The Silver Witch

There is a spontaneous cheer, born not so much of joyous respect, but of relief for the explanation for the prince’s curious behavior toward me. He lets go my hand and moves on. The princess never for one second loses her composure, though still she manages to treat me to a glance colder than the winter’s day outside. Nesta glares at me as she passes, which makes me smile, much to her annoyance. As they take their seats, Rhodri whispers something in his sister’s ear, whilst not taking his eyes from my face. I swear if that man were sliced with a blade he would not bleed blood, but ooze bile.

And so the drinking and feasting and dancing get under way. I am given a seat at the end of the high table, elevated, yet separate, so at least this convention is upheld. There is ale aplenty, and soon tongues, belts and minds alike are loosened, so that raucous laughter and loudly recounted tales compete with the singing of the minstrels and the determined playing of the musicians to fill the smoky space. The drums, whistles and pipes struggle to make themselves heard. The food is very fine, and I confess, despite my resistance to such organized jollity, I enjoy my expertly seasoned meat and light, crusty bread. I take some ale, but only a little. I have no wish to lose my wits in such company.

After almost two hours of merriment, when some of the smaller children have fallen asleep with their full bellies, curled up on straw in the corner of the hall, the adults take to dancing. The maids are painfully aware of themselves, torn between their shyness and their desire to make an impact on a possible husband. The young men are equally awkward, but some bolder than others, forgetting how unmanly they might look trotting about to a tune if it means they can woo the girl of their choice. Wives and husbands make the most of a rare chance to enjoy each other without the worry of children or work. The prince dances with the princess, the pair a picture of restrained and courtly elegance. No one dares ask me to dance, and I am glad of that. Another hour passes in this manner. Some of the frailer adults join the infants in belching slumber. Gradually the order of the assembly crumbles so that all mix and talk and joke together, regardless of rank or age. Indeed, I’d wager some are so much in the thrall of the ale they do not know who it is they speak to. In the midst of this muddle, I become aware of a presence by my side and find Prince Brynach has come to stand beside me. A glance tells me Wenna is at the far end of the room, being given instruction on the playing of a lyre. Nesta remains in her seat, watching me.

‘Seren Arianaidd.’ He keeps his voice low in an effort to maintain some privacy, but in truth there is too much rowdiness, too much commotion all around us, for anyone to hear our conversation.

‘My Prince.’

‘You are enjoying the feast, I hope?’

‘The food was excellent. The musicians are tolerable. The dancing has provided me no small measure of amusement.’

‘Wait until Hywel takes to the floor.’ He smiles. ‘He dances like nothing on God’s earth.’

‘I cannot agree. I have seen him dance before. I was put in mind of a bear I once saw goaded into a jig at Brecon horse fair.’

‘And did this bear sing also?’

‘Great heavens, spare us Hywel Gruffydd in song.’

‘I do not have your gift of foresight, my Prophet, but I foretell Hywel in fine voice before the night is out.’ He falls silent, then asks, ‘Are you not pleased? I listened to your words, I acted upon them. I have seen to it the vipers of your vision will not prosper here.’

‘You let the vipers live.’

‘Their slaughter would have come at the price of many good men, and they are slippery creatures. I could not be certain I would slay them all. Better this way, I believe.’

‘The slipperiest creature here is a member of your wife’s family.’

‘Still you persist in attacking my wife!’

‘The pact with the Mercian Queen was her brother’s idea, was it not?’

‘An idea that has spared many men and secured the future of the crannog and the village.’

‘So you trust.’

‘I do. I gave my word, and I have that of the Queen of Mercia. Do you not trust me to govern? Do you not consider me capable of my princely duty?’

‘You I know. You I trust. Beyond that, I sleep with my blade at my hip.’

He takes in my words and thinks on them for a moment before speaking. ‘That you trust me humbles me, Seren. For when I am in your presence I do not trust myself.’

I look directly at him now and the fierceness of his gaze, the unmasked longing in it, quickens my blood. He lifts a hand as if to touch me again.

‘My Prince, you must not…’ I am aghast to feel a tightening in my chest at the thought of his touch.