Madoc Page 3

  ‘There you are, bard – my part of the bargain done. Now tell me who your friend is.’

  Llywarch, though a rising figure in the hierarchy of the household of Owain Gwynedd, never held airs to himself and even a lowly maidservant could talk to him as equal. It was soon clear that Annesta was a girl of independent spirit and carried herself with a natural dignity.

  Llywarch introduced Madoc as Merfyn of Aberdaron and the girl slipped on to the bench next to him as they ate. Madoc felt strangely attracted to Annesta. He’d had girlfriends in plenty in Clochran and in an age when girls became marriageable at twelve and boys at fourteen, he was no stranger to robust lovemaking. But after a few moments of listening to her soft voice and looking at her deep, thoughtful eyes, he felt a strangeness inside him that made him glad that he had come to Dolwyddelan.

  Half an hour later, the girl had to return to her duties with the Lady Cristin. Llywarch went with her to the keep, to find out from the Penteulu what form of entertainment was to be held in the hall that evening. Madoc was left to his own devices. He went up to the little cubicle on the balcony that Llywarch had pointed out and went sound asleep until the sun was almost on the horizon.

  He dined that night in the large room under his mother’s lodging in the West Tower of the castle, where most of the senior servants and men-at-arms had their meals. The Hall at Dolwyddelan was too small to hold any more than the prince, his family, his guests and the chief officers of his court. It was nothing but a large square room occupying the whole of the floor above the basement. In the thickness of one wall was a steep stair running up to the large bedchamber above, where Cristin and Owain slept. All the rest of the household and court had to find what space they could either in the West Tower or in the motley collection of huts outside. When the prince was in residence, the whole settlement was stuffed with people as tightly as fleas on a hedgehog.

  After the meal was over in the hall, Gwalchmai sent word to Madoc, telling him to come up to the main chamber to hear the entertainment. Clustering at the doorway with other castle inhabitants, he saw and heard both the Chief of Song, Gwalchmai himself and the Household Bard, Llywarch, give their traditional recitals to the prince and his retainers. A very proficient performer himself, Madoc could well appreciate the superb talents of the two bards, both in poetry, song and mastery of the small harp.

  As the mead and beer flowed, Gwalchmai sang first of the glory of God and the exploits of Prince Owain of Gwynedd. Then it was the turn of Llywarch, who sang as custom demanded, of ancient heroes and exploits of others nearer their own time. In a century that was filled with almost continual warfare against the invading Normans, there was no lack of tales of bravery, often exaggerated, but full of fire and rhythm.

  Eventually the sightseers on the stairs wandered off, leaving the revellers in the hall to drink and talk the night away.

  In spite of his afternoon slumber, Madoc was still tired after the three-day journey from Ireland and he made straight for his straw-filled blanket on the balcony. He knew that he was very fortunate, compared to many in that over-filled castle. Some of these others were lying below on the floor, huddled in their cloaks around the smouldering fire.

  His own thick travelling cloak was quite adequate in that spring night and he was almost fast asleep, when he heard a soft rustling in the straw and felt a slight breeze on his face as the hessian was lifted.

  Instinctively, his hand slipped down to his knife, but he had taken off the belt before going to bed. But no nocturnal robber or assassin had entered. A soft tress and long hair brushed lightly over his face as a head was lowered to whisper to him.

  ‘Are you still awake? I felt like talking to you.’

  He sat bolt upright, his heart hammering suddenly within his chest.

  ‘Annesta?’ He shook the remnant of sleep from him in an instant.

  The girl, wearing a dark cloak, slid down and sat alongside him on the mattress. Madoc was only too glad to have her company.

  They spoke for some time, about all manner of things, keeping their voices low, not for secrecy but to avoid disturbing others in that crowded building. Their talk went on against a background of footsteps, low conversation, the occasional giggle from other beds.

  Privacy was virtually unknown, except to the favoured few and they were oblivious of the nearby snores of sleepers and the whimper of babes, separated from them by no more than wattle screens.

  As their talk went on, Madoc’s hand went across the bed and took one of hers. Her fingers responded and they edged nearer.

  For almost an hour they talked of the castle, the personalities that lived there and of the gossip of Gwynedd.

