The Song of Heledd Read online

  The Song

  of

  Heledd

  by

  Judith Arnopp

  Published in 2012 by FeedARead publishing

  Copyright © JudithArnopp

  First Edition

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Covershot: © Petr Malyshev | Dreamstime.com

  The eagle of Eli, loud his cry:

  He has swallowed fresh drink,

  Heart-blood of Cynddylan fair!

  Prologue

  I dreamed of the eagles long before they came swooping down from their cloudy crags. They blackened the sky, the wind from their wings lifting my hair as they circled with talons extended before settling on the field of death.

  Too torn for tears, I waded through my slaughtered kin while pain ripped my heart like a dagger, and when I saw Cynddylan’s fallen standard, his torso twisted, his neck broken, his mouth gaping, my step faltered and the world turned dark around me.

  I knelt in his blood and tried to close the yawning wound upon his chest but I was too late, he was gone. All of my kindred were lost and the Kingdom of Pengwern was shattered. I was left alone. What had I done? Unprotected beneath the vast and empty sky, I threw back my head and screamed a protest to the vengeful gods.

  When I woke in the morning and found myself safe in my furs, I flung back the covers to run outside. My playmates tumbled as usual beneath a kindly summer sky while the women spun yarn in the shade of the alder trees. I put up a hand and shielded my eyes from the sun as my brother’s hounds came bounding to meet me, leaping up to try to lick my face. I pushed them away.

  And then I saw him. My brother, Cynddylan, the King of Pengwern. He was striding across the enclosure with an arm about his companion. I ran to tell him of my terrible dream but, intent on the affairs of men, he waved me away.

  He would not listen.

  I was just nine summers old then and as I grew to womanhood the dream faded and I forgot it. It was many years later, on the eve of a great battle when I heard again the far off cry of the wheeling eagles, and remembered my dream and knew what was to come.

  Part One

  Osian’s Song

  Cynddylan of Powys purple gallant is he!

  The strangers’ refuge, their life’s anchor,

  October 644 AD

  It all began on the day that my sister Ffreur and I first saw the singer of songs. He came in after supper and filled my brother’s hall with his sweet music. The company were entranced, King and commoner alike, and even the dogs ceased worrying their fleas to listen as his voice flowed smooth like nectar, drowning us all in his honeyed lies.

  He was a golden man, his hair burnished by the leaping torches and a beard the colour of bees wax curling thick upon his chin. He stood by the hearth, the flames of the fire licking his Midas hair and bewitched us all. I was just a girl, my heart as yet untouched by the beauty of men, but the words of his song filtered deep into my soul and kindled something warm and dangerous in the depths of my belly.

  When his song ceased we were all so lost in his art that it took a little time for the murmur of applause to grow. We sat up and looked at each other, blinking in surprise at finding ourselves back in the familiar hall. And then my brother, Cynwraith, the first to recover from the minstrel’s spell, rose from his seat and clapped him on the back before leading him to the high table. The handsome poet sat among the men of my kin, flushed and laughing while his platter was piled with food and his mead cup was filled to the brim. The singer of songs had found favour with the great King of Pengwern and secured his future.

  Beside me Ffreur clasped her hands across her stomach, her eyes as bright as the torches, missing nothing. She nudged me sharply in the ribs and laughed at me but I tossed back my hair and ignored her.

  ‘Heledd,’ she hissed, ‘stop it; your mouth is open. You are almost drooling.’

  I closed my lips and wriggled in my seat, the heat of the fire suddenly too great. I wanted to know his name and longed for him to notice me and as I picked up a piece of mutton and glanced at him through my lashes, I pondered how to get closer to him.

  When his appetite was sated Cynddylan requested another song and the stranger took his place before the top table again. Every inch of me tingled with anticipation and I sat up straighter, with my chin on my hands and prepared to be enchanted again. The hall fell silent and even the children ceased their noisy games to sit cross-legged on the floor to listen.

  He picked up his harp and ran long, white fingers across the strings before his voice engulfed us, ebbing and flowing like clear water over pebbles, turning my skin to gooseflesh.

  In one year

  One that provides

  Wine and bounty and mead,

  And manliness without enmity,

  And a musician excelling,

  With a swarm of spears about him.

  With ribbands at their heads,

  And their fair appearances.

  Every one went from his presence,

  They came into the conflict,

  And his horse under him.

  It was The Song of Urien Rheged. I had heard it a thousand times but never before had it sounded so good. This singer put his soul into his words and the lyrics made my blood run so thick that my heart pumped long and slow. It was agonising to listen to him, as if he knew my deepest, darkest secrets and was about to spill them over the floor. Invisible ties connected us, almost as if he had strung his harp with my heartstrings. It was not something I was strong enough to fight and so I sank my chin in my palm and closed my eyes, blocking the tears as I let his voice caress me and take me where it pleased.

