CHAPTER FIVE #4
At last, when their second autumn up at Blaencwm came to an end, a meeting was called.
This was to be an important gathering, all were told.
Everyone must attend, however young or old.
No excuses for absence would be tolerated.
In the days leading up to the meeting a certain excitement took hold.
People whispered in corners. Work was ignored in favour of heated discussions.
Change was being blown into the high vale on the sharp winter winds that now chased down from the mountains.
On the morning of the meeting, Gwen tasted snow in the air.
She knew that if they were to make the trip to the town it would have to be soon.
While she could influence the weather around their own home, she could not prevent the heavy snowfall for miles that would make the routes impassable until the following spring.
As the older members of the community made their way into the barn, the children played in the yard, putting off as long as possible the moment of being cooped up.
Dafydd’s daughter, Bronwen, had grown so much in a year, but was still a gleeful child, and Gwen enjoyed her company, needing little persuasion to play with her.
There were half a dozen others under the age of eight who liked to scamper about like a litter of puppies when they were released from their chores.
Now they ran in circles, Bronwen, wearing a helmet she had somehow borrowed from one of the soldiers, chasing them with a stick.
‘Be gone, Norman tyrants!’ She shouted as she chased them, making the others squeal and laugh as they darted this way and that. Bronwen stopped in front of Gwen. ‘My lady, will you give your hand to this brave warrior?’ the child demanded, the helmet descending to all but cover her eyes.
‘Why yes, kind sir,’ said Gwen, bowing low. ‘It would be an honour. But, wait, have you no horse?’
‘Alas no, it was stolen away and eaten by wild men from the hills!’
‘Then you shall have another!’ Gwen announced. She grabbed the giggling child and swung her up onto her own back. ‘Hold fast, brave sir!’ she told her. Together they galloped after the children, Brownwen brandishing her stick, Gwen whinnying when she could stop laughing long enough to do so.
‘Gwen!’ Grandmother Williams’ voice reached her even through the hubbub. ‘For shame, merch! There are serious matters to heed. Come!’ she said, turning to march into the barn.
Gwen stopped. With a sigh she helped Bronwen to the ground, pausing to lean down, remove the heavy helmet, and kiss her brow. ‘Go to your father, now,’ she told her. ‘We will have our game another time.’
Inside the barn people had made use of every bit of space in order to accommodate the whole community.
A small fire had been lit against the cold.
Its smoke rose to the ceiling and then hung there as a skein of cloud, thickening and descending slowly.
With so many people crammed into the byre, the air was pungent, myriad smells mingling with the smoke for an uncomfortable experience.
Within moments it was difficult to see from one side of the room to the other.
As Gwen took her place beside Mamgi she looked at the men, women and children who had become her family.
The year they had spent at Blaencwm, after the losses and difficulties they had shared, had brought them all closer together, but time and adversity had taken their toll.
The adults had aged, and some of the elders felt the harshness of their new lives, with extra stiffness in their joints and rattling coughs.
The children too, when caught unawares and in repose, had a weariness about them that spoke of sadness in their pasts.
At last everyone was present. Owain pulled closed the heavy doors, shutting out the cold but also the daylight, save for that which fell through the narrow high openings in the walls. Two fat lamps were lit, their meaty odour quickly filling the cramped space, adding to the unpleasant fug.
It was Dafydd who was first to speak.
‘We are come here to decide whether or no the time has come to go to Talgar. There are those who think we cannot withstand a second winter if we do not buy grain and other supplies. If we do not replenish our stores. And some think we needs must discover who now rules Brycheiniog, and who is to be the new Lord of Cwmdu. Who would have their say?’
Brynach, one of Lord Llewelyn’s soldiers, stood up. ‘I say we go. I tire of hiding like a frightened rabbit.’
There were murmurs of agreement.
Mamgi responded. ‘A rabbit has good sense enough to stay out of reach of the fox.’
Brynach shook his head. ‘We know not that there is a fox! It may be that one of our allies now has hold over the region. We would be foolish to linger in this wilderness when the danger has passed.’
One of the villagers put in. ‘We might be able to return to our homes.’
At this several people nodded and there were excited whispers.
Gwen stepped forward. ‘I too, long to return home. Even though,’ she added, smiling at Bronwen, ‘in truth I feel my heart belongs wherever those dear to me may be.’ There were nods and smiles at this.
‘But, more than the village itself, I believe we do need to go to Talgar because I think Brynach is right; we have to know. If it transpires it is yet not safe for us to descend from the mountain, then we will face another winter here. And if that is the case then again, he is right, we must fill our stores, so that these coming months may not be as lean as was last year.’ There was a thoughtful silence at this as they recalled the hardship and hunger they had endured.
Mamgi spoke again. ‘Our first winter was a trial, it is true. But then the settlement was new, and we struggled to be ready. Now we are more established here. We need not suffer so. ’Tis better to wait longer. Patience will be rewarded, for the world may turn without us a little longer.’
Mair spoke in a nervous voice. ‘Yes, for if we send someone to the town, what if they are captured by our enemies? If we are discovered, none will be safe, for we cannot defend ourselves here. It is only secrecy holds us from harm.’
Seeing some of the children look alarmed at this Gwen spoke again.
‘Whoever would go would be certain not to give away the location of the settlement. I myself would go, and maybe two others, taking the cart, staying out of sight wherever possible, not speaking with any we do not trust, and only then to buy what we need. We would soon be able to see how the land lies.’
At this, Bryn ap Blaen, the man whom Mamgi had frightened into giving up his croft all those months ago, stepped out of the shadows.
