Chapter 15 #3
The man spoke a word to his guards, who remained at the door, and strode toward the dais. Once there, he took his bow and quiver of arrows from his shoulder and bowed, all eyes upon him.
Rhodri, who was standing before the king, moved to one side, an expression of keen interest on his face as he regarded the stranger.
“And who might you be, good sir?” asked Malcolm, seemingly amused by the intrusion.
“I am Cillyn ap Cynfyn,” he declared, “brother to Bleddyn ap Cynfyn, the King of Gwynedd and Powys in Wales.” After he’d said this, Catrìona heard him repeat the message in the Saxon tongue while looking at the queen.
Then the Welshman took from his cloak a parchment and handed it to Malcolm. “A letter from my brother, the king.”
“You are welcome in my court,” said Malcolm, setting the letter aside. “The Welsh are our friends. What has brought you to Dunfermline?”
“I come for my nephew, Iorwerth ap Bleddyn.”
The king retuned him a puzzled look. “We have no man here by that name.”
“Most respectfully, I disagree, My Lord. I expect you know him by another name.” Shooting the king’s bard a glance, the Welsh nobleman said, “I am told he took the name Rhodri when he decided to defy his noble father and go off adventuring with his harp some years ago.”
All eyes turned on Rhodri, whose gaze never wavered from the Welshman who claimed to be his uncle.
At Catrìona’s side, Fia gasped.
“You did not know?” she whispered to her cousin.
Fia shook her head. “Nay, but I always knew he must be more than a bard.”
“Rhodri,” said the king. “Does this man speak the truth? Are you his nephew, son of the Welsh king?”
Rhodri said, “He is, indeed, my uncle and he speaks the truth, My Lord. I was young and impulsive. My father and I had a disagreement over my interest in poetry and the harp.”
“Hmm,” muttered the king, rubbing a hand over his beard. “And what is your purpose, Cillyn ap Cynfyn, save to see your nephew?”
Cillyn drew himself up, his head raised in noble fashion. “My older brother, the king, summons his son home. His words to me were, ‘ ’Tis time my son takes his rightful place; one day he will share the crown with his brothers’.”
The king stepped down from the dais and offered the Welshman his hand. “I would have your friendship, Cillyn ap Cynfyn. In truth, I would have more. Your country and mine both loathe the Norman invader. I would have an alliance. Would your brother, the king, agree to such?”
The Welshman appeared to consider Malcolm’s question for a moment and then said, “He might be so inclined if I were to return with my nephew. We have long sheltered the Norman’s enemies, including the English rebel, Eadric the Wild, who allied himself to my brother when he was the Prince of Gwynedd.
As you say, our countries are friends and we have a common enemy. ”
Catrìona squeezed her cousin’s hand, knowing Fia was in love and it would break her heart if Rhodri left Scotland.
Malcolm turned to the bard. “I do not like to think of you leaving my court, Rhodri or Iorwerth, however you are called. By which name should we henceforth address you?”
“Rhodri, My Lord. ’Tis a name of great renoun in Wales and my own ancestor. I have become used to the sound of it.”
“As you wish. So, Rhodri, do you agree to return with your uncle to Wales and seek this alliance with Scotland?”
The hall was so quiet not even the hounds in the corner stirred as all waited for Rhodri’s answer. Only the hearth fire, which burned low, made any sound at all.
Rhodri’s reply, when it came, echoed through the hall. “I agree… on one condition.”
Malcolm and Cillyn turned their gazes on the Welshman once considered a bard and a bowman but now recognized as the son of the Welsh king.
“And what is that?” asked Malcolm. “Come, do not keep us in suspense.”
Rhodri shifted his gaze to the dais where Fia’s father sat. “I would ask the Mormaer of Atholl for the hand of his daughter, Fia, for I will have no other as my wife.”
Catrìona turned to her cousin. Fia’s cheeks were streaked with tears, but it was not sadness she saw in her blue eyes; it was joy. “Oh, Fia.”
“Fia of Atholl, come forward!” shouted the king. Then turning to the Welsh lord, Malcolm said, “A troublesome thing this tendency of my men to demand the bride of their choice.”
Catrìona saw the queen roll her eyes to the roof above and remembered that Malcolm had once demanded his choice of a bride.
Addressing the Mormaer of Atholl, who frowned from the dais, the king said, “You’d best join us as well, Matad. It seems the whole kingdom is to witness this conversation.”
Fia went forward to stand by Rhodri. Her father stepped down from the dais to join the king next to the Welsh lord, who was as tall as the king but more slender of build.
To Matad, Malcolm exclaimed, “By all the saints! I want this alliance for Scotland!”
Matad remained silent, watching his daughter.
The king frowned at his mormaer. “Rhodri is a good man, a fine warrior and plays the music of Heaven. And, above all that, he is a king’s son. What more could you want in a son-in-law, Matad?”
Fia’s father stood with one hand on his hip. “All you say is correct, My King, but I do not like the thought of my only daughter going so far away. ’Tis not even Scotland.”
Rhodri took Fia’s hand and the two gazed longingly at each other. Catrìona knew then Fia’s father would not be able to say her nay. Nor would he deny the king an alliance he badly wanted.
“Gwynedd is not far, my lord,” said Cillyn to Matad. “A short sail north to the River Clyde and then a few days’ ride east to Dunfermline or Atholl. I came that way but a sennight ago when my scouts returned with word my nephew was here.”
“And I would promise to bring Fia to see you,” encouraged Rhodri.
Through the whole conversation, Catrìona saw the queen anxiously observing from the dais. Her mouth moved though no words could be heard. She prays!
“Do you love this man?” Matad asked his daughter.
“Oh, aye, Father, I do. Ever since I first glimpsed him. I would willingly follow him to Wales.”
“ ’Twas the same for me, my lord,” said Rhodri to Fia’s father. “I vow to love her and treasure her all of my days.” When Fia’s father remained silent, Rhodri said, “Would it help if we named our first son Matad and agree he would foster with you?”
The king chuckled.
Fia’s father let out a breath even Catrìona could hear. “Aye, it might,” he said shortly. “But I would have you linger awhile in Dunfermline and wed here.”
“I would not think of taking Fia back to Wales except as my wife,” said Rhodri.
The king breathed an audible sigh of relief and, on the dais, the queen smiled. “ ’Tis agreed,” Malcolm said. “The two will tarry awhile in Dunfermline, as I trust will you, Cillyn, and before they depart, there will be a wedding. More than one if my calculations be true.”