It was touching, perfectly said, but Galrion knew that Gerraent was lying, that all those fine words were cruel, deadly poisoned lies. The dweomer was making him tremble and choke. He bit his guard in the hand, but all he got for his effort was a blow on the head that made the world dance.
Youre wrong, Gerro! Brangwen struggled like a wild creature. I know youre wrong. I want to go with him.
Right or wrong, Im the Falcon now, and youre not disobeying me.
Brangwen made one last wrench, but he was too strong for her. As he dragged her away bodily, she wept, sobbing hysterically and helplessly as Gerraent shoved her into her tent. Adoryc motioned to the guards to let Galrion go.
Get this Nevyn out of my sight forever. The King handed Galrion his dagger. Heres the one weapon allowed to a banished man. You must have a horse, or you wouldnt be here. He took the pouch at his side and drew out a coin. And heres the silver of a banished man. He pressed the coin into Galrions hand.
Galrion glanced at it, then flung it into his fathers face.
Id rather starve.
As the guards fell back in front of him, Galrion strode out of the camp. At the top of the rise he turned for a last look at Brangwens tent. Then he broke into a run, crashing through the underbrush, running across the road, and tripping at last to fall on his knees near the bay gelding. He wept, but for Brangwens sake, not his own.
II
The womens hall was sunny, and through the windows, Brangwen could see apple trees, so white with perfumed blossoms that it seemed clouds were caught in the branches. Nearby, Rodda and Ysolla were talking as they worked at their sewing, but Brangwen let her work lie in her lap. She wanted to weep, but it was so tedious to weep all the time. She prayed that Prince Galrion might be well and wondered where he was riding on his lonely road of exile.
Gwennie? Lady Rodda said. Shall we walk in the meadows this afternoon?
If you wish, my lady.
Well, if youd rather, Gwennie, Ysolla put in, we could go riding.
Whatever you want.
Here, child, Rodda said. Truly, its time you got over this brooding. Your brother did what was best for you.
If my lady says so.
It would have been ghastly, Ysolla broke in. Riding behind a banished man? How can you even think of it! Its the shame. No one would even take you in.
It would have been their loss, not ours.
Rodda sighed and ran her needle into her embroidery.
And what about when he got you with child?
Galrion never would have let our child starve. You dont understand. I should have gone with him. It would have been all right. I just know it would have been.
Now, Gwennie, lamb, youre just not thinking clearly, Rodda said.
As clearly as I need to, Brangwen snapped. Oh! My pardons, my lady. But you dont understand. I know I should have gone.
Both her friends stared, eyes narrow in honest concern. They think Im daft, Brangwen thought, and maybe I am, but I know it!
Well, there are a lot of men in the kingdom, Ysolla said, in an obvious attempt to be helpful. Ill wager you wont have any trouble getting another one. Ill wager hell be better than Galrion, too. He must have done something awful to get himself exiled.
At court a man has to do very little to get himself out of favor, Rodda said. There are plenty of others to do it for him. Now, here, lamb, I wont have Galrion spoken ill of in my hall. He may have failed, but truly, Gwennie, he tried to spare you this. He let me know that he saw trouble coming, and he was hoping hed have time to release you from the betrothal before the blow fell. She shook her head sadly. The King is a very stubborn man.
I cant believe that, Brangwen snapped. He never would have cast me off to my shame. I know he loves me. I dont care what you say.
Of course he loved you, child, Rodda said patiently. Thats what Ive just been saying. He wanted to release you in such a way as to spare you the slightest hint of shame. When he failed, he planned to take you with him.
If it werent for Gerro, Brangwen said.
Rodda and Ysolla glanced at each other, their eyes meeting in silent conference. This argument had come full circle again, in its tediously predictable way. Brangwen looked out the window at the apple trees and wondered why everything in life seemed tedious.
Brangwen and Gerraent were visiting at the Boars dun for a few days, and Brangwen knew that Gerraent had arranged the visit for her sake. That night at dinner, she watched her brother as he sat across the table and shared a trencher with Ysolla. He still has his betrothed, Brangwen thought bitterly. It would have been a wonderful release to hate him, but she knew that he had done only what he thought best for her, whether it truly was best or not. Her beloved brother. While their parents and uncles always doted on Gerraent, the precious son and heir, they had mostly ignored Brangwen, the unnecessary daughter. Gerraent himself, however, had loved her, played with her, helped care for her and led her round with him in a way that was surprising for a lad. She remembered him explaining how to straighten an arrow or build a toy dun with stones, and he was always dragging her out of dangeraway from a fierce dog, away from the rivers edge, and now, away from a man he considered unworthy of her.
