The Silver Witch

At the sound of my voice several of Brynach’s men jump startled to their feet, or hurriedly drop their beakers of ale, attempting to make themselves appear worthy of the name guard. One draws his sword in a futile show of strength.

‘Save your blade for another day,’ I tell him. I sweep the room with an angry glare. ‘Had I been minded to harm the prince your actions would have come too late to stop me.’

Brynach stands, holding up his hand in a gesture that aims to both steady his men and calm me. ‘Peace, Seren Arianaidd. All is well. My men were rightly at their ease, for there is no danger near.’

‘There is ever danger near.’

At this, Rhodri rolls his eyes. ‘Alas, I fear our venerable Seer, for all her gifts, has not the art of relaxation, my prince.’

Wenna smiles. ‘But brother, it is her role, to warn us of the darkening skies that herald the thunder, of the departing geese that foretell famine, of the sickening mouse that speaks surely of broad disaster.’ She keeps her words gentle, but the mockery is plain for all to hear. That I failed to help her conceive a child of her own is not a matter she will forgive. That I have since provided her husband with a daughter is more than sufficient cause for her to loathe me forever.

Nesta laughs loudly, even though her mouth is stuffed with bread. Siōn joins in, his boyish sniggering and red cheeks making him appear younger and sillier than ever.

Hywel bangs his tankard on the table. ‘Page! My vessel is empty, and the prophet has been offered neither seat nor refreshment. See to it!’

There is a deal of scurrying as a chair is brought and a boy hastens to fetch victuals for me. I shake my head.

‘I have no need of rest or food.’

The Prince is watching me closely. ‘We are, as ever, honored by your presence, Seer, but I wonder what it is that has brought you here?’ he asks, the formal way he is bound to receive me clearly causing him discomfort.

Rhodri gives a bark of laughter. ‘’ Tis not for the pleasure of our company then?’

The women find this remark amusing. Siōn, evidently still too green to hold his ale well, is emboldened by his parent’s lack of respect for me.

‘Oh, father, I know! She has come to dance for us! A merry jig and a cheery song to brighten our day!’ He laughs at his own cleverness, hiccupping as he does so.

I refuse to be baited like a bear. With one flowing movement, I throw my cape back over my shoulder to reveal Tanwen. I lift her high, holding her up and turning slowly so that all in the room may see her. There is a collective gasp. Though her birth was not a secret, this is the first time my child has been seen by any besides myself and her father. She has known no more than two moons, and has still the purity of the newborn about her. I have dressed her in a simple muslin shift, so that her plump, pink arms and legs wriggle free, her paleness—my paleness—clear. Young as she is, she has a head of hair soft as thistledown and white as cotton-grass. Already her stout heart and singing soul are evident, for she is not afraid, but gazes about her with interest, happy and curious. There is a tension in the room now. All eyes are upon this tiny likeness of myself.

‘Bear witness to the coming of a new Prophet of Llyn Syfaddan! Behold Tanwen! Destined to one day hold the position of Shaman, Seer, Prophet. Born in the magical waters of the lake, carrying the ancient magic in her blood. Descendent of the revered witches of Llyn Syfaddan. Blessed by the Afanc herself. Daughter of our noble ruler, Prince Brynach!’

There is a louder gasp now. For all the rumors and tittle-tattle regarding my child’s parentage, to hear Brynach so boldly named as her father shocks them. Wenna’s expression tightens. Rhodri scowls, not so much as attempting to mask his displeasure. There are murmurings all around, and people shift and shuffle, the better to see this strange and wonderful child. I lower her and step forward until I am standing directly opposite the prince. We are separated by the worn wooden table, and by centuries of tradition that dictates a noble man must take a noble wife. I offer Tanwen to him.

‘Will you hold your child, my Prince?’