The Welsh Warrior's Inheritance: Welsh Warrior Book 2

Alphabetical List of Characters

Aeddan was one of Gruffydd ap Cynan’s longest-serving men at arms.

Angharad, wife of Gruffydd ap Cynan, King of Gwynedd, was the daughter of Owain Fradwr, Owain the Traitor. She was considered one of the noblest queens in Wales. She was beautiful, kind-hearted and intelligent. Angharad was the mother of eight children with Gruffydd, and her main concern was that Gwynedd had peace. She had seen the horrors of war firsthand and wanted to avoid war at all costs. She was much younger than her husband but a loving wife.

Annest was a daughter of Angharad and Gruffydd ap Cynan.

Arnulf de Montgomery was the younger son of Roger and Mabel de Montogomery, who were the most powerful and wealthy barons in England. Arnulf was made Earl of Pembroke and took over the old Welsh lands of Dyfed. He was as brutal as his parents and changed sides many times in the Norman wars between King Henry I of England and his brother, Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy. Arnulf was married to Lafracoth, daughter of the king of Leinster, High King of Ireland. Arnulf was exiled from England by Henry I.

Bethan was Angharad’s maid. She had a son, Rhys, out of wedlock with Angharad’s brother Gronwy. She had never married but had a soft spot for Hywel.

Bishop Richard, also known as Richard de Belmeis, was King Henry I eyes and ears to Wales as chief agent in the Welsh Marches. He was appointed Bishop of London in 1108. He lived in Shrewsbury and thought he could control events among the Welsh kings and nobles.

Cadwgan ap Bleddyn was a King of Powys and came to power when his brothers, Madog and Rhyrid, were killed fighting against Princess Nest’s father, Rhys ap Tewdwr. He was a worthy nobleman yet hard-drinking and a womanizer. He was also a noted warrior who allied with Gruffydd ap Cynan to fight against the Normans between 1093 and 1098.

Cadwallon ap Gruffydd was Angharad and Gruffydd ap Cynan’s firstborn son. He was good-looking but a touch arrogant.

Cadwaladr ap Gruffydd was Angharad and Gruffydd ap Cynan’s third son. He had a mischievous streak.

Davydd was Uchdryd’s man of arms.

Dyddgu ferch Idnerth was the wife of Llywarch ap Trehearn. She was a good mother and sensitive about her oldest child Cadafael who was simple.

Gilbert Strongbow, Earl of Strygill and later lord of Ceredigion. Gilbert married Adelaide de Clermont. He led action to subjugate the Welsh.

Gladwys ferch Llywarch was the lovely daughter of Llywarch ap Trahearn and his wife, Dyddgu.

Gogan was one of Gronwy’s men.

Griffith ap Rhys was Princess Nest’s brother and a prince of Deheubarth. He had been in exile in Ireland and wanted to return to reclaim Deheubarth.

Gronwy ap Owain was a lord of Gwynedd and Angharad’s brother. He resented Angharad and Gruffydd ap Cynan and was determined to oust them from power. He was married to Genilles ferch Hoedlyw ap Ithel and had a daughter Cristyn.

Gruffydd ap Cynan, King of Gwynedd, was considered the foremost king of Wales. He was intelligent and cultured but a fierce and clever warrior and strategist. He had brought Gwynedd from ruin to wealth. He loved music, supported his bards, built churches, funded the building of Bangor Cathedral, spoke many languages fluently, and had wonderful alliances with other monarchs and nobles. He was a loving but strict father. He was a man in his prime but aware that age was creeping up on him.

Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd was Angharad and Gruffydd ap Cynan’s eldest daughter. She was beautiful, intelligent, and an impressive fighter.

Gwir was Dyddgu’s old maid.

Henry I, King of England, also known as Henry Beauclerc, was a younger son of William the Conqueror. He took the throne in 1100 when his brother was killed by an arrow when hunting. Rather than attend to his brother’s body he rode at speed to Winchester to take charge of the treasury. He spent much of his time and England’s money fighting in Normandy principally against his brother, Robert Curthose who, as firstborn of William the Conqueror, had a valid claim to the English throne.

Hova was one of Gronwy’s men.

Howel ap Rhys was Nest’s brother who had been imprisoned and castrated by Arnulf de Montgomery.

Hunydd ferch Einudd was the wife of Maredudd ap Bleddyn. She was an ambitious woman who knew how to scheme.

Hywel was the leader of King Gruffydd ap Cynan’s warband. His love for his queen, Angharad was unrequited. He was a loyal and worthy warrior who respected Gruffydd ap Cynan to whom he owed his life.

Ina was Meilyr ap Owain’s wife. She was beautiful but unpleasant with expensive tastes.

