The Bretland Trilogy

Chapter 3-1

Isle of Ynys Dryyll, North Wales, 835 AD

Isle of Ynys Dryyll, North Wales, 835 ADEvents are mutable, but places remain essentially unchanged. In the case of Ynys Dryyll, even the youthful Alun ap Drystan sensed ancient immutability hanging over the isle as perceptible as the grey cloud shrouding it. The companions arrived at Ceris, the narrow point of the strait separating the isle from the mainland, where the Roman legions had once crossed to the place of druids, to the island they called Mona.

A ferry served to cross the channel, and the friends found the ferryman pottering about in the tiny hut that was his home.

“A puffin to take us across to the isle,” Cadfael said, sticking his head without ceremony into the gloomy interior.

The ferryman laughed and waved a net attached to a pole at the intruding face. “Why would I need a puffin? I catch my own with this.” He smirked unkindly, revealing a series of blackened teeth. Cadfael recoiled with dismay clear in his countenance. The ferryman seemed to thrive on the youth’s chagrin. “If you want to cross, you’ll pay good coin or swim!” He guffawed. “Not that I’d chance the currents if I were you. I wouldn’t want you to feed the fishes, young fellow!” He chortled and rubbed the laughter tears from the corners of his eyes.

“I can’t swim.” Cadfael shook his head and unobtrusively fingered his knife hilt. Alun noticed the gesture and, fearing the worst, pulled his friend away from the ferryman. His mind was racing, and an idea came to him: ‘make whatever use of it you can.’ Somehow, they had to cross to the isle.

make whatever use of it you can.’“Friend, we don’t have a coin, but I have something here that might interest you, however, I’ll only part with it if you agree to bring us back across after we’ve concluded our business.”

“It had better be worth my while.” The ferryman had turned his back on them, and his tone was querulous.

“I won’t part with it lightly,” Alun said, drawing the ivory comb from his pocket.

“Give it here!” The swarthy ferryman’s face peered in curiosity as he inspected the finely carved object in his palm. “Ay, it’s a fair price for two trips. I’ll take you across.”

“And give us information, if you please.”

“What do you want to know?”

“We have to go to Llanddwyn, but we don’t know where it is,” he ended lamely.

“Ha-ha! You’re in luck. The tide will be right. From where I drop you off, cut across due west without wandering, and you’ll come to the isle after two leagues. There’s a sand bar at low water, and you can walk across.”

“Isn’t Llanddwyn where the heartbroken princess lived?”

“Ha-ha! Everyone knows that! Saint Dwynwen! That’ll be your business on the isle, for one of you is crossed in love, I’ll be bound! Well, she’ll sort you out if you pray at her well.” The ferryman clapped Alun on the back, who forced himself to smile into the weathered, roguish face.

“Where will we find the well, friend?”

“Easy enough. You’ll find the isle is nought more than a long strip of land.” He pointed his dirty forefinger under Alun’s nose. “Walk down the middle,” he ran his other finger over the first joint, “until you come to a bay on the west. There are cliffs to your right. There’s a cove opposite the bay. Keep it at your back, and you’ll find the well above the rocks over the bay.”

This conversation took place as his strong arms pulled them across the strait. He repeated the directions before they set off.

They thanked the ferryman, who indicated a horn. “When you return, if I’m on the other shore, just blow a couple of blasts on the horn, and I’ll come and fetch you.”

Two hours later, their path brought them through woodland down to a bay lined by a sandy beach. What looked at first glance like a slender peninsula proved to be the island they sought. It lay like a twin, attached to the main island by a little over a hundred yards of a sandbank.

“We’re in luck, as that snaggle-toothed villain said, the tide is out, and we can walk across.”

A shag, disturbed, turned a beady eye on them and, after tilting its head, flew away low over the sea to a rock off the coast, where it stood upright to survey its watery kingdom.

The youths strode across the strand, spirits high, when Alun suddenly said, “Can you remember the riddle? I need an idea of what I’m looking for.”

“We’re looking for a well and a cave, but I memorised it.” He remembered without hesitation.

“So, it will be clear and hard as glass. What I don’t understand is when it says, the rock embraces me. What does that mean? If it’s a rock, how can rock embrace it?”

clear and hard as glass, the rock embraces me“Unless it’s a lodestone,” Cadfael said thoughtfully. “You know, like gold or iron—a rock inside a rock!”

They discussed the matter as they walked, joking about gold, and not paying much attention to their surroundings. Suddenly, Alun stopped. He turned to look back to the main island, and holding out a finger, he turned back to look out to sea. The extremity of the island was about a hundred yards farther on. He gazed at his pointing finger, looked back again and, touching his outstretched digit, said, I think we’re about here.”

Cadfael bent over, saw that Alun’s fingernail was resting halfway between the joints, raised his head and, peering in both directions, calculated, “If the ferryman was right, we need to go another fifty yards.”

“Over to the cliff, see if there’s a bay. I’ll go to the other side and look for a cove.”

Alun ran back in a moment. “Well?” he cried.

