Brother Cadfael 18: The Summer of the Danes

with a man of Anglesey in Owain's service.
    "You are that Ieuan ab Ifor," he said, "who was to marry the canon's daughter."
    "I am that same," said Ieuan, bending thick black brows at him. "And who are you, who know my name and what I'm doing here? I have not seen you among the prince's liegemen until now."
    "For reason enough. I am not his liegeman. I am Gwion, the last of the hostages he brought from Ceredigion. My allegiance was and is to Cadwaladr," said Gwion starkly, and watched the slow fire kindle and glow in the sharp eyes that watched him. "For good or ill, I am his man, but I would far rather it should be for good."
    "It is his doing," said Ieuan, smouldering, "that Meirion's daughter is left captive among these sea-pirates. Such good as ever came from him you may measure within the cup of an acorn, and like an acorn feed it to the pigs. He brings barbarian raiders into Gwynedd, and then goes back on his bargain, and takes to his heels into safety, leaving innocent hostages to bear the brunt of Otir's rage. He has been as dire a curse to his own best kin as he was to Anarawd, whom he had done to death."
    "Take heed not to go too far in his dispraise," said Gwion, but in weariness and grief rather than indignation, "for I may not hear him miscalled."
    "Oh, be easy! God knows I cannot hold it against any man that he stands by his prince, but God send you a better prince to stand by. You may forgive him all, no matter how he shames you, but do not ask me to forgive him for abandoning my bride to whatever fate the Danes keep for her."
    "The prince has declared her in his protection," said Gwion, "as I have heard only an hour ago. He has offered fair ransom for her and for the two monks who came from England, and warned to the value he sets on her safe-keeping."
    "The prince is here," said Ieuan grimly, "and she is there, and they have lost their grip on the one they would liefer have in hold. Other captives may find themselves serving in his place."
    "No," said Gwion, "you mistake. Whatever rancour you may have against him, be content! This past night they have sent a ship into the bay, and put men ashore to break their way into the camp to his tent. They have taken Cadwaladr prisoner back with them, to pay his own ransom or suffer his own fate. No need for another victim, they have the chosen one fast in their hands."
    Ieuan's rough brows, the most expressive thing about him, knotted abruptly into a ruled line of suspicion and disbelief, and then, confronted by Gwion's unwavering gaze, released their black tension into open bewilderment and wonder.
    "You are deceived, that cannot be..."
    "It is truth."
    "How do you know it? Who has told you?"
    "There was no need for any man to tell me," said Gwion. "I was there with him when they came. I saw it. Four of Otir's Danes burst in by night. Him they took, me they left bound and muted, as they had left the guard who kept the gate. Here I have still the grazes of the cords with which they tied me. See!"
    They had scored his wrist deep in his efforts to break free; there was no mistaking rope-burns. Ieuan beheld them with a long, silent stare, assessing and accepting.
    "So that is why you said to me: "You, too?" Now I know without asking what stake you have over there among the Danes. Hold me excused if I say plainly that your grief is no grief to me. What may fall upon him he has brought down on his own head. But what has my girl done to deserve the peril in which he left her? If his capture delivers her, I am right glad of it."
    Since there was no arguing with that, Gwion was silent.
    "If I had but a dozen of my own mind," Ieuan pursued, rather to himself than to any other, "I would bring her off myself, against every Dane Dublin can ship over into Gwynedd. She is mine, and I will have her."
    "And you have not even seen her yet," said Gwion, shaken by the sudden convulsion of passion in a man so contained and still.
    "Ah, but I have seen her. I have been within a stone-throw of their stockade undetected, and can do as much again. I saw her within there, on a crest of the dunes, looking south, looking for the deliverance no one sends her. She is more than they told me. As lissome and bright as steel, and moves like a fawn. I would venture for her alone, but that I dread to be her death before ever I could break through to her."
    "I would as much for my lord," said Gwion, grown quiet and intent, for this bold and fervent lover had started a vein of hope within him.