The Bretland Trilogy

Chapter 4-1

Din-Gonwy, cantref of Rhôs, North Wales, 835 AD

Din-Gonwy, cantref of Rhôs, North Wales, 835 ADTwo days later, after adventures similar to those on their outward journey, Alun and Cadfael returned to Myrddin’s home on his promontory and looked back with pride over the sea to Ynys Dryyll. Had they really accomplished the mission that now seemed like a dream? Myrddin ap Bren knew they had, without even looking up from his task of chopping eels into bite-sized chunks.

“Well met, Alun ap Drystan, bearer of the holy crystal!”

Alun wanted to blurt: how do you know I’ve found it? But he stifled what would only be a pointless remark unwittingly calculated to provoke the seer. What sense was there in doubting his unquestionable gifts?

how do you know I’ve found it?“Ay, Myrddin, I have it here in my pocket.”

“I know! Bring it forth!”

Alun couldn’t explain his contrasting emotions. Whereas he wished to display the trophy with justifiable pride, as it had not been easy to obtain, still, he found himself in the grip of a peculiar jealous possessiveness. Every fibre of his being wanted to cling to the precious object. Only his immense awe of the seer enabled him to relinquish the creamy-coloured crystal, albeit reluctantly.

“Ah, bydded i Sant Dwynwen fendithio a diogelu dygiedydd y grisial hwn,” he said in an ancient tongue, so old that Cadfael understood but struggled for a perfect translation: may Saint Dwynwen bless and protect the bearer of this crystal. Even as he murmured his interpretation of the seer’s words, a remarkable event occurred. From the cupped hands of the bowed seer a brilliant shaft of intense light rose towards the grey sky. It was so bright that they had to close their eyes and bow their heads.

bydded i Sant Dwynwen fendithio a diogelu dygiedydd y grisial hwn,may Saint Dwynwen bless and protect the bearer of this crystal.Only when Myrddin cackled with pleasure did they dare open them, fearing the risk of a sudden loss of sight. But they needed not to fear since there was no sign of the blinding column— just Myrddin, with a rapt expression on his wrinkled face, presented himself to their astonished gaze.

“Saint Dwynwen has answered my prayers. Did you not see the holy light?”

“D-did she cause that beam of n-never-ending light?” Alun stumbled over his words

The seer chuckled again. “You should not be surprised, bearer of the crystal, you have seen it before, or maybe you did not?”

Suddenly, he remembered. “Ay, you are right. When I was a-feared to climb the shaft out of the cave and prayed to the saint for help. Although my eyes were closed, I perceived the light through my eyelids.”

Myrddin’s cackle might have done a crow proud as a call. “The saint imbued you with the strength to overcome your fear.” He passed the crystal to Alun, who snatched it eagerly and thrust it into his pocket.

“Ay, young fellow, you are right to treat the relic as a precious gift. You must never let it out of your possession, except for the one moment that I will explain to you now. This is what you must do. First, go to your grandsire and tell Iolyn that Myrddin ap Bren orders him to cede his sword to you. The old man cannot wield it anymore in those arthritic hands, and soon the angels will accompany him to another life. Then, you will take the weapon to Trefor, the smith. You will need a new pommel. Instruct him that Myrddin wants the crystal contained within a filigree pommel, such that it is secure and robust, proof against the shocks of battle, and of beauty befitting a sacred relic. Tell him all this and that he will waive p*****t until Myrddin comes to him. That will be the only time to release the crystal from your possession, Alun ap Drystan. When Trefor’s work is complete, you will possess the sword of power. You will wield it against the Norsemen who will descend on the shores of Gwynedd years from now.” The seer paused with the familiar faraway look in his rheumy eyes. It escaped neither youth that they refocussed on Ynys Dryyll. The seer smiled thinly at Alun. “Meantime, the sword will be of no use to you unless you learn the art of swordsmanship. That task of tutoring you, we will entrust to your grandsire. Treasure his words, and remember, Alun, before battle, always pray to Saint Dwynwen for succour—she will never fail you.”

sword of powerAgain, the seer’s eyes drifted to Ynys Dryyll but returned to stare piercingly into Cadfael’s. “As for you battle prince, Alun will achieve nothing without you at his flank. You will fight side by side so, you too must learn from Iolyn.”

battle princeCadfael looked worried. “But Myrddin, I do not own a sword. And Alun will possess the sword of power. How will I manage? What will I have?”

“This!” Myrddin croaked, suppressing another cackle. From his tunic, he produced a finely wrought gold armlet incised with runes. “This was plundered from a dead prince who fell in battle, but the purloiner slipped on a rock in a ford, where he smashed his skull, and the bracelet was not found until it lured Myrddin ap Bren to chance upon it, glimmering in the water. Who better, then, to wear it than the battle prince?” He could not restrain his wild cackling that made the youths question the normally austere man’s sanity. Yet, they held him in such awe that neither thought of him as anything but the epitome of wisdom. “This is the bracelet of power, Cadfael ap Iorwerth; it will protect its wearer in battle—”

bracelet of power, “But if its original owner was slain in battle—?” Cadfael dared question the seer.

