The dog whined as if in agreement and pushed his master with his massive head.

Morgan chuckled. "You're getting old, Brenin, that you would go in on a fine night like this, but I'm ready for my bed, too." Together master and beast returned to the hall. Morgan ap Owen found his bedspace, but to his surprise the dog went and lay before the two children. The captain smiled. He always knew Brenin understood him no matter what anyone else said.

Chapter 2

A p Gruffydd's children were no better than peasants, Morgan ap Owen thought as he watched them over the next few days. They had known nothing but their cottage and their hill. They hadn't even had a pet to keep them amused. They were at first wary of Brenin, but the great wolfhound quickly won over the bolder Rhonwyn and her shy little brother. Soon he was carrying Glynn about on his back as the child tried to emulate his sister, whom Oth was teaching to ride.

"We ought to get the laddie a pony," Oth remarked one evening in the hall. "He's wearing out poor old Brenin, and we all know how the captain will feel if the dog dies."

There was a nodding of heads in agreement.

"Hold still, you wee vixen," Dewi said as he measured Rhonwyn for her tunic. "You're worse than water running over rocks."

Rhonwyn giggled. "Lug says I have very little feet. He measured me for boots of my own yesterday. Will I like boots, Dewi? I've always gone barefoot, I have."

"You must learn to wear boots," Dewi told her. "I'll make you some nice hose to wear under them."

"What are hose?" she asked curiously.

"A cloth covering for your legs and feet," he told her. By the rood, these children knew so little! "Hose will help keep your feet warm in winter and the bugs from biting your legs in summertime, lass."


"You're making her hose?" Lug interrupted. "I'll have to wait then to make the boots, for I must measure her again when she is wearing the leg coverings, Dewi. You might have told me before I made the pattern."

"You've not cut the leather yet, have you?"

"Nay, you told me just in time," Lug said.

Morgan ap Owen restrained a chuckle. His men, all of them, were absolutely besotted with the two children. He needn't have appointed a guardianship, for they were all eager to look after ap Gruffydd's offspring. They carried the boy about when he tired, which he seemed to quite easily. They made certain the choicest bits of the meal were put in Rhonwyn's and Glynn's bowls.

A bit subdued at first, the children began to grow more comfortable with their new home. At one point later, Morgan did not ask how, a dappled gray pony was found along with a small saddle. Glynn joined his sister in her riding lessons. On his feet Glynn was sensitive and timid, but astride the pony he quickly became an excellent, even daring horseman, frequently besting Rhonwyn, who had absolutely no fear of anything at all.

Both youngsters roamed the fortress at will. After they had been seen several times playing with sticks as they would swords, small weapons were forged for them, and the lessons began, as well.

Glynn was easily wearied with the rough games that Rhonwyn so liked. He preferred the company of the fortress cook, Gwilym, who kept him amused with wonderful and fanciful tales of fairie folk, warriors, and beautiful maidens-some pure, and some devilishly wicked. Gwilym often told his tales to the men in the hall on winter evenings. He had a deep rich voice that could call forth magical and mysterious stories. Sometimes he would sing the history of the ancient Cymri, accompanying himself on a small lute. Glynn attached himself to the cook like a winkle to a rock. No one seemed to mind, as Glynn was a gentle child. While the men liked him, they were not quite certain what to do with him. His attachment to Gwilym solved the problem for all quite nicely.

Rhonwyn, on the other hand, was far easier to understand, even if she was a little girl. Morgan, himself, taught her swordplay, which she very much enjoyed. He taught her how to use a main gauche, a dagger held in the left hand while one used one's sword in the right. Barris, the blacksmith, made Rhonwyn her own small kite-shaped shield. Oth devised a padded body armor, called an arming doublet, for her practices. She learned to use a javelin and a mace. Next to the sword, however, Rhonwyn's favorite weapon was an alborium, a bow made of hazelwood. She became extremely quick and very proficient with it, particularly astride her horse. Guiding her mount with her knees, the reins wrapped about the saddle's pommel, she used the bow with deadly intent while coining at a full gallop. By the time she was ten there wasn't a man in the fort who wouldn't have fought at her side and felt sale.