Iorwedd ap Bleddyn was a brother of Cadwgan ap Bleddyn, King of Powys. He was a worthy warrior but his scheming led to his changing sides from supporting the earls who rebelled against Henry I. Perhaps Henry felt he was too much of a liability and threw him into prison for seven years.

Ithel ap Rhyrid was Madog ap Rhyrid’s brother. His father was killed fighting Rhys ap Tewdwr. He was warlike and greedy.

Lafracoth, daughter of King Murtagh, High King of Ireland, was unhappily married to Arnulf de Montgomery.

Llywarch ap Owain was Angharad’s youngest brother.

Llywarch ap Trehearn was a lord of Arwystli. His father once ruled both Gwynedd and Powys. He supported the Normans and hated Owain ap Cadwgan, who killed his brothers when they ‘overreached’.

Lleuci was the wife of Rhydir ap Owain, Angharad’s brother. She was a breath of fresh air and always happy.

Madog ap Rhyrid was the son of Rhyrid ap Bleddyn, a king of Powys, killed in a battle with Princess Nest’s father, Rhys ap Tewdwr. Madog was ambitious but wild.

Maredudd ap Bleddyn was Cadwgan ap Bleddyn’s youngest half-brother. His five years as a hostage, given to King Henry by his brother Iorwedd, marked him. He became a wily scheming statesman driven on by his wife Hunydd.

Marged was a daughter of Angharad and Gruffydd ap Cynan.

Meilyr ap Owain was Angharad’s favourite brother. He had mixed loyalties but needed to support Gronwy to maintain his standard of living.

Meirion was one of Gruffydd ap Cynan’s longest-serving men-at-arms.

Nest ferch Rhys, Princess of Deheubarth. As a young girl, her father was killed by the Normans, and she lost everything. She was sent to be brought up at an English court and there caught the eye of Henry, Prince of England. They became lovers, but he did not consider her enough of a match to marry. She bore him a child, Henry Fitz Henry. Henry, who then became king, married her to Gerald of Windsor, who was one of his main lords in Wales.

Owain ap Cadwgan was Cadwgan ap Bleddyn’s son. His father despaired of his wildness and what he felt was his irresponsibility, yet to many, he was a Welsh nationalistic hero. He hated the Normans and the Flemings who settled in Wales, pushing out the Welsh landowners.

Owain ap Gruffydd was Angharad and Gruffydd ap Cynan’s second son. He was well-liked, a thinker, and mature for his age.

Rainaillt was a daughter of Angharad and Gruffydd ap Cynan.

Rhoddri was Gruffydd Cynan’s chief bard.

Rhydir ap Owain was Angharad’s brother. He supported Gronwy who was his older brother.

Rhys was the bastard son of Gronwy ap Owain and lived at Gruffydd ap Cynan’s llys, and had been taught to read and write. He trained the royal children in battle skills.

Rhys ap Tewdwr was the father of Griffith ap Rhys, Howel ap Rhys, and Nest ferch Rhys. He was the ruler of Deheubarth and died in 1093.

Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy, was the eldest son of William the Conqueror and felt he had the right to the throne of England. He spent long years at war with his brothers William 11, also known as William Rufus and Henry 1. He had a son called William Clito.

Robert de Belleme was the son of Roger and Mabel de Montgomery. He was the third Earl of Shrewsbury. Robert was a supporter of Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy, and led the magnates against William II and Henry I along with his brother, Arnulf de Montgomery. He was known for his cruelty. Robert was exiled from England by Henry I.

Susanna was the youngest daughter of Angharad and Gruffydd ap Cynan.

Susannah was Angharad’s maid. She had been with her mistress since she was a child.

Uchdryd ap Edwin was Angharad’s uncle and the chief of Cadwgan ap Bleddyn’s warband. He was a schemer but a decent man with a wonderful sense of humour. He was well-liked and a great leader of men. The Normans had great respect for him.

Weasel Face was one of Owain ap Cadwgan’s men. He was a cousin of Owain, and his real name was Merddyn.

William II of England, also known as William Rufus, was the second son of William the Conqueror. He was killed in 1100, by an arrow while hunting with his brother who became Henry I.

William Clito was the son of Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy. He was born in 1102 and much of his life was spent avoiding the threats from his uncle Henry I who regarded him as a threat.

Wyon was Gronwy ap Owain’s leader of the warband.

Understanding a little about

Welsh Pronunciation

The Welsh alphabet has 28 letters made up of seven vowels: A, E, I, O, U, W and Y and twenty-one consonants: B, C, Ch, D, Dd, F, Ff, G, Ng, H, L, Ll, M, N, P, Ph, R, Rh, S, T, and Th.