  By the time he noticed me I was familiar with every contour of his face and knew intimately how his hair curled into his neck, the strength of his jaw, the sensuous curve of his mouth and the softness of his smile. Then, quite astonishingly, his eyes fell upon me and my heart leapt like a deer in the forest. For a moment he stilled, held fast in my gaze before he continued his song. His fine features mesmerised me, the crowd in the hall seemed to drift away leaving the minstrel and I alone in the firelight, his words and his music exclusively mine. And when the magic ended for a second time and he bowed his head ever so slightly in my direction, I bent my own head in return and I was sure that I saw him close one eye.

  I had been prepared since birth for a political marriage, and as the eldest princess of Pengwern, I had always known that my heart was not my own to give. But on that night, while the autumn winds howled about the hall and blew small yellow leaves in beneath the lofty door, I forgot who I was. Without a second thought I dismissed my family and my royal obligation and gave my heart to a singer of songs.

  Two

  Twilight is a magical time. It is neither night nor day but somehow a time apart, a time when the spirits roam and the gods creep closer to the earth. It is a time of magic. On that night, when the King had retired and the feasting ended, some strange enchantment seemed to draw me from sleep and thrust me unheeding into the perilous future.

  I don’t know how I knew he would be waiting for me but I ignored Gwawr calling me back to bed and moved in a sort of dream, through the darkness to the place where the yew trees merged at the
far edge of the settlement. My feet sped onward. I could not contain them and did not know, or care, where they would take me. Captured by a will stronger than my own, as if compelled by fate, I forgot my years of schooling and my status withered to nothing as I rushed heedless into the future. A decision that would shape all our lives.

  Far off an owl hooted and close by I heard a rustle in a darkness that was so complete that I could not see a foot ahead of me. With a thumping heart I slowed my pace and crept forward into the yew tunnel.

  It was a favourite place of mine; somewhere that Ffreur and I had loved to play as children, a dark and secret world that smelled of resin and ancient, mystic things. My pace slowed and I lingered in the shadows and did not at first notice the outline of his body moulded to the polished tree trunk. When he stepped forward, bringing my steps to a halt, he seemed to materialise from another world.

  Neither of us spoke, it was not a time for words. We both knew that. Both of us were keenly aware that we hovered together on the cusp of fate, governed only by sorcery and our futile mortal words would change or embellish nothing. I raised my eyes to his and he blinked slowly, like a cat and reached out to lightly touch my cheek. I was not afraid. I tucked my face into the warm cup of his hand and moved into the loving circle of his arms.

  It was not wrong. We were gifted, one to the other, by the gods and we could not fight it, did not want to fight it. Our union was preordained and so on that chilly autumn night, as the ignorance of my girlhood melted into the heat of his adult fire, I did not tremble.

  Afterwards we lay upon the hard ground, wrapped in each other’s arms and shrouded by my loosened hair. For the first time my naked flesh pressed against that of a man, for the first time I felt the inexpressible pleasure of consummated love. With his long, white finger he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

  ‘My name is Osian,’ he whispered and the wonderful sound of the word washed inexorably against my heart like the sea against the shifting shore.

  ‘And I am Heledd,’ I said and as I said it, he stilled in my arms, his face blanching as he realised the enormity of our act. He had heard of me. Everyone knew of the Princesses Heledd and Ffreur, and Osian was not slow to realise that should our night’s work be discovered the penalty would be death. I saw his fears but I was filled with a child’s optimism and I laughed gently at them, kissed away furrows from his brow and made him love me again, truly believing that nothing would ever harm us.

  Three

  The threat of war was never far from us at Cynddylan’s hall. My brothers fought a constant battle with neighbouring Kings who coveted our boundaries as well as maintaining the peace within our own jurisdiction. There were ever petty discords and acrimony to be appeased as well as the threat from further off. My younger brothers governed the smaller, lesser Kingdoms in Powys and wherever possible the family sought to secure strong alliances so that when war threatened from outside, the whole of Powys would be prepared and invincible.

  I was proud to be the sister of Cynddylan. Since infancy I had watched him stride about his domains, his purple cloak swaying to his heels, his hand on the hilt of the golden sword that had been passed down for generations from father to eldest son. With a man like Cynddylan at the helm the realm flourished. We were a proud dynasty, the kingdom prosperous and our people secure. From all over the land chieftains came to swear fealty and pay tribute to their King and often neighbouring rulers visited to share a feast or celebrate a joining. On those occasions Cynddylan’s hall would be swathed in cloth of gold in their honour and the best food was laid upon the tables. In my father’s time, and now in Cynddylan’s, the hall grew famous for its hospitality and everyone knew that only the best entertainers and the greatest comforts were to be found at the hall of Pengwern.

  Two days after I first lay with Osian, when my head was still reeling with the magic of new love, royal guests arrived from Gwynedd. I was busy stitching amber beads onto my tunic; beads that I knew would tremble in the torchlight when I sat at the high table to listen as Osian sang his songs. In those heady days I lived only for him and although war rumbled constantly in the distance I spared little thought for events in the wider world.

  Ffreur was beside me, busy embellishing her own gown but I let her have only the lesser gems, keeping the best for myself. I imagined how Osian’s face would light up when he saw me in my finery and as I stitched, a warm glow spread across my belly when I imagined how, when we met after dark, he would push the tunic from my shoulders and clamp his hot lips upon my throat.

