Prologue - Part 2

Prologue

II

Soft snow lay on the ground. The year had been kind to Urien just as the mild weather was kind to him now as he traveled home. He filled with sentimental warmth at the memory of the welcome he had received at Caerleon. King Triffyn Farfog had embraced the young prince as a son into his keep, and all the nobles of Dyfed received him warmly. Urien had taken it in his stride, he was the son of the King of Rheged himself so nobility was no stranger to him, but the joy he had felt at the meeting with the Dyfed Battle Lord Uther Pen Draig had given the youth cause to loose his voice like a love sick maid. Uther had quickly bought the boy to confidence. He had spoken to Urien as a man does to another man, this had filled Urien with both pride and admiration. To his father and brothers he was a boy but in Dyfed he had been a man.

He sat straighter in his saddle as he reminisced. Uther had told him that one day he would be a knight, and knights should be proud and strong. He would be a knight because Uther and Triffyn believed as he did that the Saxons must be expelled. Triffyn had petitioned several of the other regional Kings to unite in a battle force, most had already agreed, and agreed that Uther Pen Draig should lead the force. Uther was the most respected of all the Battle Lords in southern Britain, even the other Battle Lords sung his praises. Now Urien would fulfill his part of the plan. He rode northward again, first to take the invitation of unity to his father and then to ensure it reached the other Kings who held court in the lands north of Rheged. A cool breeze played on his cheek raising a slight frost on the downy hair that was now emerging on his face, but Urien felt warm.

His ears caught the cry of a fox, stirring Urien’s mind into diverting to more immediate circumstances. He cooled slightly. How wonderful it would be to ride proudly into his fathers hall with the seal of King Triffyn in his hand; but if Modron kept her word there would be more attention on the babe than him. Surely Modron was jesting with him, women knew the ways to rid themselves of unwanted conception, that was assuming she was even pregnant. He himself had had a number of dalliances with the serving wenches at the hall and none of them had laid a bairn at his feet. He knew some women coveted having a child to a noble for the small additional privileges it might bring her, but he also knew that their wishing for such an event more often than not led to disappointment; either through the failure of a pregnancy to occur or through easy dispute over the look of the child and therefore its paternity. Come to that even if Modron was waiting for him with a child how could she prove it was his, he could deny it. He could even avoid the area and ride the longer route around that the villagers had spoken of.

He shook his head at himself. He had had many conversations with Uther and the other men about what it meant to be a knight, a man of Briton. It did not include leaving a damsel in distress, even if that distress was only a pregnancy of her own making. She might be Fay but if she had his child then he must bear at least some responsibility, even if just to acknowledge the child existed. He rode on, no longer oblivious to the cold he pulled his woolen cloak closer around him. She could not force him to take the baby, but then maybe she could, she was Fay after all, and she could bewitch him into taking the child. His mind was torn between avoiding the area all together and living up to his perception of the chivalric expectations of knighthood. The horse walked on oblivious to the turmoil its mount was enduring.

Barking dogs in the distance bought Urien to himself once more. The dogs were far enough away that they did not cause his horse any distress, but their mournful proclamation served to announce that he was once again in the area where he had encountered Modron. He could not turn back now; she most likely knew he was already nearby. He dismounted and led his horse the last short distance to the sound of water singing over rocks and ice. He stopped at the edge of the stream, knelt and cupped his hand for a drink of water. Feigning disinterest in the area, as though he could merely pass through if he made it look that this was his intent. The water was icy and chilled his fingers. He raised his head as his horse lowered it’s for a drink. Urien glanced around. Nothing stirred except the occasional movement of some evergreen shrubs nestled by finches or tits. His horse raised its head, jets of steam extruding from it’s nostrils against the chilled air around the water’s edge. Its ears twitched and it glanced upstream. Urien followed its gaze but saw nothing. The horse snorted and lowered its head for another drink, and it was then that Urien heard the sound that had distracted the beast. A panting cat cry. It sounded like no animal Urien knew, but it obviously posed no danger as his horse had dismissed it without concern.

