Gwenhwyfar (10 page)

Strangely enough, now that she spent less time
within
the household, she came to know more of her older sisters. In many ways, she saw them now through the eyes of the older boys, hearing things from them she would never have guessed. That made her watch them, pay attention to them, in a way she had not before.

All four of the girls were fair, like their mother. This alone set them apart among most of the darker-haired people her father ruled. And now that she came to think about it . . . it was very possible that Eleri’s blood was all, or part, Saxon. But if that was true, no one even whispered it; she was the queen and their Wise One, and those two facts eclipsed any mere question of blood.

Or . . . just maybe . . . there was other blood entirely in her. But if that was the case, no one would even whisper about it.

Gwen and Little Gwen were the fairest of the lot, with Gwen’s hair now mostly shorn off, and Little Gwen’s waist-length locks being tightly braided every morning by old Bronwyn. Cataruna had more than a flavoring of their father’s red hair, but she did not have the high temper to go with it. She also had his square face, where Gwen and Little Gwen had inherited their mother’s pointed chin and tiny nose, and Gynath had something in between. Cataruna was usually grave and quiet; Gynath was usually merry, and while not a flirt exactly, had discovered that young men were very interesting a year before her older sister did so.

And both of the older girls fitted into the domestic and busy life of the household as Gwen, increasingly, did not.

She found she did not miss it; she did not wish herself back in skirts nor regret trading the chores she used to do for the harder—in the physical sense—labor of the training and the sort of work the boys were expected to do. Even in the worst weather, cleaning the stable, cleaning out her horse’s hooves with bare, freezing hands, chopping wood as she practiced her ax swings, she would not have traded this for sitting and learning the making of clothing, how to weave, spin, and embroider, the lore of herbs (other than those needed for battlefield medicine and horse doctoring), the management of a household. No, not even for learning magic.

She found that last growing less and less attractive with every day that her body strengthened, her skills with weapons sharpened, and her ability to understand her horses deepened. Not that magic revolted her, far from it—but where once she had longed to see herself in the rites, taking the part of the Maiden in the Circle beside her mother, learning to control and use the Power . . . now that grew distant. Just as she could look at Little Gwen playing with a lapful of poppets and feel not even a twinge of envy, now she would watch her mother beckon Cataruna off into a conversation with the other Wise Women and no longer even wonder for very long what they were talking about.

Perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps it was being around so much Cold Iron in the form of the swords and axes had blunted her need for magic. Perhaps it had even driven the magic from her.

Or perhaps Braith was right, and she never really was suited for that sort of magic in the first place.

And on the Midwinter Solstice, that change in her position was solidified, when she celebrated the night with the other young would-be warriors and not among the women. She thought her mother looked obscurely disappointed, but the queen had two other daughters both of an age to go to the Ladies. Three, if you counted Little Gwen.

And after Midwinter Solstice, Cataruna’s demeanor toward Gwen changed.

Mostly, the eldest of the siblings had ignored Gwen, which was fine. They weren’t even close in age, after all. Even before Gwen had gone to the squires, they hadn’t had much in common. But now, as if the Solstice had signaled some change in Cataruna’s mind, she began to do small kindnesses for her sister. When Gwen came in with half-frozen hands, Cataruna would beckon her over to a pot of warmed water to thaw them. When she went to bed, far earlier than anyone else, all worn out with the work, she found that Cataruna had put a fire-warmed stone in her place. When it was her turn to serve at table, Cataruna saw to it that her portion was kept warm at the fire and kept Little Gwen’s greedy fingers off it. Some might have been by Eleri’s orders, but not all of it. Gwen found herself exchanging grateful and slightly conspiratorial smiles with her eldest sister, and she got them in return. Cataruna’s square face seemed unaccountably happier this winter than Gwen had ever seen it before. Whatever was the reason for it, it made Gwen unaccountably happy too.

