A Memory of Love (4 page)

A bit subdued at first, the children began to grow more comfortable with their new home. At one point later, Morgan did not ask how, a dappled gray pony was found along with a small saddle. Glynn joined his sister in her riding lessons. On his feet Glynn was sensitive and timid, but astride the pony he quickly became an excellent, even daring horseman, frequently besting Rhonwyn, who had absolutely no fear of anything at all.

Both youngsters roamed the fortress at will. After they had been seen several times playing with sticks as they would swords, small weapons were forged for them, and the lessons began, as well.

Glynn was easily wearied with the rough games that Rhonwyn so liked. He preferred the company of the fortress cook, Gwilym, who kept him amused with wonderful and fanciful tales of fairie folk, warriors, and beautiful maidens—some pure, and some devilishly wicked. Gwilym often told his tales to the men in the hall on winter evenings. He had a deep rich voice that could call forth magical and mysterious stories. Sometimes he would sing the history of the ancient Cymri, accompanying himself on a small lute. Glynn attached himself to the cook like a winkle to a rock. No one seemed to mind, as Glynn was a gentle child. While the men liked him, they were not quite certain what to do with him. His attachment to Gwilym solved the problem for all quite nicely.

Rhonwyn, on the other hand, was far easier to understand, even if she was a little girl. Morgan, himself, taught her swordplay, which she very much enjoyed. He taught her how to use a main gauche, a dagger held in the left hand while one used one's sword in the right. Barris, the blacksmith, made Rhonwyn her own small kiteshaped shield. Oth devised a padded body armor, called an arming doublet, for her practices. She learned to use a javelin and a mace. Next to the sword, however, Rhon-wyn's favorite weapon was an alborium, a bow made of hazelwood. She became extremely quick and very proficient with it, particularly astride her horse. Guiding her mount with her knees, the reins wrapped about the sad-dle's pommel, she used the bow with deadly intent while coming at a full gallop. By the time she was ten there wasn't a man in the fort who wouldn't have fought at her side and felt safe.

For the next few years a series of truces ensured the peace between England and the Wales. The English king, Henry III, was involved in a serious power struggle with one of his greatest lords, Simon de Montfort, the Earl of Leicester, who also happened to be his brother-in-law. The rebellion of de Montfort and the barons was a popular one, for Henry was a weak king. Meeting the opposition at Oxford, he reluctantly signed a treaty limiting his royal power. Three years later the king repudiated the Treaty of Oxford, saying his word had been forced. While he walked cautiously for a time, eventually the Baron's War broke out, and the king was defeated by de Montfort. The very first Parliament was summoned, consisting of lords, bishops, knights, and burgesses, who were the representatives of the towns.

de Montfort's next move to ensure peace to the west was to formally, in the name of the crown, recognize Llywelyn ap gruffydd as prince of Wales and overlord of
Magnates Wallie
, or all the great men of Wales. Llywelyn was now a vassal of England, and his power was at its absolute height. Shortly thereafter, however, Prince Edward, the king's eldest son, defeated de Montfort at Evesham, killing him. Wales, nonetheless, was left in peace. It suited England to permit the Welsh autonomy for the time being. After all, there was Scotland to the north to contend with and the French across the channel, who had now in their possession almost all of England's French territories. A treaty was proposed to be signed between Henry III and Prince Llywelyn.

Isolated at Cythraul, the news of all these goings-on still managed to filter through, brought by travelers seeking shelter. Rhonwyn, while interested in the news brought to Cythraul, pretended indifference. She had no love for her father, knowing his rescue of his children those few years back had been nothing more than chance. Bringing them to the fortress was merely a duty done, for the men of Cythraul had drummed one lesson into Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. Duty to family and country first. If her father ever asked a duty of her, Rhonwyn knew she would grant it despite her dislike of ap Gruffydd. He had sired her. He was her overlord. She owed him duty. She thought it unlikely, however, that she would ever be called upon to perform a duty for ap Gruffydd.

He had yet to marry, although he was in his late forties. There were rumors of a possible alliance with a daughter of Simon de Montfort, but a lady of such distinguished lineage—she had a king of England, a king of France, and a Holy Roman Emperor for uncles—could not possibly accept a mere prince of the Welsh for a husband. Or could she? The lady in question, however, was in France, so she could not be asked.

