The Bretland Trilogy

Chapter 2-1

Din-Gonwy and Llanfairfechan, North Wales, 835 AD

Din-Gonwy and Llanfairfechan, North Wales, 835 ADCadfael held out his left hand under Alun’s nose. “Look, I did this at the same time as my nose. I was only a child with five winters behind me.” Alun stared at the deformed little finger that stuck out unnaturally at the knuckle. He hadn’t noticed it before. “I’d gone to an old tree near the tarn seeking cormorant eggs, lost my footing, and fell on my hand and face. I hit my nose on a rock as bad luck would have it. Everything went black, and my father found me unconscious and carried me home. In his anxiety, he didn’t spot the finger; otherwise, he’d have put a splint on it. It set itself, crooked like this.”

“Does it give you any trouble?”

“No, I’m used to it.”

Alun and Cadfael were inseparable—the terrible twins, Drystan called them—they shared secrets and dreamed up adventures while out hunting. The one tried to outdo the other in shooting prowess until their bragging came inevitably to a head.

terrible twins“We should find out who is the better shot in a contest,” Alun suggested. “We’ll need a judge. My grandsire is as honest as the day’s long.”

“Let’s go to him then.” Cadfael was confident in his skill.

Iolyn’s gap-toothed grin and chuckle charmed the youths, whose idea had stirred and revitalised the old man’s warrior blood. “The contest will have to be hereabouts,” the snow-haired patriarch said. “You know I can’t walk far. This is what we’ll do,” he explained as he took an apple from a shelf and painfully led them to a wooden fence near his door. He placed the apple on the flat top of a pole and ordered Cadfael, “Mark an oche on the ground after a hundred paces of those long legs. The apple is the target.”

They looked in disbelief at the wizened face which became as wrinkled as a dried plum as it creased with laughter. “If it’s too hard for you, what kind of archers are you?” he wheezed.

“I can do it!” Cadfael’s mouth set in a thin line. “I’ll pace out the distance. One-two-three–ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred!” He drew the heel of his boot across the dry earth.

I Alun pulled at two blades of grass, breaking one to make it shorter. Concealing the operation from Cadfael with his body, he held out a hand with two apparently equal lengths of grass in his fist.

“The longer grass shoots first.” To his dismay, Cadfael tugged, and the blade seemed never-ending. Alun opened his hand and stared gloomily at his short grass. “Just my luck!” he muttered.

“Never mind. Watch and learn,” Cadfael said lightly. He peered for what seemed an age at the target that seemed like a dot in the distance. Planting his feet firmly, he shuffled them until satisfied, raised the bow with arrow nocked, and drew back the string to his right ear. The black-fletched dart sped in a speeding arc to impale the pole two thumb-lengths below the apple. The white-haired figure wrapped tightly in a green cloak and leaning on his doorpost called out something in a frail voice lost in the breeze.

Alun lowered his bow, clicking his tongue in exasperation, and waited a moment for the wind to drop. Between gusts, he loosed his arrow, which sailed magnificently to embed itself in the same post right next to Cadfael’s. They stuck there, inseparable as their owners, with contrasting feathers, Alun’s fletched with easily procured white gull quills.

“My turn!” Cadfael insisted. A moment later, his second attempt grazed the edge of the wooden upright.

“Good try, my friend!” Alun called generously, but in his head added, but not good enough!

but not good enough!Alun’s next effort caught a gust of wind and sailed an arm’s length wide of the target.

“Tough luck,” Cadfael admitted. “We should call a halt. Your grandsire has bested us!”

“Let’s see whose arrow is the nearest.” The old man saw them coming and hobbled over to the apple. Three heads bent over the two shafts, yet none could say which shaft was the closest with confidence.

“I declare a tie!” Iolyn said. “I’m proud of you youngsters. That’s fine shooting. If the post had been an enemy spearman, he’d be dead on the ground. As to who’d slain him, that’s anybody’s guess.” The frail figure rocked with laughter and Alun accompanied him back to his fireside while Cadfael retrieved the arrows.

After chatting with the old man for some time, Alun suggested a hunt in the woods Cadfael knew so well, near his home by the tarn. They chatted gaily on the way until Alun mentioned the nature of their friendship. “It was predestined. Myrddin told me that we would be friends and that we’d write our names in the Gwynedd Annals.”

Cadfael stopped, caught Alun’s arm, spun him around, and stared into the black eyes.

“He was right. You’re like a brother to me, and even if I have no other friends, I know that none could ever be as close as you. He drew a knife from its sheath at his belt and dragged the blade across his palm. A crimson pool formed there. Alun understood at once, took the blade and repeated the gesture on his palm. He gasped as the steel sliced into his flesh, but the ritual had to be completed. The two bloodied hands clasped.

“Brothers for life!” Cadfael proclaimed.

“Ay, brothers and I will protect you, and you, me,” Alun intoned.

“Let’s soak our hands in the river,” Cadfael said. “The cold water will stop the bleeding.” They wandered down the meadow to the Conwy and knelt to rinse their hands. “Tell me more about the seer.” Cadfael had led a sheltered life and knew nothing about Myrddin.