While the days lengthened again, and winter lost its grip on the countryside, Gwen found herself outstripping the group of youngsters she’d started with. Not drastically, but enough that by Gwyl Canol Gwenwynol, the Spring Equinox, she was given her second horse.

All warriors had more than one horse. Charioteers needed two, of course, but riders had more than one as well. If your horse was lamed, or killed, or ill, you couldn’t count on one of the chariot drivers to be able to take you to the battlefield. The chariot was already considered by some old-fashioned, although Gwen’s father used it, and used it well. Many commanders were slowly abandoning it in favor of purely mounted cavalry, following the lead of the High King, who fought Roman fashion. Chariots broke, they needed highly skilled drivers, when accidents occurred they could be terrible and generally involved more than just the driver and his horses. And a single mounted man was always faster than a chariot.

Nevertheless, King Lleudd wanted his cavalry trained in chariot work, and that required two horses. All the more reason for every warrior to have two, or more than two, if he or his lord could afford it. So just before the Equinox, the horsemaster Bran came himself for her and presented her and her mare with the gray stallion that had been one of his two original choices for Gwen.

This time when she called him across the paddock, the mare was at her side. The stallion stepped carefully toward them both and diffidently bowed his head a little at the mare. Adara looked the poor fellow over with thinly veiled arrogance, as was to be expected in a lead mare of the herd, then snorted and perfunctorily touched noses with him. The stallion Dai was to be permitted to partner with Gwen. It was very hard for Gwen to keep a sober face and not laugh out loud at the two of them, but poor Dai had been humiliated once by Adara, and he wasn’t going to forget that in a hurry.

So now Gwen would learn chariot driving and the trick of switching from one horse to another when riding. The High King Arthur had made a name for himself with his mounted knights who could move swiftly to any part of the land where trouble was brewing by doing just that—stopping for only the briefest periods, or not at all, by switching from a tiring horse to one that was fresher. Though her father might favor the chariot, he was no fool, and as a good commander he could easily see the advantage this brought him.

This was a well-omened time for her to have such recognition, for along with the rites of the seed blessings, the Spring Equinox was the moment when the young god of Light took up his weapons for the first time, and slew his rival of Darkness, the young Prince of Spring eliminating the killer of his father, ridding the world of the murderous Winter King. As such, Gwen’s father generally called for another feast like the one at the Fall Equinox. It was not yet time for planting—the ground was still too cold, and the frosts still too certain for that—which meant that the men were not yet bound up in the sowing and tending. Lambing time was mostly over, and though calving and foaling time was on them, such were the responsibilities of horsemasters and herdsmen, not the warriors. So it was a good time to take stock of what the winter had taken and trade news and rumors.

The women, of course, and the Druids, all had magic to do. So it was a good time for them to gather also. There were the seed blessings . . . and there were other things.

For this feast, Gwen was not required to do any of the hearth chores, although she did, in fact, pitch in. With the other squires, she went to gather fallen wood in the forest. She gathered cress and the young sprouts of the cattail plants, which were delicious when quickly dunked in boiling water. She caught and cleaned fresh fish. There was, of course, little fresh game at this feast—this was the time of year when birds were about to nest and animals were giving birth, and careful custodian of his lands that the king was, he forbade any springtime hunting except for the very old—and those made for tough eating, and required stewing.

But mostly Gwen did the chores that her warrior band did—endless wood chopping for the cook fires and ovens, the hauling of water, which was regarded by their trainers as yet another fine way to build their strength, building temporary paddocks for the visitors’ mounts, and a thorough cleaning out of the stables down to the bare earth, which was then sprinkled with lime to sweeten it before sand was brought in to cover the lime, and straw laid down over that.

The castle underwent a thorough cleaning too, with the winters’ rushes hauled out, the stone floor scrubbed, and new rushes brought in, but that was mostly the work of the servants.

And Gwen had learned that for her, at least, the time of the celebration itself was going to mean still more work.

