Brandewyne, Rebecca (2 page)

Check to the
King

The
Southern Coast of Usk, Walas, A.D. 865

The
morning was half gone when Rhowenna finally awoke, although she was hardly
rested, even so. When she had returned from the shore, she had been so troubled
and torn by her dream that she had not closed her eyes again until the gloomy
grey dawn had broken on the horizon, shrouded with mist, bleak with drizzle.
She had shivered and been glad to burrow deeper beneath her fur blankets; and
presently, sleep had claimed her at last. But the rest of the household had
been stirred to wakefulness by the slowly lightening sky; and now from beyond
her sleeping chamber, Rhowenna could hear the familiar noises of both her
father's royal
manor and the village beyond the palisade: the chatter of the servants as they
cleared the morning meal from the long trestle tables in the great hall, the
clank of pots and pans in the kitchen, the shouts and laughter of the
housecarls outside, the blowing and stamping of horses shivering in the wet
bailey, the barking of dogs, the cackling of geese and chickens, the snorting
of pigs, and the bleat of goats and sheep from the hides of the
ceorls.

Loath
to leave her bed's warm confines, Rhowenna marveled that all should sound so
normal, that life at her father's royal manor should go on as though a cloud of
doom did not hang over it. But then, why should it not? She alone was privy to
her dream. Not for the first time did she shudder at the thought that perhaps
with her very silence, she ensured the truth of her vision. If she gave no
warning and the Northmen did come to commit their carnage, would she not be as
guilty as they for the slaughter of her people? Surely, that must count as a
sin greater than the Sight, more evil than the witchery against which Father
Cadwyr would assuredly rail should she speak of what she had foreseen.

In
the old days, before the advent of the priests, her dream would have been
revered as a gift from the old gods and she herself regarded as a seeress.
Rhowenna yearned for
that time when her people had understood the mysteries of things that now
appeared beyond their ken, that were called evil by the priests, the work of
the devil. The priests claimed to bring enlightenment to the world; yet their
words were as dark as their robes, and for all their talk of mercy, their God
was a jealous and vengeful God, Rhowenna thought. Sometimes, her faith in Him
faltered; she did not comprehend why so much that seemed natural and right to
her should be considered sinful by Him. Sometimes, she thought that the priests
themselves did not understand what they preached, or even that they twisted
God's will and words to suit themselves; for who was to know or to say any
different? But these were blasphemous thoughts; she should confess them, she
knew. Still, she did not. She did not want to tell her innermost thoughts to
the priests, especially to Father Cadwyr.

Thus,
although Rhowenna longed for guidance, she did not know whom to ask for it.
Although he was a fierce warrior, renowned for his prowess in battle, her
father, Pen-dragon, feared the priests, with their talk of eternal damnation
and hellfire and brimstone for the souls of those who did not follow the way of
the Christ. Her father would be frightened by her dream, by the thought
that Father
Cadwyr might believe him to be rearing a godless daughter or, worse, one
dedicated to the old religion, to the old gods, who were false idols. Her
mother, Igraine, more inclined to put her faith in her own good judgment than
in the counsel of the priests, was a likelier prospect for advice. But upon
such a serious matter, perhaps she would feel duty-bound to consult her
husband. Nor could Rhowenna bear to tell Gwydion she had envisioned his death
at the hands of the Northmen; and Enid, her waiting woman, would only be
stricken with panic at the notion of the Northmen's descending upon the kingdom
of Usk. There was no one to whom Rhowenna could turn.

Sighing
heavily, she rose, deeply distressed and knowing, as well, that for her
tardiness this day, she would be rebuked by her mother. After washing her face
and hands in the icy water of her bronze basin, she stripped off her nightgown
to don a workaday dress of plain, undyed wool. She had just finished dressing
when Enid appeared in the doorway, with a cup of milk, a bowl of thick porridge,
and a cake of laverbread that had been fried in pork fat and spread generously
with honey, all of which she had kindly saved for her mistress from the morning
meal. As Rhowenna sat down upon a low stool to eat, Enid
took up a comb
of fine, carved horn and began to work the snarls from Rhowenna's long hair and
to plait it into a single braid tied with a simple thong. Mistress and maid had
been together since childhood, so it was a familiar morning ritual they shared,
most often with companionable talk and laughter. Today, however, Rhowenna, lost
in her disheartening reverie, was inclined toward silence; and Enid, sensing
this, said little, although, once, she did remark that Rhowenna looked tired,
even ill, and then quietly fussed over her more than was usual.

As
she gazed at her reflection in her polished bronze mirror, Rhowenna agreed with
Enid's assessment of her appearance. Her face was drawn and wan, and beneath
her eyes, crescent smudges of mauve shone dark against her milk-white skin. She
resembled the witch Father Cadwyr would surely name her if he learned of her
dream, she thought dully; for her heavy mass of knee-length hair was as black
and shimmering as a raven's rain-soaked wing, and her eyes were startling, a
strange, crystalline violet in color, like amethysts, and slanted and heavily
fringed with sooty lashes. No one in Usk had eyes like hers, and because of
that, there were many who believed her fey, a changeling, and made the ancient
sign against evil when she passed
by. Should he be given a reason to
condemn her, Rhowenna knew that Father Cadwyr would have no difficulty in
finding supporters for his cause.

