Authors: Mark Noce
“You look just like her. She was a beauty in her youth. But willful, arrogant, unyielding.”
“She was a kind woman, a healer, and a stewardess of her people.”
“Bah! She betrayed her people. She had the same choice you have before you now.”
“What choice? What are you talking about?”
“She could have united our people, all Wales against the Saxons. Instead she spurned me.”
An icy, prickly sensation wends its way down my neck. Suddenly an image of my dream the other night comes unbidden to my mind, the memory of my mother at the loom and the strange man who scared her. Belin. Younger, his hair was darker then, but it was definitely him in that half-forgotten memory of early childhood. It's as though my mother were trying to speak to me from beyond the grave. My gaze narrows on the old king.
“You offered her your hand in marriage? To my mother?”
Belin knocks a dish from a nearby tabletop, the pewter plate rattling against the cobblestone floor. I back up against a wall. Despite the airiness of the empty mead hall, it feels like a prison cell all the same. Artagan must be held captive here somewhere. One problem at a time. I must focus on the task at hand. Belin turns his back to me. The old man's shoulders sag with regret.
“She went and married that dog, Vortigen of Dyfed, instead! She and I could have changed Wales forever. With her people in the South and mine in the North, we might have bound up all Wales into a single nation. Like I said, she betrayed her people.”
The old man bares his soul to me, almost on a whim. But why? Belin the Old, Belin the Cunning, Belin the Traitor, these are his names. He is not a man known for initiating a heart-to-heart. Quietly spinning his plots from his kingdom in the North, he has sought to subjugate all Wales under his rule before his rivals realized what was happening. And all the while my very existence as a queen of the Old Tribes has been a constant thorn in his side. My marriages to rival Welsh kings in Caerwent and later Aranrhod have provided an unwitting counterweight to his plans.
Belin walks to an arrow slit, staring at the cold barren crags outside Snowden castle. Leagues upon leagues of upland wastes. The worn, time-carven land reminds me of the lines on his ancient face.
Coldness creeps into my bones. Belin would only tell me these things for one reason. He never intends to let me go. And there is only one reason he would keep me prisoner now. My lips tremble as I strive to speak.
“My mother didn't betray her people. She betrayed you. Is that what this is all about?”
“What is any of this life about? Power? Love? Power lost and gained. Love gained and lost.”
Glaring at his back, I struggle to keep my voice even.
“You're the one who has sought to destroy me. All along, it was you at the root of it.”
“I wondered when we would come to that.”
He turns his steely gaze upon me. The spider at the center of so many webs. Like a fool, I have strayed into his nest. The man who sought to destroy me from the outset now has me in his power.
Sweat beads along my brow. I came here for two reasons, to free my husband and to find out for sure who has been plotting my demise all these years. And now I know for certain, but little good it does me in trying to free Artagan.
But Belin does not fool me now. His unrequited love for my mother was merely the seed of his enmity toward me and my family. I see it clear as day on his face. He fed his vengeful heart ever afterward on his lust for power and his greed for more land. A true warmonger, he only finds pleasure and meaning in life through wealth and dominance, all the while hiding it behind the mask of a quiet old man. No matter how much of Wales he takes, it will never fill the emptiness inside him. It will never be enough.
I swallow hard, stalling for time. Trying to think.
“How did you manage it?” I begin. “Saxons? Assassins? A lot to send against one young girl.”
He paces around the fire, eyeing me with the calculating patience of a hungry wolf.
“By now I suppose you know of your guardsman's messages to your father, sent via Bishop Gregory.”
“You were the one intercepting and reading those letters.”
“It goes much deeper than that, little girl. I had my spies in several courts, men who sought the power I've now given them.”
My mind races, trying to keep up. The signs were in front of me all along, but I had neither the insight nor the will to see it. I've been looking at the kings in power when I should've been looking at their next of kin, the heirs who would inherit their thrones once men like King Morgan and my father were dead.
I begin to pace, so as to keep the distance between us.
“Owen and Malcolm,” I deduce. “They betrayed their kings so that they might rule in their stead.”