Urien looked around for the source of the noise; it was coming from a sheltered overhang only slightly further up stream from where he stood. The horse grunted disapproval as Urien pulled on its reins and walked towards the overhang. As he approached the sound grew louder and he recognised it as the wailing of an infant. Modron had kept her word it would seem, but she was nowhere to be seen. He loosely tied the horse to a pathetic naked shrub, that clung tenuously to the bank of the stream, and edged closer to the overhang.

The icicles hanging from the overhang quivered slightly at the lament of the infant. As he got closer he saw that the ledge under the overhang was actually the front of a small damp cave. He got down on all fours as he crawled into the cramped space between the ledge and the overhang. He could not yet see the baby which was hidden in the shadows of the small cave. Suddenly a shrill screech reached his ears, and he leapt up hitting the top of his head on the underside of the overhang. Small amounts of dirt dislodge onto his head. The initial screech had abated to an airy, coughing, mewing that challenged the first cry for attention. Urien slipped onto his bottom, sitting on the ledge he rubbed the lump forming on the top of his head and cursed Modron. Two bairns, the witch had left two bairns. He felt betrayed, she had said only a son and now there were two.

He rubbed his head again and a silly grin crossed his face as he realised the irony of his thoughts. For a minute then it had seemed to take a son back to the hall was as normal as anything and it was only the prospect of two children that was abnormal. He shook his head and moved forward into the cave. His eyes adjusted quickly to the shadows as he moved and he promptly recognised the two small wicker baskets sitting just inside the cave. He crawled backwards pulling the baskets as he went until both he and his cargo were free of the overhang. The babies cried in criticism of his efforts.

Once outside he inspected the baskets. They were no different to a carrying basket except they were covered with an oval wicker lid; presumably to protect the babies from the cold. He lifted the lids gazed into one basket then the other. The babies were well wrapped with multiple layers of swaddling and blankets; only their red crumpled faces were visible. He sat back on his haunches and rubbed his head once again. Two bairns, what the heck was he supposed to do with two bairns? Once thing for certain was that he could not leave them here; it was midmorning and they would probably survive the day but the cold of night would certainly kill them, even in the shelter of the cave. He realised there was no guarantee that he could save them either, but then Modron must have been confident he could as surely no sane mother would leave her newborns in so uncertain a position.

Urien experimented with how to carry the children before realising tying one to either side of the horse was going to be the only successful method. A slow thudding headache which had developed from the spot where Urien had struck his head; and the realization that he would have to totally surrender his horse to its new load, served only to darken his mood. A mood not helped by the fact the babies had not ceased crying since he found them. Finally ready to go Urien threw his cloak up across his face and shoulder, grabbed the horses reins and trudged off along the snowy path that would lead him back to Rheged.

As the chilled dusk approached Urien reached the settlement he had passed so many months ago. The hamlet residents were surprised to see him, not so much for his long journey but for the fact he had survived entry into Rhyd y Gyfarthfa not once, but twice. He was cold, tired and exhausted but their interest in his deed was negated when they heard first one, then both, babies cry out from their willow nests.

Urien was sitting by the central fire drinking a soothing cup of warm broth when two of the women returned carrying his babies, now cleaned and fed.

“They are beautiful bairns” remarked the one who was the wife of the hamlet leader, “but how did you come by bairns in the forest.” Given their superstition about the area and the Fay he thought it better not to tell them the truth. He looked down at his feet, “I made the acquaintance of a wench on my way to Dyfed. Her father saw me off, but when I passed back through her village on my way back northward he recognised me and had me held. He returned a short while later with this pair and told me the birth had killed his daughter and he would not keep my bastard children. So I took them.” The women nodded and tutted. The next morning the women patted him on his way with a chuckle as he led his horse and a nanny goat, which had cost him a good gold ring, out of the hamlet.

Urien’s mood was dismal for most of the slow journey. The hamlet women had given him some cursory lessons in caring for the babies but he felt woefully inadequate. His mood was not improved as he entered the village that surrounded his father’s keep. The calls through the shacks were responded to with a scurry of curious onlookers emerging from windows and doors. They cheered him like a lost hero returned but silence rapidly spread when a wail extracted itself from one of the baskets. Sniggers escaped from one woman, soon followed by the melodic chitter as others joined the mirth. A Lord, wet nurse to a baby was cause for laughter.