  He found the girl a mine of useful information, as well as being a most intelligent and thoughtful person, without any malice towards those amongst whom she lived. He began teasing her mildly as he felt their relationship becoming closer and theirmild flirtation grew into kisses.

  But Madoc, through his pleasure, felt that there was still something else that Annesta was trying to bring up in their playful talk. Eventually she broke away from a kiss and pulled her head back far enough to look into the dim blur of his face in the gloom.

  ‘What’s your real name, Merfyn? And why are you here in Dolwyddelan?’ She asked this with a directness that he was to learn was characteristic of her nature.

  The words brought him down to earth from the delights of dalliance, to a slightly suspicious defensiveness. For a moment, he wondered whether the girl had been sent to spy on him, but that idea seemed ridiculous, and he felt that either Gwalchmai or even his own mother might have let fall some incautious remark to the servants.

  ‘Who am I?’ He tried to sound puzzled. ‘I’m Merfyn, you know that. From Aberdaron.’

  She reached out her hand again and dug her sharp nails into his wrist.

  ‘Don’t tell me that, for I’ve lived in Llyn myself, since we moved from Dinas Dinlle when I was four years old. I lived in Abersoch, not ten miles from Aberdaron. And I’ve never heard of a young bard called Merfyn from there.’ Madoc groaned. Of all the places in Wales, Gwalchmai had to pick upon the one that would sink his story within a few hours.

  ‘But I am!’ he muttered feebly.

  Annesta jabbed him again. ‘Even if I were not from Llyn, I could tell by your voice. You’re a Welshman all right, but you’re from Ireland. I’ve heard too many sailors in Abersoch, not to recognise the accent.’

  She slid her arms around him and squeezed tighter. ‘Who are you, fair man?’

  Madoc had no heart to lie to this unusual girl.

  ‘It’s true I have lived long in Ireland, though I was born in this very castle. But I have been in Aberdaron many a time,’ he added defiantly, for it was true. He often sailed with both Irish and Norse vessels and Aberdaron was one of the main ports of call.

  ‘Then what’s your real name – and why are you here?’ the dark-haired girl persisted.

  Madoc hesitated. ‘It might be a danger for me if it became common knowledge,’ he countered.

  Annesta kissed his lips. ‘I’ll not bring you into danger.’

  He believed her and with a feeling of relief at being able to share his secret, he whispered somewhat dramatically into her ear,

  ‘I am Madoc and I am of the House of Gwynedd.’

  Annesta hugged him in a gesture of delight at being allowed into the secret. ‘You mean you are a bastard of Lord Owain?’

  ‘My mother is Brenda. This is the first time I have seen her since my birth. Gwalchmai brought me secretly from Dublin, where I live with the Welsh at Clochran.’

  ‘Then you must be one of those that the older serving women talk about round the fire –several sons of our Prince were banished they say. Maybe even killed, some of them.’

  ‘I was taken to Ireland. I know not how it was done; I hope to learn something more when I see my mother again tomorrow.’ Annesta sat quietly, thinking this over.

  ‘Do you think your father would still have enmit
y against you, after all this time?’

  Madoc grunted. ‘It is a risk I do not care to take until I see which way the wind blows. So if you care for me, Annesta, keep a tight guard on your tongue, especially amongst the other maids.’

  Fervently, she swore that the secret would be safe, and added, ‘I must go soon. I sleep in the passage outside the main bedchamber. Though there are two other girls with me, there may be some disturbance and if Lady Cristin finds me missing, there will be trouble.’

  ‘Is she a hard mistress?’ asked Madoc curiously.

  ‘No, Yr Arglwyddes is a lovely lady. Strict, as befits a princess, but fair-minded even to the lowest scullion.’

  ‘And Lord Owain … he loves her?’ Madoc found it hard to understand how a man who openly had many concubines could marry a second time, even if it was partly in defiance of Rome.

  ‘He seems greatly attached to her,’ said Annesta. ‘They say that since Cristin has been his wife, he has shunned almost all his other women … with the exception of Brenda, of course.’

  ‘He looks much older than I had expected,’ mused Madoc, perhaps connecting in his mind his father’s waning passions with his advancing age. Annesta wriggled out of his encircling arms and gave him one last kiss in the darkness.