“Very good. And now they will swear allegiance to me, because I and I alone have a treaty with the Saxons and can restrain them. I also have the only sizable army left in all Wales. Our entire country will be united under one banner. Mine.”
“Not so long as I live. My marriage to Morgan united half of Wales against you. Even when I ran off with Artagan, that still posed too strong a threat to your power.”
He merely scoffs in reply, not even remotely intimidated by my continued defiance. But something in his words still does not add up. After all, it was his army that came to our aid when the Saxons first cornered us at Aranrhod.
“But you saved us during the siege of Aranrhod,” I counter. “Why?”
“For the same reason I offer to save you now. The prospect of marriage. I sent my son to woo you, but you proved as evasive as your mother.”
“Rhun is wed to Olwen, and I to Artagan. That's marriages aplenty.”
“But not to me. With you as my queen, the rest of Wales will fall into line. It is the choice I offered your mother once, and the choice I offer you now.”
My stomach turns over. Me marry him? He's mad. Not to mention I already have a husband, who I'm sure would suffer an
accident
as soon as Belin took me as his bride. The mere thought of anything evil befalling Artagan lances my heart. Backing up against the cold stone wall, I wish I could run. The man before me is no king, only a monster.
“You cannot be serious! I've been married twice. That's more than enough. You've tried to kill me, for God's sake! Sending Saxons and assassins after me. You say this is all about uniting Wales, about kingships and kingdoms, but we both know that's only half the story. You see my mother when you look at me. This is your chance to set right the supposed wrongs you've suffered.”
Belin bangs his fist against a tabletop.
“I can never right the wrongs that have been done! If I cannot have her, I will have the kingdom our marriage should have brought under my rule. The entire Welsh nation.”
I slowly shake my head.
“I was wrong. You cared nothing for my mother. You only wanted the lands that her hand in marriage would've brought you.”
He shrugs, lost in his own recollections for a moment.
“It was I who gave the Saxons their boats when they raided Dyfed all those years ago. They were supposed to take her prisoner after you and Vortigen had been killed.”
My eyes widen, my hand rushing to my throat. Mother dead because of him? Because of him! Before I can think, I have my hands around his collar. I can see only red, the sound of pumping blood rising in my ears. The old man tries to push me off, but my palms tighten around his fat throat. A rough hand grabs me about the middle, pulling me off as I kick and shout. Rhun restrains me with an iron grip, but I lash out for Belin all the same. Damn him! Damn them both. Belin rubs his sore neck.
“Put her in the dungeons! She will wed me one way or the other. If she comes willingly, I'll let her precious Artagan live. Maybe. Otherwise, I'll hang him tomorrow. Let her cool her heels and think on that.”
More guards hold back my arms as Rhun takes me down into the frigid dungeons. Thrown in a cell, I lie sprawled on the floor, cradling my wrists. The cell door shuts with a squeak. Rhun gives me a last smirk before closing the dungeon entranceway. All turns to impenetrable darkness.
I hug my knees close to my chest, shivering in the frozen blackness. It cannot end like this. Belin cannot win. He decided long ago that if he couldn't have my mother, no one could. And now he has laid the same ultimatum upon me, the daughter of the woman he once both loved and hated. Now that he has me at his mercy, he'd rather keep me as a caged pet, the final feather in his cap after a life spent plotting and scheming, first against my mother and then against me.
The wheels spin in my mind, recalling every step of Belin's endless plots. When the Saxons first attacked me on the King's Road before my betrothal, it must have been Belin who unleashed the Fox and the Wolf against me.
Owen was already a herald in Father's court, but I hardly knew him then and paid him no mind. He could have easily gotten word to Belin, who in turn would've lent the Saxons the same ships they used against my mother all those years ago.
I shut my eyes, shaking my head. The same man who made me motherless would have had me rent apart by the very same barbarians. God, is there no justice in the world anymore?
The Pictish assassin had to also be Belin's doing. His long-dead queen was a Pict, or so Morgan always said. All the while, Morgan suspected Artagan when in fact his own brother conspired with Belin against him. Malcolm must have coveted his brother's throne as much as Owen wanted my father's.