Ch is pronounced as in Bach: Uchdryd is pronounced Uch-drid

Dd is pronounced as the ‘th’ in Path: Gruffydd is pronounced Griffith; Robert of Rhuddlan is pronounced Robert of Rith-lhun

F is pronounced as the ‘v’ in Vinegar: Angharad ferch Owain is pronounced Ang-har-ad verch O-wain

Ff is pronounced as the ‘f’ in Finger.

Ll doesn’t have an English equivalent, but it sounds a bit like Thl: Llewelyn is pronounced Thl-well-in.

W, as a vowel, is pronounced like in Soon or Bull. W is also used as a consonant as it is in English: Town

Rh is pronounced as in Rhino

Y at end of a word is pronounced as the ‘ee’ in Flee:  Gronwy is pronounced Gron-wee; Rhys is pronounced Reece.

Y in the middle of a word is pronounced as the ‘u’ in Flutter or as the ‘i’ in Din: Rhydir is pronounced Rud-deer; Meilyr is pronounced My-Ler.

U is pronounced as the ‘ee’ in Deep: The Welsh word for Wales is Cymru and is pronounced Cum-ree.

A few other names and their pronunciations to get you started:

Einion: Ay-knee-on

Hywel: Howell

Cadwgan-ap-Bleddyn: Cad-oo-gan ap Blethin

Robert of Rhuddlan: Robert of Rith-luhn

Maredudd: muh-rit-ith. The English would have pronounced it Mare-dith.

Historical Notes

This book is a work of fiction but draws on some real characters whose story is dimly hinted at by the few documents which survive from the time. Most of the events which took place are real but I have interpreted them in a way that makes sense to me. I am hoping that the below elaborates on my thinking in putting together the fragments of history that exist and explain some of the unfamiliar terms used.

Welsh  Names.

In Wales, a son or daughter was given a first name and then further identified as being the child of their father so Gruffydd ap Cynan is Gruffydd son of Cynan, Angharad Ferch Owain is Angharad daughter of Owain. The Welsh word for a son is ‘mab’ but it becomes ‘ab’ or ‘ap’. To keep it simple although the convention is to use ‘ap’ before consonants and ‘ab’ before vowels I have used ‘ap’ meaning ‘son of’ throughout the book. Similarly, although the word for daughter is usually ‘ferch’ in modern Welsh but ‘verch’ was used in the Middle Ages, I have chosen to use ‘ferch’ to mean ‘daughter of’.

Gruffydd ap Cynan.

After his death, a book about his life was put together. In Latin: Historia Gruffydd vab Kenan. The intention of this history was to establish the right of Gruffydd’s heirs to the royal throne and it was a marketing exercise setting out the character of Gruffydd as Arthuresque. After doing some research I felt that Darrell Wolcott presents a very compelling argument in his essay ‘History of Gruffudd ap Cynan- A New Perspective’ in which he suggests that the history tells the life of two men both called Gruffydd ap Cynan. One is the nephew of Iago and one is the grandson. I have chosen to make the hero of my story the grandson.

Owain ap Edwin, Angharad’s Father

Owain ap Edwin was also known as Owain Fradwr or Owain the Traitor. His relationship with the Normans was unusually good and it seems strange that he decided to marry his daughter to Gruffydd ap Cynan unless he was wanting to have a foot in both camps. This is the view that I have taken in the story.

Uchdryd ap Edwin.

Owain ap Edwin’s brother, leader of Cadwgan ap Bleddyn’s warband. There is confusion over why Uchdryd was so respected by the Normans. I have suggested a reason although there is no written evidence supporting that reason.

Marriage date of Angharad ferch Owain and Gruffydd ap Cynan and therefore age of children.

There is some confusion over the date of the marriage of this couple. Some theories suggest that the return of Gruffydd from Ireland to retain Anglesey was linked with the marriage of Owain ap Edwin's daughter in 1098. I have taken the view that their marriage was likely in 1095 allowing for more time for the birth of their children in line with what happened in their lives subsequently.

Maredudd ap Bleddyn

It is not clear why Maredudd ap Bleddyn stood in the shadows for so many years. I have crafted my version of why this was.

Princess Nest

Although some sources claim that Princess Nest had her son, Henry Fitz Henry, by Henry 1 of England in 1103 and married Gerald Constable of Pembroke and Windsor Castles in 1105 I have preferred earlier dates to suit the plot of this novel.

Griffith ap Rhys

I have slightly adjusted the timing for Griffith’s likely return to Wales to fit in with my story.

