Longhand, White-tooth, and the Fox: The Silurian

By L.A. Wilson

The Silurian, Book Three:
LONGHAND, WHITE-TOOTH, AND THE FOX

A GREAT PRINCE ARISES

The Fox is taken prisoner by the Dynasty of Cadwallon Longhand, and his cruel and ambitious brother, Owen White-tooth, both of the powerful clan of the Gwynedd Gododdin, who seek to keep Arthur from rising to take absolute rule of Britain as Imperator.

The Men of Gwynedd force the Fox into the army of Cadwallon Longhand to fight for the Hound Clan, where he is used in the hope of thwarting any further rise of Arthur's power, for only Bedwyr knows how Arthur fights and wins, only Bedwyr knows the Silurian's heart and way, and for it, Longhand imprisons the Fox in his stronghold of Rhos: here Bedwyr is forced to marry into the Dynasty of Longhand and White-tooth, here he is abused and beaten.

Away from Arthur's battles, the Fox's journey is arduous. And it is here, separated from his beloved foster-brother that Bedwyr becomes a powerful prince and warrior in his own right: a man that other warlords fight over to gain for themselves the power of the Fox's sword-arm. But Bedwyr is sworn only to Arthur, and he waits for the inevitable day when the Bear invades Gwynedd with his army to claim back his lost brother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9781445795386

Book preview

THE SILURIAN

BOOK THREE

LONGHAND

WHITE-TOOTH

and

THE FOX

TwoRiders Productions

2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

L.A. WILSON author of © THE SILURIAN series

©LONGHAND, WHITE-TOOTH, AND THE FOX

BOOK 3 OF 8

ISBN: 978-1-4457-9538-6

[e-mail]

COVER ARTIST

https://selfpubbookcovers.com/billwyc

THE MEN OF GWYNEDD

1

WITH us came Davin and Irfan ap Clair, and a new young groom from Siluria, who Arthur had given over to me to tend my horse and my war-gear; the boy’s name was Gethin ap Grigor, and I was glad of his service. I was glad too to have Irfan and me, as he was a friend of mine. All the rest of them save his twin brother were strangers. And Medraut of course, but he was strange enough in himself. I went home wearing the red cloak of one of Arthur’s horse-guard, the cloak pinned at my shoulder with a gold dragon-brooch.

Also I carried a fox-head pennant at the tip of my spear, a white-washed shield till I could get myself a new fox-head—so the pennant now stood in its place as my totem. A long ride without trouble, and as our mission was to petition Longhand, King of Gwynedd, we were to ride not to Dogfeiling, but to his fort on the north-west coast at Rhos. Two days more of riding it took us to reach the King’s stronghold built on a jutting rock, and overlooking the coastal estuary, the Isle of Mon only across the water. We came in a troop, with our banners flying and were stopped on the road by his warriors. They called out to us, Name yourselves and your purpose in our lands!

I trotted forward and told them, I am Prince Bedwyr ap Tewdur of Dogfeiling! This is Prince Medraut ap Lot of the Lothians; we are here to see Lord Cadwallon Longhand. I believe our king wishes to see me.

A warrior of theirs rode closer to me.

He called, Ah, Prince of Dogfeiling, your arrival is timely! Have you come bringing a war-host to our battles?

These are not my men, I told him. They are Prince Medraut’s. But if you take me before our king, I can bring warriors to his aid, if he agrees to deal on my terms.

This last remark of mine had them stirring in their saddles. The warrior’s face fell and he glared at me, daggers.

He said, I will take you to him. I am his nephew and shield-bearer, Magnus Dyfyr mab Owen. Follow me!

Nephew and shield-bearer then, as I was Arthur’s.

With Medraut riding at my side, we followed Longhand’s men back to his stronghold; clattered over a wide wooden bridge and through a gate in a Roman built wall, where only the highest ranked amongst us could go. The stronghold stood on the very coast itself and overlooked the passage of sea that swept the north coast of Gwynedd, the Kingdom of Rhos, home to some of the most powerful warlords in Britain. Before these men, I would have to be the prince I was born. They would have nothing of my emotions, and nothing of Arthur, if they asked of him, only my loyalty to him, and he would have it even if my Gwynedd kinsmen threatened to hang me from their walls and shoot me full of arrows.