Rhonwyn had turned fifteen now, and Morgan ap Owen began to worry. She dressed like a boy, but while her breasts were small they were still visible beneath her tunic. There wasn't anything feminine about her other than her chest. She strode boldly about like any young man at Cythraul. Her fair hair was cropped short. She could outride anyone at Cythraul, even her brother.

It had been easier when she had been a little girl, but now, Morgan fretted, some of the younger men were beginning to look at her with lust in their eyes. He had twice in the last months seen her cornered. While she had attacked her foolish admirers so that one of them sustained several broken ribs and the other had his nose broken in two places, Morgan ap Owen knew it was just a matter of time before Rhonwyn would be forced to face the reality that she wasn't one of the lads, but rather a pretty lass.

Before he might consider what to do about the situation, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd rode suddenly into Cythraul one day. He had not been to the border fortress since that day ten years ago when he had brought his children to Morgan ap Owen. This time he did not come alone, but rather with a troop of about twenty men in his train. The watch on the walls had called out the sighting of an armed party and then called again to say it was the prince himself. The portcullis was raised and the gates to Cythraul thrown open to welcome the lord of them all.

“My lord prince, we are most happy to see you,” Morgan said, coming forward. “What news?”

“I have signed a treaty with King Henry. We will keep the peace a while longer, Morgan ap Owen.” Ap Gruffydd looked about. “Where are my children?” he asked.

Before the captain might answer, Oth came forward with Glynn, and Morgan said, “Here is your son, my prince.”

Ap Gruffydd looked at the lad and was pleased. The boy looked relatively healthy. He was almost as tall as his father, with dark blue eyes and black hair, but he was a bit thin. Ap Gruffydd remarked on it to his captain.

“Lads are gangling at his age, my prince,” Morgan answered. “He is growing, and we cannot keep him filled up with food.” He smiled at Glynn, who grinned back mischievously.

“How old are you now, lad?” the prince asked his son.

“Thirteen, Tad,” the boy replied.

“Have you been happy here at Cythraul?”

“Aye, Tad!” was the enthusiastic reply.

“Good! Good!” ap Gruffydd said. He looked about. “Where is my daughter, Morgan?”

“She is out hunting, my prince.”

“So she has been taught to ride,” ap Gruffydd said, sounding satisfied with the news. “Excellent!”

“Rhonwyn is the best rider and soldier at Cythraul!” came Glynn's endorsement. “All the men say so, Tad!”

Ap Gruffydd chuckled. “A soldier, is she?” He was amused by his son's innocence, but then all the boy had ever known in his thirteen years were places of isolation. Perhaps that should change, but first he had his daughter to deal with, and her future was assured.

“Aye, Tad,” the boy continued, and Morgan ap Owen could only silently stand by. “Rhonwyn is very skilled with sword, main gauche, javelin, and mace, too. With the alborium, she never misses her target. She's our best hunter, Tad!” It was obvious the boy was extremely proud of his sister.

Ap Gruffydd's attention had been quite engaged by his son's recitation. He looked to his captain. “You taught my daughter how to use weapons, Morgan?”

“It was either teach her or have someone get injured, my lord prince” came the reply. “She wore padding and even has her own armor. We thought it best.”

“My daughter is the best soldier at Cythraul, I am told. Did you teach her nothing but warfare?”

“It is all we could teach her, my lord prince,” Morgan replied.

“And my son? Have you taught him warfare, too? Why is he not considered as skilled as his sister?” came the query.

“I do not like weapons, Tad,” Glynn spoke up for himself. “Oh, I can use a sword if I must, and I ride well, but I do not like warfare. I cannot bear to see anything killed, even an animal.”

“Jesu! Mary!” ap Gruffydd swore, startling the boy, who shrank beneath his father's fierce gaze. Seeing it, the prince asked, “What do you like, Glynn ap Llywelyn?”

“I … I l-like poetry, and tales of daring and magic,” he half whispered. His father was not pleased. Did he not like stories?

“The lad has the makings of a fine bard,” Morgan said. “Gwilym our cook has taught him to play the harp and all the stories and poetry he knows. You'll see tonight in the hall what an excellent young bard you have sired, my lord prince.”