Cantref/ Cantrefi

Anglesey at the time of Gruffydd ap Cynan was made up of three cantrefi ( the plural of cantref). These were Aberffraw, where the king’s llys was; Cemais and Rhosyr. The division of land in Wales in the Middle Ages was based on a cantref or an administrative centre which was made up of several commutes.  Cant means one hundred and Tref means a town but originally a cantref might be made up of one hundred settlements some being as small as a couple of houses. Each cantref would have its own court.

Llys

A llys is a royal court where judiciary matters would also be settled.

http://ardal-wales.co.uk/english/local-history/royal-courts/

Teulu

Kings of Wales would have an armed retinue who were called the teulu. There were very strong relationships formed between the king and his teulu. The king was responsible for looking after them and the greater his teulu the better his reputation. The teulu in return would fight to the death for their king against an enemy.

Normans.

The Normans were often referred to as the French at this time in history but I have chosen to call them the Normans.

The Welsh

The Welsh rulers were united with common culture and language and saw themselves as the Britons. Since a movement to unite Wales and Welshmen was happening at this time I often have my characters refer to themselves and their countrymen as Welsh.

The Laws of Hywel the Good: Cyfraith Hywel Dda

The Welsh laws were codified by Hywel the Good in the mid-tenth century. They are very different from the Norman laws. They include laws on capital punishment which were rare as the Welsh preferred the system of compensation to families, inheritance and laws for women. The Laws for women stated that on marriage an AMOBR or fee was to be paid to the woman’s lord. On the morning after the marriage, a fee was payable to the woman by her husband for taking her virginity and this was called a COWYLL. During the marriage, the DOWER was a common pool of property that was due to the woman if they separated before seven years. After seven years the woman was entitled to half the common pool. Another law that was different to the Norman laws was that when a landowner died his land was to be divided up between his sons equally and even including illegitimate sons if their father had acknowledged them.

Anglesey

I have chosen to call the island of Anglesey by the name it was known to Vikings and Normans. The Welsh would refer to the island of Anglesey as Ynys Mon.

Eryri

This is the Welsh name for what we know as Snowdonia.

Welsh words.

I have used a few Welsh words in this book. Some commonly used are:

Brychan: a coarse cloth used as a blanket.

Cariad: an endearment meaning ‘love’.

Cawl: a thick soup.

Hafod: Haf means ‘summer’ and Hafod was the summer pasture for cattle or summer dwelling for people high in the mountains.

Chapter 1: Night Flight (December 1109)

The fifteen riders wore mail, hooded dark cloaks, swords at their sides, and carried round willow iron-edged shields on their backs. They had hurried through the night, heavy hooves flinging clods of earth behind them. As they came to the muddy track hard against the thick wood beside silvered fields, they slowed to a walk. A doe, lured by hunger into the open, froze, then darted back into the cover of the trees, startling the lead stallion, which skittered sideways, ears back, eyes rolling. Only superb horsemanship brought the huge beast under control. The riders stopped, alarmed by the noise of the big animal crashing through the undergrowth, and their subsequent murmur of relief betrayed their own nervousness.

They continued, hugging woods to where the trees thinned into a clearing. Beyond was the River Teifi, mercury water snaking through a gorge towards the sea. In front of them, below the firmament of stars, the castle gleamed in ghostly moonlight, seemingly floating on a thin mist that had risen from the water. As they gazed up at the vast palisade, some of the men touched the crosses at their necks, shivering involuntarily, eyes wide. None of the men liked being out in the shadows of the night, which turned trees into monsters and heightened the innocent animal calls into the cries of ghouls. Neither did they like the stretch of open ground ahead that held no cover from archers who might have them in their sights, but they could not turn back now. Their russet-haired, chisel-faced leader held a gloved ringed hand to stop them as he twisted in his saddle. He was a tall, powerfully built man on a grey stallion, riding with a straight back and, though young, he had the air of someone used to command. The moonlight glinted on the silver of his harness, spurs, and sword hilt. An owl, white-faced, flew across in front of them, shrieking as it went, and a few trembled. The owl was not a good omen, but the russet-haired swordsman was set on the task ahead.

‘Gethin, we will dismount here, but your job is to keep the horses still and safe.’ He spoke in an urgent but low, deep voice. A blond-haired, lanky youth with soulful eyes slithered off his horse and, as each of his companions dismounted, started to tether their horses to the branches of an aged oak. He did not want to be left there alone, but he said nothing. He was more frightened of the wrath of his lord.

