Those of the murderers whom I knew I have named to Hywel, and they have
paid. But some I did not know. I keep the faces in mind, for the day when I see
them again and hear the names that go with the faces.”
“There
is also one other, the chief, who has paid only a blood-price in lands,” said
Cadfael. “What of him? Is it certain he gave the orders for this ambush?”
“Certain!
They would never have dared, otherwise. And Owain Gwynedd has no doubts.”
“And
where, do you suppose, is this Cadwaladr now? And has he resigned himself to
the loss of everything he possessed?”
The
young man shook his head. “Where he is no one seems to know. Nor what mischief
he has next in mind. But resigned to his loss? That I doubt! Hywel took
hostages from among the lesser chiefs who served under Cadwaladr, and brought
them north to ensure there should be no further resistance in Ceredigion. Most
of them have been released now, having sworn not to bear arms against Hywel’s
rule or offer service again to Cadwaladr, unless at some time to come he should
pledge reparation and be restored. There’s one still left captive in Aber, Gwion.
He’s given his parole not to attempt escape, but he refuses to forswear his
allegiance to Cadwaladr or promise peace to Hywel. A decent enough fellow,”
said Cuhelyn tolerantly, “but still devoted to his lord. Can I hold that
against a man? But such a lord! He deserves better for his worship.”
“You
bear no hatred against him?”
“None,
there is no reason. He had no part in the ambush, he is too young and too clean
to be taken into such a villainy. After a fashion, I like him as he likes me.
We are two of a kind. Could I blame him for holding fast to his allegiance as I
hold fast to mine? If he would kill for Cadwaladr’s sake, so would I have done,
so I did, for Anarawd. But not by stealth, in double force against light-armed
men expecting no danger. Honestly, in open field, that’s another matter.”
The
long meal was almost at its end, only the wine and mead still circling, and the
hum of voices had mellowed into a low, contented buzzing like a hive of bees drunken
and happy among summer meadows. In the centre of the high table Bishop Gilbert
had taken up the fine scroll of his letter and broken the seal, and was on his
feet with the vellum leaf unrolled in his hands. Roger de Clinton’s salutation
was meant to be declaimed in public for its full effect, and had been carefully
worded to impress the laity no less than the Celtic clergy, who might be most
in need of a cautionary word. Gilbert’s sonorous voice made the most of it.
Cadfael, listening, thought that Archbishop Theobald would be highly content
with the result of his embassage.
“And
now, my lord Owain,” Gilbert pursued, seizing the mellowed moment for which he
must have been waiting throughout the feast, “I ask your leave to introduce a
petitioner, who comes asking your indulgence for a plea on behalf of another.
My appointment here gives me some right, by virtue of my office, to speak for
peace, between individual men as between peoples. It is not good that there
should be anger between brothers. Just cause there may have been at the outset,
but there should be a term to every outlawry, every quarrel. I ask an audience
for an ambassador who speaks on behalf of your brother Cadwaladr, that you may
be reconciled with him as is fitting, and restore him to his lost place in your
favour. May I admit Bledri ap Rhys?”
There
was a brief, sharp silence, in which every eye turned upon the prince’s face.
Cadfael felt the young man beside him stiffen and quiver in bitter resentment
of such a breach of hospitality, for clearly this had been planned deliberately
without a word of warning to the prince, without any prior consultation, taking
an unfair advantage of the courtesy such a man would undoubtedly show towards
the host at whose table he was seated. Even had this
paid. But some I did not know. I keep the faces in mind, for the day when I see
them again and hear the names that go with the faces.”
“There
is also one other, the chief, who has paid only a blood-price in lands,” said
Cadfael. “What of him? Is it certain he gave the orders for this ambush?”
“Certain!
They would never have dared, otherwise. And Owain Gwynedd has no doubts.”
“And
where, do you suppose, is this Cadwaladr now? And has he resigned himself to
the loss of everything he possessed?”
The
young man shook his head. “Where he is no one seems to know. Nor what mischief
he has next in mind. But resigned to his loss? That I doubt! Hywel took
hostages from among the lesser chiefs who served under Cadwaladr, and brought
them north to ensure there should be no further resistance in Ceredigion. Most
of them have been released now, having sworn not to bear arms against Hywel’s
rule or offer service again to Cadwaladr, unless at some time to come he should
pledge reparation and be restored. There’s one still left captive in Aber, Gwion.
He’s given his parole not to attempt escape, but he refuses to forswear his
allegiance to Cadwaladr or promise peace to Hywel. A decent enough fellow,”
said Cuhelyn tolerantly, “but still devoted to his lord. Can I hold that
against a man? But such a lord! He deserves better for his worship.”
“You
bear no hatred against him?”
“None,
there is no reason. He had no part in the ambush, he is too young and too clean
to be taken into such a villainy. After a fashion, I like him as he likes me.
We are two of a kind. Could I blame him for holding fast to his allegiance as I
hold fast to mine? If he would kill for Cadwaladr’s sake, so would I have done,
so I did, for Anarawd. But not by stealth, in double force against light-armed
men expecting no danger. Honestly, in open field, that’s another matter.”
The
long meal was almost at its end, only the wine and mead still circling, and the
hum of voices had mellowed into a low, contented buzzing like a hive of bees drunken
and happy among summer meadows. In the centre of the high table Bishop Gilbert
had taken up the fine scroll of his letter and broken the seal, and was on his
feet with the vellum leaf unrolled in his hands. Roger de Clinton’s salutation
was meant to be declaimed in public for its full effect, and had been carefully
worded to impress the laity no less than the Celtic clergy, who might be most
in need of a cautionary word. Gilbert’s sonorous voice made the most of it.
Cadfael, listening, thought that Archbishop Theobald would be highly content
with the result of his embassage.
“And
now, my lord Owain,” Gilbert pursued, seizing the mellowed moment for which he
must have been waiting throughout the feast, “I ask your leave to introduce a
petitioner, who comes asking your indulgence for a plea on behalf of another.
My appointment here gives me some right, by virtue of my office, to speak for
peace, between individual men as between peoples. It is not good that there
should be anger between brothers. Just cause there may have been at the outset,
but there should be a term to every outlawry, every quarrel. I ask an audience
for an ambassador who speaks on behalf of your brother Cadwaladr, that you may
be reconciled with him as is fitting, and restore him to his lost place in your
favour. May I admit Bledri ap Rhys?”
There
was a brief, sharp silence, in which every eye turned upon the prince’s face.
Cadfael felt the young man beside him stiffen and quiver in bitter resentment
of such a breach of hospitality, for clearly this had been planned deliberately
without a word of warning to the prince, without any prior consultation, taking
an unfair advantage of the courtesy such a man would undoubtedly show towards
the host at whose table he was seated. Even had this
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