So with Medraut still at my side, we marched into the high hall of his stronghold, and here I met King Cadwallon Llawhir, the Longhand, himself standing before a great hearthstone in the hall’s centre, beyond which sat his great-chair. Around the king crowded his warriors and his women, a small boy playing with his dogs, and Longhand came striding to meet us, himself with silver-white hair long to his shoulders, a white moustache, and he was shorter than me when he came up and stared at me. He looked at me long, and I was glad I was taller than him, for I pulled up straighter as he studied me.

As he said, Welcome to my hall, Prince Bedwyr, and he embraced me and kissed me in the way of warrior-kinship.

He then greeted Medraut likewise and took us to his table to drink the cup of welcome, and doing this, he said to me, Not much left of your family now, Bedwyr-mab, is there? Save that dog-rabble mob of your cousins, your uncle’s brood, the Stags. They have been fighting the Gaels for many years, but you?

I took a different path, my lord, I told him as he offered us a seat at his table. But the enemy I fight is no less a trouble to Britain than the Gaels, if not more so. Much more, for they are not of our kind, even as the Gaels are strange kin in many ways, but not these Saxons, the greatest enemy to us now.

They come from every direction, these enemies of Britain. Such a shame the Romans left us to it. But I know about the Germani, he nodded his silver head at me, stroked his moustache and studied me again, deeper this time. Around him some other warriors came in; with them, Magnus Dyfyr, Cadwallon’s shield-bearer and nephew. They all wanted to see us, and all the time, Magnus stared at me like I was a pile of dogshit on the floor.

What is it you want here? Magnus asked, looking at me and Medraut both. Why bring a war-host? Do you offer your swords in war to fight the Ulaid?

It seemed that Medraut was going to let me do all the talking, for he nodded at me. So I answered with all of Longhand’s men staring at me, hushed, I have come to ask of our king, of you Lord Cadwallon, that I will bring a new clan to Gwynedd. I ask permission that these men settle in Dogfeiling, and in return, they will pledge themselves to you as their over-lord. And for this, they will fight the Ulaid in exchange for settlement.

And who are these men? Magnus barked at me.

He was hard, this one. I sensed he was Cadwallon’s hound, his attack-dog. But it was Medraut who answered him. He spoke just as hard, because I knew Medraut, for all his dark ways, was as brave as a mountain-head standing alone in a monstrous summer storm.

He said, These men who come, they are of the Caw Clan, those Gododdin west of us Lothians. They have Dogfeiling relations; they want to come home as they are under constant attack from the Picts. They seek safe lands, for which in return, they will fight for you. I come as their emissary.

And why not themselves? This again from Magnus, who stalked up and down like a wolf-hound.

Because I have higher status in your eyes than they, Medraut answered. I am son of the King of Lothian. Then he spoiled it by adding, And I am cousin to Arthur, King of the Silures, the Pendragon of Britain, the Supreme Commander of Armies in Britain, why else would they choose me to come before you and petition on their behalf?

When the name Arthur was mentioned, all fell quiet like the terrible feeling before a storm—another one brewing.

Even the women hushed their chatter.

Arthur, Magnus said.

Said it like he was saying the name of a being who could only be spoken of in whispers around night fires, the nights of Samas when spirits walked or warriors amassed for savage battle. And I thought I could have got out of this moment without ever having to mention Arthur at all, but it was impossible with Medraut at my side. I tried to ease things; I turned the way back to the Caws.

Please my Lord, allow Prince Medraut to call for the Caw Clan, let me grant them lands in Dogfeiling. The Caws are mighty warriors, led by Huwel ap Caw and his many brothers; like you and your family, the sons of many powerful brothers.

It sounds good, Longhand answered me, though Magnus stalked up and down, bearing down on Medraut, for the Snake was the very one who had mentioned that name.

But then Magnus Dyfyr mab Owen turned on me. Bring your Caws, he said, and bring your Arthur. Aye? Let him come and fight the Gaels if he is so good; such a warrior we have never heard of before him. Greater than his father, Uthyr. Greater than Ambrosius, greater even than Magnus Maximus, for him I was named. Let your Arthur come and fight the Ulaid. I want to see him in action, I have heard so much! All the time he spoke in a mocking way. Let him come, and not these Caws.

I answered him, Arthur fights the Saxons. You know that.