All through the meal, Gerraent would sometimes look up, catch her looking at him, and give her a timid smile. Eventually Brangwen could no longer bear the crowded hall and made her escape into the cool twilight of Roddas garden. Red as drops of blood, the roses bloomed thickly. She picked one, cradled it in her hand, and remembered Galrion telling her that she was his one true rose.
My lady? Are you distressed about somewhat?
It was Blaen, hurrying across the garden. Brangwen knew perfectly well that he was in love with her. Every soft look, every longing smile that he gave her stabbed her like a knife.
How can I not be distressed, my lord?
Well, true spoken. But every dark time comes to an end.
My lord, I doubt if the dark will ever end for me.
Oh, here, things are never as bad as all that.
As shy as a young lad, Blaen smiled at her. Brangwen wondered why she was even bothering to fight. Sooner or later, Gerraent would hand her over to his blood-sworn friend whether she wanted to marry him or not.
My lord is very kind. I hardly know what I say these days.
Blaen picked another rose and held it out. Rather than be rude, Brangwen took it.
Let me be blunt, my lady, Blaen said. You must know that my heart aches to marry you, but I understand what you say about your dark time. Will you think of me this time next year, when these roses are blooming again? Thats all I ask of you.
I will, then, if we both live.
Blaen looked up sharply, caught by her words, even though it was only an empty phrase, a pious acknowledgment that the gods are stronger than men. As Brangwen groped for something to say to dispel the chill round them, Gerraent came out into the garden.
Making sure that Im treating your sister honorably? Blaen said with a grin.
Oh, Ive no doubt youd always be honorable. I was just wondering what happened to Gwennie.
Gerraent escorted her back to the womens hall. Since Rodda and Ysolla were still at table, Brangwen allowed him to come in with her. He perched uneasily on the edge of the open window while a servant lit the candles in the sconces with a taper. After the servant left, they were alone, face to face with each other in the silent room. Restlessly Brangwen turned away and saw a moth fluttering dangerously close to a candle flame. She caught it softly in cupped hands and set it free at the window.
Youve got the softest heart in the world, Gerraent said.
Well, the poor things are too stupid to know better. Gerraent caught both her hands in his.
Gwennie, do you hate me?
I could never hate you, Never.
For a moment Brangwen thought that he would weep.
I know that marriage means everything to a lass. But well find you a better man than an exile. Has Blaen declared himself to you?
He has, but please, I cant bear thinking of marrying anyone right now.
Gwennie, Ill make you a solemn promise. Head of our clan or not, Ill never make you marry until you truly want to.
Brangwen threw her arms around his neck and wept against his shoulder. As he stroked her hair, she felt him trembling against her.
Take me home, Gerro. Please, I want to go home.
Well, then, thats what well do.
Yet once they were back in the Falcon dun, Brangwen bitterly regretted leaving Rodda and Ysollas company. Everything she saw at home reminded her either of her father or her prince, both irrevocably gone. Up in her bed-chamber, she had a wooden box filled with courting gifts from Galrionbrooches, rings, and a silver goblet with her name inscribed on it. He would have had his name put next to hers once they were married. Although she couldnt read, Brangwen would at times take out the goblet and weep as she traced the writing with her fingertip.
The dailiness of her life eventually drew her back from her despair. Brangwen had the servants to supervise, the chamberlain to consult, the household spinning and sewing to oversee and to take up herself. She and her serving woman, Ludda, spent long afternoons working on the household clothes and taking turns singing old songs and ballads to each other. Soon, as well, she had a new worry in Gerraent. Often she caught him weeping on their fathers grave, and in the evenings, he turned oddly silent. As he sat in his fathers chairhis chair, nowhe drank steadily and watched the flames playing in the fireplace. Although Brangwen sat beside him out of sisterly duty, he rarely spoke more than two words at a time.
On a day when Gerraent was hunting, Gwerbret Madoc came for a visit with six men of his warband for an escort. As she curtsied to the gwerbret, Brangwen noticed the men staring at hersly eyes, little half smiles, an undisguised lust that she had seen a thousand times on the faces of men. She hated them for it.
Greetings, my lady, Madoc said. Ive come to pay my respects to your fathers grave.
After sending the servants to care for his men, Brangwen took Madoc into the hall and poured him ale with her own hands, then sat across from him at the honor table. Madoc pledged her with the tankard.
My thanks, Brangwen. Truly, I wanted to see how you fared.