  ‘I must go … I will see you again tomorrow. I’ll see that you get some good food, too. So, lie back and get some sweet sleep … my Madoc,’ she whispered.

  ‘My name is Merfyn … and don’t you forget it,’ he hissedback. ‘I’ll count the minutes until we’rehere together againtomorrow night.’

  But fate had other things in store for them.

  * * *

  1Snowdonia

  2Head of Song

  3Head of the household

  4The Lady

  CHAPTER THREE

  June 1160

  It was late evening on the next day before Madoc again saw his mother. Gwalchmai came across to his lodging an hour before the evening meal and told him that Brenda had arranged to avoid dining in the hall that evening, so that they might have an undisturbed hour together.

  ‘It seems strange, Gwalchmai, that both my mother and the Lady Cristin share the same table.’

  The Chief Bard chuckled at the lad’s innocence.

  ‘I have seen three of Owain’s concubines chattering to his wife at the table before now, with every sign of friendship. Both Cristin and his former queen, the Lady Gwladys – Christ rest her soul –held it quite natural that such a virile warrior as Owain Fawr could not manage with merely one woman. Though my Lord Owain gets old now, as I do – he has not the same appetite that he had in days gone by.’

  Madoc waited until the sounds of dishes and revelry were in full spate in the keep before he went warily up the stairs of the Western tower.

  He tapped on the door and went in at his mother’s ready command. Again they embraced, then Madoc threw himself across the heavy covers of the bed whilst Brenda sat in the only chair, near the window. Some tallow dips gave a flickering light but bright moonlight from the open shutters helped them to see each other.

  ‘This is little like the castle I expected, lady,’ he said somewhat ruefully. ‘It is smaller than Clochran and has less outbuildings. I thought the Prince of Gwynedd would have a great palace. We hear that he has dealings with France and other kingdoms on the continent. There would be little room for their envoys in this eagle’s nest.’

  Brenda smiled in the gloom. ‘This is but his mountain retreat, Madoc. Aberffraw is much greater and if he listened to Llywarch,it would be the only court of North Wales. But Dolwyddelan has been the saviour of our princes before now, when the Normans march in and prey upon us. From here, we can slip away into Eryri within a few hours … and we have had to do it, before now, bag and baggage.’

  ‘You live here always, mother?’

  ‘No, my son. I go with the court toAnglesey now and then. But I prefer it here, all my children were born here, including you.’

  Madoc sighed at all the lost knowledge he had to catch up on.

  ‘I do not even know who my brothers and sisters are, except for Riryd of Clochran.’

  Brenda smiled gently at him again. ‘You have many, Madoc. I have never lain with any other man but Owain Gwynedd and we have begot six children. Besides you, there is Riryd, Cynan and Rhun, as well as the two girls, Gwenllian and Goeral. So you will never lack for kindred!’

  Madoc digested this for a moment, then asked, ‘What happened at my birth, lady? Why was I banished, and not others?’

  Brenda reached out and laid a hand on his.

  ‘It was chance, a particular moment when fortunes were pressing hard on Owain. He had had three sons bornthat year by different women and both you and Riryd were sent away. Owain cared not where or how as long as you both vanished from sight.’

  ‘Even now, mother, nineteen years later?’

  Brenda made a helpless little movement of her shoulders.

  ‘Gwalchmai, who has always been a good friend to me, is to sound out the matter gently with Lord Owain. He is a man that can never be moved by force, but can be led by diplomacy, at which our Pencerdd is a master. But it will take time.’

  Madoc plied his mother with questions about his family. He learned that his brother Riryd, seven years his senior, would eventually inherit the lands at Clochran in Ireland, as this was a grant from their grandfather, Hywel, Lord of Carno in Central Wales, to the eldest son of his daughter Brenda. Of his other full brothers, all were dispersed and both the girls had recently been married at the usual wedding age of about thirteen.

  ‘Enough about us and our endless relatives,’ said Brenda at length. ‘Tell me about you. It’s not every day I have a long-lost boy come back to me. Tell me how you fare and what you do.’