His voice was tinged with anger. ‘Why are we to listen to a grandmother and a girl? Who was it decreed these two should have the biggest say? Are we not men? Must we let these women hold the floor and push us this way and that as suits their wishes?’
There were some gasps of shock, with several of the women muttering against the shepherd, but two of the older boys and both the soldiers seemed to be in agreement with Bryn. There was a commotion as people began to argue, the mood of the company shifting to dissent and disagreement.
Mamgi could barely contain her fury. She pushed out of the crowd until she came to stand at the very centre of the room. She rapped her hazel stick upon the hard floor of the barn and raised her thin voice to be heard.
‘You are nothing!’ she shouted, pointing at Bryn, her hand trembling with the rage that had taken hold of her.
‘You are but a worm, and yet you think to challenge the one who saved you! All of you,’ she turned slowly, moving her hand to direct her words at everyone, ‘have benefited from the good grace of this girl. Have you such short memories? You are only living now because of her actions. From her courage in the village, risking her life to delay and wound the Norman Baron, to the very way our small crops have grown. Think you this place has weather of its own by chance? Why is it that the spring does not dry up in summer so you do not die parched? Or that the rain does not drown the tender plants that sustain us? That the terrible snow above and below on this same mountain chooses not to smother us?’
Mair asked, ‘Gwen has done all this? How can that be?’
Bryn gave a snort. ‘Again, we are told by an old woman to see a girl as our saviour. It is trickery, I tell you. I have seen Grandmother’s sly ways. It is wickedness, and not to be trusted!’
Now Mamgi turned back to the crofter. ‘The words your priest spoke you were ready to hear, yet you will not listen to goodness when it comes from a woman? Where is your priest now, Bryn ap Blaen?’
‘He is dead, as well you know.’
‘Aye, and where were you when his throat was opened by a Norman sword? Think you only men can prevail? All of you believe you know the daughter of the man who was your lord, but I tell you, you do not. She is not the child you watched play with puppies in the farmyard, or run with lambs in the meadow. She is of the purest bloodline among witches, and I call on you to acknowledge her for who she is!’
At the mention of the word ‘witch’ there was a collective intake of breath among the villagers. Gwen felt her pulse racing. She was certain Mamgi had gone too far and that they would not accept her. It was too big a step, too far for them to go to openly credit a witch with saving them.
‘Why do you hesitate?’ Grandmother Williams demanded of them.
‘You know in your hearts what I say is true. She is the one you have to thank for your very lives. See her as God sent if you must, for it will change not the facts. Her goodness is what sustains us all, and the time has come for you to see that. She is Rhiannon, who will one day take her place as Queen of all Witches, and she must be known as such. Who will be the first to pledge allegiance? Who has the courage?’
There was silence, save for the coughing of the elders and crying of an infant.
Gwen’s mind was filled with doubt now. She felt that at any moment some of the men might turn upon her, and that she would be cast out forever.
Some shuffled their feet, others would not meet her eye.
Still they waited, uncertain. She saw that she must act.
Without a word, she moved forwards, noticing as she did so that people instinctively drew back.
It saddened her to think they might be afraid of her.
Soon she was standing alone in the centre of the barn.
She steadied herself. Slowly she brought her hands together, clasping them in front of her heart.
She closed her eyes. Remembering what Mamgi had taught her about how to draw on her inner strength, how to connect with the magic inside her, she breathed in, deeper and deeper.
Then, slowly, she let go her breath, opening her eyes as she did so, gradually releasing the air from her lungs, carefully unfolding her hands and stretching her arms wide.
She saw the astonishment on the faces of those present.
She watched herself being watched. She was able to do this easily because with every tiny puff of air that she exhaled, the smoke from the fire and gritty fumes from the lamps moved, swirling away, thinning and clearing.
With it went the rancid smells and heavy taste so that soon all in the barn were breathing sweet, clean air, their eyes no longer stung to watering, their own vision clear.
More than this, those present felt a change within themselves.
It was not some miraculous cure of all their ills, rather it was a lightening of their personal darkness.
The weariness that they had worn as they entered the building, lifted.
The sorrow that had been their constant companion for many months, diminished.
Their courage and resolve returned. In a few short moments, the people of the settlement stood in a space of clean, clear air, their hearts uplifted and hope returned to them.
Gwen let her arms drop to her sides and smiled. Bronwen got up and ran to stand at her skirts, looking up at her, the other children following on fleet little feet. Then, boldly, Rufus, pushed through the throng and moved to stand beside Mamgi.
‘I swear my undying loyalty,’ he said levelly, bowing his head towards Gwen.
Dafydd emerged from the crowd next and dropped to his knees. ‘My Lady,’ he said, ‘you know I am yours to command.’
She looked into the crowd then, seeking out the soldiers. It was they who could tip the balance. She needed them. ‘And you?’ she asked them both. ‘Will you serve me as once you served my father?’
The two exchanged glances. Their decision made, then came to kneel in front of her, each bowing their heads and holding out their swords for her.
One of the older boys punched the air shouting, ‘Queen Rhiannon! Rhiannon! Rhiannon!’
Others took up the cry until the whole barn reverberated with the sound of them singing out her true name.
Mamgi smiled, triumphant, and turned to her protege. When she could make herself heard she asked. ‘Well, Rhiannon, they are yours. As am I. What is your first instruction?’
A silence fell. The company waited, tense and expectant.
Rhiannon, as she now thought of herself, beamed, her eyes bright. If they had been expecting a complicated speech they were surprised, for all she said was, ‘We go to Talgar!’
Grandmother Williams scowled and tutted, but her irritation was short lived, as the whole community began to cheer and shout in delight, buoyed up with love for their new queen, and new hope for their future.