Madoc Page 4

  Madoc groaned, not with pain but with the misery of the memory. The very thing that they had tried to avoid had happened within minutes of his meeting with Brenda of Carno. Now he was discovered, his mother was disgraced and if his father’s reputation was true, he had little hope of mercy.

  Then his fuddled mind cleared enough to pick out a memory that was at odds with his fears. He remembered his father yelling something about having discovered Brenda with a lover, not a clandestine son. Still, he thought dismally, being hung or beheaded for alleged adultery was no less unpleasant than being executed for being an unwanted bastard.

  He gingerly tested his limbs to see if he was injured elsewhere, but all his functions seemed intact, apart from numbness and stiffness after lying crumpled on a hard earthen floor.

  There was not a glimmer of light, but he could hear occasional scraping noises and, once, some hollow footsteps from above his head. He scrambled to his feet and after fighting down a fresh wave of sickness that the movement aroused, he stumbled around to try to discover his whereabouts. There were boxes, barrels and sacks scattered in the darkness and a mixture of smells ranging from herbs and malt to stale excreta and damp wood. Rats scuttled in the gloom and he knew now that he must be in the basement of the keep.

  It must be the middle of the night, as the castle was so quiet. He paced around, until returning nausea and hacked shins from stumbling over obstructions forced him to lie on the ground again. Tiredness, misery and a hovering fear of the unknown drove him into an uneasy sleep.

  When he woke, there were noises above: the dragging of benches;the stamp of feet; and the buzz of voices, broken by shouts and laughter. Soon, smells of cooking wafted through the other odours in the cellar and remindedMadoc that he had not eaten for a long time. His nausea had gone and his head only throbbed slightly now.

  A consuming thirst came over him, but there was nothing with which to slake it. He felt around and found some small kegs in which liquid sloshed when he shook them, but there was no means of drawing the bung and, in frustration, he dropped them back to the floor. The darkness was now broken by odd slivers of light creeping in through cracks in the floorboards ten feet above him. As the dawn passed into full morning light, he could dimly see the stacked provisions around him and even the shape of the trapdoor near one of the corners.

  The noise of the morning meal faded and the hall above became quiet, apart from occasional footsteps and the sound of a broom used on the floor. The day wore on and nothing happened. Madoc did not know whether to be glad or sorry. His tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth with thirst and his stomach rumbled with hunger, but at least he had not yet been dragged out to be hanged.

  What is to happen to me, he wondered miserably. And what would his mother suffer for this escapade? She must surely have told Prince Owain last night, that Madoc was no lover, but a long-lost son … would not the old man’s heart be softened, at least enough to allow Madoc to slink away back to Ireland.

  As he sat on the damp earth of that gloomy cellar, he wondered how they had been discovered so soon. Only one person, apart from Gwalchmai, knew his real identity. And that person was Annesta. He could not see why she should betray him –and in any event, the prince had burst in shouting about a lover, not a son.

  It was all too confusing and Madoc gave up trying to unravel the tragic puzzle.One thing did remain clear to him, however. This girl Annesta was to be something special in his life. It was not just the romantic episode of the other night that forced this conclusion on him – in an age where lads and lasses matured so early and married in their early teens, he was now a relatively old man at nineteen and had had many girlfriends among those at Clochran. But Annesta’s face, as calm and self-possessed as his own nature, was branded into his mind with an intensity that survived eventhe fears and miseries of his present plight.

  Hours went by and no one took the slightest notice of him. The tiny rays of light slipping between the oaken planks shifted their position as the sun travelled across the sky and his almost intuitive sense of navigation told him that it was well past noon when the first sign of activity occurred.

  He was sitting dejectedly against a sack of corn, rubbing his dry lips, when he heard a slight noise overhead and sensed a change in the light. Looking up quickly, he saw the trapdoor opening slightly and a face appearing in the opening.

  Quickly, he scrambled up a pile of boxes that he had dragged together earlier, directly under the opening.

  ‘Madoc … are you there? I can’t see.’

