Rhiannon hesitated before answering, not because she was uncertain, but because she did not know how to put her powerful feelings into words. ‘I would like him to… hold my hand,’ she said carefully. She looked up at Mamgi then. ‘I feared you might disapprove.’
‘Why so?’
‘He is a stranger. We know so little about him. And I have my responsibility to the village, to look after everyone, to become what you tell me I am. What I know myself to be. It may be that the…. complication of a.. of a…’
‘… a lover?’
‘Have I the right to such selfish concerns? There is so much that must be done, and we live in such uncertain times. What matters love?’
Mamgi frowned. ‘You know full well love is all that matters! And besides, have you not considered that this man could have been sent?’
‘Sent?’
‘Did he not save you? Did he not prove his worth? Has not the whole village benefited from his presence?’
‘Well, yes, but…’
‘What’s to say that another gift this young man has been sent to bestow upon you is the gift of love? Of companionship?’
‘Is it allowed, Mamgi? Can I be Rhiannon the witch and Rhiannon the woman at one and the same time?’
The old woman shifted in her chair, searching for a position that did not pain her aged bones. ‘To fulfil your destiny you must needs be all that you are able to be, witch, warrior, woman… You will better serve your coven and your people if you are whole. To deny such a powerful portion of yourself as your heart and your passion, this would not help you to thrive.’
Rhiannon felt a new joy take the place of the guilt she had been carrying. The thought that she could be free to love Tudor, if that was what he truly wanted too, was a wonderful thing indeed. But her mentor had not quite finished speaking.
‘Only know this,cariad,’ she said levelly. ‘If ever the day comes when you must choose between love and duty, between woman and witch, well, then you will know the meaning of sacrifice. Take heed. And do not take this man to your bed unless you are willing to accept this truth.’
‘And what do I tell him? Is all this talk of love folly, indeed, for when he learns the truth of what I am, of who I am, will he want me then? Will he wish to love a witch?’
The grandmother of the village leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Gently but firmly she said, ‘When you have the answer to that question,bach, you will truly know if he was sent.’
CHAPTER TEN
There was great excitement in the camp the following day when one of the children reported glimpsing a boar. It had ventured from the shelter of the woodland to search for the last of the accessible lowland roots before the snows came. It was well known that there had been wild boar aplenty in the forest when it had been her father’s domain. Boar hunts were occasions for sport and for welcome meat, often to supply a public feast or impress visitors. Now, the thought of roasted hog made the villagers wide eyed with delight. There was some argument as to the safety of sending a hunting party so far down the mountainside. They had, through many months, kept watch over the village and it remained deserted. The great house was uninhabited, but on more than once occasion soldiers had been seen using it. Whether this was as a temporary outpost or as forerunners of a more permanent inhabitant - such as the new Lord of Cwmdu - they had no way of knowing, save to wait and see. Each time, after a few days of residence, the men had gone away. It was sufficientactivity to keep the villagers from ever returning to their homes. However, it was argued that at present the house was known to be empty. The woodland where the boar lived extended down to the edge of the stables behind the house. As long as they were stealthy, it would be worth the risk.
After much discussion, the members of the hunting party were chosen. Disappointed boys (and some girls) were assured their turn would come. The blacksmith erected a spit over the fire pit in the barn in optimistic anticipation. Dafydd and Bryn would take spears, as would two of the older boys. Rhiannon had her bow and Taran. Rufus took a throwing axe. Two of her father’s soldiers - Dai and Euan - took bows, as did the oldest boy, Ifan. After a sustaining bowl ofcawl,they set offearly to make the most of the shortening day. They went on foot. Dilly was a useful mare but had not the speed nor stamina for the chase. Having only one horse, Tudor’s mount, would unbalance the team and be of little use. Rhiannon pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head, securing it at the neck with a pin so that it would stay in place. Even with the thick woollen garment she could feel the icy wind as it blew through the worn fibres to sting her ears. She was accustomed to such discomforts now, as were the men she hunted with. She went ahead, setting the pace so that no-onesought to display their superiority of strength and condition at the expense of the less youthful men, such as Dafydd, or the weaker boys, such as the smallest, Glyn.
She experienced a slight tremor of excitement as they descended the hillside. To be leaving the mountain again felt if not dangerous, then at least not without possible danger. She glanced over her shoulder at Tudor and was pleased to see him striding evenly, his wounds completely healed. He caught her observing him, making her colour and turn away again quickly. She brought her thoughts to bear on the hunt. During her months on the hilltop she, like many of the others, had honed her skills at tracking, though for the most part it was rabbits and birds that they searched for. A boar would be a fine prize. They had not yet started into December, and already she could see the cold beginning to take its toll on some of the villagers. It was vital that they add to their meagre rations with fine, nourishing food as often as possible. She scoured the ground for prints. The wiry mountain grass was frozen sufficiently to withstand footfalls while only sometimes allowing an imprint, so that it was harder to see tracks than it might have been. She watched Taran closely. He was a sighthound, bred to give chase to wolves and large prey on seeing them, which mostly depended on movement catching his ever watchful eye.He was also equipped with a superior sense of smell, however, and would certainly show interest if he were to pick up the scent of a boar.