The tall man led his men forward confidently on foot, their steps crunching over the mud and frosted, rotting leaves underfoot. The leader silently congratulated himself that all had so far gone to plan. His father, Cadwgan ap Bleddyn, storied King of Powys, had reacted exactly as he predicted he would, giving him good reason to storm out into the night from his father’s Christmas feast, unquestioned, at a time when everyone would be celebrating or recovering from the celebration. Not even the ever-vigilant Uchdryd ap Edwin, head of his father’s warband, had thought to stop him.

The fortress was silent. They scrambled up to the edge of the high shadowy walls of the oak palisade, solid trunks sunk deep into a bank of earth. Owain ap Cadwgan cast his eyes around cautiously, but seeing nothing to alarm him, made his way determinedly towards the eastern edge where undergrowth grew thickly, gesturing for his men to follow him. His wide mouth broke into a white-toothed smile. He hacked into the brambles with his sword and standing back, the moonlight revealed a place where the wooden structure joined a rock wall. He pushed himself towards it and started to pull at a boulder. ‘Come on boys, move this rock,’ he said and grinned.

The boulder was already loose, and three of the men were able to roll it away, creating a gap the size of a small man where someone’s carelessness or laziness meant that the wooden planks had not been taken to the ground.

‘So much for Norman workmanship!’ he hissed scornfully. ‘Not enough to hold back Welshmen, eh? We’ll easily get through here.’

His men crowded around as he examined the gap in the fortification where he intended they pull themselves through.

‘What about the sentries, my lord?’ a wiry, thin, and pock-faced, older member of the group with restless eyes asked dubiously. He had voiced the uneasiness that gripped the others of trapping themselves on the wrong side of a well-fortified Norman stronghold.

The leader tapped his sword and casually assured him, ‘We’ll have no issues, Merddyn. You worry too much, cousin!’

Merddyn shook his head disbelievingly and rolled his eyes. The gesture was caught by Owain, who glared at him, his eyes narrowing to slits of jet, before challenging them irritably: ‘Anyone else have doubts?’

Merddyn shifted uncomfortably. There was some shuffling, but nobody else spoke. Owain scanned their faces for dissent, knew their fears, and felt sure they would not let him down despite the awkward clearing of throats. He held his hands out to them, cocking his head to give them a last chance to speak, but there was still silence. He dropped to the ground and was the first to pull himself through. His voice gave the signal from the other side, and the party slithered into the enemy fortress one by one.

Inside the palisade was a deserted courtyard across which was a guardhouse, the door open. Owain crept forward, flattening himself against the outside wall, listening before his swift inspection showed nobody inside. They could also make out a collection of neat outbuildings, including kitchen, dairy, byres, smithy and stables. The only noises were horses moving and whinnying quietly, and the heavy breathing and gentle lowing of cows in the byre.

As the last men wriggled through the fence, Owain indicated to two solidly built men charged with unbarring and opening the broad, heavy wooden gates that were strengthened with iron. They could hardly credit that there was no sentry on duty or that nobody rushed at them as the gates groaned open.

Owain accelerated his commands.

‘You four, drive the animals outside the palisade. Merddyn and Ieuan, quickly get all the horses to Gethin. I want four of them saddled up. They need to be gentle but fast.’ Then, pointing at three young warriors, he gave his order, ‘We’ll take the door, and when you get to the fire, you know what to do. Wait until I give you the signal. If they are waiting inside, no heroics! We back out and ride like devils.’ They nodded that they understood. Then he indicated to two men holding longbows. ‘Get up onto the palisade and cover us as we enter. Kill any men coming out with weapons.’ He waited as they got into position.

The door to the main building was also heavy wood and iron but opened easily, if noisily. Again, Owain was first in, and although they proceeded cautiously, there was nobody to bar their way.

Owain paused for a moment, hardly believing his eyes. A fire lit up the hall where a feast had been held. The air was thick with the combination of ale, wine, grease, sweat and smoke. Tables were littered with uneaten food scraps and overturned drinking vessels. Unarmed men sprawled, sleeping, oblivious to all. There was not a stir from any of them, even the dogs around the table, except for the movement in their bodies as they breathed. His spearmen looked at Owain in wonder. He smiled exultantly and scanned the room, lighting on the stairway to a chamber above. He moved across the room, first prodding a dog and then an old soldier, yet elicited no response from either. Owain shook his head and let out a soft oath. Open-eyed, still marvelling at the scene of slumber before them, his men followed Owain across to the bottom of the stairs. A log dropped in the fireplace, and they swung round, muscles tense, then relaxed as they saw there was no danger. Owain paused a moment on the first step, waiting with his group of comrades, his sword drawn and their spears at the ready.

At his signal, two men went to the fire, lit burning torches, and quietly made their way back outside. Others went into the hall with shields held high and swords brandished, ready should the slumbering men and dogs awake. They could scarcely believe that they were inside a Norman fortress uncontested.