The news preceded him and he saw his father, stern faced and impatient standing in the courtyard outside the hall. He was flanked by Urien’s two older brothers and Father Ignatius. Both his brothers wore amused smirks on their faces. On recognising the cry of the baby his father’s expression softened to a smirk and his brother’s simultaneously burst into raucous laughter. Only Father Ignatius maintained his composure. “Left to become a warrior young brother and your return as a wet nurse.” The servants in the courtyard chortled at the joke made by Cynfarch. Even Ignatius could not resist a furtive smile.

Urien walked up to his father and brothers. He went over to the basket from which the noises emitted, extracted the babe and faced his father. Meirchion looked at the babe his son held, he beckoned to one of the nearby servant women who came over and relieved Urien of his burden. “You have quite a tale to tell it would seem” Meirchion queried at Urien. “He is my son”, Urien responded as he walked over to the other basket avoiding meeting his father’s gaze. As he lifted the other child out of the far basket he heard the gasps of the people in the courtyard; “and this is my daughter.” He bought the child over to Meirchion who looked down at the babe. She peered up at him, her blue green eyes piercing his with an apparent knowledge uncanny in such a young child. Her face was haloed by a mass of red locks, as rich as the setting sun. “What do you call her?” Meirchion quizzed. “She is Morvydd and the boy Owain.” He met his father’s gaze and saw the question. What would he tell his father of the origins of these children? He could not say they were half Fay. Father Ignatius deeply distrusted the Fay, he thought they were unnatural and therefore of the Devil. Urien’s mother would have been able to mollify the response of his father, had she still lived, but with Meirchion now firmly under Ignatius’ form of catholic Christianity the only recommendation that would be forth coming would be to kill the infants. There was no doubt in Urien’s mind that Ignatius would perceive them as demon spawn.

“They are my children by a wench whose father gave me shelter on my trip to Dyfed. When I passed their way on my return journey I discovered that the girl had died birthing the babies the day before. Her father insisted the bairns were my responsibility and he would not keep them.”

Ignatius snorted at the tale and looked at the child in Urien’s arms with distain, all hint of his previous humour gone. “She is a bastard, as is her brother. They bring shame to your Godly home”, he told Meirchion. Meirchion nodded slightly and looked at his son. “They cannot stay in my hall. You may choose to recognise your babes but they will not be heirs of my house.” Urien nodded, he had expected this. “I will arrange their care” he responded. “We will talk of your trip when you have done so”; Meirchion responded, then turned and walked back into the hall, his older sons and the priest followed him and gradually the crowd dispersed.

Urien carried his daughter over to the servant woman who held his son. The woman glanced over his shoulder; Urien followed her gaze to see the Abbess enter the compound and move towards him. Urien nodded his head to her in respect and she granted him a warm smile. “I heard you had returned and I see the rumor that you traveled with a baby is true.” The woman holding his son handed the baby to the Abbess. She smiled down at the dark haired boy; he looked up at her with brown eyes as soft as a doe and granted her with a windy smile. “He is a fine boy” she commended Urien, “a lot like his father.” “He is Owain” Urien responded. The Abbess smiled “Young noble warrior, an apt name for your son Urien.” “I was hoping that you might take him and his sister and raise them in the Abbey. “ “Ah two bairns” the Abbess glanced at the bundle in Urien’s arms. “ She handed Owain back to the servant and held her arms out for Urien’s daughter; “She is Morvydd” he said as he placed the child in her arms. The smile left Abbesses face as her eyes moved from Urien to the baby in her arms. The child stared at her accusingly, she glanced at the girl with distain and quickly handed her back to Urien. She gathered Owain back from the servant “I will take the boy to raise but the girl will not enter the Abbey.” Urien looked at her puzzled. The Abbess looked Urien intensely in the eye. “She is Fay, I cannot raise her, the Druid settlement will take her. You should see your son but forget the girl. She will never be yours” She turned with no further explanation and left a stunned Urien holding his daughter. The servant reached over and gently took the child from his arms. “I will take her to the Druids Lord.” He merely nodded and allowed the woman to take his daughter. He watched silently as the servant walked out the gate.