“A lass who's a warrior, and a lad who is a poet. Jesu!” ap Gruffydd said. Then he laughed at the absurdity of it.

At that moment there was a clatter of horses behind them at the fortress's entrance, and a party of hunters came through.

“Ho! Cousin Morgan,” their leader called out to the captain. “I've brought you a fine young deer for our dinner!” The speaker rode directly up to Morgan ap Owen and pushed the deer from the saddle to fall at the cap-tain's feet.

“Rhonwyn?”
Llywelyn ap Gruffydd didn't know whether to be pleased or horrified at the young ruffian who suddenly stared down at him at the mention of her name.

Recognition dawned in the green eyes. “By the rood, lads! 'Tis my sire, the prince, come to pay us a call.” She slid easily from her saddle and bowed mockingly. “My lord prince, I am at your service.”

He glared at her intently. Aye, she was female. Her bosoms betrayed her, but other than that her sex was indistinguishable from any of the other men in the fortress. Her hair was cropped like a man's and dirty.
She was dirty.
Why had he thought she would be like her mother? Like his delicate and gentle Vala? “Jesu! Mary!” he swore. Then anger began to overwhelm him. He turned on Morgan ap Owen.

“This is how you have raised my daughter? To be the toughest soldier at Cythraul? What the hell were you thinking, Morgan?”

Morgan ap Owen wasn't in the least intimidated by his prince. “What did you expect us to do, Llywelyn? Ten years ago you brought me a five-year-old girl-child and a wee laddie of three. You left them here and have not returned once in all that time to see how they were. I did my best by them. They have been well fed and clothed and, aye, loved by the men of this fortress! We taught them what we could. Honor. Duty to you and to our people. What else was there?”

“You might have taught her that she was a lass!” roared the prince of Wales.

“How?”
demanded his captain. “There are no women here, Llywelyn. We guard the Welshry for you. Oh, occasionally my men seek out a local whore, but they are not the kind of women we bring into the fort, nor are they the kind of women you would want your daughter associating with,
my lord prince.
Do not complain to me. Rhonwyn is a fine young lass even if she has not learned how to simper and preen like the highborn ladies you have undoubtedly been associating with,
my lord prince.
Do not blame me that your daughter has not the feminine traits you desire her to have. If you wanted her to have those virtues, you should have taken her to your sister, the abbess, instead of bringing her here! Come into the hall now. I need a drink if we are to continue this argument.”

Ap Gruffydd burst out laughing again and followed his captain. Inside the hall they quaffed cups of apple beer that had been aging in barrels since the previous autumn. The beer was strong with just a hint of sweetness. Their immediate thirst satisfied, they sat by the fire pit, and the prince explained the reason for his visit.

“I have promised Rhonwyn in marriage,” he said, “but the bridegroom will expect someone in a gown with a gentle manner, not this breeked and swearing huntress you have created out of my child. I thought she would be like her mother, but she isn't at all.”

“How could she be?” Morgan answered. “She has had no example but ours to follow, and we are a fort of rough men.”

“Jesu! Mary!” the prince swore softly again.

“Can't you find another of your female relations for this man?” the captain asked sensibly. “Did you ever even bother to acknowledge Rhonwyn and Glynn to the church?”

“Aye, that was done years ago. The prior in Cwm Hir at the Cistercian monastery was told. He has documents with my signature.” Llywelyn ap Gruffydd sighed deeply and shook his head.

“The marriage is the unwritten portion of the treaty I signed with King Henry at Montgomery. As a show of good faith, I offered Rhonwyn in marriage with one of the king's chosen Marcher lords in the Englishry. His name is Edward de Beaulie, Lord Thorley of Haven Castle. Having offered my daughter, I cannot substitute another without appearing to be deceitful with King Henry. It could jeopardize everything I have worked for, Morgan. Certainly you can understand why I will not do that.”

The captain nodded. “Aye, I can, Llywelyn. You have worked hard for our people, but what are you to do now? Rhonwyn is hardly anyone's idea of a blushing bride.” He chuckled and his gaze went across the hall to where the girl was dicing and drinking with her companions. It was not Rhonwyn's fault that she was so unsuitable. “She is a virgin,” he said as if to cheer his overlord. “Of that I am certain. She has no interest in the young men, although of late several have approached her. She has physically injured them in her refusals.”