CHAPTER FOUR
The high valley was to become their new home.
Gwen was not the only one to escape the attack with serious injuries, so it was decided that they would settle as best they could, giving the wounded time to heal, before making any decisions about their future.
There was the possibility that de Chapelle would come looking for Gwen, if word reached him she was living, so nothing must be done that might give away their whereabouts.
It was two weeks before she herself was able to walk again unaided, and a further week before Mamgi would allow her to venture beyond sight of the croft.
When at last she was deemed fit to walk, she slipped away to explore her surroundings.
The shepherd’s dwelling to which they had fled was nestled into the side of the hill at the very end of the narrow valley beyond the village.
Known as Blaencwm - or valley’s top - because of its remote position, the croft consisted of a tiny house and a slightly larger byre.
The buildings were made of rough stone, with thatched roofs that came almost to the ground, so constructed as to resist the persistent rain and heavy winter snowfalls.
The house had one door, one window, and a hole above the hearth that was not quite a chimney, so that it did not quite remove all the smoke from the interior.
The window had no glass, only shutters, and the door was weathered and warped so that when pulled open it dragged over the packed earth floor inside.
Unusually, the little barn was separate from the house, set at an angle to it, so that a small yard was formed, giving extra shelter for humans and animals alike.
The farmstead had been built against the weather, so that it was tucked into the lee of the steep hill that rose to become mountain behind it.
Its position allowed the shepherd to be near his flock in winter, so that they could have his protection from storms and predators while they accessed the sparse but abundant grazing the uplands provided.
The crofter would stay alone in his isolated home all winter, as the route to the village would, for many months, be blocked by snow or rendered treacherous by flood, mud or ice.
It was this very remoteness and inaccessibility that now made the insignificant house a vital refuge for Gwen and the villagers.
There was one other aspect of the location that meant it was a good choice for a long term hideout.
Situated a short walk below the croft was a small, wooded river vale.
It was here that Gwen took her first solitary walk after her convalescence.
She descended the slope carefully, knowing that the late summer grass could be slippery, and wary of setting back her recovery with a fall.
She had not made a good patient, fretting at her confines, longing to be outside, wanting to help with the construction of the settlement, or indeed do anything at all useful.
At last she could move freely, and the joy of being in such glorious woodland brought from her the smile she feared she had lost along with her beloved parents.
It still caused her pain to think of them lying unburied, or possibly flung into a communal pit or onto a carelessly lit pyre by the new Lord of Cwmdu.
Rufus had confirmed that her mother was dead, but Mamgi had refused to allow him to talk further about the matter until Gwen was stronger.
Now, as she walked between the mossy oaks and rowan trees, she wondered if she was ready to face the truth of what had happened.
She paused, resting her hand against the trunk of a blackthorn, letting her palm feel the complex texture of the bark.
So much would never be as it was before; there was solace to be found in the unchanging nature of the landscape.
The trees still reached up, twisting to find the light among so many others competing for space in the steep valley.
The birds still nested and raised their young, which fledged and flew and sang among the branches of those same trees.
The adder would still bask on a sunny rock while the days were yet warm.
The owl would swoop silently at night to feast on unwary mice and voles.
Foxes still shrieked beneath a pearly moon at the end of each day.
Gwen reached the swift stream that rose from the spring a hundred strides further up the valley.
She lowered herself somewhat stiffly to sit on a flat sandstone slab, her feet hanging just above the fast flowing water.
She tugged the tie from her braid, releasing her long black hair to swing free.
For a moment she sat with her eyes closed, listening to the birdsong, letting the dappled light through leaves of the overhanging boughs play on her eyelids, breathing in the subtle scents of the woodland.
She felt her whole being, her body, her spirit, soothed.
When she opened her eyes it was in time to see a kingfisher dart by, a flash of iridescent blue and keen intent.
She briefly envied him his vitality, knowing that it would take her more time yet to regain her strength fully.
She ran her hands over the fine wool of the only dress she possessed.
It had been washed and patched with care, but it still bore its own scar where the dagger’s blade had entered her belly.
She thought ruefully of how it was her own treasured knife that had nearly killed her, and that had, grandmother Williams had gently told her, robbed her of the chance of ever having a child of her own.
Searching for a glimmer of light to come from such sadness, all she could find was that her parents were spared the painful disappointment of having no grandchild.
A familiar voice broke into her reverie, startling her. ‘If the wind changes, your face will be forever fixed fast in that glum arrangement,’ said Mamgi, appearing from the woodland to stand at the sunlit edge of the stream. She leaned on her hazel staff, narrowing her eyes at Gwen.
‘Grandmother, how came you here? By the stars, you move faster than a sprinting hare.’ Gwen reached down and unlaced her soft leather boots, pulling them from her feet to set them down on the rock beside her.
She stretched out her toes to dip them into the mountain-cold water, revived by the shock of it.
‘I am as fast as needs be to watch over you, merch.’
‘Mamgi, you have seen me brought back to good health, and I will be forever thankful. You are no longer bound to me. I am healed, as you see.’ She smiled then, one of the broad, sunny smiles for which she was known.
The old woman nodded. ‘You are recovered from your wound, as much as ever you shall be, it is true. What you must come to understand is that this is but the beginning. A long and rock-strewn path lies ahead of you, and you will not tread it alone.’
‘Of course, all of us must help each other. It has been agreed we should rest here until spring. With a winter to test us, there is much to be done.’
‘A winter and more.’
‘You do not trust me to stay put, I think. Is that why you fret so? I have agreed, as have we all, that we cannot risk returning to Cwmdu, nor venturing from this place, until all are well. And until our allies have regained control of the area.’
‘If ever they do.’
‘A moment ago you berated me for being glum, now you are the one full of doom.’
‘I seek only to have you listen, in earnest.’
‘Very well, come,’ she patted the sun-warmed rock. ‘Sit beside me and I shall be as a child hanging on her dear grandmother’s every word.’
Mamgi gave a grunt that suggested she doubted the possibility of this, but, nonetheless, she stepped from the river bank and sat her small, frail frame next to Gwen.
She seemed about to speak but paused, casting about, searching for something.
At last she spied what she wanted. ‘There,’ she said, pointing at a fat cushion of moss that covered a nearby stone.
‘Fetch me that, merch. My boney backside protests at this seat.’
Stifling laughter, Gwen did as she was told, helping the old woman to get more comfortable before settling down once again, determined to be attentive.
When Mamgi began to speak she did not look at her charge, but directed her gaze out across the sparkling water into the shadowy depths of the woodland opposite.
‘Long ago, there lived a people whose names are lost to us. They were a breed like no other. Witches, with magic in their very souls.’
‘Witches, Mamgi? Is this to be a tale of legends and sorcery, then?’
‘Hush! Did you not promise to listen?’ She waited until Gwen’s expression suggested she would not interrupt again, and then continued.
‘These blessed people, though they were few, stood between the darkness and the light and held that scale steady. They watched over us, and when they saw the evil in mankind begin to outweigh the good, they acted to redress that balance. After a time, the world would right itself once more. Their skills were not needed then. They would wait, and watch, and emerge only when again there was a shifting, a tipping towards the darkness. Their magic, though powerful, was not enough to save us from falling into the dark pit. They needed brave warriors to fight for what was good. They needed men and women of pure spirit to lead those soldiers. And they needed guardians to protect these shining people. Without them, we would have been lost to wickedness generations ago. Without them, you and I would not sit here now.’
She fell silent for a moment. Gwen waited, wanting to question the old woman, but sensing there was more, and that the time to challenge her would be later.