  It was a girl’s voice and as he clambered up towards the ceiling, he could see it was Annesta.

  ‘Annesta … what’s happening?’

  She made a cautious hushing noise at him, peering back over her shoulder. Then she slid a green woollen cloak through the half-open trap.

  ‘Quickly, put that on. It will help disguise you.’

  He asked no more questions, but flung the cloak around him and climbed onto the topmost box of the precariously balanced pile.

  ‘I waited for hours until there was no one in the hall, but someone may come at any time, so hurry.’

  She disappeared to haul back the heavy trapdoor until it was almost upright.

  ‘Can you get out … I’ve no rope,’ she hissed.

  Madoc, thankful for his tallness, reached up and gripped the edge of the hole with both hands and, with a violent effort, swung himself up until he could get his belly onto the floor boards. Then with a twist, he rolled his legs up and lay breathing heavily on the floor of the hall.

  ‘Quickly,’ urged Annesta. He jumped up and took the heavy trapdoor from her, lowering it quietly back into place.

  Already the girl was on her way towards the main door, Madoc following close behind. As she reached the little vestibule and peered out on to the top of the wide stairs leading down into the courtyard, she suddenly stopped.

  ‘There’s a man coming … quickly, and pray that he’s not going upstairs.’

  Dragging Madoc by the hand, she slipped past the door into the dark and narrow passageway that led to the stairs. As they cowered around the corner, a serving man banged noisily through the door.

  ‘He’s coming this way,’ hissed Annesta into his ear. In a flash Madoc seized the girl and fixed his mouth passionately on hers, squeezing her closely to his breast.

  Surprised and in no mood for loving at that frightening moment, Annesta wriggled.

  ‘Hey, you two, keep that stuff for your bed,’ bawled the man, as he passed them. He slapped Madoc playfully on the back as he made his way towards the staircase.

  As soon as he had gone, they fled to the door. With difficulty, they restrained themselves from running down the steps, then walked together across the courtyard.

  As they walked, Madoc found time for a few hurried questions.

  ‘What now? There’s the guard on the outer gate. He must know that there was a prisoner in the basement. And he won’t recognise me as one of the locals.’

  Annesta nodded. ‘Come with me to the servants’ room in the West Tower.’

  They turned towards the building where last night’s drama had occurred. It reminded him of Brenda. ‘What about my mother? What’s happened to her?’

  Annesta led the way through the double doors at ground level.

  ‘She’s well enough. Gwalchmai told me that she was going to tell the prince this morning that you were his son and risk what might happen, but the Lord Owain was called away urgently to Deganwy. There’s some talk of the Normans attacking from Chester, so he had no time to waste on you.’

  For once, Madoc thanked God for King Henry and his French invaders, but he was brought back to reality by having a great bundle of dirty washing thrust at him by the dark-haired girl who was risking so much for him.

  ‘Carry this in front of you – try to keep it before your face as we pass the guard. Come on.’

  Annesta also had a great armful of grimy clothes and' marching ahead of him, she boldly ap
proached the gate.

  With the prince away and no enemies within fifty miles, the sentinels were not taking their duties too seriously. Three of the guards were squatting on the parapet, playing tawlbwrdd5 and the gatekeeper was sitting on the catwalk above the gate, whittling a toy sword for his little son.

  ‘I’ll tell Yr Arglwydd6 Owain when he returns that his guard is an idle lout,’ she threatened as she passed underneath, giving him a wink.

  The man, who had a revealing view of her bosom from his perch as she passed underneath, had no eyes to spare for the fellow who was helping her to carry dirty washing, and a second later they were walking down the steps to the outer settlement.

  ‘You’d better not go into the same dwelling,’ she muttered as they crossed the bridge. ‘Someone may remember you. Come into the wash-house.’

  They dumped their load of clothing in a smaller hut where a few drabs were grumbling over their laundry duties, then settled unobtrusively against a wall in a dark corner.

  ‘Annesta, I don’t know how to start thanking you for this,’ Madoc said awkwardly.