‘Hurry,’ urged Owain. The men ran to the empty outbuildings, hurling the torches to light the thatch and wood. The night air was suddenly filled with the tell-tale crackle of fire spreading, the smell of burning wood, as flames greedily devoured everything in reach. The horsemen had brought the destruction that terrified. Every child had grown up fearing waking to smoke that killed, charred, and left black sooty residue where once a home had thrived. Despite all the devastation, the castle's occupants slept on like enchanted characters from an old fairy tale. The eeriness of it was as unsettling as the conflict Owain had anticipated.

Finally, as the blaze took hold, someone shrieked in the upstairs chamber. There were footsteps, and a woman’s voice screamed, ‘Whoever you are, take what you wish, but if it is my husband you have come for, he is not here. I beg you, do not hurt the men, women and children here.’

Owain’s eyes shone. He snorted, shook his head, and bounded up the stairs with athletic grace, two at a time, his laugh wild. He was invincible. The night was his.

***

‘He did what?’ King Gruffydd’s voice bellowed across the llys so that his oldest four children, who were in the chamber next door practising their Latin with their mother, looked at her with alarm.

‘Why is Father shouting at Uncle Uchdryd?’ asked Owain earnestly as the raging continued.

‘I do not think he is angry with Uncle Uchdryd,’ explained his mother, Angharad. ‘I think he is frustrated by some news Uncle Uchdryd has brought him.’

Gruffydd exploded again. There was a mighty crash, followed by the sound of pottery smashing. Angharad winced. In the almost thirteen years since she had married Gruffydd, his outbursts had lessened, but he could be volatile when pushed. It was not surprising that he was a formidable warrior.

‘I think that was the jug,’ commented Gwenllian, her rich copper hair swinging about her as she turned her head to give her mother a cheeky grin, her clear, sparkling blue eyes full of merriment. As a sister to three lively brothers, confrontation did not upset her unduly.

Cadwallon, the eldest, pushed his hand through his thick golden waves, gasped dramatically, and screwed up his handsome face into a look of pain as further objects were being shattered. ‘And there’s the goblets. But, have no fear, for the King of Gwynedd has plenty of goblets to replace them!’

The children giggled but quickly quelled their mirth when their mother’s eyebrows raised, her voice resonating with potential punishment.

‘Cadwallon, you are the heir to Gwynedd, and you must behave with decorum. You are setting a bad example for your siblings. What is more, when your Great Uncle, who is the head of Cadwgan ap Bleddyn’s warband, comes to speak with your father, you should not take it lightly!’

Cadwallon coloured and gave a tiny nod of acceptance, but his deep blue eyes glowered at his mother when she turned away. He did not like being chastised. His younger brother, Owain’s hazel eyes caught his look and shot a warning glance. Owain, fiercely loyal to his parents, would not brook any disrespect from his siblings. Cadwallon’s face sneered as he shook his head in disgust at his sanctimonious brother. The raised voices in the hall next door continued. The children knew well that their father was essentially a reasonable man, very patient and considerate, but on the odd occasion, they had seen his temper flare and knew well to avoid him at such times. They also knew he would never hurt them, although his punishments were stringent if they misbehaved.

‘Mother,’ said the opportunist Cadwaladr, youngest of the four, twisting his slender frame away from his work and smiling charmingly, ‘it is very hard to concentrate with all the noise going on, so please could we come back to this later?’

Angharad felt increasingly tense at the escalating disruption in the hall and thought she needed to smooth the waters. She let out an aggrieved sigh but agreed to let the children leave their studies for an hour. Getting them to apply themselves was hard enough, as they all preferred being outdoors, even on a freezing wintry day like this.

‘Boys, go to find Rhys and ask him if you can practise your swordcraft.’

Rhys was the son of Angharad’s maid, Bethan, born out of wedlock. His father was Angharad’s brother Gronwy ap Owain, now Lord of East Gwynedd and ally of the Normans. He had never acknowledged Rhys. Now sixteen years old, Rhys had been brought up in the family with Angharad ensuring he was literate, while Gruffydd undertook to ensure he was a solid warrior. He had inherited Gronwy’s stocky, short frame, red hair, and freckled fair face. Like his mother, Bethan, he was diligent, keen to please, working hard to learn his swordcraft and to master the other tools of war, but he did not have natural talent. Everything he had learnt he had perfected by repetition, and now he had been given the task of tutoring King Gruffydd’s heirs in those same skills. It was supposed to be an honour, but sometimes it rankled with him.

