Madoc’s hut was so crowded that there was barely enough room for Dodinal. But when people saw him enter with a look as dark as the encroaching night on his already fearsome face, they moved aside to let him pass. He made his way to the table in the centre of the hut on which the child’s body had been placed, wearing the clothes he had been found in, arms folded across his chest.
He looked to be asleep, at peace.
A woman sat on a chair beside him, elbows on the table and hands clasped together, lips moving as she whispered a prayer. Her eyes were closed. Tears had left trails like glistening scars down both cheeks. A man stood trembling behind her, a hand on each of her shoulders, either to comfort her or to prevent himself from collapsing. He looked up at Dodinal with swollen red eyes.
“It was you who found him?”
Dodinal nodded.
“Then my wife and I thank you.” The man’s voice quivered with barely suppressed emotion. “To have lost him forever …”
He broke off, unable to continue.
Dodinal said nothing. There were no words in the world that had meaning at a time like this. He could not begin to imagine the torment Wyn’s parents had suffered when their boy had gone missing. Even then, they could have at least held out hope that he would be found alive, however unlikely that was. Now, that hope had been dashed; there was nothing left to shield them from the unbearable burden of grief. When Dodinal had lost his parents, and for many years after, he had been certain there could be no worse feeling. How wrong he had been. A child’s pain at the death of a parent was nothing compared to a parent’s suffering at the death of a child.
He looked around. The villagers were standing two and three deep around the table, Madoc prominent at the front. Idris, Gerwyn and the three hunters were at the back, looking uncomfortable. All were there to honour the dead, as was Dodinal, but he had other reasons for intruding. “May I look at him?” he said softly.
The woman ceased praying and raised her head, seeing Dodinal for the first time. In the hut’s shadowy interior, her eyes were black pits. “Who did this?” she hissed. “Who did this to my boy?”
“I don’t know,” Dodinal answered. “I’m sorry.”
Without asking her consent a second time, the knight leaned over to take a closer look at the boy. He was around the same age as Owain, maybe a year or so older. Dark brown hair framed a pale, thin face. The child’s eyes were closed, his mouth partly open. There were no rips or tears in his clothes and no visible wounds on his body. No trace of blood either.
Dodinal turned away. He had seen all he needed and had no desire to see any more. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, feeling the emptiness of the words even as he uttered them. Then he gestured towards Madoc and made his way to the door. Idris and his men quickly fell in behind. looking glad to escape.
Once outside, Dodinal breathed in deeply. The last time he had seen a dead child was after the Saxons had destroyed his village, and there had been many dead children then. In life they had shunned him for being different, but in death they were just victims. They had not deserved their fate, no matter how cruel they had been to him, just as Wyn had not deserved his. “Whoever took the boy was careful not to harm him,” he said, as much to himself as the others. “There were no signs of violence. Not so much as a scratch that I could see.”
Madoc nodded tersely. He looked on the verge of tears. In a community this small, any death would be hard felt, let alone the death of one so young. “They wanted him alive. They could not have known the child was sick. He has… had… always been frail. His chest was weak. Sometimes he struggled for breath. The shock…”
“The shock of it would have stopped his heart.” Dodinal spoke the words that Madoc could not. “And then, once they realised he had died, they abandoned him and left him where he lay.”
“Whoever they were,” Idris said. “We still have no idea.”
“Neither does it explain the tracks,” Hywel added.
Dodinal stared into the forest. They were in there. Far away by now, no doubt, but those who had taken Wyn and the others before him were in there somewhere. And who was to say they were done?
“I have been thinking about that,” he said. “Ellis told us it was like they had come down from the sky. He was not far wrong, though he did not know it. They used the trees.”
Madoc pulled a face. “Used the trees? How?”
“Consider it. They came into your village as if out of nowhere. They took the boy. The tracks vanished again.” Dodinal gestured towards the darkening wood. “They moved from tree to tree while they carried him, keeping off the forest floor to leave no trail. Once they were far enough from the village to leave you with no means of following them, they returned to the ground to move faster.”
“That is nonsense,” Madoc argued. “No man can move through the trees that swiftly, let alone eight of them.”
