The Silver Witch

I step closer so that only a hand’s span separates our faces when I speak. The guard’s eyes waver but they are locked in my gaze. There is nowhere for him to hide.

‘Tell him the Mercian Queen broke her word. Tell him to call his men to arms. Tell him death is coming to Lake Syfaddan, riding on swift horses. Tell him it is come!’

He hesitates, for he cannot sense what I sense, cannot feel what I feel. He glances at his fellow soldier and sees fear there. This decides him.

‘Wait here,’ he tells me, hurrying inside.

I hear voices, footsteps, weapons being taken up, and the prince appears, his expression grave. He knows better than to doubt me.

‘How long?’ he asks me. ‘How long before they are upon us?’

Now that my prince stands before me, my heart aches to think of what lies ahead. Although I cannot accept the thought, cannot allow myself to truly believe it, I know that I have foreseen his annihilation. What words can I offer now? What purpose do I serve if I have failed to shield him from this moment?

He sees what is written in my eyes and need not question me further. He shouts orders to his men, sending them to man the palisades, to rouse each and every one able to wield a sword or loose an arrow. He sends two scouts to ride to the top of the pass and keep watch. He orders the walkway to be chopped, cut asunder.

The door opens again and Wenna steps out, alarmed by the shouts and the seriousness with which her husband issues his orders.

Turning to me, Brynach clutches my arm. ‘Seren, take the babe, leave the crannog. Go deep into the woods and hide yourselves there.’

‘But, my prince…!’

‘I will hear no argument! This is not the moment to defy me.’ He closes his eyes briefly, snatching up my hand. When he looks at me again I see the sparkle of tears. ‘Take our child. Keep her safe. For me. And Seren—’ he pauses, glancing at his wife before letting go of my hand—, ‘take Princess Wenna with you.’ When I gasp he says softly, ‘She is in your care, and you in hers now. Do this for me.’

I nod. I do not trust myself to speak, for my heart is breaking. Brynach kisses Tanwen’s pink cheek and then turns and strides away, doing what a prince must do, even when he knows all is lost.

The three of us leave the crannog, as behind us men take axes to the wooden boards. In seconds the link to the shore is gone. Brynach and his men remain on the island, the villagers huddled in the hall, ready to face what is to come. For so long such a tactic has proved effective. Warring parties, opportunist bandits, even roving Vikings have been deflected and defeated in this way. But I know that this time will be different. The force that even now thunders into the neck of the valley is too great. This time the defenses will not hold. I know this, as does my prince.

‘Come!’ I bark at Wenna, holding Tanwen close. We set off at a run, but before we have reached the flimsy safety of the woods the earth shakes and we hear the battle cry of our foes as they descend upon the settlement. We keep running. We are nearly to the trees when Wenna stumbles and falls. Looking back I can see she has landed awkwardly, her ankle damaged. She cries out as she struggles to get up. My instinct is to run on, to leave her, to get my child away. But I cannot. I hurry back, and as I help her to her feet we both witness the terrible onslaught of the Mercian warriors. My vision did not lie. The forces sent are more than Brynach will ever have faced before; the odds are impossible for him to overcome. The crannog is soon under a ferocious attack, with the Mercians using flaming arrows to strike at the settlement. I can see our people running to fetch water to dowse the flames, and being cut down by yet more arrows as they do so. I see Brynach leading his brave men. My soul screams out for him, for he can do no more than lead them each to a warrior’s death.

As we watch, Wenna cries out, pointing to a small group of riders who have detached themselves from the main body of soldiers and are moving in our direction. I haul her to her feet and we make our unsteady progress toward the shelter of the woodland. Tanwen, unnerved by such torment and destruction all about her, begins to cry pitifully, but there is no time to stop and comfort my poor infant. Even as we blunder on, it is clear we have no chance of hiding before the riders are upon us. I push Wenna behind a blackthorn tree, making her climb in beneath its low branches, its barbed boughs a strong defense. I pass her Tanwen.