And he fights the Picts! He smashed them like toy soldiers those few years ago now, and you were there with him, both of you. You, Prince of Dogfeiling, fighting for Arthur while we stay here and suffer the Gaels in our lands.

Each to his own, Medraut told him. There are enemies enough for all of us, are there not? You can grow famous fighting the Gaels and Arthur will grow famous fighting the Saxons. Is that so wrong? He cannot be everywhere at once! He cannot fight all our enemies alone. Can you not defend yourselves, you Men of Gwynedd, that you have to beg for one Silurian to rush to your aid? And he came to his feet. Are you insulting my cousin? Are you saying he deliberately ignores and denies you aid?

Medraut was in a rage and everything was already turning sour, the mood, so dark…goddess above! The hall was burning with it and we would be run through with their swords if he did not calm himself. I stood to try and bring sense and order. I spoke to Cadwallon only. I ignored Magnus, who was here only to pick us apart and Medraut was falling for it.

I said to the king, My lord, please, Arthur is not your enemy. I came only to offer you a war-host, and this war-host is Gododdin, as we all are here. All I ask is for permission for them to settle in my cantref.

How large a war-host? Cadwallon asked. He was interested, I could see.

Over a hundred men, Medraut answered. One hundred and fifty. I told you, the Caws are a large clan, they cannot face the Picts alone—

Because your Lothians fight for Arthur, this again from Magnus.

Enough, Magnus, Longhand stopped him. I think this offer is fine for us. If I add this many new men to my war-host, we could finish these bloody Ulaids quickly. He turned to Medraut and asked him, When can they be here?

I can send for them at once, the Snake answered. All I need is for you to give written permission: a legal contract ratified by your druids and lawyers. Then I will ride home with the contract and send them south to you. It will take some weeks, but they will come.

You will ride home? Magnus again, unrelenting.

I will ride home.

Are you not staying to fight the Ulaid?

I am pledged to Arthur, Medraut forced on him. The Saxons come this summer and as always, I fight for him. I am his client in war. So when I ride home, my lords, he bowed his head to them, I will not be coming back. You will have the Caws instead. This is the deal. Did you not understand this?

We understood it! Magnus railed at him, though his gaze fell on me. You too will return with him when he leaves?

I bowed my head. I do.

No, Cadwallon said. No, my prince, you will not. You will go nowhere other than with us to war this summer. You will go nowhere till these Caws come and prove themselves worthy of taking lands in Dogfeiling. You cannot leave till all this is set and their pledges to me are made…and I accept them.

I felt cold horror sweeping through me; they were not going to let me go, they were going to keep me a hostage. And yet I could not show them my true feelings, but held them down. I bit my jaw tightly closed.

Only Medraut fought for me. You cannot keep him, he said, firm, striking like the snake he was. Bedwyr is in the army of Britain, sworn to Arthur, his shield-bearer and you cannot keep another king’s shield-bearer. Let me remind you, Arthur is Bedwyr’s foster-brother, to keep Bedwyr is a gross insult and—

Be quiet! Magnus stormed at him. Prince Bedwyr will stay with us and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Let Arthur come for him if he’s so important to him.

A long cold silence fell around us; the women began to move about again, leaving the hall. They took the children with them. Not good. My heart began pounding, but I knew I could show no fear, for they would eat me alive if I did. Cadwallon sat boring into me with a hard stare; his face was white.

I took his eye and he said, Where were you when we called you to the election council? You know, do you not, that you have already lost your rights to petition for king of Dogfeiling?

I put my hand over my heart and bowed to him. My lord, I accept the decisions of the election council. Though I received no summons.

I sent you one. Why did you not come?

My lord, as I said, I received no summons.

Are you saying I am a liar?

No, I’m saying I never received a summons to the council. Tell me then, who is now high chieftain in my place?

Your uncle, Tannan ap Bedrydant of the Stag Clan.

His words surprised me, as I had been expecting my cousin, Lucan, Tannan’s son, to take high chieftain, yet instead, they had chosen my uncle.

I did not show my surprise when I answered, It is well. I pledge to my Uncle Tannan. But my lord, I think the summons you sent me did not reach me, as I was away in the wild-lands, hunting a traitor. I have been away from home for many months. I would not have received any summons.

Aye, we heard about Arthur’s great Boar hunt, Cadwallon said, and you were with him this whole time?

