‘Why do you hesitate?’ Grandmother Williams demanded of them. ‘You know in your hearts what I say is true. She is the one you have to thank for your very lives. See her as God sent if you must, for it will change not the facts. Her goodness is what sustains us all, and the time has come for you to see that. She is Rhiannon, who will one day take her place as Queen of all Witches, and she must be known as such. Who will be the first to pledge allegiance? Who has the courage?’
There was silence, save for the coughing of the elders and crying of an infant. Gwen’s mind was filled with doubt now. She felt that at any moment some of the men might turn upon her, and that she would be cast out forever. Some shuffled their feet, others would notmeet her eye. Still they waited, uncertain. She saw that she must act. Without a word, she moved forwards, noticing as she did so that people instinctively drew back. It saddened her to think they might be afraid of her. Soon she was standing alone in the centre of the barn. She steadied herself. Slowly she brought her hands together, clasping them in front of her heart. She closed her eyes. Remembering what Mamgi had taught her about how to draw on her inner strength, how to connect with the magic inside her, she breathed in, deeper and deeper. Then, slowly, she let go her breath, opening her eyes as she did so, gradually releasing the air from her lungs, carefully unfolding her hands and stretching her arms wide. She saw the astonishment on the faces of those present. She watched herself being watched. She was able to do this easily because with every tiny puff of air that she exhaled, the smoke from the fire and gritty fumes from the lamps moved, swirling away, thinning and clearing. With it went the rancid smells and heavy taste so that soon all in the barn were breathing sweet, clean air, their eyes no longer stung to watering, their own vision clear. More than this, those present felt a change within themselves. It was not some miraculous cure of all their ills, rather it was a lightening of their personal darkness. The weariness that they had worn as they entered the building, lifted.The sorrow that had been their constant companion for many months, diminished. Their courage and resolve returned. In a few short moments, the people of the settlement stood in a space of clean, clear air, their hearts uplifted and hope returned to them.
Gwen let her arms drop to her sides and smiled. Bronwen got up and ran to stand at her skirts, looking up at her, the other children following on fleet little feet. Then, boldly, Rufus, pushed through the throng and moved to stand beside Mamgi.
‘I swear my undying loyalty,’ he said levelly, bowing his head towards Gwen.
Dafydd emerged from the crowd next and dropped to his knees. ‘My Lady,’ he said, ‘you know I am yours to command.’
She looked into the crowd then, seeking out the soldiers. It was they who could tip the balance. She needed them. ‘And you?’ she asked them both. ‘Will you serve me as once you served my father?’
The two exchanged glances. Their decision made, then came to kneel in front of her, each bowing their heads and holding out their swords for her.
One of the older boys punched the air shouting, ‘Queen Rhiannon! Rhiannon! Rhiannon!’
Others took up the cry until the whole barn reverberated with the sound of them singing out her true name.
Mamgi smiled, triumphant, and turned to her protege. When she could make herself heard she asked. ‘Well, Rhiannon, they are yours. As am I. What is your first instruction?’
A silence fell. The company waited, tense and expectant.
Rhiannon, as she now thought of herself, beamed, her eyes bright. If they had been expecting a complicated speech they were surprised, for all she said was, ‘We go to Talgar!’
Grandmother Williams scowled and tutted, but her irritation was short lived, as the whole community began to cheer and shout in delight, buoyed up with love for their new queen, and new hope for their future.
CHAPTER SIX
‘We must leave tomorrow,’ Rhiannon insisted in the conversation that followed.
‘Such haste!’ said Mamgi.
Dafydd agreed with Rhiannon. ‘The weather will turn. We have not much time if we are to take the cart. With no proper path our progress will be slow enough… We cannot risk being stopped by snow, either going out or coming in. Lady Gwen is right in what she says.’
Mamgishook her head. ‘Call her by her true name. Rhiannon.’
He apologised but Rhiannon was quick to support him.
‘I fear it will take everyone some time to become accustomed to it,’ she said. ‘Not least of all myself.’
