The Bretland Trilogy

Chapter 2-2

The youths bowed, and said polite farewells, especially Cadfael, for Alun was seething inside. Did he want their mission to remain a secret? Was that it? Then, why not say so? If Myrddin ap Bren had given them such a crucial mission, why speak in riddles? Alun did not doubt the wisdom and accuracy of the seer’s predictions, but he swore to himself that he would avoid further contact with the soothsayer until he had solved the riddle and held the rock—that was not a rock—in his hand.

Since he never hid his feelings from Cadfael, Alun grumbled on the way back to their home.

“But you believe his every word and look how well he bound your hand.”

“Why couldn’t he just come out and give us clear directions to this Llanddwyn? Why not give the heartbroken princess a name and tell me plainly what I’m looking for? I can’t even remember the riddle.”

Cadfael had never heard Alun so exasperated and tried to help. “I can!” He repeated the riddle word for word.

“That’s why he wanted us both to hear so that one of us would recall the words. Remember it for when we’re in the cave,” Alun said more cheerfully. “As for my hand, tomorrow we’ll see how good Myrddin is.”

After he’d drunk a small bowl of goat’s milk the next morning, Alun surreptitiously unbound his hand. His gasp of surprise didn’t escape Cadfael, who crossed the room to peer at it. Whereas an angry red line marked his palm, Alun’s wound was little more than one of the pink lines a beldam might read to interpret the future.

“I wish I’d let him spread his balm over my hand,” Cadfael said.

“He knew your cut wasn’t so deep. Myrddin sees everything without looking!”

“So, your faith has returned, brother. In that case, we must heed the seer’s words and leave for Llanddwyn as soon as possible.”

“You’d better tell your father, Cadfael. Mine will be already at sea, hauling nets. He rises early every day. Iorwerth can explain to him where we have gone and why. While you do that, I’ll bid farewell to my grandsire. Meet me at his house.”

Iolyn listened attentively to his grandson’s tale. It seemed as if the old man would not comment, so long was the pause. “I’ve heard tell of the heartbroken princess. My memory fails me, but I know she’s a saint in those parts. She was a nun and devoted her life to God because her father wouldn’t let her wed the man she loved. The lovelorn visit her well. They say that a chaste maid, pure in heart, can see her future husband in the waters.” The old man peered short-sightedly at his grandson. “I say, you’re not pining for a maid, are you, boy?”

“Nay, grandfather,” Alun laughed, “I told you, Myrddin ap Bren is sending me on a mission with Cadfael. We have to collect something from the princess’s cave, but I don’t understand what it is I have to find.”

“May the Lord be with you. Take some winter apples from that net.” A gnarled finger pointed at a bulging net hanging on the wall. Alun remembered how he loved the apple his grandsire would give him when he was tall enough for his head to reach the man’s belt as he stood over him. The apples were small and green but surprisingly sweet when he bit them. How he looked forward to that treat when he was a child! He stuffed four apples into his tunic pocket.

“Thanks, grandfather. I’ll be on my way.”

The old man blessed him, using ancient words used over generations addressed to travellers setting out. Leaning on the fence, waiting for him, Cadfael greeted him with a broad grin. “Was he sad to see you go?”

“Nay, he knew the tale of the princess but couldn’t remember her name.” He explained what he had learnt from Iolyn.

“I like the miller’s daughter. I wonder if the princess will take up my cause,” Cadfael beamed.

“You like Rhonwen? Good luck with that. She’s snooty and never exchanges my greeting.”

“Odd, that!” Cadfael pretended to have a serious face. “She always gives me a wave and a pretty smile,” he teased.

Banter exchanged about the miller’s lovely daughter occupied them until they were out of sight of Din-Gonwy and along the coastal path to the west. The Isle of Ynys Dryyll was visible and seemed closer than ever, but that was a trick of the light. “We’ll stop at Llanfairfechan,” Alun said. “I land fish there with my father when we venture westwards from time to time. It has a good beach, so we can sleep under the stars tonight. We have no money for an inn.”

“The one thing my father said when I told him we were going to Ynys Dryyll was to steer clear of inns. He reckons most are squalid, dangerous places. Do you know what he said?”

“No idea.”

“He said,” Cadfael could hardly get the words out for laughing, “I don’t want you coming back with the pox from some poxy w***e! Can you believe that?” he giggled. Neither had s****l experience, which made Iorwerth’s admonition somehow exciting and more amusing.

“How far is this beach from here?”

“We can be there by midday. Look, there’s no point in wearying ourselves by going farther. Grandfather says that the crossing place for the isle is about the same distance from the beach, so I thought breaking our march would be easier, and tomorrow we could reach the ferry at Ceris fresh enough to tramp on, deep into the isle. Here, what do you think Myrddin meant when he said Llanddwyn is to Ynys Dryyll as I am to you?”

“He speaks in riddles all the time; I suppose it’s to keep us thinking!”

“Blast him! He’s done that, alright. What do you reckon? We need to work it out.”