Dodinal rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly weary. It had been a long hard day and its outcome had drained him of strength. “There is no other possible explanation, aside from your devils. And I have no time for them.”
He made no mention of the strange twisted footprints he and Hywel had found, and for which he had no ready explanation. To do so would only deepen the atmosphere of dread and despair that already blighted this place.
Madoc paced for a moment, mulling over the knight’s words. “Very well, then,” he said at last. “I am not entirely convinced, but I would sleep easier believing men are behind this and not something from the spirit world. We can defend ourselves against men.”
“Then make sure you do,” Dodinal told him. “Your village is far too open. Enclose it as best you can. There is timber all around you and you have enough strong men. You don’t need me to tell you to make sure your children are never left alone.”
“The children are fine. As for the defences, I’ll see to that as soon as it’s light. But what of you? Do you still intend to leave?”
“We do, and we will leave now,” Dodinal said. “Our village is fortified, but its stockade has been left to rot for too long. We will strengthen it so that nothing, man or beast, can get through. Once we are done, we’ll return here with as many people as we can spare to make sure your defences are as strong as they can be.”
“Then travel safely.” Madoc held out his hand. Dodinal shook it, as did Idris and the others. Farewells made, they turned and set off through the forest, Dodinal taking the lead.
They made good progress even after the sun had set and the forest was shrouded in darkness. After a while, however, it became clear Idris was not up to the arduous pace Dodinal had set, so the knight gathered the others to him and told them to push on ahead.
“Idris and I will follow,” he said. “We have much to discuss, but we cannot talk if we’re gasping for breath.”
Gerwyn nodded. He looked shaken by what he had seen.
“Make sure everyone stays indoors,” Idris told him. “No one goes outside alone. I want a watch kept overnight.”
“You really believe they’re in danger?” Gerwyn asked, eyes darting around anxiously. “Our village is far from here.”
“The other villages are even further,” Dodinal pointed out. “Yet they have been attacked. We cannot take anything for granted.”
Within moments the four men had vanished into the darkness, leaving Idris and Dodinal alone. They walked at a brisk pace to keep warm, for while the day had been mild, the night air was as cold as winter. The moon was full; the constellations shimmered. The wind had dropped to a whisper.
They talked of inconsequential things to while away the time: the onset of the spring, plans to hunt together once the palisade was repaired. Imaginary feasts were prepared and they laughed when their stomachs rumbled in unison.
It was only after their conversation had reached a natural break and the two men were travelling in companionable silence that Dodinal realised he had made the decision not to leave, without being aware of it. Perhaps the boy’s death had been enough to convince him that, having found people he cared for, he should not risk losing them.
Neither man spoke of what had happened that day. There was no need. Each was painfully aware of the events he had witnessed, and each preferred to come to terms with it in his own way.
It was past midnight when they reached the village. Dodinal yearned for nothing more than a hot drink and a bed to sleep in. Anything else could wait until morning.
When they staggered into the Great Hall, blinking against the heat and smoke from the fire, it was to find Rhiannon sitting at the table waiting for them. Of Gerwyn and Owain there was no sign; presumably they slept at the back of the hut, beyond the hanging skins. He thought he could hear snoring.
“Sit down,” Rhiannon ordered, getting to her feet and bustling across to the fire. “You must be exhausted, both of you. The others got back hours ago.”
The knight groaned as he lowered himself to the bench. Idris almost collapsed into his chair. “Next time, go without me.”
Dodinal managed a laugh that quickly turned into a yawn.
Rhiannon returned with two steaming bowls of cawl, and the men fell on them. This time the meal was rich with meat. Rhiannon must have decided that, with spring here, the game would return and so there was no need to ration their supplies quite so rigorously.
Although he had doubts, and his senses had found no signs of life to contradict his suspicions, Dodinal was too ravenous to care.
A second bowlful, and a beaker of ale, disappeared in short order, and finally he was sated. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he thanked her for her kindness and then made to leave. “Get yourself to bed,” he told Idris, who appeared to be having difficulty keeping his eyes open. “We have work to do tomorrow. Everyone will need to be well rested.”
