The Summer of the Danes (11 page)

“Someone
rode in. In a hurry! Only one horseman!”

“They
would not rouse the court for a little thing,” said Cadfael, clawing on his
sandals and making for the door. The horn blared again, echoes ricocheting
between the buildings of the prince’s llys, and blunting their sharp edges
against walls. In the open ward the young men came thronging in arms to the
call, and the hum of many voices, still pitched low in awe of the night,
swelled into a wordless, muted bellowing like a stormy tide flowing. From every
open doorway a thread of light from hastily kindled lamps and candles spilled
into the dark, conjuring here and there a recognisable face out of the crowd. A
jaded horse, hard-ridden, was being led with drooping head towards the stables,
and his rider, heedless of the many hands that reached to arrest him and the
many voices that questioned, was thrusting a way through the press towards the
great hall. He had barely reached the foot of the steps when the door above him
opened, and Owain in his furred bed-gown came out, large and dark against the
light from within, the squire who had run to arouse him with news of the coming
close at his shoulder.

“Here
am I,” said the prince, loud and clear and wide awake. “Who’s come wanting me?”
As he moved forward to the edge of the steps the light from within fell upon
the messenger’s face, and Owain knew him. “You, is it, Goronwy? From Bangor?
What’s your news?”

The
messenger scarcely took time to bend his knee. He was known and trusted, and
ceremony was waste of precious moments. “My lord, early this evening one came
with word from Carnarvon, and I have brought that word here to you as fast as
horse can go. About Vespers they sighted ships westward off Abermenai, a great
fleet in war order. The seamen say they are Danish ships from the kingdom of
Dublin, come to raid Gwynedd and force your hand. And that Cadwaladr, your
brother, is with them! He has brought them over to avenge and restore him, in
your despite. The fealty he could not keep for love he has bought with promised
gold.”

Chapter Five

WITHIN
OWAIN’S WRIT THE INVASION OF DISORDER might bring about momentary
consternation, but could not hope to create disorder in its turn. His mind was too
quick and resolute ever to entertain chaos. Before the muted roar of anger and
resentment had circled the ward the captain of the prince’s guard was at his
elbow, awaiting his orders. They understood each other too well to need many
words.

“This
report is certain?” Owain asked.

“Certain,
my lord. The messenger I had it from saw them himself from the dunes. Too
distant then to be sure how many ships, but no question whence they come, and
small doubt why. It was known he had fled to them. Why come back in such force
but for a reckoning?”

“He
shall have one,” said Owain composedly. “How long before they come to land?”

“My
lord, before morning surely. They were under sail, and the wind is steady from
the west.”

For
the length of a deep breath Owain considered. Perhaps a quarter of the horses
in his stables had been ridden far, though not hard, the previous day, and as
many of his armed men had made that journey, and sat merry in hall late into
the night. And the ride that faced them now would be urgent and fast. “Short
time,” he said, musing, “to raise even the half of Gwynedd, but we’ll make sure
of reserves, and collect every man available between here and Carnarvon as we
go. Six couriers I want, one to go before us now, the others to carry my
summons through the rest of Arlechwedd and Arfon. Call them to Carnarvon. We
may not need them, but no harm in making certain.” His clerks accepted the
expected word, and vanished with commendable calm to prepare the sealed writs
the couriers would bear to the chieftains of two cantrefs before the night was
over. “Now, every man who bears arms,” said Owain, raising his voice to carry
to the containing walls and echo back from them, “get to your beds and take
what rest you can. We muster at first light.”

Cadfael,
listening on the edge of the crowd, approved. Let the couriers, by all means,
ride out by night, but to move the disciplined host across country in the dark
was waste of time that could better be used in conserving their energy. The
fighting men of the household dispersed, if reluctantly; only the captain of
Owain’s bodyguard, having assured himself of his men’s strict obedience,
returned to his lord’s side.