  Impatient for the evening, I snapped off the thread.

  ‘Come, Ffreur,’ I leapt to my feet. ‘Let us try them on.’

  She grabbed up her garments and we set off in the direction of our sleeping bower with Gwawr waddling in our wake, complaining of her sore feet. Aches and pains had no place in my world and I hurried on unheeding of her trials but Freur slowed her step and helped the old woman across the compound. I was too impatient to dally and by the time she and Gwawr crossed the threshold I was already changed and had fastened the jewelled girdle about my waist. I held out my arms and spun around for their appraisal. ‘Oh, Heledd,’ cried Ffreur, ‘how lovely you look. Every eye in the room will be upon you.’

  I smiled smugly, knowing she spoke the truth and began to loosen my hair from its bonds. Ffreur picked up the comb. ‘Let me brush it, Heledd,’ she offered, ‘and then you can do mine.’

  I sat down and closed my eyes, tilting back my head a little as she gently teased out the tangles. Her touch was gossamer light, making me shiver as goose pimples spread like water across my skin.

  The settlement was simmering with excitement and servants rushed, in a hubbub of activity about the brightly lit hall, preparing the tables, plumping the cushions and replenishing the hearth. Supper was not far off and a quiver of anticipation passed through my body at the thought of being with Osian again. I could barely contain myself until the merriment was over and I could sneak away to where he would be waiting, as usual, in the tunnel of yew.

  ‘Has anything happened, Heledd?’ Ffreur asked suddenly. ‘Do you have a secret? You have that look you used to get when we were children and you were keeping something from me.’

  I darted a look at her. Her face was pink and I knew she suspected me. Usually I told her everything but this secret was too big for sharing. It was dangerous and I knew I could tell nobody, not even her. I snatched away the comb.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I snapped. ‘Come, it’s your turn, sit and let me dress your hair.’

  When we arrived at the hall the fiddlers were tuning their instruments, servants wove in and out the company with jugs of mead and trays of victuals and the top table already groaned beneath the weight of food. Mine and Ffreur’s chairs stood empty but my brothers were already sprawled in theirs, deep in conversation with two richly clad strangers.

  As we approached the men straightened up in their seats and Cynddylan beckoned us to hasten to his side. We walked slowly toward them, conscious of their appraisingly looks and in response I jerked my chin high, at the same time noting their fine garments and noble bearing. They were both strangers and wondering who they were, we stopped at a short distance from the table and executed a graceful greeting as we had been taught.

  Pengwern’s King stood up. Cynddylan was clad in his best finery, his purple cloak brushed to perfection, a thin band of gold on his brow and a torc as thick as my arm about his neck. He turned and extended an arm toward us.

  ‘These are my sisters, the princesses Heledd and Ffreur, and this is my friend, Cadafael of Gwynedd and his younger brother, Iestyn.’

  So this was Cadafael. I had heard of him and his brother. I turned a haughty eye on them and inclined my head slightly. When King Cadwallon, the former ruler of Gwynedd, was slain by the North Umbrian army at the battle of Hefenfelth, Cadafael, a stranger from afar, had usurped the throne from the dead King’s infant son.

  Ever since that day my brother’s rela
tionship with the men of Gwynedd had waxed and waned like the moon and I wondered how long this episode of goodwill would last. My brother was a just ruler, loved and respected by his people but it was said that Cadafael ap Cynfeddw ruled Gwynedd with an iron fist and that loud mutterings of discontent rumbled loudly throughout his kingdom. Obviously, I surmised, he needed my brother’s aid to hold on to his usurped crown while Cynddylan sought the alliance with him only to lessen his array of enemies.

  I knew Cynddylan was watching us and from the corner of his eye he must have seen the King of Gwynedd sit up in his chair and assess us with his wandering eyes. Placing a ham-sized fist on each knee, he raked up and down my body until I felt I was a weaner being assessed for the pot, but my brother acted as if he had noticed nothing. The Gwynedd King gave a lop-sided smile and it was with great revulsion that I realised that he found me pleasing. His attentions were as welcome to me as a bucket of cold water. I wanted to find favour with no man but the one I loved. As soon as his lips touched the back of my hand, my stomach turned so that I had to suppress a shudder and the kiss ignited an internal storm that was to rage within me for years to come.

  Ffreur simpered at the younger man, Iestyn, who leaned forward to engage her in friendly conversation. She smiled as she moved to sit beside him at the top table, her golden head nodding in response to his greeting. Cadafael gestured that I should take my place beside him too but before I did so I darted my eye to Cynddylan to affirm that it was his wish also. And, at his nod, with ice in my heart, I challenged Cadafael’s scrutiny, raised my chin and took the empty seat beside him.

  The feast was a lengthy one. I sat like a stone effigy as Cadafael plied me with the tastiest morsels from his trencher and bored me with tales of his wonderful Kingdom. His stolen kingdom, I reminded myself, his rebellious kingdom.