He’s always with Arthur, Magnus answered.

He is my foster-brother, I reminded him. My Supreme Commander to whom I swore an oath of loyalty, and I am his shield-bearer, and champion warrior. I would be nowhere else.

And now you will show us your power in battle, the king said. For we have heard you are a great warrior. You will fight with us this summer. You will fight with your cousins, with Lord Tannan your uncle.

And that was the end of it.

Though he added, And now, Magnus, send a servant to show our guests to their rooms, as tonight, my princes, you will be feasted well in the high hall of Cadwallon Longhand, King of Gwynedd, and make no mistake, my lads, you will never be feasted so well on the eve of battle. Go now. I will meet you again tonight.

The meeting was over; the king left his hall with his wolf-hounds at his heels, leaving Medraut and I standing with Magnus as our guide, who called for a servant to lead me to a small room at the rear of the stronghold, overlooking the sea. It was a good room with a fine bed, thrown over with deerskins and heavy blankets, a round handsomely carved table with a single matching chair, a chest, and hanging-lamps from the rafters. And it was cold. An icy wind was blowing through from the sea, and the servant who led me to this place, a blond-haired boy, closed the shutters at the window for me. He said he would have the lamps lit, and as another servant came in and put all my personal trappings down into the chest by the wall, I felt myself a prisoner.

I noticed too an accent in the voice of the servant boy. He stood at the end of my bed, waiting for me to dismiss him.

I looked at him and said, You’re a Gael, aren’t you?

He bowed. I was taken prisoner, my lord.

Are you of the Ulaid?

I am Culcairn of the Fianna of Ui Neill.

As he spoke, I pulled back the covers of the bed to check that it was clean, no weevils or spiders, as there were always black spiders under the covers of northern beds, I knew, and when I did, I said to the boy, And you tell me, why are your people invading our lands? If you don’t want to become slaves to us British, then keep out of our lands. I could say this to every Saxon I ever met, but to say it to a Gael.

The Gaels have always come to this part of the world, he said, his voice low and trembling. But now that your great warrior Arthur, has married a woman of the Dal Riada, the Ulaid think this gives them the right to come to Britain and settle. We are not invading you. But settling.

Settling! I turned on him. How is it settling? You take; you take just like the Germani take. Settlement, boy, comes with permission and agreement from those already in the land, you have no permission and no agreement. Are you saying you come here because of this Gael wife of Arthur’s?

Aye, my lord, and he bowed to me.

Where do you hear all this talk?

From the masters in the hall. They say it was Arthur the Pendragon who betrayed your people and brought a Gael wife. Now all the Gaels believe this as an invitation. That is what they say.

I was left feeling cold again; how much of this was true? Had Arthur’s marriage to Isleen caused her people to invade? No wonder the Men of Gwynedd believed my foster-brother a menace. I was chilled and cold and told the boy to go and bring me a brazier. Soon as the boy left the room, I sat down on the bed and thought that I had just stepped off the very edge of the world into nothing. I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. When Arthur found out about this, that they had taken me from him…

2

SWEET irony, for this great feast Cadwallon Longhand promised me, it came on the night of the Twelfth day of Aprilis, Arthur’s twenty-first birth-day. I felt it inside me when I entered the hall with Medraut at my side, that I should not be here where I was, but away with Arthur to war against the Germani. It burned me, but I had no time for thinking this way now when Cadwallon’s hall began to crowd with his warriors and his women; they came from all clans, save my cousin Lucan’s, who was already out on the warpath with his father, my uncle and high chieftain. Boar was roasting on the spit over the great central hearth, while beneath it, deer roasted on the embers, and the ale flowed like the rivers and streams that poured down from the great hills around us; heather ale, pies with apples and bacon, goats’ cheese, cauldrons of fish cawl, dried fruits, beef cawl, and nothing was left off the board, and the noise of the crowd, the musicians and the bards, who all spoke with perfect timing, and perfect rhyming of the king’s many battles against the Gaels.