  She kissed him quickly. ‘It’s not thanks I want, my Madoc, only to know that you get safely away.

  ‘I’ll just slip away over the moors. I’ll be all right.’

  She looked at him sternly. ‘Are you sure that you’llmanage? Have you any money for food?’

  He felt at his waist. His pouch was still there, withafewcoins in it.

  ‘Yes, don’t worry. I’ll make my way to Aberdaron or one of the other harbours on the coast. I know many of the shipmasters that ply on these seas; they’ll give me passage back to Dublin.’

  Annesta kissed him again.

  ‘You’d better go soon. They say that Lord Owain returns tonight. Brenda will soon soothe him down, but it’s not worth the gamble to face him until you know how the land lies.’

  Madocnodded.‘How did you know what had happened?’

  ‘Gwalchmai told me. For some reason, he did not confide in Llywarch.’

  Madoc grunted. ‘I wondered about Llywarch, Bard of the Pigs, myself. Yet he seemed friendly enough to me yesterday.’

  Annesta shrugged.

  ‘Gwalchmai said that he would send you a message in Clochran, to let you know how things went here.’

  He nodded and stood up, then looked down sadly at the oval face of the girl.

  ‘Again, my thanks, Annesta. You may well have saved my life.’

  She smiled. ‘Probably it would not have come to that. Go now, before some other trouble befalls you.’

  ‘I will see you again, Annesta.’ He made it a firm statement, not a pious hope.

  ‘I hope so, Madoc. I hope so.’

  For a moment, they looked into each other’s eyes.

  ‘I will be back as soon as I get word that all is well,’ he said earnestly. ‘And if all is not well – then I’ll still be back. So wait for me, Annesta of the black hair.’

  She stood up, they kissed once more under the curious gaze of a nearby washerwoman, then Madoc pulled his borrowed cloak around him and set out westwards for the coast.

  * * *

  5A game similar to chess.

  6The Lord

  CHAPTER FOUR

  May 1164

  Once more, Madoc ab Owain Gwynedd was on a ship coming back to Wales. A larger ship this time and a shorter journey, from Dublin to the royal palace of Aberffraw in Anglesey.

  He stood proudly alongside the shipmaster, a rugged young Norseman called Svein. It was Svein’s vessel, but Madoc’s pride stemmed from the fact that he had designed the ship and supervised its building. It was the maiden voyage of the Iduna and the delighted Dane, pleased beyond measure with the handling of his new vessel on its trials off the mouth of the Liffey, had insisted on taking Madoc across the Celtic Sea to his homeland.

  This time it was to be a one-way trip for the son of Owain Gwynedd. Almost four years had passed since he had fled from his father’s wrath in the castle of Dolwyddelan. As he stood next to the Northman, both swaddled in tightly belted leather tunics against the fresh south-westerly breeze, he could see again the distant blue mass of Eryri across the corner of the flat island of Mon. Behind the highest peak lay Dolwyddelan.

  Svein seemed to guess what was in his friend’s mind. His grizzled, hairy face turned seriously to Madoc,the big dog’s eyes searching the features of the Welshman.

  ‘How does it feel to be going home for good, Madoc?’

  With his eyes still on the hazy mountains, Madoc shrugged.

  ‘After a whole lifetime spent in Ireland, where is home, Svein? I feel for Wales in my heart, but really it is a strange land to me. Apart from the time of my birth, I have spent only five days there.’

  Svein whistled noisily through his teeth. ‘Five days! And you a son of the Welsh King?’

  Madoc smiled wanly. ‘Prince of Gwynedd … the north of Wales, though he and the Lord Rhys in the south at last hold most of Wales in unity, for the time being.’

  Svein grunted, swaying with the pitch of the ship, his long legsbraced against the deck with the same ease as Madoc’s.

  ‘Though I’ve known you these ten years, Madoc of the Ships, I know little of your troubles. It seems strange that so many of you royal Welsh exile yourselves in Ireland.’

  ‘Not out of choice, friend. Ever since the damned Normans came to our land, we have had to flee from danger across this narrow sea.’

