that. But one thing is
certain. Cuhelyn will be watching every moment his mirror image brushes sleeves
with Bledri ap Rhys, and marking every word that passes between them, and every
glance. For I think he knows somewhat more of Cadwaladr’s chosen envoy than he
has yet told us.”
At
supper in Owain’s hall there was good food and plenteous mead and ale, and harp
music of the best. Hywel ab Owain sang, improvising upon the beauty of Gwynedd
and the splendour of her history, and Cadfael’s recalcitrant heart shed its
habit for a half-hour, and followed the verses far into the mountains inland of
Aber, and across the pale mirror of Lavan Sands to the royal burial-place of
Llanfaes on Anglesey. In youth his adventurings had all looked eastward, now in
his elder years eyes and heart turned westward. All heavens, all sanctuaries of
the blessed lie to westward, in every legend and every imagination, at least
for men of Celtic stock; a suitable meditation for old men. Yet here in the
royal llys of Gwynedd Cadfael did not feel old.
Nor
did it seem that his senses were in the least dulled or blunted, even as he
rejoiced in his dreams, for he was sharp enough to detect the moment when
Bledri ap Rhys slid an arm about Heledd’s waist as she served him with mead.
Nor did he miss the icy rigidity of Canon Meirion’s face at the sight, or the
deliberation with which Heledd, well aware of the same maledictory stare, forbore
from freeing herself immediately, and said a smiling word in Bledri’s ear,
which might as well have been a curse as a compliment, though there was no
doubt how her father interpreted it. Well, if the girl was playing with fire,
whose fault was that? She had lived with her sire many loyal, loving years, he
should have known her better, well enough to trust her. For Bledri ap Rhys she
had no use at all but to take out her grievance on the father who was in such
haste to get rid of her.
Nor
did it appear, on reflection, that Bledri ap Rhys was seriously interested in
Heledd. He made the gesture of admiration and courtship almost absentmindedly,
as though by custom it was expected of him, and though he accompanied it with a
smiling compliment, he let her go the moment she drew away, and his gaze went
back to a certain young man sitting among the noblemen of the guard at a lower
table. Gwion, the last obstinate hostage, who would not forswear his absolute
fealty to Cadwaladr, sat silent among his peers, and enemies, some of whom,
like Cuhelyn, had become his friends. Throughout the feast he kept his own
counsel, and guarded his thoughts, and even his eyes. But whenever he looked up
at the high table, it was upon Bledri ap Rhys that his glance rested, and twice
at least Cadfael saw them exchange a brief and brilliant stare, such as allies
might venture to convey worlds of meaning where open speech was impossible.
Those
two will somehow get together in private, Cadfael thought, before this night is
out. And for what purpose? It is not Bledri who so passionately seeks a
meeting, though he has been at liberty and is suspect of having some secret
matter to impart. No, it is Gwion who wants, demands, relies upon reaching
Bledri’s ear. It is Gwion who has some deep and urgent purpose that needs an
ally to reach fulfilment. Gwion who has given his word not to leave Owain’s
easy captivity. As Bledri ap Rhys has not done.
Well,
Cuhelyn had vouched for Gwion’s good faith, and pledged a constant watch upon
Bledri. But it seemed to Cadfael that the llys was large enough and complex
enough to provide him with a difficult watch, if those two were resolved to
elude him.
The
lady had remained with her children in private, and had not dined in hall, and
the prince also withdrew to his own apartments early, having been some days
absent from his family. He took his most beloved son with him, and left Hywel
to preside until his guests chose to retire. With every man
certain. Cuhelyn will be watching every moment his mirror image brushes sleeves
with Bledri ap Rhys, and marking every word that passes between them, and every
glance. For I think he knows somewhat more of Cadwaladr’s chosen envoy than he
has yet told us.”
At
supper in Owain’s hall there was good food and plenteous mead and ale, and harp
music of the best. Hywel ab Owain sang, improvising upon the beauty of Gwynedd
and the splendour of her history, and Cadfael’s recalcitrant heart shed its
habit for a half-hour, and followed the verses far into the mountains inland of
Aber, and across the pale mirror of Lavan Sands to the royal burial-place of
Llanfaes on Anglesey. In youth his adventurings had all looked eastward, now in
his elder years eyes and heart turned westward. All heavens, all sanctuaries of
the blessed lie to westward, in every legend and every imagination, at least
for men of Celtic stock; a suitable meditation for old men. Yet here in the
royal llys of Gwynedd Cadfael did not feel old.
Nor
did it seem that his senses were in the least dulled or blunted, even as he
rejoiced in his dreams, for he was sharp enough to detect the moment when
Bledri ap Rhys slid an arm about Heledd’s waist as she served him with mead.
Nor did he miss the icy rigidity of Canon Meirion’s face at the sight, or the
deliberation with which Heledd, well aware of the same maledictory stare, forbore
from freeing herself immediately, and said a smiling word in Bledri’s ear,
which might as well have been a curse as a compliment, though there was no
doubt how her father interpreted it. Well, if the girl was playing with fire,
whose fault was that? She had lived with her sire many loyal, loving years, he
should have known her better, well enough to trust her. For Bledri ap Rhys she
had no use at all but to take out her grievance on the father who was in such
haste to get rid of her.
Nor
did it appear, on reflection, that Bledri ap Rhys was seriously interested in
Heledd. He made the gesture of admiration and courtship almost absentmindedly,
as though by custom it was expected of him, and though he accompanied it with a
smiling compliment, he let her go the moment she drew away, and his gaze went
back to a certain young man sitting among the noblemen of the guard at a lower
table. Gwion, the last obstinate hostage, who would not forswear his absolute
fealty to Cadwaladr, sat silent among his peers, and enemies, some of whom,
like Cuhelyn, had become his friends. Throughout the feast he kept his own
counsel, and guarded his thoughts, and even his eyes. But whenever he looked up
at the high table, it was upon Bledri ap Rhys that his glance rested, and twice
at least Cadfael saw them exchange a brief and brilliant stare, such as allies
might venture to convey worlds of meaning where open speech was impossible.
Those
two will somehow get together in private, Cadfael thought, before this night is
out. And for what purpose? It is not Bledri who so passionately seeks a
meeting, though he has been at liberty and is suspect of having some secret
matter to impart. No, it is Gwion who wants, demands, relies upon reaching
Bledri’s ear. It is Gwion who has some deep and urgent purpose that needs an
ally to reach fulfilment. Gwion who has given his word not to leave Owain’s
easy captivity. As Bledri ap Rhys has not done.
Well,
Cuhelyn had vouched for Gwion’s good faith, and pledged a constant watch upon
Bledri. But it seemed to Cadfael that the llys was large enough and complex
enough to provide him with a difficult watch, if those two were resolved to
elude him.
The
lady had remained with her children in private, and had not dined in hall, and
the prince also withdrew to his own apartments early, having been some days
absent from his family. He took his most beloved son with him, and left Hywel
to preside until his guests chose to retire. With every man
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