Eight-year-old Cadwaladr shot through the door, leaving his quill and ink precariously balanced on the edge of the table he had been working on. Gwenllian, only a year older but far more mature, caught the ink pot before it fell, tidying her quills, ink and parchment, and his, before following him out.

‘Gwenllian, find Susannah and continue with your needlecraft,’ Angharad instructed her as she watched her daughter stride out the door.

Gwenllian turned, smiled cherubically, her unusual bluebell-coloured eyes twinkling, then dashed out after her brother. Owain, his thick brown hair flopping over his forehead in mimicry of his father’s, finished what he was doing first, carefully sanding what he had written to avoid ink spots, while his older brother Cadwallon, who was eleven, urged him to hurry up. There was only a year difference between the ages of Owain and Cadwallon, but Owain was much more responsible than his older sibling. Owain was always the one organising the games and was very serious about everything he did. He was the most advanced of her children when it came to learning, being well ahead in Latin and fluent in Welsh, French and English. Owain was usually even-tempered, whereas his brother Cadwallon was fiery and quick to anger. It was rare, but if Owain was pushed too far, he had a fearsome rage like his father. The siblings had learnt to run if they had driven him to that point!

The roaring next door had reduced to hot discontent.  Angharad could hear her husband and Uncle Uchdryd still arguing but with less heat. Gathering her skirts, she went through to a small area off the hall where Susannah was minding the younger children.

Susannah, sturdy-framed, and whose faintly lined, ruddy face framed by wispy pale hair always looked on the edge of a smile, had practically brought up Angharad when her mother died, even though she was only a few years older than her mistress. She had been Angharad’s confidant when her father had thought to marry her to the Earl of Chester, Hugh the Fat, and when, unexpectedly, her mistress had won the love of the handsome Gruffydd ap Cynan. She had been at her mistress’ side while waiting for Gruffydd to return from warring against the Normans, winning battle after battle to his fiancée’s relief. She had also felt sorrow as she farewelled Angharad to her new home in Anglesey. Yet her most profound distress had come when Angharad’s own father had led the Norman forces to Anglesey, watching while they killed and maimed Welshmen and laid waste to the lands. For this, the lord she had so admired had earned the nickname Owain Fradwr, or Owain the Traitor.

She had not understood how such a thing had happened, for her respect for her lord had been bedded in years of watching his quiet achievements and consideration for others. She could only reconcile herself by supposing that anyone might suffer madness that muddied their thinking. She had prayed for him and, when he eventually died, feared that his error might not be forgiven.  She knew that her relief when her mistress and husband returned from exile in Ireland, and her pride when her mistress persuaded her father to intercede successfully on Gruffydd’s behalf, meant a lot to Angharad.

When old Owain had died, Susannah had left the manor now owned by Gronwy and joined her married mistress in Anglesey. She and Bethan, who had been with Angharad since she had married, had a special relationship with their mistress and loved their lives at Aberffraw. Although King Gruffydd owned other llysau and castles, such as the huge one in Caernarvon, once a Roman fort and then made strong by the Norman baron, Hugh the Fat, Gruffydd and his family preferred the more modest llys at Aberffraw. Aberffraw was the historic royal palace of the Kings of Gwynedd, and Gruffydd had himself been born here. Whenever they visited the other parts of Gwynedd they ruled over, they were pleased to return to the island of Anglesey with its milder climate, rich fertile lands and wild, untamed seas.

Angharad saw that Gwenllian had not joined Susannah and the younger girls as she had been instructed.  Annest, Rainaillt, Marged and baby Susanna had made a pretend house under the table and were playing with dolls and carved wooden animals. The little girls whooped with joy to see their mother’s face appear under the draped cloth that formed their pretend walls.

‘This is our llys, Mamma,’ explained Annest proudly, ‘and Baby Susanna is our bard. Listen!’

There were squeals of laughter as the baby gurgled incoherently. The mother’s heart filled with pride and love. Every day she felt gratitude that she and Gruffydd had eight healthy, beautiful children, sharp and full of life, all of them. This was no small thing when childbirth was hazardous, and plague or sickness might strike at any time. She cherished her children, finding each one beguiling. Gruffydd, she knew, was equally captivated. It was apparent to her that he preferred the company of Gwenllian and Owain, yet he had endless love for all his children. Reflecting on this, she counted her blessings again: her husband was no ordinary man, no typical king.

Angharad, extracting herself from the world of make-believe, looked out of the window. Gwenllian ran into the practice yard after her brothers with a wooden sword. She could see that even in the minutes since he had left the study, Cadwallon had managed to upset Rhys and was giving him cheek. She grimaced. She needed to take that boy in hand: he had his father’s short temper, which needed curbing, and she feared he was becoming arrogant. She had probably spoilt her firstborn, she admitted. Gwenllian came up from behind her brother and flicked his sword out of his hand, diffusing the situation with Rhys but invoking her brother’s ire. He chased her across the courtyard, but she spun quickly, defiantly holding her wooden sword and stopping him in his tracks.