With Malcolm, the Bishop, and Belin intercepting Ahern's messages to my father, they would've easily known my whereabouts at all times. Hence the Saxons lying in wait when we reached the Dean Fort. That was almost two years ago, and if not for Artagan's fortuitous appearance, I might have suffered death, capture, or worse at the hands of the Fox and the Wolf.
But even when I reached the safety of the Free Cantrefs, I could not entirely escape beyond Belin's long reach. Blinded by Morgan and Father's persistent efforts to recapture me, I never gave a thought to the king in the North who secretly worked against me all the while. But all my enemies still remain each other's enemies too, and even Belin didn't want the Saxons conquering the Free Cantrefs. After all, Belin wants to rule all Wales himself, and he certainly doesn't plan to share it with the Saxons. Both the Welsh and Saxon warlords use each other. Are we any better than barbarians ourselves?
When Rhun's horsemen lifted the siege, Belin seized the opportunity to try and wed his eldest son to me, thus securing his plans for dominating all Wales. But I would only wed Artagan and none other. So Belin changed his mind, once again seeking to kill me and remove me as a threat. Now that he has me in a Snowden dungeon, he can afford to let me live again. So long as I become his meek slave-bride.
I spit on the floor, drubbing my fist uselessly against the brick walls. Since his betrayal of our armies at the Battle of the Bloody Fords, Belin has the only army and diplomatic alliances left to save Wales. Whether they love him or not, the people will flock to his banners, if only to save their children from slavery at the hands of the Saxons.
Maybe the old King is right. Perhaps I am a fool. A fool to have come here alone, a fool to hope against hope that one woman could make a difference against a world of men bent on destruction and mayhem. All my best-laid plans have landed me in a dank dungeon, alone in a prison fortress high in the frosty peaks of North Wales.
I begin to pray, so utterly alone as tears stream down my cheeks. Hear me, God. Help me, please.
The prison door opens a crack.
A shaft of bronze light penetrates my dark abode. Blinking back my tears, I squint into the bright torchlight as a lone figure descends the steps to my cell. A woman with a round, pregnant belly stops beside the lock, her violet eyes reflecting the ruby torchlight. I rise to my feet.
“Olwen? Did you receive my raven?”
“That was risky of you. Anyone might have intercepted your message. You're lucky I'm one of the few who can read at this court.”
“I had to try. Will you help me?”
“No.”
My heart sinks. Staggering back, I steady myself on the bulkhead. All is lost. I was truly a fool to apply to Olwen for help. Heavy with child, she carries the next heir to the northern throne. She has no reason under heaven to help me. Has she come to gloat then? I'm the one in a cell while she is the mighty Queen. I won't beg, if that's what she's come to see. For Artagan or my boy, I might, but for my own life, no. I won't give her the satisfaction. Olwen lowers her face close to the bars.
“I won't do it for you, but for Artagan's sake alone do I do this.”
She pulls a key out from beneath her robes and opens the lock. My mouth hangs open, but I do not budge. Still in disbelief, I walk into the light. Purple bags hang under her eyes, her Venus-like face and figure marred by the weight of pregnancy. And something else, I sense. Perhaps life as a queen in frozen Snowden has not proven as pleasant as she might have hoped. Olwen tosses the keys at me, but I still don't understand.
“What are you doing?”
“The third key will open Artagan's cell. Come quick. I relieved the guard, but he will return.”
“You free him,” I reply. “I'm not leaving just yet. I have unfinished business with Belin.”
“You truly are crazy.”
Olwen arches an eyebrow, looking at me as though I sprouted a second head. She takes the keys back from me. I pull her close, our breath fogging the other's face. I still don't know whether to trust her or not, but I have no choice. She eyes me warily. I ask her the only question that matters.
“You love him still, don't you?”
Olwen pauses a moment before answering.
“And I always will. Now go. You'll find everything you need out in the passageway.”
We part, possibly never to see one another again. But our shared love for the same man will always bind us together. Olwen rushes noiselessly down the next hallway while I turn toward a small alcove. All my possessions lie wrapped in a small calfskin bundle, including my bow and quiver. Good. Let's hope this works. Otherwise, I won't make it past the first guardhouse.