“Get
the women out of our way,” said Owain over his shoulder. His wife and her
ladies had remained above in the open doorway of the hall, silent but for an
agitated whispering among the younger maids. They departed uneasily and with
many a glance behind, rather curious and excited than alarmed, but they
departed. The princess had as firm a hold over her own household as Owain over
his fighting men. There remained the stewards and elder counsellors, and such
menservants as might be needed for any service, from armoury, stables, stores,
brewhouse and bakehouse. Armed men also had needs, beyond their brands and bows,
and the addition of some hundreds to a garrison meant a supply train following.
Among the smaller group now gathered about the prince Cadfael noted Cuhelyn, by
the look of him fresh from his bed, if not from sleep, for he had thrown on his
clothes in haste, he who was wont to appear rather elegantly presented. And
there was Hywel, alert and quiet at his father’s side. And Gwion, attentive and
still, standing a little apart, as Cadfael had first seen him, as though he
held himself always aloof from the concerns of Owain and Gwynedd, however
honourably he acknowledged them. And Canon Meirion and Canon Morgant, for once
drawn together in contemplating a crisis which had nothing to do with Heledd,
and held no direct threat against either of them. They were onlookers, too, not
participators. Their business was to get the reluctant bride safely to Bangor
and her bridegroom’s arms, and there were no Danish ships as near as Bangor,
nor likely to be. Heledd had been safely disposed of for the night with the
princess’s women, and no doubt was gossiping excitedly with them now over what
might well seem to her an almost welcome diversion.

“So
this,” said Owain into the comparative silence that waited on his decree, “is
the dire consequence Bledri ap Rhys had in mind. He knew, none so well, what my
brother had planned. He gave me fair warning. Well, let him wait his turn, we
have other work to do before morning. If he’s secure in his bed, he’ll keep.”
The chosen couriers to his vassal princes were reappearing cloaked for the
night ride, and up from the stables the grooms came leading the horses saddled
and ready for them. The leader came almost at a trot, led by the head groom,
and the man was in some measured excitement, poured out in a breath before ever
he came to a halt.

“My
lord, there’s a horse gone from the stables, and harness and gear with him! We
checked again, wanting to provide you the best for the morning. A good, young
roan, no white on him, and saddle-cloth, saddle, bridle and all belonging to
him.”

“And
the horse he rode here—Bledri ap Rhys? His own horse that he brought to Saint
Asaph with him?” Hywel demanded sharply. “A deep grey, dappled lighter down his
flanks? Is he still there?”

“I
know the one, my lord. No match for this roan. Still jaded from yesterday. He’s
still there. Whoever the thief was, he knew how to choose.”

“And
meant good speed!” said Hywel, burning. “He’s gone, surely. He’s gone to join
Cadwaladr and his Irish Danes at Abermenai. How the devil did he ever get out
of the gates? And with a horse!”

“Go,
some of you, and question the watch,” Owain ordered, but without any great
concern, and without turning to see who ran to do his bidding. The guards on
all the gates of his maenol were men he could trust, as witness the fact that
not one of them had come running here from his post, however acute the
curiosity he might be feeling about the audible turmoil continuing out of his
sight. Only here at the main gate, where the messenger from Bangor had entered,
had any man stirred from his duty, and then only the officer of the guard.
“There’s no way of locking a man in,” reflected Owain philosophically, “if he
has his vigour and is determined to get out. Any wall ever built can be
climbed, for a high enough cause. And he is to the last degree my brother’s
man.” He turned again to the tired messenger. “In the dark a wise traveller
would keep to the roads. Did you meet with any man riding west as you rode east
here to us?”

“No,
my lord, never a one. Not since I crossed the Cegin, and those were men of our
own, known to me, and in no hurry.”

“He’ll
be far out of reach now, but let’s at least start Einion off on his tracks with
my writ. Who knows? A horse can fall lame, ridden hard in the dark, a man can
lose his way in lands not his own. We may halt him yet,” said Owain, and turned
to meet the steward who had run to see how watch was kept on the postern gates
of the llys. “Well?”