Women everywhere, and one young woman out of them all, a stunning young girl with long dark red hair bound in a braid with golden twine; around her neck a torc shining in the firelight, her cheeks flushed with joy at all the warriors around her, a princess of theirs, no doubt, and her eyes were stuck on Medraut like she had seen a vision from Avalon; this made me laugh, to see the Snake stuck in the middle of a dance of adoring women. And me. They made eyes at me too, as both of us were new and fresh, and if unmarried princes came into their circle at any time, we were fair game. Fair game all right. When the girl’s father introduced her to Medraut, he was forced to take up her hand and kiss her.

Oh, how she swooned when his lips touched her cheek, and how hard was it for me not to take her aside and whisper in her tiny white ear of what Medraut did behind closed doors, but I couldn’t, for another woman came out of the crowd, a tall blond, and she curtsied to me. It was then I turned to Magnus, who all this time had kept himself stuck at my back. I then formed a lie to protect myself, and I told him I was contracted to marry a high-ranking woman of the Silures—an alliance marriage with Arthur’s people, and so this meant I was not free to court, that all these young maids should not be courting me.

This time, he took my words without dispute and moved the girls away, telling them as he went that I was already spoken for. But Medraut? Na, he was all theirs.

Around us, competitions between the warriors began stirring up, wrestling matches and drinking matches; the idea being to drink your own body weight in ale. I was careful not to join their drinking, as getting drunk amongst strangers was not a good thing and I knew I was dangerous when drunk…I would fight. I would get into a fight, and in this hall? Na.

But I got into a fight.

I swear I did not make it, but it came out of goading. As the night wore on and Cadwallon’s men grew more and more rowdy, I saw Magnus, his face flushed from too much drink, come in for the kill. I sensed this confrontation coming from him from the moment I had first met him, and yet it was not me he went for, but Medraut. It seemed he had taken great offence to that young girl’s delight at meeting our Prince Medraut. Magnus took offence, I was sure. As I moved in closer to back the Snake, I saw that Magnus had eyes for the girl himself, and when I came in, I heard him challenge Medraut to single combat; combat for the girl’s hand. No way in the world would I allow this to happen. Medraut was a great warrior in battle, but he was never any good at single combat. Magnus would hammer him down and humiliate him, and Medraut, as a prince of the Lothians would be shamed in front of his men. No, I stepped in and said, Magnus, if you want a fight, then challenge me.

I challenged him! he breathed on me his stale breath, full of heather ale. I pulled him aside, but everyone was listening to us now.

I said as low as I could, Medraut is no threat to you, and I swear he will not take your girl.

No man takes my woman! he snarled at me, and shoved me hard back into the crowding warriors; here I saw Davin and Irfan come pushing through to my side, some of Medraut’s men with them. They all looked ready to fight, but I said, Magnus, hold your temper! We are guests in your hall, and now you want to disgrace yourself and your king’s hospitality by brawling with your allies. What kind of hall do you keep here?

There is never brawling in Caer Cadwy, Irfan told him. Arthur would never allow it.

And this was the wrong thing to say.

Magnus boiled over when he heard this and he turned to challenge me to single combat, right in front of all his men and ours.

Choose your weapons, he told me.

No weapons, I answered, just fists.

Fists! he said, I accept.

And Magnus cried out at the top of his voice, over the noise, Single combat with fists! Clear the way!

And he began pushing everyone back to clear a space for us to fight. I was hot for it, more than ready to break his stupid boneheaded skull in front of his king. My men came to help me strip off my tunic. And here, once I was stripped to the waist, and had tied my hair back, I was ready. I glanced over at Cadwallon, himself sitting there at the head-table and watching. Was he going to stop us? He took my eye and I knew they were testing my mettle, that is, even though I could smell ale on Magnus’ breath, he was not really as drunk as he looked. He was pretending—to fool me into thinking he was going to be easy to put down. Testing my mettle. I began it by stalking around him, forcing him to follow me, I wanted to force him to make the first move, so I stalked around him, staring at him, while all around us the warriors gave us room and watched. They were silent, till they started calling for Magnus to drop me, for he could not refuse the calls of his men.

So he jumped at me and threw a punch at my head. I dodged, and he threw another, I dodged again.

Stand still, you! he cried at me, stepping forward and here I smacked him centre into his face when he spoke, and he staggered back. A roar from the watching crowd went up as blood poured out of his nose. He flicked the blood away with his fingers and brought up his fists, but I had drawn first-blood. Even if I got hammered now, I had still taken first-blood. He came at me and someone in the crowd pushed me hard towards his fists and he threw another punch at my head; he missed again but jumped me and held me in a wrestling hold, trying to get me to stand still so he could smack me down.