They had soon left the open moorland of the mountain side and entered the cover of the woods. Even in their bare winter state the trees gave shelter from the weather and provided a certain amount of protection from being seen. The lower they went, the larger the trees, so that soon they had passed beyond rowan and blackthorn and hazel and now moved between silver birch, oaks, ash, elm and evergreen larch. The forest floor was a tangle of naked brambles, decaying leaves and twigs shed from higher branches in storms or dislodged by birds. Rhiannon noticed at once the changes in both temperature and aroma. The wind could not so easily fight its way through to the interior, and with each footstep the party disturbed from the earth its sour hibernal scents. The creatures of the woodland fell silent as they detected this unexpected and threatening intrusion, so that all that could be heard was the soft moaning of the excluded wind, the irregular snapping of twig beneath leather boot, and the warm breathing of the hunters. Rufus signalled silently and the others hurried over to inspect what he had found. Tudor nodded his agreement that the track was indeed that of a boar. Taran began wagging his tail and dropped his nose tothe ground, bounding on ahead. Encouraged, they increased their pace, but the marks faded by a stream and could not be picked up once more. Even Taran failed to find the scent again. They pressed on in silent determination but found no more indication they were heading in the right direction. Hour upon hour they searched, until Rhiannon noticed the smaller boys tiring. She insisted they pause, drink the watery ale from their sheepskin flasks, and eat their flatbread. All knew to remain silent, for to indulge in chatter could be to lose the last remnant of a chance for success which they had. It was while they were resting that Glyn saw something. He sprang up from his seat on a fallen log and pointed excitedly to the ground. Rhiannon smiled, assuming the the boy had found more boar tracks, but as she hurried over to him she saw that his expression was not one of glee but of fear. Following the direction of his outstretched hand, she and the others examined the print. She held Taran back so that he would not disturb the ground and remove the evidence before them. She need not have checked him, for the great hound had tensed the length of his body and a deep rumble emitted from within. It was clear to the most inexperienced hunter among them that the shape embossed in the mud before them was that of a wolf paw.
The men cast about, carefully searching the area. Within seconds another print had been found, and then another and another, until it became evident these were the tracks not of a single wolf, but of a pack. Tudor signalled to the others to pick up their things and move on. They continued their hunt but warily now. As they trudged on, the hours ticking by, the light fading and their reserves of strength with it, Rhiannon wondered if she should tell them to abandon their task and return to the safety of the encampment. Was it wise to continue when wolves were so many and so close? She was on the point of discussing this with Tudor when a movement upheld caused her to gasp. She raised her hand. Everyone stood still as stone, breath held, eyes narrowed against the increasing gloom of the woodland. Taran hesitated, head up, and then rushed forwards into the dense undergrowth. In that moment the weighty silence of the forest was rent asunder by a rabble of sounds. There came the shrieking of the boar, one huge male and two smaller females as they were flushed from their cover by the dog and sent barrelling towards the men. The men shouted all at once, some issuing instructions to the others, some yelling at the boar to turn them, others cursing as they were caught out by the swiftness of what was happening. Startled birds rose up from their perches, squawking and cawing,wings flapping. There was the sound of an arrow loosed, a bow twanging, and an angry shout as Tudor warned against such an action while they were all across from each other. A spear whistled through the air and found its mark in the great boar, bringing forth from it an even louder shriek, to accompany the whoop of delight from Glyn who had thrown the spear. Bryn was knocked off his feet by one of the smaller swine, and Dafydd was winded by Taran as the hound charged after the escaping boar. Even in its injured state the pig was moving fast and could easily escape them. Taran leapt at it, causing it to turn sharply, so that it ran directly towards Tudor. He had his sword drawn, but, without taking his eye off it, it was Rhiannon he shouted to. Seeing where she stood he knew she had the best line of sight, and the safest one.
‘Rhiannon! Use your bow now!’
With a swiftness born of months of training, of hours of repetitious and frustrating practice, she pulled back the string, moving her bow arm with the motion of the running boar, taking her time, even though that time was but a heart beat. She narrowed her eyes, saw her mark, and loosed her arrow. Before she had time to blink its metal head had pierced the hide of the boar, shattered two ribs, and lodged with lethal accuracy in its heart. The squealing stopped and the animaldropped to the ground. Its fellows slipped away into the forest, blurred movement and rustling plants showing their route until they were lost to sight. Glyn hurried forwards and dropped to his knees beside the boar, his eyes bright with the thrill of it, his face lit up with the success of his first important kill.
‘Well done, Glyn,’ Rhiannon said, smiling at him.
The boy did his best to sound humble. ’T’was your arrow brought him down,’ he said.
‘Ah, but without your spear to slow him, I should certainly have missed,’ she assured him. She looked at the animal whose life they had taken. She never killed a creature without feeling a stab of loss and a sadness for the light extinguished. But this boar had been killed to feed her people, and without it some would have fallen into a low state of health from which they might not have ever climbed free.
Dafydd stepped forward and slapped the boy on the shoulder.
’Tis well done,’ he told him, smiling. ‘I for one can taste the pork even now! Come, we need poles to carry him home.’ He and the boys set about cutting two strong lengths from the nearest hazel tree from which the pig would be suspended.
Rhiannon was aware the light was fading and noticed that Taran was no longer interested in the kill. Hisattention seemed away somewhere, in the darkening woods, too far for her to see its point of focus, yet close enough to cause concern. She touched Tudor’s sleeve.