“No
man challenged, no man passed. They know him now by sight, stranger though he
may be. However he broke loose, it was not by the gates.”

“I
never thought it,” the prince agreed sombrely. “They never yet kept any but a
thorough watch. Well, send out the couriers, Hywel, and then come to me within,
to my private chamber. Cuhelyn, come with us.” He looked round briefly as his messengers
mounted. “Gwion, this is no fault nor concern of yours. Go to your bed. And
keep your parole in mind still. Or take it back,” he added drily, “and bide
under lock and key while we’re absent.”

“I
have given it,” said Gwion haughtily, “I shall keep it.”

“And
I accepted it,” said the prince, relenting, “and trust to it. There, go, what
is there for you to do here?”

What,
indeed, Cadfael thought wryly, except grudge us all the freedom he has denied
himself? And the instant thought came, that Bledri ap Rhys, that fiery advocate
so forward to excuse his lord and threaten in his name, had given no parole,
and had, almost certainly, had very private and urgent conference with Gwion in
the chapel of the llys only a matter of hours ago, and was now away to rejoin
Cadwaladr at Abermenai, with much knowledge of Owain’s movements and forces and
defences. Gwion had never promised anything except not to escape. Within the
walls he might move at will, perhaps his freedom extended even to the tref that
lay outside the gate. For that he had pledged his own consent to detention. No
one had promised as much for Bledri ap Rhys. And Gwion had made no pretence of
his steely loyalty to Cadwaladr. Could he be blamed as recreant if he had
helped his unexpected ally to break out and return to his prince? A nice point!
Knowing, if only at second hand from Cuhelyn, Gwion’s stubborn and ferocious
loyalty, he might well have warned his captors over and over of the limits he
set on his parole, and the fervour with which he would seize any opportunity of
serving the master he so obstinately loved, even at this remove. Gwion had
turned, slowly and hesitantly, to accept his dismissal, but then halted, stood
with bent head and irresolute step, and in a moment gathered himself abruptly, and
strode away instead towards the chapel; from the open door the faint red spark
drew him like a lodestone. And what had Gwion to pray for now? A successful
landing for Cadwaladr’s Danish mercenaries, and a rapid and bloodless
accommodation between brothers rather than a disastrous war? Or some repair to
his own peace of mind? Fiercely upright, he might consider even his loyalty a
sin where some unavoidable infringement of his oath was concerned. A
complicated mind, sensitive to any self-reproach, however venial the sin.
Cuhelyn, who perhaps understood him best, and most resembled him, had watched
him go with a thoughtful frown, and even taken a couple of impulsive steps to
follow him before thinking better of the notion, and turning back to Owain’s
side. Prince and captains and counsellors mounted the steps to the great hall
and the private apartments, and vanished purposefully within. Cuhelyn followed
without another glance behind, and Cadfael and Mark, and a few hovering
servants and retainers, were left in an almost empty ward, and the silence came
down after clamour, and the dark stillness after a turmoil of movement.
Everything was known and understood, everything was in hand, and would be dealt
with competently.

“And
there is no part in it for us,” Brother Mark said quietly at Cadfael’s
shoulder.

“None,
except to saddle up tomorrow and ride on to Bangor.”

“Yes,
that I must,” Mark agreed. There was a curious note of unease and regret in his
voice, as if he found it almost a dereliction of his humanity to remove himself
at this crisis in pursuit of his own errand, and leave all things here
confounded and incomplete. “I wonder, Cadfael… The watch on the gates, all the
gates, were they thought enough? Do you suppose a watch was set on the man
himself, even here within, or was it enough that the walls held him? No man
stood guard over the door of his lodging, or followed him from hall to his
bed?”

“From
the chapel to his bed,” Cadfael amended, “if any man had that charge. No, Mark,
we watched him go. There was no one treading on his heels.” He looked across
the ward, to the alley into which Bledri had vanished when he came from the
chapel. “Are we not taking too much for granted, all of us? The prince has more
urgent matters on his hands, true, but should not someone confirm what we have
all leaped to believe?”