‘How can a girl who looks so innocent, so feminine enjoy fighting better than anything else?’ Angharad asked herself out loud.

Susannah’s chuckle was deep and earthy. ‘She is as good as them, my lady, and I have often watched her beating her brothers to the ground. She is a strong girl and fast. She dances around them, never afraid of a bruise or a blow.’

‘Look at her! She is her father’s daughter, sure enough!’ said Angharad shaking her head and sighing. That was not a problem to tackle today.

Bethan entered the room with a tray of freshly baked bread, golden butter, white crumbly cheese, and thick bean stew in pottery bowls for the young children who pleaded with her to allow them to eat it in their table llys. Despite having a sixteen-year-old son, Bethan was still very attractive with a heart-shaped face, thick dark curly hair always escaping her cap and a shapely figure. She had been asked for her hand many times, but she was happy with Angharad as her mistress, especially knowing that her son was having opportunities he most certainly would not have if she had stayed on her parent’s farm.

‘I see the Lord Uchdryd has come, my lady. I saw him go into the hall with King Gruffydd,’ she remarked, hoping to prise some gossip from her mistress. Usually a forlorn hope, but when being well-informed provided infinite kudos in a llys, she always kept her ears open.

‘You will have seen and surely heard! I am going to find out what the commotion is all about now,’ Angharad returned.

Angharad knelt down to the children under the table and played for a few minutes before straightening her fine blue woollen gown and making her way into the Great Hall. It seemed quiet. They kept the interior limewashed so that it always seemed light, even in winter. The colourful tapestries, rugs and cushions gave warmth to the long room with its oak beams. The furniture was solid, made from oak from the vast forests of Anglesey. Warm bear skins and animal furs were draped over chairs and benches, and piles of blankets were in each corner. The floor was covered with fresh reeds and herbs, and Angharad’s eye automatically checked whether there was a need to change the reeds. Both she and Gruffydd believed that dirt led to sickness, and so were fastidious about such things. An enormous fire crackled and sparked; their hounds had gravitated towards the warmth. It was there that the two men stood, and tension bristled.

Most of the teulu had returned to their own homesteads after the Christmas festivities. King Gruffydd was generous in allowing them time to deal with the administration that always arose from owning land. Winter was not a time for war, and they could easily be assembled if there was a threat. Anglesey was not such a big place, but caution was a priority. Gruffydd always kept some men at arms and rotated a few of the most senior members of his teulu at the llys during the cold months. The dull thuds and ringing of metal outside confirmed that those of the teulu who remained were in the practice yard, and the two men who had accompanied Uchdryd were stabling their horses. It crossed Angharad’s mind that they must be cold and hungry after their long journey but perhaps too timid to barge into the llys kitchen. It was unlike Uchdryd not to ensure his men were comfortable; perhaps this attested to the gravity of the news he had brought.

Angharad noticed that her bear of an uncle looked older and uncharacteristically troubled. He still stood straight-backed and tall, but the lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened, and his face looked worn. His moustache was grey now, and his skin was more weather-beaten than she remembered. Gruffydd looked at her as she entered the hall, his face showing exasperation. The passing of time had been kinder to him. He was still an impressive figure. His broad shoulders were even broader, his waist a little fuller than in his youth but still trim. He was a handsome man, but right now, his blue eyes flashed darkly in his strong face, and his fists were clenched. He swept back his blonde hair and, in answer to her raised eyebrow, thundered, ‘Owain ap Cadwgan! That ill-bred idiot has abducted Nest!’

‘Nest?’

‘Nest,’ he spat out, ‘Princess Nest that was, Nest the daughter of Rhys ap Tewdwr, Nest the wife of Gerald the Stewart of Pembroke Castle, Nest the mother of King Henry of England’s bastard son. Of all the Nests in Wales, she is the Nest he kidnaps!’

Angharad stared at her husband in amazement for a few seconds, her mind racing with questions, her stomach already cramping, but she quickly recovered herself. She had learned to keep calm and silent to get a full grip on the facts before reacting.

Her uncle looked embarrassed but came forward to embrace her. ‘You are looking lovelier than ever, Queen Angharad.’

‘There is no need to be so formal, Uncle,’ she smiled warmly, ‘I am the same niece you cradled in your arms soon after I was born!’

‘It is fit and proper to address you as the title Queen of Gwynedd demands,’ he replied seriously and then,