It had already been agreed that she should take Dafydd and Brynach with her. They would present themselves as simple crofters, down for a rare visit to town to purchase necessary things for the winter, which was, after all, close to the truth. They would take two live lambs to barter with, as well as some willow basketsmade by the children. As for money, they had only a handful of coins between them. Rhiannon’s only possession of value was the dagger her father had given her. It pained her to think of parting with it, but she had offered to do so. She had been relieved when no-one would allow her to give it up. Instead, when the morning arrived, they put what money they had in a leather purse and tied the lambs and baskets onto the cart, along with five sheepskins.
‘We will get what we can,’ Rhiannon promised Mair, who had wistfully asked for hens, should there be any.
Brynach took up the reins and Dafydd elected to walk alongside. Rhiannon hesitated, making Mamgi laugh.
‘Where has your hurry gone to,merch? Away with you. If it is to be done, let it be done swiftly.’
Still she hesitated. She lifted her chin, turning her face east towards the rising sun, listening, almost reading the chill breeze. She knew not what it was she was waiting for, yet she lingered a short while longer, pacing back and fore while the assembled villagers looked on, perplexed. At last she stopped, smiled, and then clapped her hands together.
‘Now,’ she nodded, turning to take hold of Dilly’s bridle. ‘It is time.’
Their progress down the upper reaches of the valley was, as Dafydd had predicted, frustratingly slow. Thesummer growth of bracken had died back and withered, but still the brown stems tangled themselves around the wheels of the old cart. The lambs bleated their displeasure at being part of the party. Dilly was unused to leaving the safety of the homestead and need encouragement and cajoling to lean into the harness and drag the wagon forwards. Conversely, on the steeper downward reaches both men were required to use their strength to slow the cart so that the mare was not startled by its weight against her. After much discussion, they had chosen a route that would not take them through the village. They could not risk encountering new inhabitants, or the new resident of the Lord of Cwmdu’s house, if there was one. Instead they travelled on to the west of the riverRhiangoll, from where they were able to peer across to the village from a safe distance. By this point the ground had levelled out and there was an old sheep track, widened by years of use, upon which the cart moved more easily. The three gazed in the direction of their old homes. All still seemed to be standing, even the small wooden church. The place was eerily quiet. No children scampered between the houses. No livestock grazed on the pastures outside the village. No smoke came from chimneys or from the smithy’s furnace. Even the nobleman’s house stood empty, dark and cold. Rhiannon wasglad neither of the men chose to remark upon this, as she knew they felt the sadness of it keenly, and they must put those feelings aside and press on with their important task.
It was another hour before they reached the valley floor and joined the rough road that led to Talgar. Brynach held the reins, with Dafydd sitting beside him. Both were watchful and wary. Rhiannon sat on the back of the cart, facing the way they had come, the better to keep watch for soldiers or people from the town. She felt a sudden nervousness. She had not, until that moment, considered how long it had been since she had spoken to anyone from outside the village. Aside from the danger of meeting de Chapelle’s men, or revealing her true identity and being denounced as an enemy of the new Lord of Brycheiniog, she wondered how she would fare when required to talk to strangers. Her dress was faded threadbare. Her belt was frayed and worn. Her boots had been repaired so many times they were more patches than original leather. She set her jaw, rising above the disadvantages of her clothing. She must remember what she had been sent to do. She must remember how many people were depending on her. She must remember who she was.
They were twenty minutes or so from entering the town when she saw a lone rider some way behindthem. His horse was travelling at a steady, long-strided canter, so that he was gradually gaining on them. As he came closer she could make out more detail. His was a fine horse, crow black, with a flowing mane. The rider sat tall in the saddle. He wore a helmet that shone beneath the low winter sun, which also reflected off the hilt of the sword at his side. He sat his horse well, comfortable in its fast but controlled pace, holding the reins in one hand, as they covered the stony ground, a wooden shield on his left arm. As the distance between rider and cart shortened, he minutely adjusted his position in the saddle and closed his fingers over the leather, communicating to the horse his wish to slow up.
Rhiannon pivoted in her seat, whispering quickly to the men at the front of the cart. ‘Have a care. A rider approaches. A man-at-arms, by my reckoning.’