“The power of the armlet cannot overcome the wyrd woven by the Norns,” Myrddin’s tone was severe. His eyes roamed to Ynys Dryyll once more. “Your doom, battle prince, is not to die under the blows of the sea wolves. Nay, it is they who will fall at your feet. Trust in the bracelet. Take it and wear it on your left arm.”

Cadfael studied the precious gift carefully before sliding it up over his elbow to where it fit over his muscles as if purpose made.

“How can I thank you, Myrddin, for such an immense boon?”

The penetrating eyes of the seer seemed to stare into the youth’s soul. “By doing your duty, never betraying your friend, and staying loyal to your homeland.”

“Myrddin, you ask nothing of me!”

The diviner laughed with the high, wild cackle they now associated with him. “And yet, I ask everything, Cadfael. You will see that the way you so take for granted is not the easiest road to travel, for it is rocky, beset by thorns and pitfalls.”

“And all this without a sword. You frighten me, Myrddin!”

“Have no fear Cadfael, for our battle prince must be fearless. The sword will come to you!”

The youths left the seer in a mixed state of wonder and bewilderment.

“Again, he speaks in riddles,” Cadfael grumbled somewhat unfairly. This attitude depended on worrying thoughts about his future sword. How could a sword come to him? In truth, he was envious of Alun’s crystal and still shocked by the shaft of light that had speared brilliantly skywards. His brotherly love was unquestioned, but at that moment of discomfort, he failed to ask himself whether Alun envied his splendid armlet?

His friend’s words re-established some perspective: “Oh, I think Myrddin was surprisingly clear this time, brother. We know that we must learn swordsmanship from my grandfather, and you will have to be patient waiting for your weapon to arrive.” He clapped Cadfael on the back. “Besides, hasn’t everything the seer said so far proved true? Remember, he said that you would not succumb to the enemy and promised us great victories side by side. All we have to do is prepare for when the sea wolves arrive, whenever that might be.” His tone had become puzzled. He suddenly remembered, for all his bravado, they were only two callow youths.

“Don’t worry. Not soon,” Cadfael said confidently, remembering that he must have no fear. “I’m sure Myrddin said they would descend on the shores of Gwynedd years from now. That means we have time a-plenty to learn Iolyn’s skills. He is still revered as a once-mighty warrior.”

descend on the shores of Gwynedd years from now. “Ay, come on then, let’s set about it by tasking my grandsire with our training.”

They strode towards the old man’s home with renewed determination, each with a sense of destiny in his head.

After listening carefully to his grandson’s account, Iolyn ap Celyn’s lively dark eyes gazed wistfully at his sword, hanging in its leather scabbard from a nail driven into the wall. “It’s only gathering dust, there,” he muttered so low that Alun missed the words but saw the gaze and its sorrowfulness. Yet, a sword in the hands of a white-haired man with stiff, painful joints made no sense, he told himself.

“Fetch it down. lad,” Iolyn told him and drew the sword in his shaky hand, displaying the oiled, rust-free blade in all its honed glory. “I’ve looked after it as I might an old friend,” Iolyn’s voice had strengthened. He thrust the blade back in the scabbard and laid it across his knees. “So Myrddin charges me with tutoring you in swordsmanship. Good! Let’s begin!” There was a strength and keenness in the old fellow that Alun remembered from when he was a little child. It seemed like the task set by the seer had rejuvenated Iolyn.

“You can’t wield a sword until you’ve learnt to dance, my lads.”

They gazed at him as if he were jesting.

“Nay, I speak the truth. You must be light on your feet, even in a steel shirt, above all on the field of battle. Come on, dance and weave in front of each other. Try to touch the other’s chest. Prevent him from doing so! That’s it, fend off his arm. Now, attack! Counter! Attack!” The dark eyes resembled Myrddin’s paler ones, with the same faraway look, as if Iolyn were reliving old combat with the vigour of his warrior days.

“Nay, in battle, you need guile, lads. Predictability invites death! You must trick your opponent, feint to go one way, throw your weight to the side and lunge! That’s it, Cadfael—first point to you. Alun, with real weapons, you’d be weakened and wounded in battle, your blood soaking the earth. You have no time to think, for you are enfeebled and must strike or die! Good lad! That’s it. Now Cadfael is wounded, too. Take a rest, and we’ll start again. Do you see how important is dancing and guile? We’ll make warriors of you yet! You learn well, my boys!”

guileHe kept them dancing, feinting, and weaving until the shadows grew long outdoors, and both youths were exhausted but too proud to beg for a pause. Indeed, Iolyn called a halt. “Come, sit by me. We must have a plan if you are to be swordsmen. Alun, what have you learnt today?”

“Grandfather, I have learnt that a swordsman must be light on his feet. Yet it is not enough. He must use guile to strike his adversary, yet Cadfael struck me five times! I would be dead in battle.”