We wrestled hard for a moment and when we broke, I threw two punches, first right against his jaw and then left, deep under his ribs. I kept on pounding him, one side of his head, four savage punches, all to the same place and he reeled back like a drunk, bent double. He righted faster than I thought; he tried to hit me in my mouth, but slipped the punch and struck against my left shoulder so hard I fell back with a ripping pain travelling down my arm. All the warriors were screaming. But through the pain in my shoulder, I kept up my attack.

Magnus was still bent over and I smacked him again and again, this time left-handed against the side of his head, then once a right-hander into his throat; he gagged and I thought he was going to spew up his ale over my feet, but instead he came flying and tackled me again in a wrestling hold, tight around my waist and then in a bear-hug higher around my ribs and tried to squeeze the breath out of my chest. I put my knee in his groin and this killed his hold. He roared in pain and fell back, opening a gap between him and me, and in the gap, I went for him. I pounded his head again and again, and grabbed hold of him by his hair and dragged him across the floor and smacked his head off one of the benches. Three times I did this, blind in a rage, and with a terrible roaring around me, I heard a monstrous voice cry out, Stop this madness at once! Stop it I say, Cadwallon! No more!

A gigantic old woman came at me from out of the crowd and slapped me so hard she knocked me back, almost knocking me down; she wrapped her hard fingers deep into my hair and held me still. I breathed like a madman in her face. I knew I was wild and she bawled at me, Stop it now, young Fox! And she surprised me that she knew my personal name.

Stop it! She slapped me again, though not so hard this time, and dragged me by my hair towards the door and kicked me outside.

Cool down, hot-head, she said. Go and sluice your head in the trough over there.

I did what she told me.

I staggered to the horse-trough and dunked my head under the water and came up again, and dragged in the cool night air, grateful that I was out of the hall, grateful that some unknown giant of an old crone had come and pulled me out of my madness. I would have killed him, Magnus, if I could. Then I would have been truly finished. I gasped the air and felt my heart beating in my throat, the stinging pain in my hands from the pounding I had given him. I put my hands into the icy water to cool the burning. Men came out of the hall to stand guard over me and I ignored them, though I could hear what was going on back inside. The old woman’s voice, shouting at Cadwallon, telling him what a ridiculous fool he was for allowing the fight to go so far, and they could not speak against me because they were the ones who had offered the challenge in the first place. They got what they asked for, they got what they wanted. They had tested my mettle and I had hammered them for it, so they could speak no more ill of me now.

The old woman seemed to have calmed them all inside and as I cooled down, I wondered who she was and how she thought she could call me Fox, but I did not go back in to find out. She came out to find me. She came up to me in the dark outer courtyard, huge, standing at least six-foot-tall, with white hair piled high on her head and built as strong as a man, and even though she was old, a hag, at least sixty years that made her a matron, she was not bent or even slowed by her great age. She wore a long white shift embroidered in red, with shining beads around her neck. Her eyes were piercing and very pale in colour.

She glared at me as she said, You always were a great scrapper, fighting in the streets of your village even though you were the prince of the cantref. Bedwyr, the last time I saw you, you were seven or eight.

Madam, how do you know me?

I knew your father, I visited him often when you were very small, but I see you do not remember me. You spent all your time in a dream for that dark-haired boy, Arthur. I am Cadwallon’s mother and matriarch of this dynasty. And my son made this fight and he got his nephew and my grandson bashed and humiliated for it. I do not blame you; they were testing your mettle.

I know that, but now Magnus will want revenge on me.

And I did not care whose mother she was or whether or not she had known my father once long ago, all I wanted was to go back to where I belonged…with the dark-haired boy. I wanted to leave right at that moment; to go and find my horse and ride out of there before those kinsmen of mine could contrive of a way to kill me. But this strong old woman, who had not told me her name, would rule the night; she looked me up and down. Still the same wild chestnut hair, and those wonderful slanted eyes of yours. It is you.

They are not slanted, I said; they are hooded.

Aye, so they are. I would have you as my bed-mate tonight, my lad, you have grown so handsome.

I almost fainted over into the horse-trough when she said this, and I was not sure if she really had said it. I stared at her, afraid of her.