It’s not that hard, brother. He knows that we are very close—almost inseparable—I guess he means that Llanddwyn is close to Ynys Dryyll.”

“Ah, now I see! Llanddwyn must be an island close to Anglesey,” Cadfael said.

“That would make sense, but we can find out once we’re on the isle. If my grandsire is right, they venerate the heartbroken princess there. Most folk will know how to locate her sanctuary.”

“Didn’t he speak about a well?”

“If we discover that, we’ll find the cave, I reckon.”

The friends found a sheltered spot on a wide stretch of sand exposed as the tide had dropped away. It was more comfortable than the pebbles lower down. There, they ate their lunch, strips of dried fish from their pantry washed down with water drawn from the well near their home. That would keep them going until the following morning. After lunch, Cadfael suggested hunting for birds’ eggs along the coast. An evening meal appealed to his stomach.

They continued westwards, knowing it was the direction they would travel the following day. The path skirted marshland, adhering to the shore until they came to an estuary, which they crossed quickly owing to the low tide. Soon afterwards, they saw a rocky headland.

Cadfael nudged his companion. “That looks promising. There are bound to be nests in the crags, and it’s the right season for eggs.”

They scrambled over the rocks on the shore. Alun slipped and cracked his knee, but after vigorous rubbing, he could continue climbing. Cadfael hissed and waved an arm to make him duck down. Alun watched his friend unsling his bow from his shoulder to fit an arrow. With the whoosh of the shot, Cadfael straightened and, laying down his bow, climbed rapidly across to his prey. There was no mistaking the large colourful red and orange beak of a puffin when he held up the dead trophy. Cadfael’s arrow had passed through the throat of the unsuspecting black and white bird. Egg collecting forgotten, Cadfael chirped, “We have a meal for this evening. They say puffin is a delicacy.”

“I’ve never tried it, but we’d better search for dry wood. We can’t eat it raw. A steady climb to the top of the low cliff provided them with sufficient twigs and branches to make a fire. They found a suitable hollow where they might sleep that night, relatively sheltered from the sea breeze, a place where the fire could be lit without being overly fanned by the wind. Alun arranged the wood, as he claimed to be an expert at starting fires. He did it all the time for his grandsire, he explained.

“While you do that, I’ll go back to the marsh. I saw reeds a-plenty. We’ll need a cane as a skewer to hold the bird over the fire. Do you have a knife?”

“Why? Didn’t you bring yours?”

Cadfael drew back his cloak. “Of course, I did. But you’ll need yours to clean the bird. Can you pluck the feathers?”

“I suppose it’ll be no harder than plucking mother’s hens,” Alun muttered sourly.

“Good, I’ll be back later. Don’t light the fire till I get back. It’s too early to eat anyway.

Later, he returned, grinning broadly. At his belt hung another puffin.

“I came back up the cliff to shoot another of these.”

“Don’t you think one is enough for our meal?” Alun said sulkily. He had just finished preparing the first bird and had no intention of cleaning another.

“Don’t be so short-sighted, brother. How do you think we’ll pay the ferryman tomorrow? We haven’t a single coin between us.”

Alun stared admiringly at his friend. “I hadn’t thought of that. I believe people use puffins as currency in these parts.”

Cadfael’s stomach protested. He had a ravenous appetite at the best of times. His long walk to fetch the cane in his right hand had increased it. “You’ve done a good job, brother.” He bent to pick up the plucked and gutted bird. On his way back from the marsh, he had sharpened his skewer in readiness for cooking and now thrust the spit through the body of the headless bird.

“What are you waiting for? Light the fire!”

Used to Cadfael’s brusque manner, Alun grinned, and reached for his steel and flint striker that he had placed on the grass beside him. Expertly, he created sparks that set his tinder alight as he gently blew to fan the flame. In moments, the twigs they had collected were crackling merrily. Pale grey smoke curled above them to be swept into nothingness by the sea breeze. Alun added thicker pieces of driftwood so that soon, the red embers were suitable for cooking over. Cadfael assumed the role of cook, turning the puffin to avoid burning the flesh as fat hissed and spat as it dripped among the embers. The aroma of the meat made their mouths water in anticipation, and when Cadfael declared the meal ready, he cut strips of flesh off the breast.

Alun sniffed at his first piece impaled on the knife point suspiciously, but as he chewed, he savoured the rich, smooth smoked slither that tasted livery and slightly fishy. He grunted his appreciation and reached for more. He had to admit Cadfael’s usefulness. His friend was full of initiative, and he did not doubt that their mission the following day would be a great success.

They slept well by their fire, bellies satisfied, wrapped tightly in their mantles, and woke with the first light to greet a weak dawn. Indeed, the day of destiny started unpromisingly with Anglesey shrouded in grey clouds as a light rain seemed to hang like a curtain of smoke over the isle. The weather dampened their cloaks but not their spirits, for adventure beckoned on the Isle of Ynys Dryyll.