  For the first time, Svein seemed curious about Madoc’s past. Usually, the talk was exclusively about ships and the sea, adventures across the Unknown Ocean – with merrier interludes of song, drink and girls, but the solemnity of this last voyage and the approach of the distant shoreline seemed to generate a new curiosity in the Dane.

  ‘Are you sure your father will receive you this time – without a battleaxe in his hands?’

  Madoc grinned. He could never remain solemn for long with the amiable Svein around. The Dane was ten years older than Madoc, but his bluff, cheerful manner always made him seem youngerexcept when the sudden flash of his temper gave him a frenzied strength that recalled the ‘berserker’ of his Nordic blood.

  ‘According to the bard, Llywarch, all is forgiven. His message two months ago was that Owain, my royal father, gives me not only leave to attend on him at his court at Aberffraw, but a genuine welcome.’

  ‘What happened to make him change his mind?’

  Madoc’s face saddened. ‘My mother’s death. To think that I saw her for hardly an hour in my whole lifetime – the lifetime that I remember, anyway, for she nursed me for three weeks after I was born. But she died two days after Christmas, of a tumour.’

  Svein clucked his tongue sympathetically. ‘But how did that bring about your restitution, boy?’

  ‘On her deathbed, Brenda – my mother – confessed all to my father. She was his favourite among those women he never married and Llywarch tells me in his message that she told Prince Owain that I still lived and pleaded for his promise to recognise me as his son.’

  Svein’s eyebrows rose. ‘Told him that you still lived?’

  Madoc nodded. ‘Like others of Owain’s bastards, I was supposed to have been disposed of at birth … either killed or fosteredout to a family who would never know whose child I was.’

  ‘Your mother extracted a dying promise from this prince, eh?’

  Madoc nodded. ‘So Llywarch, one of the court bards, tells me.’

  ‘I thought it was he you suspected over the business of your flight from Wales four years back,’ objected Svein. ‘So how can you trust him now? Maybe this is a trap to get you into your father’s clutches!’ He sounded genuinely worried.

  Madoc put his mind at ease. ‘My brother Riryd, who has been acknowledged by our father for many years, came to Aberffraw last month and brought me the direct word of my father that all is now well. As for Llywarch, well, I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. This last message was genuine enough and I have no real reason to suspect him of the treachery last
time.’

  Svein sniffed. ‘Be wary, my friend, all the same. If any harm befalls you I’ll bring the Iduna back with a crew of berserkers and revenge you against the whole court of Gwynedd.’

  Madoc slapped the Dane on the shoulder.

  ‘Don’t worry, friend, I’ll be safe enough. In a few months, I’ll come across and see you in Dublin and tell you all my news. You’ll see plenty of me on the seas; I’m not going to take to the land like my fellow Welshmen.’

  ‘What will you do with yourself? You’ve been so used to the life at the Liffey shipyards and at Clochran, this will be a strange time for you.’

  Madoc pointed over the bow at the low line of Anglesey ten miles off.

  ‘I’ll build more ships, Svein. Aberffraw is on the coast –up a small river, so there’ll be opportunity for me to carry on with my new ideas about better vessels. In a year’s time, I’ll have a ship that can do better than sail abeam the wind. It will run circles around your Iduna, good as she is.’

  Svein made a rude noise of disbelief. He pointed down the length of the Iduna which was running dead before the wind at a steady clip.

  ‘How can you do better than this, Madoc? She’s a marvel – a high-sided knarr, yet she cuts through the rough water like a longship on a calm lake.’

  Madoc warmed to the argument, the topic nearest his heart.

  ‘I’ll do better, Norseman. I’ll make the next one even deeper in the keel. I found from those models I made on the pond at Clochran, that the more ship under the water, the closer to the wind can you sail them. One day, I’ll make the perfect vessel, even ifit takes me a lifetime. And then I’ll sail her out into the Western Ocean, following Saint Brandon and find those Isles of the Blessed and the Fountain of Eternal Youth.’