I will ensure that your tale of inhuman rapine is spread where it should be known. We shall let the world believe that the bastard is the child of a demon – for so you have sworn. Therefore, as you are soiled but guiltless in this matter, I will find you a suitable husband before the summer. You will accede to my wishes or face death, do you understand?’
Branwyn’s face was wiped clean of any triumph or mirth she might have felt when her grandfather sanctioned her story of a demon rapist. Her expression became blank and formless, as if her personality had been leached away by the thought of her impending marriage. Melvig saw her lips begin to shape a refusal and beat her into speech.
‘You will deny me at your peril. Never believe that I’ll have you killed, for I’ll not punish you so lightly for disobedience. How would you fancy a lifetime of imprisonment? Or, better yet, perhaps I’ll banish you with only the clothes on your back. Rape by a demon will seem kindly by comparison with life as a friendless, poverty-stricken female.’
Olwyn’s eyes pleaded with her daughter to be silent. Branwyn dropped her mutinous gaze and bowed low.
‘As for you, daughter, I am hurt by your subterfuge. As a widow, you’ve lived your life pleasantly and wilfully, but those days are over. I’ll present you with a choice of suitable husbands in recognition of your blameless life in the past, but you will marry again, whether you like my choices or not.’
Wisely, Olwyn bit her lip and said nothing. She cuddled Myrddion closely and the tired child, who had begun to suck his thumb in distress, wound his small arms around her neck.
‘As for the bastard, he may live . . . but only because he shows courage, which amuses me in a young man. Let all men and women in this villa know his ancestry, so they will be alert to any threat directed towards the souls of the pious. If he should grow to be wild, wilful or wicked, then he will be put to death for the safety of the people. Now! Where’s your cook?’
As Melvig ambled off to terrify the kitchen servants, Olwyn sobbed into Myrddion’s shoulder. The child smelled sweet and fresh, like cut grass after evening rain, with a hint of warmed milk. She breathed him in as if she could hide him in her ageing womb for safety, while Branwyn echoed her cry of pain.
‘Oh, Branwyn,’ Olwyn wept. ‘It won’t be so very bad, my dear. My father can be stern and ruthless, but he’s not cruel. He’ll find you a man who’ll treat you well, and perhaps you’ll come to like him a little, given time. I had never met your father when we wed, but I found that he was gentle and understanding. I couldn’t help but love him so much that, even now, the thought of marrying another man makes me very sad.’
Branwyn’s head swung up. Her eyes were venomous, and Olwyn flinched away from the obvious dislike her daughter cast at her in that glance.
‘I’m not you, Mother. I will marry no man!’
‘You’ll have no choice,’ Olwyn sighed. ‘Why are you so angry with me?’
‘Where were you when I needed you?’ Branwyn began in a quiet, relentless voice that gradually rose in volume and passion. ‘Did you notice that I was upset after the demon raped me? No! And why did you take me to Aunt Fillagh’s house? To save yourself from Grandfather’s anger. Then you champion that twisted product of the demon – that thing! That hateful creature! You love it! You care more about it than you do about me. I hope it kills you, the way it has murdered me.’
Olwyn could only stare mutely at her daughter. She had never understood Branwyn, but she loved her with a depth of feeling that was almost blind. Almost. As she gazed into the handsome, twisted face of her daughter, she was struck by how little she liked Branwyn under the layer of love she felt.
Let her go, Olwyn thought as she hugged Myrddion close to her. She knew she had irretrievably lost her daughter, but the goddess had given her a second
Branwyn’s face was wiped clean of any triumph or mirth she might have felt when her grandfather sanctioned her story of a demon rapist. Her expression became blank and formless, as if her personality had been leached away by the thought of her impending marriage. Melvig saw her lips begin to shape a refusal and beat her into speech.
‘You will deny me at your peril. Never believe that I’ll have you killed, for I’ll not punish you so lightly for disobedience. How would you fancy a lifetime of imprisonment? Or, better yet, perhaps I’ll banish you with only the clothes on your back. Rape by a demon will seem kindly by comparison with life as a friendless, poverty-stricken female.’
Olwyn’s eyes pleaded with her daughter to be silent. Branwyn dropped her mutinous gaze and bowed low.
‘As for you, daughter, I am hurt by your subterfuge. As a widow, you’ve lived your life pleasantly and wilfully, but those days are over. I’ll present you with a choice of suitable husbands in recognition of your blameless life in the past, but you will marry again, whether you like my choices or not.’
Wisely, Olwyn bit her lip and said nothing. She cuddled Myrddion closely and the tired child, who had begun to suck his thumb in distress, wound his small arms around her neck.
‘As for the bastard, he may live . . . but only because he shows courage, which amuses me in a young man. Let all men and women in this villa know his ancestry, so they will be alert to any threat directed towards the souls of the pious. If he should grow to be wild, wilful or wicked, then he will be put to death for the safety of the people. Now! Where’s your cook?’
As Melvig ambled off to terrify the kitchen servants, Olwyn sobbed into Myrddion’s shoulder. The child smelled sweet and fresh, like cut grass after evening rain, with a hint of warmed milk. She breathed him in as if she could hide him in her ageing womb for safety, while Branwyn echoed her cry of pain.
‘Oh, Branwyn,’ Olwyn wept. ‘It won’t be so very bad, my dear. My father can be stern and ruthless, but he’s not cruel. He’ll find you a man who’ll treat you well, and perhaps you’ll come to like him a little, given time. I had never met your father when we wed, but I found that he was gentle and understanding. I couldn’t help but love him so much that, even now, the thought of marrying another man makes me very sad.’
Branwyn’s head swung up. Her eyes were venomous, and Olwyn flinched away from the obvious dislike her daughter cast at her in that glance.
‘I’m not you, Mother. I will marry no man!’
‘You’ll have no choice,’ Olwyn sighed. ‘Why are you so angry with me?’
‘Where were you when I needed you?’ Branwyn began in a quiet, relentless voice that gradually rose in volume and passion. ‘Did you notice that I was upset after the demon raped me? No! And why did you take me to Aunt Fillagh’s house? To save yourself from Grandfather’s anger. Then you champion that twisted product of the demon – that thing! That hateful creature! You love it! You care more about it than you do about me. I hope it kills you, the way it has murdered me.’
Olwyn could only stare mutely at her daughter. She had never understood Branwyn, but she loved her with a depth of feeling that was almost blind. Almost. As she gazed into the handsome, twisted face of her daughter, she was struck by how little she liked Branwyn under the layer of love she felt.
Let her go, Olwyn thought as she hugged Myrddion close to her. She knew she had irretrievably lost her daughter, but the goddess had given her a second
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