Medieval 01 - Untamed

without seeing any of it.
    â€œWould that we would be blessed now,” Gwyn whispered after a few moments. “But I fear that by the time a man is born who can wear the Glendruid Wolf, there will be nothing left to inherit but the wind.”
    â€œWhat is the Glendruid Wolf?” Meg asked, perplexed. “I’ve heard vassals whisper of it occasionally, but they fall silent when they realize I’m listening.”
    â€œâ€™Tis a pin. A pin that was old a thousand years ago.”
    â€œWhat does it look like?”
    â€œA wolf’s head cast in silver with eyes made of colorless gems so hard not even steel can scratch them,” Gwyn said. “The pin is the size of a man’s hand.”
    â€œYou never mentioned this to me before.”
    â€œThere was no purpose. There was nothing to be done.”
    â€œAnd now?” Meg asked.
    â€œChange comes. A wise woman hopes for the best and prepares for the worst.”
    â€œWhat is the worst?”
    â€œWar. Famine. Disease. Death.”
    Meg barely suppressed a shudder at hearing her worst fears spoken aloud by Old Gwyn.
    â€œAnd the best?” she whispered.
    â€œThat the man who wears the Glendruid Wolf will bring peace with him.”
    A thrill of hope coursed through Meg at thethought of a land no longer riven by strife. The feeling was not unlike what she had known while she watched Dominic handle the peregrine with such exquisite tenderness.
    â€œTell me everything you know about the pin,” Meg demanded.
    â€œâ€™Tis little enough.”
    â€œâ€™Tis better than nothing,” retorted Meg.
    Gwyn smiled slightly. The smile faded as she spoke.
    â€œThe Glendruid Wolf was worn by our headmen back to the dawn of memory. As long as it was worn, peace reigned and we prospered.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œA brother’s envy. A woman seduced. A love betrayed.”
    Grimly Meg smiled. “The story has a familiar sound to it.”
    â€œGlendruids are but human. The headman was slain from ambush. The pin was taken from his cloak.”
    Meg waited.
    Gwyn said nothing more.
    â€œWhat happened then?” Meg asked.
    â€œFrom that day forth, strife reigned. And from that day forth Glendruid women conceived few babes, for there was little of pleasure in their lives; and without pleasure, no Glendruid female will quicken with a man’s seed.”
    â€œDidn’t our people look for the talisman if it meant that much to them?”
    The old woman shrugged. “They searched. They found only their own greed. The pin was never seen again. ’Tis said it is hidden within one of the ancient mounds between here and the mountain, guarded by the ghost of the adulteress.”
    Meg had an odd sense that there was more to thestory. Yet even as she started to ask, she looked into the old Glendruid’s eyes and knew that no more would be said.
    â€œI wish that I had the pin in my hand right now,” Meg said finally.
    â€œDon’t wish that.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhether you gave the talisman now to Dominic le Sabre or Duncan of Maxwell, blood would run through Blackthorne’s meadows rather than clear water.”
    Meg made a low sound of distress. “I fear you’re right. My poor people. When the land is at war, nobles might win or lose, but the simple folk always lose.”
    â€œAye,” Gwyn whispered. “Always.”
    â€œWhy can’t men see that the land needs healing rather than more hurting?” Meg demanded.
    â€œThey aren’t Glendruid to understand the ways of water and growing things. They know only the ways of fire.”
    â€œJohn’s plan will be the ruin of Blackthorne Keep and its people,” Meg said. “If we sow blood instead of seed this spring, the survivors will live only long enough to die of famine in the next winter.”
    â€œAye. If King Henry doesn’t kill them first. If John follows his plan, the king and his great barons won’t leave one stone standing upon another in all of Blackthorne.”
    Meg closed her eyes. She had only until tomorrow to find a way to save the land and the people she loved more than she loved anything in her life.
    â€œWhat will you do, Meg?”
    She stared at Gwyn, wondering if the old woman had somehow seen into her mind.
    â€œWill you warn the Norman lord?” Gwyn asked.
    â€œTo what purpose? It would be kinder—andquicker—to slay Duncan