“He has the gift of seeing. They say that he is a descendant of the Chief Druid, on the Isle of Ynys Dryyll, over yonder—the knower of the oak tree.” Alun pointed in the general direction before sucking in his breath and clutching his wounded hand. “It’s still bleeding.”

the gift “Hold it in the cold water. Why did you cut so deeply?” Cadfael smirked.

“It meant a lot to me.”

“Me too, but I didn’t want to risk my sinews.”

They both laughed, but Cadfael suddenly looked serious. “Will you take me to this seer?”

Alun gazed along the estuary. “We can go now if we hurry, for the tide’s right. We have to wade across the river, but keep your bowstring dry, brother.” How it pleased him to call his friend by that name!

brotherThey found Myrddin ap Bren sitting on his bench, head bowed over his fingers, entirely concentrated, engaged in mending a net. Without looking up, he startled the friends by saying, “Ah, the brothers have come to seek knowledge.”

“Good day, Myrddin ap Bren,” Alun said formally. “I have found the battle prince and wish to know what to do next.”

“Next, we must heal that hand. Either you or your blade was too keen to draw blood, Little Rock.”

Cadfael stared in puzzlement at the hook-nosed seer.

“What kind of person doesn’t know his brother’s name?” Myrddin chuckled.

“His name is Alun,” Cadfael protested.

“Ay, which means?”

“Little rock!” Alun said triumphantly.

The seer chortled. “But a rock that doesn’t blunt steel it would appear! Come, we’ll put a salve on your cut and bind it for the day. The morrow will bring healing.”

He led Alun into the gloomy interior of his house, where bunches of herbs hung inverted from the wooden beams of the ceiling and pottery jars containing unguents lined the shelves like ranked warriors. Myrddin took one down and pulled away a flat cork stopper, revealing a grey-green salve. “Your hand!” he ordered brusquely and smeared a generous amount of the ointment across the wound. Alun winced as the cream stung the raw cut initially, but soon, it soothed the throbbing that had accompanied him along the promontory.

“We’ll bind it with this linen.” Myrddin looked around for a knife and hacked at the material to create a narrow strip of cloth. Expertly, he bound it around the palm, under the thumb, and tied it off at the wrist. “There,” he said satisfied, “a surface wound that will run deep for a lifetime. It was blood well shed Little Rock. You are well named because you must seek a rock. Come, we’ll join your friend who is gazing at Ynys Dryyll—”

Alun stared in disbelief from the seer to the solid stone wall of the tiny dwelling. “How do you kn—”

“Myrddin ap Bren knows that and many other things!” the seer snapped as if Alun had challenged him, which he had not. “Let’s join your brother, for you must both heed my words.”

thatAlun wasn’t surprised to find Cadfael staring out towards Ynys Dryyll.

“Ay, it’s to Anglesey you must go to fulfil the next prophecy.”

“Prophecy, Myrddin?” Alun queried.

“Ay, as before. Did you not befriend the battle prince? So, too, you will go to Llanddwyn. Seek the cave of the heartbroken princess. Little Rock, you will know the rock you must bring to me when you see it.”

“Why do you speak in riddles, Myrddin ap Bren?” Alun failed to disguise the bitterness and impatience in his voice. “I’ve never heard of Llanddwyn. Where is it? And who is this heartbroken princess?”

“Do not despair, Alun ap Drystan. Llanddwyn is to Ynys Dryyll as you are to Cadfael ap Iorwerth.”

Alun gazed at his friend, who shrugged his shoulders and returned his gaze to the brooding isle.

Myrddin spoke again, and he gripped Alun’s thigh just above the knee, squeezing gently with a gnarled hand speckled with brown spots. “The heartbroken princess was a hermit many lifetimes ago. You’ll have no difficulty learning about her when you are on Anglesey. Remember, it’s vital that you find what you seek.”

“A rock?” Alun sought confirmation.

“Ay, and nay.”

“What does that mean?” Alun snapped with irascibility that would have done justice to Iolyn.

The seer grimaced. “I know you have little patience, especially for riddles, but remember this one:

I’m as old as the hills

I’m as old as the hillsAs clear and hard as glass,

As clear and hard as glass,Sand and salt are my kin

Sand and salt are my kinAlthough water cannot devour me.

Although water cannot devour me.The rock embraces me

The rock embraces meYet, I am not he.

Yet, I am not he.In common, we are hard to cleave.

In common, we are hard to cleave.What am I?

What am I?The seer stared out to sea his eyes unfocused. While Alun and Cadfael struggled to understand the riddle, Myrddin began to moan or was he humming? He stopped abruptly. “Be patient, my friends. All will be clear! The future of our people depends upon the success of your mission. So, go, without delay. Find the cave of the broken-hearted princess. Ah, take this and make whatever use of it you can.” He handed Alun a beautifully carved ivory comb, produced with a flourish from within his tunic. Puzzled, Alun studied the skilfully wrought object. Myrddin was full of surprises. Did he want him to order his unruly locks? He slipped the comb into his tunic pocket.