For the next few years a series of truces ensured the peace between England and the Wales. The English king, Henry III, was involved in a serious power struggle with one of his greatest lords, Simon de Montfort, the Karl of Leicester, who also happened to be his brother in-law. The rebellion of de Montfort and the barons was a popular one, for Henry was a weak king. Meeting the opposition at Oxford, he reluctantly signed a treaty limiting his royal power. Three years later the king repudiated the Treaty of Oxford, saying his word had been forced. While he walked cautiously for a time, eventually the Baron's War broke out, and the king was defeated by de Montfort. The very first Parliament was summoned, consisting of lords, bishops, knights, and burgesses, who were the representatives of the towns.

de Montfort's next move to ensure peace to the west was to formally, in the name of the crown, recognize Llywelyn ap Gruffydd as prince of Wales and overlord of Magnates Wallie, or all the great men of Wales. Llywelyn was now a vassal of England, and his power was at its absolute height. Shortly thereafter, however, Prince Edward, the king's eldest son, defeated de Montfort at Evesham, killing him. Wales, nonetheless, was left in peace. It suited England to permit the Welsh autonomy for the time being. After all, there was Scotland to the north to contend with and the French across the channel, who had now in their possession almost all of England 's French territories. A treaty was proposed to be signed between Henry III and Prince Llywelyn.

Isolated at Cythraul, the news of all these goings-on still managed to filter through, brought by travelers seeking shelter. Rhonwyn, while interested in the news brought to Cythraul, pretended indifference. She had no love for her father, knowing his rescue of his children those few years back had been nothing more than chance. Bringing them to the fortress was merely a duty done, for the men of Cythraul had drummed one lesson into Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. Duty to family and country first. If her father ever asked a duty of her, Rhonwyn knew she would grant it despite her dislike of ap Gruffydd. He had sired her. He was her overlord. She owed him duty. She thought it unlikely, however, that she would ever be called upon to perform a duty for ap Gruffydd.

He had yet to marry, although he was in his late forties. There were rumors of a possible alliance with a daughter of Simon de Montfort, but a lady of such distinguished lineage-she had a king of England, a king of France, and a Holy Roman Emperor for uncles-could not possibly accept a mere prince of the Welsh for a husband. Or could she? The lady in question, however, was in France, so she could not be asked.

Rhonwyn had turned fifteen now, and Morgan ap Owen began to worry. She dressed like a boy, but while her breasts were small they were still visible beneath her tunic. There wasn't anything feminine about her other than her chest. She strode boldly about like any young man at Cythraul. Her fair hair was cropped short. She could outride anyone at Cythraul, even her brother.

It had been easier when she had been a little girl, but now, Morgan fretted, some of the younger men were beginning to look at her with lust in their eyes. He had twice in the last months seen her cornered. While she had attacked her foolish admirers so that one of them sustained several broken ribs and the other had his nose broken in two places, Morgan ap Owen knew it was just a matter of time before Rhonwyn would be forced to face the reality that she wasn't one of the lads, but rather a pretty lass.

Before he might consider what to do about the situation, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd rode suddenly into Cythraul one day. He had not been to the border fortress since that day ten years ago when he had brought his children to Morgan ap Owen. This time he did not come alone, but rather with a troop of about twenty men in his train. The watch on the walls had called out the sighting of an armed party and then called again to say it was the prince himself. The portcullis was raised and the gates to Cythraul thrown open to welcome the lord of them all.

"My lord prince, we are most happy to see you," Morgan said, coming forward. "What news?"

"I have signed a treaty with King Henry. We will keep the peace a while longer, Morgan ap Owen." Ap Gruffydd looked about. "Where are my children?" he asked.

Before the captain might answer, Oth came forward with Glynn, and Morgan said, "Here is your son, my prince."

Ap Gruflydd looked at the lad and was pleased. The boy looked relatively healthy. He was almost as tall as his father, with dark blue eyes and black hair, but he was a bit thin. Ap Gruffydd remarked on it to his captain.

"Lads are gangling at his age, my prince," Morgan answered. "He is growing, and we cannot keep him filled up with food." He smiled at Glynn, who grinned back mischievously.

"How old are you now, lad?" the prince asked his son.