the meal was over Mary bid the gentlemen good night, and taking Averil by the hand said, “You will sleep with me tonight, my lady Averil.” She led Averil up the staircase in the hall to an upper floor. “I have a fireplace in the solar,” she said, “and it is kept alight most of the year. The men will be comfortable in the hall. There are several bed spaces. They are used to rougher accommodations than are we.”
“Your brother made me sleep in a tumbledown stable last night,” Averil said with badly concealed ill humor.
“If he did, it was probably the best place he could find,” Mary responded calmly. “My brother is a good man, lady.” They had reached the solar, and Mary turned, looking up at Averil. “Are you to be my brother’s wife?” she asked.
Averil swallowed back the quick sharp retort that was on her tongue, saying instead, “I do not know. Such arrangements are the province of men; my father, your brother, and the Great Llywelyn, who is our prince.”
“So I am told,” Mary said, “but I wonder why it should be so.”
“So do I,” Averil answered her softly. Then she smiled down at the child.
“I have a little sister named Junia who is just a few years older than you are.”
“Does she look like you? You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen,” Mary said frankly.
“Junia looks more like you,” Averil answered her, “but that her eyes are green. We all have green eyes, my sisters and I. Maia has red hair, and Junia’s is dark. Our brother’s hair is dark too, and his eyes hazel colored. Only Brynn and Maia have the same mother. Our father has a wife, and two concubines.”
“That is immoral!” Mary said, shocked.
“No,” Averil answered her, not in the least offended. “It was of necessity. The lady Argel was barren for several years after her marriage to my father. So Da took my mother, who is called Gorawen, to his bed. I am my father’s first child. Then the lady Argel produced my sister Maia. But after that there were no other children so Da took a second concubine, Ysbail. Junia was born from that union, but the lady Argel finally produced the desired son. Your brother is bastard born.”
“That is so,” Mary replied. “I had not considered it. But our father did not wed with my mother for many years after Rhys was born, and his mam was long dead. Do you all live together?” Mary was fascinated.
“We do,” Averil said. “We are content to do so.”
“I have never heard of such a thing, but then, ’tis said that the Welsh are a barbaric people,” Mary innocently responded.
“We are most certainly not barbaric!” Averil spoke up defensively. “Many men keep other women, and sire children on the wrong side of the blanket, Mary FitzHugh. Are you English then barbaric too?”
“I meant no offense,” the little girl said apologetically.
“I know,” Averil told her. “You but prate what you have heard others say. But you must be more guarded in your speech, Mary FitzHugh. You might insult someone without meaning to who might not take into account that you are but a child.”
“I think I should like to have you as a sister,” Mary said. “Did you do the embroidery on your tunic?”
“Aye, I did,” Averil admitted.
“Could you teach me how to do such fine embroidery?” Mary asked.
“Perhaps, but tomorrow we leave for Aberffraw, and Prince Llywelyn’s court, so this matter between my family and your brother may be decided,” Averil said.
“When you are wed to my brother will you teach me?” Mary persisted.
“If I am wed to your brother, aye, I will,” Averil promised. But I should sooner remain a maid and wither away first, she thought. Rhys FitzHugh was the most annoying man she had ever encountered. His surprise that he had not stolen Merin Pendragon’s heiress and then his reluctant agreement to wed her to save her reputation was more than aggravating. She could but hope there was a man at Prince Llywelyn’s court who would agree to take her. Anything would be better than this arrogant Englishman.
The next day they departed for Aberffraw. It was a long ride across northwestern England, and Wales’ Mary FitzHugh was left behind, for her presence was not necessary. It was Midsummer’s Eve when they reached Prince Llywelyn’s court. They had crossed the Menai Strait to the Island of Anglesey, with their horses and baggage, utilizing several small local ferries. Around them the Irish Sea washed the beaches of the island, and an almost imperceptible mist rose and fell over the landscape.
There was nothing on the island that stood higher than a thousand feet. Here, Averil knew from the history her father had instilled in all of his children, the ancient druids had made their last stand before being massacred by a people called the Romans. Merin Pendragon knew all of this because the family from which he had descended had followed the old ways once. While they were now good Christian people, the old ways were not forgotten in his hall.
There was an almost magical air about Anglesey. The marshes and wetlands of the island were filled with waterfowl. In the lush green meadows fat cattle and sheep grazed. There were few dwellings along the path they traveled, but those paths were lined with tall hedges. Now and again they rode through a small forest, but most of the island was bare of woodlands.
Reaching Prince Llywelyn’s court Averil found she was not particularly impressed. Her father’s keep was more grand. She was surprised as the prince was married to King John’s daughter, Joan. The prince’s home was nothing more than a small castle of timber and some stone. About it clustered a small village with a church, and several cottages that did not appear particularly prosperous. The air about them was warm, and softer than any Averil had ever known. They were welcomed in the prince’s hall, and Averil was given a place in the solar to sleep. The prince would hear their case immediately, for there would be festivities this night to celebrate midsummer.
Averil asked a serving woman for water to bathe her hands and her face. She rifled through her pack to draw out the clothing she would wear into the prince’s hall. Her hair was full of dust, but there was not enough water to wash it. She brushed and brushed and brushed her long tresses into a semblance of respectability. Then, having removed her travel-strained garments, she bathed as best she could, put on a clean chemise, and dressed. Her gown with its long fitted sleeves was a dark green brocade with a round neckline that was embroidered in gold threads. Over it she wore a dark green sleeveless tunic that had been embroidered at its scooped neckline and along its hemline. Her long golden hair was adorned with a simple gold chaplet decorated with stylized flowers. On her feet she wore soft leather shoes. Her only jewelry was a thin gold chain with a round gold pendant upon which was a red enamel dragon, her family’s insignia.
Satisfied that she was respectably clean and well-garbed, Averil joined her father, Lord Mortimer and their companions in the prince’s hall. The meal was being served, and they found places below the high board where they might sit and eat. Averil ate little, and was especially careful of her garments. She thought the variety of food being offered was very generous and impressive. Here, then, would be Joan of England’s influence. She could learn from this visit, Averil considered as she watched the servants dashing about with their bowls and platters. When the meal had been concluded, the prince’s majordomo called for silence.
“The lord Merin, of the ancient and honorable house of Pendragon, descendant of Arthur, King
