Stronghold

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

As dawn approached there was, for the first time that year, a feeling that winter at last had flown. Despite the chill, an apricot sky began to arch its way eastwards. Suddenly the trees were rookeries of twittering birds, their bare, twisting branches laden with buds and catkins, their roots resplendent as the first spring flowers poked through the drifts of rotted leaf.

High above Grogen's western bluff, in a circle of gnarled and ancient oaks, there was a wheel-headed cross, cut from granite and carved all over with intricate knotworks, which its coat of green lichen did little to conceal. This was where Gwyddon found Countess Madalyn. She was kneeling in silence before the ancient edifice, a veil over her hair, her joined hands wrapped with prayer beads. Gwyddon regarded her scornfully, before dismounting.

"We are ready to resume the assault, countess. This time I recommend that we press it night and day until the English are broken. Give them no respite at all."

She made no reply.

"Countess Madalyn…"

"I am praying, Gwyddon!" she hissed.

Gwyddon stood back respectfully. The countess's horse was tethered to one of the oaks' lower branches. A few feet above it, a pattern of curious notches scarred the side of the tree trunk, bulging and distorted as though thick layers of bark had overgrown some inscribed image. By the looks of it, it had once been a face. There were similar markings on the other trees.

When Countess Madalyn finally stood and removed her veil, Gwyddon was still waiting for her.

"Were you aware this place was once sacred to an older god?" he said. "You Christians supplanted him. As you did in so many of our other holy groves."

"On the contrary," she replied, looking pale and drawn. "We cleansed this place."

"Its air is certainly sweeter than the air down in the valley."

Countess Madalyn grimaced. "The stench down there is unbearable. I couldn't tolerate it any longer."

"Sadly, it's a price we must pay."

"And what other price must we pay, Gwyddon?" She didn't even look at him as she untied her horse.

"Countess, I understand your concerns, but answer me this: would you have your Welsh countrymen die in droves? Because that is the alternative, I fear. Had we attacked Grogen Castle with an army of the living, ten thousand of us, maybe more, would now lie slain."

The countess didn't mount her beast but stood against it, her head bowed. She appeared weary, almost tearful. Her right hand clutched the bridle so tightly that its tendons showed through her white silk glove.

"I see you don't dispute that fact, at least," he said.

"Gwyddon!" She rounded on him, but more with desperation than anger. "This thing you — we — have done is an abhorrence in the eyes of God!"

"In what way, madam? Our soldiers know no terror as they are sent to battle. They feel no pain when they are cut down. For all we know, their spirits are already in God's hands. We are merely making use of their remains."

"And in the long-term, Gwyddon, what do we plan to do with those remains?"

Gwyddon had not been prepared for this question.

"The young English knight was right, was he not?" she said. "This army of ours will simply rot. Soon it will be nought but clacking bones. And what then? We make more, as you threatened? Is that your plan? How many more, Gwyddon?"

"These husks are a matter of convenience, countess. When we no longer have need of them, we will dispense with them."

"Will we? And will we then compose our armies of living men — those who do feel terror, those who do feel pain?" She gave a wintry smile. "I see your concern for human suffering is also a matter of convenience."

"And do you think Earl Corotocus would have any of these qualms?"

"Earl Corotocus is one man, Gwyddon." She became thoughtful. "That young knight said there are strong feelings against him."

"And at the same time, that young knight's accomplices destroyed the very weapon with which we were stripping their battlements of armour. Clearly, that was his real objective."

"He could have killed us both. Would that not have been a more useful objective for him?"

"Even if he spoke the truth, the chances are that he's dead. Only a couple of them, at the most, made it back into the castle."

"Nevertheless…" She climbed into her saddle. "We need to speak with them."

"Earl Corotocus will never negotiate unless it's from a position of strength. And King Edward is exactly the same. This is why ruthless individuals like them will always succeed… and why radical means are needed to stop them."

The countess wheeled her horse around. "We've already stopped them. Earl Corotocus and his army can't wreak any more damage. They are trapped."

"As is your daughter, madam."

The countess paused to think. "Would it serve their purpose to harm her now? They know what their fate will be if they do. My decision is made, Gwyddon. We will maintain the siege, but there will be no further attacks unless the English provoke them. In the meantime, I will send messages to King Edward."

"Who even now is entering Wales from the north."

"All the better." She made to ride away. "Let him see our power first-hand."

"And what if he likes what he sees, and tries to claim it for his own?"

She reined her horse, gazing down at him.

Gwyddon shrugged. "Edward Longshanks is a crafty tactician. He has no truck with honourable warfare. As far as he is concerned, victory is all. When he sees what we have done here, he is more likely to be inspired than frightened."

"What exactly are you saying?"

Gwyddon climbed onto his horse. "I'm saying that if King Edward felt you were pliable, he would certainly sit at the negotiating table, especially with such a prize as the Cauldron of Regeneration to be won."

"You think me a fool, Gwyddon? I would never bargain away the Cauldron. In any case, it would be no use to the English without your arcane knowledge. Unless…" She looked slowly round at him again. "Unless that also is available to be won? Would you share your knowledge, Gwyddon? With the English?"

"Under torture, madam, a man may share anything."

"Ohhh, I see." She regarded him with new understanding. Her wintry smile had returned. "So Wales and the Welsh are also a matter of convenience to you?"

"Wales and the Welsh are my future, madam. As they are yours. Thus, I feel we must destroy the invaders utterly. That is the only kind of message King Edward will understand. We proceed with the assault, yes?"

He posed it as a question, though it was clearly more of a statement. As such, Countess Madalyn made no answer.

"One more thing, madam," Gwyddon said, as he turned his horse around. "If it suits you, you may remain here where the air is fresh and the grass green rather than red. After all, there is no longer any reason for you to witness these terrible events. You made your appearance on the first day, as required. Your part in this affair has been played."

He spurred his horse away, leaving Countess Madalyn alone in the grove of mottled oaks.