Brandewyne, Rebecca Read Free

old, she
knew it by heart: From the fury of the Northmen, O Lord, deliver us.

Book One:  Dragons Breathing Fire and Death

Chapter
One
    Check to the
King
     
    The
Southern Coast of Usk, Walas, A.D. 865
    The
morning was half gone when Rhowenna finally awoke, although she was hardly
rested, even so. When she had returned from the shore, she had been so troubled
and torn by her dream that she had not closed her eyes again until the gloomy
grey dawn had broken on the horizon, shrouded with mist, bleak with drizzle.
She had shivered and been glad to burrow deeper beneath her fur blankets; and
presently, sleep had claimed her at last. But the rest of the household had
been stirred to wakefulness by the slowly lightening sky; and now from beyond
her sleeping chamber, Rhowenna could hear the familiar noises of both her
father's royal manor and the village beyond the palisade: the chatter of the servants as they
cleared the morning meal from the long trestle tables in the great hall, the
clank of pots and pans in the kitchen, the shouts and laughter of the
housecarls outside, the blowing and stamping of horses shivering in the wet
bailey, the barking of dogs, the cackling of geese and chickens, the snorting
of pigs, and the bleat of goats and sheep from the hides of the ceorls.
    Loath
to leave her bed's warm confines, Rhowenna marveled that all should sound so
normal, that life at her father's royal manor should go on as though a cloud of
doom did not hang over it. But then, why should it not? She alone was privy to
her dream. Not for the first time did she shudder at the thought that perhaps
with her very silence, she ensured the truth of her vision. If she gave no
warning and the Northmen did come to commit their carnage, would she not be as
guilty as they for the slaughter of her people? Surely, that must count as a
sin greater than the Sight, more evil than the witchery against which Father
Cadwyr would assuredly rail should she speak of what she had foreseen.
    In
the old days, before the advent of the priests, her dream would have been
revered as a gift from the old gods and she herself regarded as a seeress.
Rhowenna yearned for that time when her people had understood the mysteries of things that now
appeared beyond their ken, that were called evil by the priests, the work of
the devil. The priests claimed to bring enlightenment to the world; yet their
words were as dark as their robes, and for all their talk of mercy, their God
was a jealous and vengeful God, Rhowenna thought. Sometimes, her faith in Him
faltered; she did not comprehend why so much that seemed natural and right to
her should be considered sinful by Him. Sometimes, she thought that the priests
themselves did not understand what they preached, or even that they twisted
God's will and words to suit themselves; for who was to know or to say any
different? But these were blasphemous thoughts; she should confess them, she
knew. Still, she did not. She did not want to tell her innermost thoughts to
the priests, especially to Father Cadwyr.
    Thus,
although Rhowenna longed for guidance, she did not know whom to ask for it.
Although he was a fierce warrior, renowned for his prowess in battle, her
father, Pen-dragon, feared the priests, with their talk of eternal damnation
and hellfire and brimstone for the souls of those who did not follow the way of
the Christ. Her father would be frightened by her dream, by the thought that Father
Cadwyr might believe him to be rearing a godless daughter or, worse, one
dedicated to the old religion, to the old gods, who were false idols. Her
mother, Igraine, more inclined to put her faith in her own good judgment than
in the counsel of the priests, was a likelier prospect for advice. But upon
such a serious matter, perhaps she would feel duty-bound to consult her
husband. Nor could Rhowenna bear to tell Gwydion she had envisioned his death
at the hands of the Northmen; and Enid, her waiting woman, would only be
stricken with panic at