She
had never liked the priest. His black eyes burned like hot coals when he looked
at her, and she saw in his fervid glance a licking flame of covetous desire
that did not belong in the eyes of a celibate, a man devoted to the work of the
Christ. In the village, she had heard rumors that Father Cadwyr lay with women,
for which he despised and condemned them bitterly, and flagellated himself
mercilessly afterward. But if such were true, he was careful to conceal his
sins and always showed an appropriately pious face to her father. Still,
Rhowenna mistrusted him.

Yet
there were those, too, who thought her beautiful and who loved her well. Her
kinsman Gwydion was one of these. She trembled whenever she thought of him— and
she thought of him often these days; for if there were other men who looked
with favor upon her, Rhowenna did not see them. She saw only Gwydion— tall, as
dark as bronze, as lithe as a sapling, his young body as graceful and swift and
hard as an arrow on the fly, his hair as black as her own, his eyes as grey as
the mist, as the Great Sea. In Gwydion as in Rhowenna herself, the blood of the
Picti
and of the Tribes was strong and marked. Perhaps that was why she was so drawn
to him. She had known him all her life; yet it was not until they each had
stepped over the threshold of adulthood that she had come to regard him with
more than just sisterly affection.

At
age ten, Gwydion had been fostered to one of her father's earls, and Rhowenna
had seen him only rarely until the day when, his training completed, he had
returned home. A boy when he had gone away, he had come back a man— no longer
merely her kinsman, her childhood playmate and friend, but a stranger, in ways
that had excited and intrigued her. The touch of his hand upon hers had scalded
her. Even now at the memory, heat rose within her, making her cheeks flame.

Glimpsing
herself again in her mirror, Rhowenna turned away quickly, biting her lower
lip, her lashes sweeping down as though to veil her thoughts from her own
image. Flustered, she took up from her dressing table the gold circlet,
engraved and nielloed, that she wore as princess of Usk and clasped it about
her head. It was a reminder, however unpleasant, of her rank, of the fact that
no matter how much she hoped otherwise, her father was unlikely to choose as a
husband
for his only daughter a mere kinsman, when she might command a prince— or even
a king. Rhowenna shrank from the idea of being sent away to some foreign land,
of being wedded and bedded by a man who, however royal his blood, would be a
total stranger to her. Still, even that would be better than being a captive of
the Northmen who rampaged through her nightmare.

Glancing
once more into her mirror, she pinched her pallid cheeks hard to put some color
in them. Then, overhearing her mother asking Enid about her, Rhowenna stepped
from her sleeping chamber into the great hall, hoping fervently that Father Cadwyr
would not be there, as he often was, looking, with his dark, flowing robes and
his black, glowing eyes, like some fierce bird of prey waiting to swoop down
upon her and tear at her young flesh. To her relief, the priest was absent, as
was her father, who had gone hunting with several of the housecarls. Only a few
of the elderly warriors had remained behind. Two of them contested over a
chessboard; the rest sat around the fire in the central hearth, repairing and
cleaning armor, reminiscing about the hunts of their youth and, with cups of
mead and mulled wine, warming their old bones, glad to be inside on this dismal
winter's day. Here, too, Rhowenna dis-
covered her mother, assisted by a few
of the serving maids, at the large loom that stood in one corner.

"The
morn is well advanced. You slept late this day, daughter," Igraine
observed in greeting as she looked up from where she sat, her fine black
eyebrows arching with gentle reproof when she spoke. But there was concern,
too, upon the Queen's beautiful face. "That is the third time this week.
Are you ill, Rhowenna?"

"Nay,
just not sleeping well, Mother."

Which
was the truth, Rhowenna thought, casting her eyes down to hide the fact that
there was more to it than that and hoping that her mother would be satisfied by
the response. The Queen was very good at discerning a lie; beneath her steady,
dark blue-eyed gaze, many a housecarl, servant, and
ceorl
grew
uncomfortable and faltered during the telling of some false story and finally
confessed the true tale. Even Pendragon's earls were wary of Igraine's sharp
scrutiny; much of the King's power and many of his decisions had their roots in
the Queen's shrewd, uncanny perception.

Now,
as though sensing there was indeed more to the matter than Rhowenna had admitted,
Igraine frowned. For a moment, it seemed she would press the issue. Then,
glancing about
the great hall at the housecarls and serving women, she appeared abruptly to
change her mind. In these troubled times, only an innocent was trusting, a
fool, careless—and the Queen was neither. Words heedlessly spoken before
warriors and servants often— for a handful of coins or baubles, or to avenge a
grievance, whether real or imagined— found their way to the ears of one's
enemies, to be used against one by the ambitious and unscrupulous.
Strategically located Usk was neither a large nor a powerful kingdom. That it
was yet whole and independent owed more to its natural boundaries and to the
cleverness and diplomacy of its rulers than to the might of its army; for its
warriors, although fierce, were few compared to those of its neighbors. As a
result, Usk wisely minded its own business and did not attract attention to
itself by dabbling in the struggles and intrigues of others. Its great hall was
not ostentatious; it did not display the riches garnered from the land and from
the Great Sea or from the traders. Although Usk's coffers were full, Pendragon
was frequently heard to lament a bad harvest, the poor hunting and fishing, and
an empty purse, so Usk—when thought of at all by those who would conquer and
carve up what was not theirs by birthright— was often discounted by the foolish
as a petty kingdom of no great wealth or importance.