“And still it was not enough. He had his wife’s love, but did not want it. He had sons, but did not care for them. He had the rule of a country, and it did not bring him joy. He began to try to persuade Gwenis to let him lead a force into Rheged. He pressed her, saying that he was truly the elder but the malice of his mother’s serving woman had prevented it, for she had switched the two babies at birth, declaring Cadwallon the elder, though this was not so. And Gwenis, although she did not believe him, pretended that she did, for she still hoped to win his regard. Against her better judgment she gave him what he wanted, and called the muster, charging her husband to lead them into Rheged and take back what was rightfully his.”
“I am surprised High King Macsen didn’t do something then,” Achren said. “He was Gwenis’s brother and surely he knew what was happening.”
“He did know,” Amatheon put in.
“And he did indeed do something,” Rhiannon said. “He—”
“Do you two mind?” Gwydion interrupted acidly. “Every time I try to tell a story of the Battles of Betrayal, you two jump in.”
“I told you,” Amatheon said earnestly, “we had a teacher that was very taken with the Battles. She would drone on about them all the time.”
“Until we could drone on just as well as she,” Rhiannon said. “But of course you want to be the center of attention, Gwydion. I must have forgotten that, though how I could do that is puzzling. Forgive me, and do go on.” Rhiannon’s tone was just as acidic as Gwydion’s, clearly showing she had not at all forgotten about Gwydion’s behavior last night.
Gwydion shot Rhiannon a hard look but did not chose to answer her. Instead, he continued with the story. “Caradoc took his army across the border into Rheged and they were met right here by Cadwallon and his army. The two lined up against each other a half league apart here on this plain. Caradoc had his Captain ride forward, declaring that his cause was just, declaring him to be the elder, declaring him to be the true King of Rheged. Cadwallon’s answer was to throw back his head and laugh in contempt at this claim. Enraged, Caradoc gave the order to fight.
“The two armies began to gallop toward each other, weapons drawn, fierce battle cries on their lips. They engaged with a fierce clatter. Men and women began to fight and began to die. Suddenly, a wall of flame leapt up from the ground itself. Druid’s Fire burned bright blue and orange and the heat seared the warriors, causing them to halt and retreat as quickly as they could. The wall of fire lowered, but still burned. From the west hundreds of black-cowled Druids poured onto the plain. They were led by two shrouded figures. One remained at the head of the Druids that now clustered on the side of the battlefield. The other marched forward to stand between the two armies as the flames sank and died to embers. The figure pulled back its hood, and the twins gasped. For it was Ellylw, their mother, and her face was stern and implacable. The figure that led the Druids also pulled back his hood and they saw it was their uncle, Sandde, the Archdruid.
“Ellylw walked forward in the sudden silence, stepping over dead warriors until she stood before Caradoc. He remained on his horse looking down at his mother who stood at his stirrup. ‘My son,’ she said softly, ‘what do you do here?’ And Caradoc tried to tell her that he was truly King of Rheged, but he faltered before her clear gaze; she who knew best of all that his story was a lie. She spoke gently to him as he fell silent, of his days as a boy at his brother’s side. She spoke of the love they once had for each other, of the love she knew still lived, though quenched and silent, as the Druid’s Fire now was, but ready to spring up again, as the Fire still was. Caradoc listened to her, his face bitter at first. But as she spoke, reminding him of times past, his face changed. Tears gathered in his eyes and began to spill down his white, drawn face. At last he dismounted from his horse. He discarded his helmet, his sword, his spear and his shield. He took the dagger from his boot and plunged it into the ground. He took his mother in his arms and gently kissed her forehead. Then he walked forward, unarmed, defenseless, skirting the dead and the dying, walking toward his brother’s army.
“And Cadwallon, seeing his brother coming, leapt from his horse, instantly discarding his own weapons. Crying out his brother’s name he swiftly crossed the plain and the two eagerly threw themselves into each other’s arms, laughing and crying at once. Caradoc begged his brother’s pardon, offering himself up as prisoner to be killed or whatever Cadwallon willed. But Cadwallon refused, saying that the best place for his brother was back in Ederynion with the wife and children who loved him so. And Caradoc agreed that this was where he belonged, consenting to return home and saying that now he would truly love the family that loved him. He needn’t look any further for his happiness. Their mother joined them there and embraced them both, and the tears of all three mingled on their faces. Caradoc, true to his word, returned home, his heart released at last from its frost.”