“There’s a large bay here. It must be the one the ugly fellow referred to.”

“You were right, brother. The cove is another fifty yards ahead. So, come on!” He strode across the low-lying golden hair lichen and liverwort, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s find the well. Didn’t Myrddin say I’d know the rock when I saw it? We can forget the riddle!”

He hurried on another thirty paces, then turned abruptly to his right and peered down the rocky side of the island. The cove lay exactly below him. Since it was one of three coves but the only one opposite the bay, he marched confidently across the narrow islet to the cliff, where he joined Cadfael, who was on his knees, peering down into a hole in the ground. The chestnut-haired youth pulled back an overhanging shrub and declared, “I think that’s water down there! Find a stone, Alun.”

A quick search of the ground provided him with a sizeable pebble, likely thrown up from the seabed in a storm.

“Will this do?”

Cadfael took it and let it drop into the depths. Almost instantly, they heard the unmistakable splosh of a stone entering the water. “This is the well,” Cadfael said with certainty, “but where is the hermit’s cave? It should be nearby.”

splosh “You search that way, and I’ll take this part.”

Neither youth found the entrance to a cave among the rocks. Cadfael, despairing, turned his attention to a crowberry bush. It was laden with juicy, black berries. Avidly, his fingers flew to pick as many as he could, cramming them into his mouth so that deep red juice trickled at the corner of his lips.

“Haven’t you anything better to do than stuffing your face?” Alun said disparagingly.

“You should try them, they’re juicy and sweet,” Cadfael’s full-mouthed, muffled reply was defensive.

“If you haven’t gobbled them all. Ah, there’s another clump!”

Alun began picking the delicious fruit but froze suddenly. As he pulled at a berry, drawing the low bush towards him, he noticed a hole in the ground. Ripping at the well-anchored, stubborn plant, he achieved nothing, so he took his knife and hacked at the plant, throwing soft succulent clumps over his shoulder as he detached them.

“What are you doin—?” Cadfael stopped short when he saw the hole. “Do you think that’s the cave? Here, let me help.” He went to the opposite side of the ten-inch shrub and began pulling and hacking. Their combined efforts soon cleared the vegetation from the entrance, and Alun exchanged glances with Cadfael. “I’ll go. Myrddin entrusted the mission to me. But I’ll enter feet first!”

He sat with his legs In the hole and peered down. With some relief, he saw that the cave wasn’t inky black since there was a hint of light tempering the darkness. It was not enough to tell him how far he would drop if he slid down. Not wishing to break his legs or neck, he shuffled downwards, turning onto his belly. Cadfael saw his head in the opening staring back at him. “We should have brought a rope. I don’t know how much of a drop there is. I could break every bone in my body!”

“I don’t think so,” Cadfael reasoned. “Dwynwen was a woman, and she couldn’t have lived there if she couldn’t lower herself in. Give me your hands. I’ll let you down; between us, our arms must be five feet long.”

“It’s worth a try.” Alun brought up an arm, and Cadfael, kneeling in front of the entrance, grabbed his companion’s hand.

“Now, the other one.”

Grunting, he overbalanced with the weight and fell forward, achieving what they wanted. Alun dropped three feet before Cadfael took the strain.

“Phew, you weigh more than two sacks of grain!”

Alun’s foot scraped against the cave wall. “Just a minute,” he said. “I’ve found a foothold!” He put his foot there and pushed upwards, releasing pressure on Cadfael’s burning arms. “Let go of my right hand.” He ran the hand across the wall in front of his face and located it, another hold. “There’s a series of holes in the wall, I think. Let go of my wrist. Balancing his weight carefully, he repeated his search with his left hand and discovered another hole. “That’s how Dwynwen got down here. She, or someone else, cut a kind of ladder into the rock. I’m going down.”

“Careful you don’t slip! The rock will be damp. Remember, I haven’t got a rope if you fall.”

Alun didn’t bother to reply, but the warning increased his caution as his free foot sought and found a hold. Now, he had four firm grips as he clung to the rock wall like a giant spider. His left hand was higher than his right, so he lowered it carefully. Sure enough, he found another groove about fifteen inches lower. His admiration for the hermit nun reached new levels. Not only could she live a life of solitude, but she’d had the nerve to climb up and down this rock face that was making him sweat, and his knees tremble with fear.

He bent to place his hand in the hole and found the other groove for his right hand, but this meant that he was in an unnatural position, taking his weight on his feet while bent doubled over. He dared not move, but the longer he stayed in this awkward pose, the more his thighs ached and the more likely he was to fall. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes, forcing him to blink. He’d have to muster the courage to lower his right leg, but it seemed blocked and incapable of movement. He wriggled his foot gently, making it move slowly to the brink of the foothold. Suddenly, his boot slipped away from the wall, and the shock of his weight shifting caused him almost to lose his other grips. His wildly searching foot groped its way into a hole, and he was able to put all his weight on the right leg, easing away his unnaturally bent left leg until it, too, found a foothold. Thank God!