“And that includes you,” Rhiannon said. “I have tended to the fire in my hut. You will not be cold tonight. But if you would prefer to stay here, you are more than welcome.”
Dodinal politely declined and was disappointed to see a look of relief on her face. He took his leave. Once inside the warmth of Rhiannon’s hut, he hung up his cloak, rested the spear against the wall and tugged off his boots, leaving them where they dropped. Finally he removed his sword belt and dropped it on the floor beside the mattress before sinking gratefully onto the bed.
Yawning, he closed his eyes. But even though he was light-headed with fatigue, sleep proved frustratingly elusive. He kept seeing that poor boy’s lifeless face. Madoc had been right; what kind of man could leap from tree to tree while burdened with a struggling child? And what kind of man left footprints in the snow that were twisted and had too few or too many toes?
He was just drifting off when the door swung quietly open.
Dodinal reached out and slid his sword silently from its sheath. There was only one man arrogant or foolish enough to dare skulk into the hut at this hour and, chieftain’s son or not, he was about to learn the hard way that Dodinal was not to be fooled with.
But then came a soft rustle as a cloak was undone and dropped to the floor. The furs on his bed were pulled back, and a warm body slid in beside him. Dodinal immediately recognised her scent. “What are you..?” he started, then her mouth closed over his, silencing him. He resisted for a moment, then reached down to pull her closer, and was startled when his hands touched bare flesh. She had not just removed her cloak.
Rhiannon broke off the kiss and started undoing his shirt buttons, then gave up and pulled it impatiently over his head. Dodinal did not protest. She was in control and he was content to allow her to take the lead. Her hair brushed against his chest and stomach as she lowered her head, then he moaned deeply in his throat as she took him in her mouth.
When it seemed he could bear it no longer, she clambered up onto him and guided him inside her; she was already wet. Now it was her turn to moan as he wrapped his arms around her and began to move. He became lost in the moment, feeling nothing but the heat of her around him, hearing nothing but their hitching breath, seeing nothing but her face above his, radiant in the firelight, contorted by her rapture.
When they were done she collapsed on him, her mouth finding his. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He almost cringed when he said it. If only he possessed Arthur’s gift for eloquence.
They made love again, slower this time but no less intensely, then lay entwined for a while before she disentangled herself from him and got up from the bed.
“Stay,” he said, one hand reaching out for her. Warm fingers briefly grasped his, then released him as she stepped into the shadows beyond the fitful glow of the fire. He caught glimpses of her as she moved about the hut, picking up her clothes and dressing.
“I dare not,” she said. “Idris and Gerwyn were exhausted; I knew I would not rouse them when I left. But it will be dawn before long, and they might wake before I return if I do not hurry. Fear not, though, sir knight” — and despite the darkness he could tell she was smiling, teasing him — “there will be other times. Assuming, that is, you are not about to desert us now winter has finally passed.”
Dodinal, still basking in the warmth of their lovemaking, said lightly: “Not much chance of that. Not after tonight.”
“Oh, I see.” Rhiannon bent over him. “You’re happy to stay, now you’ve had your evil way with me.”
“It seems to me it was you who had your evil way with me.” He grunted then laughed as she poked a finger into his ribs.
“The time is not yet right for us to be together openly,” she said, her manner serious. “I have been widowed long enough as far as I am concerned, but perhaps not long enough in the eyes of others.”
“By others, you mean Gerwyn?”
“You’re very perceptive.”
“Hmm. You’d have to blind not to see it.”
“He’ll come around, don’t you worry. Now I must return, and you must rest. If you weren’t tired before, I’m sure you are now.”
When she had gone, Dodinal put his hands behind his head and lay staring into the darkness. So much for avoiding complications. Still, as complications went, this was one he could happily live with. During the short time Rhiannon had been with him, the horrors of the day were driven from his mind. This had been a celebration of life in defiance of the death he had witnessed.
Of course he would stay. He had a life here, friends, a family almost. He had been so obsessed with searching for peace that he had almost failed to see that peace had found him. Still thinking those thoughts he eventually fell asleep, a smile on his face.