great foe when set loose. You do not control these powers, Branwen, and I fear you will be burned to death by them.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Branwen.
‘The Saxon menace is gone,’ Meredith persisted. ‘Be at peace now with us. What more could the Old Powers ask of you?’
Branwen thought of the white shield and the silvery sword that lay together on her bed in the long house of the Gwyn Braw. She said nothing.
Meredith frowned. ‘I know you follow a great destiny, Branwen,’ she said. ‘But if you cannot stay, where will it take you next? Do you know?’
‘I’m waiting,’ Branwen said quietly.
‘Waiting? Waiting for what?’
A bleak smile curled Branwen’s lips. ‘For a sign,’ she said.