The eagle flag of Powys and Leodegan’s own stag banner joined our standards. We followed a Roman road that lay spear-straight across good country, the same country that Arthur had laid waste the previous autumn, though only Leodegan was tactless enough to mention the campaign. “You’ve been here before, of course,” he called up to Arthur. Leodegan had no horse and so was forced to walk alongside the royal party.
Arthur frowned. “I’m not sure I know this land,” he said diplomatically.
“Indeed you do, yes indeed. See? The burned farm? Your work!” Leodegan beamed up at Arthur. “They underestimated you, didn’t they? I told Gorfyddyd so, told him straight to his face. Young Arthur’s good, I said, but Gorfyddyd has never been a man to hear sense. A fighter, yes, a thinker, no. The son is better, I think. Cuneglas is definitely better. I rather hoped young Cuneglas might marry one of my daughters, but Gorfyddyd won’t hear of it. Never mind.” He tripped on a tussock of grass. The road, just like the
Fosse Way near Ynys Wydryn, was embanked so that the surface would drain into the edging ditches, but the years had filled in the ditches and drifted soil on to the road’s stones that were now thick with weed and grass. Leodegan persisted in pointing out other places that Arthur had laid waste, but after a while he gave up trying to provoke any response and so fell back to where we guards walked behind Tewdric’s three priests. Leodegan attempted to talk to Agravain, the commander of Arthur’s guard, but Agravain was in a sullen mood and Leodegan finally decided that I was the most sympathetic of Arthur’s entourage and so questioned me eagerly about Dumnonia’s nobility. He was trying to discover who was and who was not married. “Prince Gereint, now? Is he? Is he?”
“Yes, Lord,” I said.
“And she’s in health?”
“So far as I know, Lord.”
“King Melwas, then? He has a queen?”
“She died, Lord.”
“Ah!” He brightened immediately. “I have daughters, you see?” he explained very earnestly. “Two daughters, and daughters must be wed, must they not? Unwed daughters are no use to man or beast. Mind you, to be fair, one of my two darlings is to be married. Guinevere is spoken for. She’s to marry Valerin. You know of Valerin?”
“No, Lord.”
“A fine man, a fine man, a fine man, but no…” He paused, seeking the right word. “No wealth! No real land, you see. Some scrubby stuff west, I think, but no money worth counting. He has no rents, no gold, and a man can’t go far without rents or gold. And Guinevere’s a princess! Then there’s Gwenhwyvach, her sister, and she has no prospects of marriage at all, none! She lives off my purse only, and the Gods know that’s thin enough. But Melwas keeps an empty bed, does he? That’s a thought! Though it’s a pity about Cuneglas.”
“Why, Lord?”
“He doesn’t seem to want to marry either girl!” Leodegan said indignantly. “I suggested it to his father. Solid alliance, I said, adjoining kingdoms, an ideal arrangement! But no. Cuneglas has his eye set on Helledd of Elmet and Arthur, we hear, is to marry Ceinwyn.”
“I wouldn’t know, Lord,” I said innocently.
“Ceinwyn’s a pretty girl! Oh yes! But so’s my Guinevere, only she’s to marry Valerin. Dear me. What a waste! No rents, no gold, no money, nothing but some drowned pasture and a handful of sickly cows. She won’t like it! She likes her comfort, Guinevere does, but Valerin doesn’t know what comfort means! Lives in a pig hut, so far as I can make out. Still, he is a chief. Mind you, the deeper you go into Powys the more men call themselves chiefs.” He sighed. “But she’s a princess! I thought one of Cadwallon’s boys in Gwynedd might marry her, but Cadwallon’s a strange fellow. Never liked me much. Didn’t help me when the Irish came.”
He fell silent as he brooded on that great injustice. We had travelled far enough north now for the land and the people to be unfamiliar. In Dumnonia we were surrounded by Gwent, Siluria, Kernow and the Saxons, but here men spoke of Gwynedd and Elmet, of Lleyn and Ynys Mon. Lleyn had once been Henis Wyren, Leodegan’s kingdom, of which Ynys Mon, the island of Mona, had been a part. Both were now ruled by Diwrnach, one of the Irish Lords Across the Sea who were carving out kingdoms for themselves in Britain. Leodegan, I reflected, must have been easy meat for a grim man like Diwrnach whose cruelty was famous. Even in Dumnonia we had heard how he painted the shields of his war-band with the blood of the men they killed in battle. It was better to fight the Saxons, men said, than take on Diwrnach.