  Madoc squeezed her hand affectionately. ‘You knew where I was all these years, did you not?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, messages came to me from Clochran. The place is a hive of exiled Welshmen – Ireland was ever a haven for those driven from Gwynedd by family quarrels and the reprisals of the French. I have heard from Riryd often, though I told him not to tell you of your true origins until it was safe for the news to be abroad.’

  ‘What did he tell you of me, my best, big brother?’ asked Madoc gaily.

  ‘That you were a sweet songster and an even better sailor. Madoc of the Ships, they said you were called over there,’

  ‘I love the sea, lady. All the time I can get, I spend at the shipyards and wharfs of Dublin. Already, I can plan and build a boat as well as any Norseman. It must be the blood I had from my father.’

  Brenda laughed, her handsome face catching the candlelight.

  ‘It was certainly not my blood, son. The family of Carno would not trust themselves in a coracle on a rain puddle. It must be your grandfather and his own mother, the Viking girl Ragenhildr, daughter of King Sigtrygg of the Silken Beard.’

  Madoc nodded eagerly.

  ‘Yes, Riryd told me of them. Our blue eyes and fair hair must come straight from the Norselands. One day, I will follow my ancestors across the Great Seas. There are wonderful tales to be heard around the fires in Dublin, of strange lands covered with ice and fairer lands beyond.’

  His mother became quiet all of a sudden. ‘Perhaps you would do well to do just that, Madoc,’ she said sadly. ‘I fear to think what will happen when your father dies. I hope that I shall be gone myself before then, not to see the feuding and bloodshed that will follow his passing.’

  He caught the seriousness of her voice and was sad himself.

  ‘What will happen, mother? Who will take the throne of Gwynedd?’

  Brenda moved restlessly in her chair. ‘Owain has twenty-eight children as far as people have bothered to count. Of his eighteen sons, only four are to be serious contenders for his power. Hywel, son of Pyfog, the Irishwoman, is one, but it is Dafydd and Rhodri, sons of Cristin, who will stop at nothing.’

  ‘What of Iorwerth … he is the eldest?’ asked Madoc.

 
; ‘He has this deformity of his face – a birthmark that twists his features so that he is known behind his back as Iorwerth Drwyndwyn – the Crooked-nosed. There is talk of dispossessing him as one who is not fitting to be ruler of North Wales with such a deformity. And it is Dafydd and Rhodri who are in the forefront of such whispers.’

  ‘But my father is a strong robust man … he will live for ever.’

  Brenda shook her head slowly.

  ‘He is well over fifty now. That is a good age for a man to survive so many battles and plagues. Already his elder sons are beginning to watch him covertly to see him weaken. I only hope God will take me first, I could not bear to see my man wither or be cut down.’

  Madoc swung himself off the bed and knelt at his mother’s feet.

  ‘Neither of you will be taken this many a long year. I will somehow make my peace with my father and come and live in Gwynedd with you. Though I shall make it clear that I will be no contender in this battle for the princedom. All I want is to sail the seas when the whim takes me and to make music on the hillsides when I feel like solitude.’

  Brenda smoothed his head as he crouched near her. ‘You are a poet as well as a sailor. And that is the blood of Carno, you may be sure.’

  She seemed quickly restored to cheerfulness and putting her arms about his shoulders, pressed his head lovingly against her breast.

  At that moment, the door flew open with a crash and the room suddenly was filled with huge, menacing figures holding blazing torches aloft.

  Before the paralysed Brenda and her son could move, they found the great figure of Owain Fawr, Prince of Gwynedd, looming over them.

  ‘So, my Brenda, after all these years, you have palled of my company and taken a younger lover?’

  His voice was like the edge of a sword drawn across rock, as he pointed contemptuously to the petrified Madoc. ‘Take this thing and lock him up, until I find the time to dismember him!’

  As Madoc opened his mouth to speak, a huge, horny hand was clapped across it and he was dragged on his heels towards the door.

  Madoc came groggily back to consciousness to find himself in total darkness. His first act was to be violently sick, a terrible dizziness gripping his brain. Fighting down the nausea, he gradually recovered his senses and found that his main trouble was a severe headache, apparently due to a tender area about his left ear, where a large lump and blood-matted hair told of some recent injury. Gradually memory returned as far as the point where he had been grabbed by Prince Owain’s men-at-arms in his mother’s chamber.