Medieval Master Swordsmen(419)

The path crested at the top of the slippery hill and a large curtain wall stood before them. At first glance, Garren estimated it was easily twenty feet high. There was no telling how thick it was until they came closer. They edged the horses forward and Emyl spoke with reverence.

“I had forgotten the beauty of her,” his eyes grazed the structure. “Why the princes abandoned it, I shall never understand. But they say ghosts chased them away.”

“Ghosts?” Derica echoed. “What ghosts?”

Emyl gestured at the fortress shrouded in mist. “Legend says that Cilgarren was built by a prince of Dyfed named Owain,” he answered. “He built it as his seat of power, given to him by his father, Madog ap Gruffyd. Owain had a wife named Bryndalyn, the most beautiful maiden in the land. One day, shortly after the castle was finished, Owain went off to fight one of the many skirmishes that hamper the Welsh. Men returned from the battle saying that Owain had perished. In her sorrow, Bryndalyn threw herself from the cliff that overlooks the river.”

Derica’s mouth was open in sorrow. “Poor lady,” she murmured. “If Garren were not to return to me, I….”

She trailed off, unable to continue. As Garren reached around to pat her hand, Emyl shook his head sadly.

“Aye, my lady, but the truth was that Owain did not die. He returned, quite sound, only to find his lady dead. ‘Tis said he went mad, locking himself in a room with her body. He neither ate, nor slept, but kept himself in with her corpse. Eventually, he died of a broken heart.” The old man looked at her. “But God punishes those who take their own lives, as Bryndalyn and Owain did. So the two of them spend eternity searching the rooms of this place for each other, never in the same place at the same time. On still nights, one can hear them calling for each other. They come so close, but are ever damned to be a just breath away.”

“So they can never be together, ever?”

“So it is said.”

Derica looked as if she was about to cry. “That is the most awful story I have ever heard.”

Garren held her hand, smiling faintly at the old man’s story and at his wife’s gullibility. The mood was growing heady and he had no intention of letting it get the better of them.

“Are you willing to face the ghosts to get out of this rain?” he teased. “Boo!”

She frowned at his attempt to startle her. “How can you make jokes about this? ‘Tis a horrible tale, Garren. Tragic.”

“I am sorry,” he kissed her hand and spurred his charger towards the entrance. “You’re right, It is tragic. I believe I shall go off and cry myself ill right now.”

She couldn’t see his expression, smirking at her, but she could feel his humorous snorts against her body. “Stop laughing at me. How would you like it if we were separated like that, through all eternity?”

“I wouldn’t. Tell me if you plan on doing something foolish like that, will you?”

“I don’t think I shall tell you anything. I think I shall go back to Framlingham and leave you alone with your bad sense of humor.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

He turned the horse around and she squealed, laughing as he reined the horse in a couple of tight circles. Finally, they were heading back for the gate and she smacked him, lightly, on the shoulder.

“Stop fooling, Garren,” she said. “If anything of what Emyl says is true, then this is a revered place. We should be respectful.”

Emyl had watched the interaction, smiling at their antics. Garren was a serious knight, he knew, and put no stock in ghost stories as his lady apparently did. Emyl didn’t know if the legends were true or not himself, but one thing was apparent; no one had lived in this massive place for years. There had to be a reason.

There was an enormous ditch surrounding the outer curtain wall. It was wide across and partially filled with muddy rainwater. Garren surveyed the trench and could see that, at some time, there had been a bridge over it. He could see remains of it floating in the muck. There was no way the horses could cross, so he dismounted and stood at the edge of the ditch, trying to figure out the best way to cross. Emyl came to stand beside him and together, they mulled over the problem.

The gatehouse and wall were directly on the other side. Garren couldn’t think of anything else but to climb down into the ditch and see how deep it was. He took off his helm and began to remove his armor.

“What are you doing?” Derica asked.

He unlatched his breastplate. Emyl took it from him and he began to unfasten the protection around his shoulders.

“I am going to find out just how deep this trench is,” he told her. “If It is too deep, I shall sink to the bottom with all of this armor on.”