and they take very good care of me and mine.’
Olwyn could see her father beginning to formulate a stinging rejoinder when Branwyn entered the atrium from the colonnade, approached her grandfather and bowed her head in respect. The effect was spoiled by a slight, ironic smirk that caused Melvig’s brows to furrow.
‘Explain yourself, Branwyn. Where did this babe come from? Who was your lover?’
‘He’s not a babe!’ Branwyn glared at Melvig, and sparks flew as stubborn, egocentric wills clashed. ‘He’s the child of a demon, and he’s accursed. I’ll not touch the creature, so you may kill him if you want, Grandfather. I’ll not pine for him.’
‘Branwyn!’ Olwyn cried, aghast.
‘You’re unnatural, girl!’ Melvig snapped.
‘Unnatural? A demon in the guise of a beautiful young man crept into my room and raped me. He spoke a devilish language, so I cannot even tell you his name. I hate the creature as I hate the seed he planted in me. If I am unnatural, what does that make that . . . thing that my mother loves more than me?’
Mother, save us all, for Branwyn is demented and consumed with hatred. Olwyn’s thoughts were chaotic, but she was also appalled at her daughter’s callousness and icy control. The girl was a stranger who seemed to blame her mother for some betrayal that Olwyn would never understand.
‘A demon!’ Melvig pronounced scornfully. ‘I’m surprised they have the equipment to breed.’
‘More than sufficient, grandfather. The demon was cruel and determined to destroy me through his son. Doubt me if you will, but this child will bring bad luck to Segontium.’
Suddenly, Melvig laughed. ‘Your son has already done his best to kill me. He’s got a strong arm for a little one – and a bold eye. I could almost like the little bastard.’
‘He was trying to protect me, Father,’ Olwyn tried to explain, as she pleaded mutely with her daughter to provide some kind of aid. ‘Myrddion had no idea what he was doing. He’s only a baby, Father, and I swear there’s no evil in him.’
Her father chortled with amusement, and Branwyn smiled coldly from behind the back of her hand. The boy furrowed his brow and twisted in Olwyn’s arms so that he faced his accusers, and even Melvig felt the child’s wide, black eyes as they fixed themselves upon him. The infant’s gaze was so direct that the king felt that he had been thoroughly examined and found wanting in some essential element of his nature. As for Branwyn, the child’s gaze narrowed with dislike and something akin to contempt towards her, if a child of less than two years was capable of such complex emotions.
A cautious knock on a door across the colonnade warned them that the servant had returned with wine, ale and the small honey cakes that Melvig loved. Sensitive Plautenes read the unhappiness that lay behind his mistress’s full mouth and dark eyes, and hurried back to the kitchen as soon as he had set down his tray.
‘I heard raised voices, Crusus, and the mistress was on the verge of tears. I swear that the young mistress was almost gloating at her mother’s terror. Agh! She’s as cold as a witch’s tit, that Branwyn. We’d all be better off if she’d died in childbirth.’
Crusus clapped his hand over his lover’s mouth with a moue of horror. ‘For the sake of the gods, Plautenes! Have a care. The king is none too fond of either of us, and if he hears your opinions he’ll order you to be throttled. I only hope my pastries sooth his temper.’
Crusus was a gifted cook, so the sweet delicacies were quickly washed down Melvig’s maw with beakers of Olwyn’s best wine. He smacked his lips enthusiastically and even smiled at Myrddion when he thought no one was looking.
Once he had paced a little and drunk a few more glasses of wine, he came to his decision. It was a judicious ruling that pleased nobody else, but solved all his problems.
‘Well, Branwyn, I’ve decided that you are telling me the truth, so
Olwyn could see her father beginning to formulate a stinging rejoinder when Branwyn entered the atrium from the colonnade, approached her grandfather and bowed her head in respect. The effect was spoiled by a slight, ironic smirk that caused Melvig’s brows to furrow.
‘Explain yourself, Branwyn. Where did this babe come from? Who was your lover?’
‘He’s not a babe!’ Branwyn glared at Melvig, and sparks flew as stubborn, egocentric wills clashed. ‘He’s the child of a demon, and he’s accursed. I’ll not touch the creature, so you may kill him if you want, Grandfather. I’ll not pine for him.’
‘Branwyn!’ Olwyn cried, aghast.
‘You’re unnatural, girl!’ Melvig snapped.
‘Unnatural? A demon in the guise of a beautiful young man crept into my room and raped me. He spoke a devilish language, so I cannot even tell you his name. I hate the creature as I hate the seed he planted in me. If I am unnatural, what does that make that . . . thing that my mother loves more than me?’
Mother, save us all, for Branwyn is demented and consumed with hatred. Olwyn’s thoughts were chaotic, but she was also appalled at her daughter’s callousness and icy control. The girl was a stranger who seemed to blame her mother for some betrayal that Olwyn would never understand.
‘A demon!’ Melvig pronounced scornfully. ‘I’m surprised they have the equipment to breed.’
‘More than sufficient, grandfather. The demon was cruel and determined to destroy me through his son. Doubt me if you will, but this child will bring bad luck to Segontium.’
Suddenly, Melvig laughed. ‘Your son has already done his best to kill me. He’s got a strong arm for a little one – and a bold eye. I could almost like the little bastard.’
‘He was trying to protect me, Father,’ Olwyn tried to explain, as she pleaded mutely with her daughter to provide some kind of aid. ‘Myrddion had no idea what he was doing. He’s only a baby, Father, and I swear there’s no evil in him.’
Her father chortled with amusement, and Branwyn smiled coldly from behind the back of her hand. The boy furrowed his brow and twisted in Olwyn’s arms so that he faced his accusers, and even Melvig felt the child’s wide, black eyes as they fixed themselves upon him. The infant’s gaze was so direct that the king felt that he had been thoroughly examined and found wanting in some essential element of his nature. As for Branwyn, the child’s gaze narrowed with dislike and something akin to contempt towards her, if a child of less than two years was capable of such complex emotions.
A cautious knock on a door across the colonnade warned them that the servant had returned with wine, ale and the small honey cakes that Melvig loved. Sensitive Plautenes read the unhappiness that lay behind his mistress’s full mouth and dark eyes, and hurried back to the kitchen as soon as he had set down his tray.
‘I heard raised voices, Crusus, and the mistress was on the verge of tears. I swear that the young mistress was almost gloating at her mother’s terror. Agh! She’s as cold as a witch’s tit, that Branwyn. We’d all be better off if she’d died in childbirth.’
Crusus clapped his hand over his lover’s mouth with a moue of horror. ‘For the sake of the gods, Plautenes! Have a care. The king is none too fond of either of us, and if he hears your opinions he’ll order you to be throttled. I only hope my pastries sooth his temper.’
Crusus was a gifted cook, so the sweet delicacies were quickly washed down Melvig’s maw with beakers of Olwyn’s best wine. He smacked his lips enthusiastically and even smiled at Myrddion when he thought no one was looking.
Once he had paced a little and drunk a few more glasses of wine, he came to his decision. It was a judicious ruling that pleased nobody else, but solved all his problems.
‘Well, Branwyn, I’ve decided that you are telling me the truth, so
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