She told me, an order, You will come to my chamber tonight and I will bed you.

She took my hand, and I said, And…what will you do with me in your bed? Not let me sleep, I don’t think, are you mad, old woman?

You have no wife, they say. I will have you in my bed. I might be old but I know what a young buck likes. I can pleasure a man better than any young girl.

Madam, you have chosen the wrong young buck. I had to get out of this, so I lied to her, I am already contracted to marry, and I have no interested in old women. So you old witch, let me go, and I wrenched my hand out of hers and went striding off back into the hall, my heart hammering fast again when I had only just cooled it. Was she serious with me? She wanted me? She horrified me, and I wondered again if all of this was only another of their games to bring me down. Had they already taken their revenge on me? Me? In the cot of a sixty-year-old hag? I thought it madness.

Back inside, and when I walked in, I was given a huge roaring cheer, the warriors lifting their mugs to me as victor. Lord Cadwallon came over and gave me a huge bullhorn tankard of ale to drink. I had to drink; as winner of the fight, I had to drink to my hosts and I did. Though most of it went down my chest, and then I went into the mass of them, and some of them even said it was a shame that Tannan had been chosen high chieftain of Dogfeiling and not me. I spent the rest of the night drinking with Cadwallon’s men and hoping Magnus would not drop dead sometime later.

3

BUT they kept me like a prize prisoner, and everyone began calling me, Prince Fox. Every night I sat with them at supper, with Cadwallon’s old mother sitting next to me. She insisted on it, and put her hand on my leg, or up my thigh, coming closer each time to my groin and I glared daggers at her. Sometimes she put her hand on the back of my neck and caressed through my hair. Other times she tried to feed me from her plate, offering me titbits of sweet pastries her women had cooked, all of which I refused. All the time Cadwallon watched us from over the bench and did nothing. He said very little, only watched, with his ten-year-old son, Maelgwn, running amok around the hall. With me still was Medraut, Davin and Irfan, and my new young groom, Gethin.

We were treated well. Yet the sea-wind blew through it all and I grew darker and darker into a wild black sorrow that crashed about me like the waves below the fort. In my heart I knew that Arthur would be out on the road to Deva, our scouts on the hunt for Saxon movements; one whiff of a Saxon arse and he would begin to move into position, setting out the battles to come over the months ahead. Every bone and muscle inside me yearned to be with him, to be out of this hall and away. I spoke with Medraut and he said he would send messengers to warn Arthur of what was going on; and still the old woman got her hands higher up my thigh each night, and I wondered if she was mad. She scared me to death; her name was Imperia, and it suited her perfectly.

At night, I had to make sure the door to my room was barred with the table and chair, as there was no lock to shut it with, and I was afraid she would try to get into my room, but she never came, and alone, my spirit ached to be away from them all.

Some days they allowed us out into the courtyard to train, swordplay and javelins. They lapped up my skill with the javelin, and I even began to teach some of their younger sons, and even though I was working during the day, I spoke very little to any of them. I had no idea either of what they had done with my horse or where the mounts were stabled. I knew only the sea-wind and the crying of the gulls, and I remembered how Arthur had once told me that the sea made him sad. I was beginning to understand his feelings. For there was a wild loneliness that came over those waves with the grey clouds on some days; while at nights, the wind and waves whipped around the beach below the stronghold’s walls with a cry that came like wolves out on the hunt.

During daylight, Cadwallon’s mother trapped me around the fort whenever she could. One night after supper, she said she would give me a cache of gold if I went with her to her chamber; she wanted me under her sheets and said to my face she would suck the spunk out of me ten times before midnight. Sucking the spunk out of stiff young cocks was what kept her strong and randy, she said, what kept her young and stopped her from ageing. Again I was horrified and really thought she was mad; mad and falling lovesick for me. It made me sick, and in all this time I saw nothing of Magnus. Medraut constantly complained at Cadwallon to write his letter of invitation to the Caws, granting them lands in my cantref. In the end, Medraut threatened to destroy the whole deal, and if so, Cadwallon would not get a new war-host to ride to war with him. The king relented and wrote the letter, gave it to the Snake one fine spring morning and so, Medraut was finally free to return home.

I begged him to take my new groom back with him, to send the boy back to Arthur; for whatever was to come, I sensed Gethin would be