Peder ap Duach, Gwen’s chief instructor and one of her father’s most trusted captains, called all of his particular charges together just before the first visitors were to arrive. “I’ve assignments for some of ye,” he said, shortly, looking them all over with a stern eye. “And no whinging do I want to be hearing. Not all the king’s honored guests will be bringin’ their own pages and squires, and that’ll be the job ye’ll be doin’. ’Tis a great honor to be chosen, an’ a great trust. So here now. Here’ll be the ones that’ll be servin’.”

Never in a thousand years would Gwen have thought she’d be picked, but to her astonishment, she heard her name called; she would be serving Hydd ap Kei, Braith’s lord.

She didn’t question the assignment, however, nor did she complain about being put to work when some of the others were free to enjoy the relative freedom they’d have while the celebrations were afoot. For one thing, it gave her rather a thrill to have been picked over those older than she. For another, well, this was
Braith’s
liege lord, which meant that she would almost certainly be spending a lot of time in the company of the real warriors and chariot drivers, without needing an excuse to try to hang about.

So as soon as it was possible to do so, once Hydd had arrived, she presented herself to him as his page. Since the weather was fine, he’d set up a tent, as had many of the lords and captains. She didn’t blame them; sleeping conditions in the Great Hall were beyond “crowded.” His bodyguard nodded at her and pulled the canvas flap aside for her.

“Lord Hydd, I am to be your page,” she said, as the man turned away from something he had been unpacking from a small chest to look at her.

“Peder sent ye?” he asked. She bowed, as was proper, and kept her eyes on her toes, as was also proper. The king’s daughter could look boldly into the face of a High Lord and one of the king’s favored captains, but a page had to be respectful and show humility. “Then go to the king and give him my compliments, an’ ask when he wishes me t’ attend him. Bring me back his answer. Is Lord Gwyddian here yet?”

“Aye, milord, I will,” she replied immediately. “I don’t know about Lord Gwyddian, my lord.”

“Then unless the king wants me urgent, go to him and tell him we need to speak about that handfasting at his leisure. Find out about Lord Gwyddian. Then return with the king’s word; I’ll have more work for ye then.”

She bowed again, and ran off at high speed; she suspected sending her to her father was on the order of a test; if she
hadn’t
been sent by Peder, and was only trying to find a way to lurk about and eavesdrop on the adults, this would uncover the ruse. But of course, she had been; so she’d pass the test, if test it was.

Her father returned the compliments, as impassively as if she had been anyone but his daughter. There was no urgency, he would gladly receive Hydd at supper. Lord Gwyddian was not yet arrived. She ran back as quickly as she could—without arriving in an unseemly, untidy, and panting condition.

Hydd accepted the answers she brought back without comment, and immediately put her to work in truth. Mostly the work involved a lot of fetching and much more message-taking. In fact, by the time darkness fell she was about run off her feet.

Her duties to Hydd
should
have included serving at his side at table, but she hadn’t yet been trained in that, and with a chuckle he dismissed her. “Go and sup with yer family, little page,” he told her, kindly. Near starving, she was nothing loathe to obey him.

She found herself seated between the same two boys as at the Samhain feast, but this time word had mysteriously spread that she was now one of their peers. Instead of ignoring her, they included her in their chatter, and despite the long day, she found herself having a lively conversation with them about tricks they had all learned for managing their horses. Though she was younger than they, she discovered she had great status in their eyes, not because she was the king’s daughter but because she was “Braith’s girl.” And that she could entirely understand. Sometimes the fact that Braith had singled her out made her feel giddy.

She
had
learned how to pour, so when the last of the supper was carried away and the tables set to the side, she stood behind Hydd and saw to it that his flagon was never empty. It was ale, not mead, they were drinking tonight; serious drinking would happen later.

The talk was of nothing particularly serious; that, too, would wait until the morrow, when all the guests would be here. The only thing that Gwen heard of any interest was that Braith would not be racing tomorrow; the best of Hydd’s mares were all in foal (the king looked envious), her team included.