But Hefeydd, grateful for a reprieve, smiled shyly at his sister. “Come on, Dudod. Let’s do as she says. You know how she is when she gets an idea in her head. Especially one that will make us work.”
“But why do I have to go,” whined Dudod, in a parody of a spoiled child.
“Because Hefeydd doesn’t know where dill grows around here,” Llawen said. “Bards,” she continued as she turned to Rhiannon, “can be so slow. You have to explain everything to them.” Rhiannon stifled a giggle at the mock outrage on Dudod’s face.
Dudod laughed and kissed his wife. The two men picked their way carefully across the rocks, and disappeared into the woods.
Llawen and Rhiannon fished in silence for some time. The afternoon was hot, and the tension and excitement of the morning were catching up to Rhiannon, making her lids droop. When she almost dropped the pole into the water during a jaw-breaking yawn, Llawen said gently, “You’re all worn out. Why don’t you go lie down under that nice tree over there? And I’ll wake you in a little while. Get along with you now.” Llawen kissed her on the forehead, and told her to mind her way over the rocks.
Picking her way carefully, Rhiannon finally reached the green grass at the edge of the wood and lay down under a tree. Bright blue cornflowers dotted the grass and a white butterfly fluttered past. Lemon yellow globeflowers bent their heads slightly in the breeze. She picked some globe-flowers and lazily wove them into a garland. Then, her lids so heavy that they felt as though they were made of stone, she fell fast asleep.
They never knew what had happened—not exactly. Perhaps Llawen had slipped on a rock while pulling in a fish. Or perhaps she had thrown a cast too far, too fast. However it happened, she had fallen and hit her head on a rock, knocking herself unconscious and sending herself tumbling into the water. Unable to help herself, she had drowned.
Rhiannon, waking up somewhat later, sat up sleepily. But her aunt was not in sight. Thinking that Llawen had somehow left her behind, she ran to the rocks and saw her aunt’s lifeless body floating in the lake.
Terrified, Rhiannon crawled over the rocks, slipping and sliding in her panicked haste. She neared the water’s edge. “Wake up, Aunt Llawen, please wake up,” she screamed. She reached out, but the body bobbed away. She screamed again, screamed for help, screamed for someone to find them, screamed for her aunt to wake up. She knew she should wade in after the body, but she couldn’t swim and the lake was deep. And she was very afraid. In her panic she saw the water as an animal, waiting patiently for prey. Waiting for a little girl to wade in and then it would close in around her, drag her down to die away from the light. She sobbed again in terror as the sun beat down pitilessly on the bright shining surface of the water.
And then she heard them, scrambling over the rocks, Dudod shouting his wife’s name in despair. He plunged into the water, towing his wife to shore, and Hefeydd grabbed her and they carried her to the grass, laying her down gently. Dudod turned her on her stomach and began to push just below her ribcage. He pushed and pushed but nothing happened. They turned her over again and Dudod put his mouth over hers and tried to breathe life into her dead lungs. The water glowed like a gemstone in the sun, as the two men tried to bring her back to life. But it was too late.
Dudod cradled Llawen in his arms, his body shaking with sobs, rocking her back and forth. And then Hefeydd looked at Rhiannon, his wide, brown eyes shocked and dull. “Where were you?” he asked, his voice cold and flat.
“I was sleeping,” Rhiannon wept. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
And then Hefeydd’s brown eyes came alive, glittering with hatred as he stared at his tiny daughter. He reached out and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “You killed her. You killed her, too,” he screamed. “Is there anyone I love you will not murder? What have you done? What have you done?”
RHIANNON, TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS later, kneeling by a pool on a cold winter night, gasped, snatching her hand out of the cold, silent water. “It wasn’t my fault,” she whispered, her breath coming harsh and fast. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she wept, curled into a tight ball, rocking back and forth in misery next to the gleaming water. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”
Chapter Nine
Dinas Emrys Kingdom of Gwynedd, Kymru Bedwen Mis, 494
Llundydd, Lleihau Wythnos—late afternoon
The peddler and his guard toiled up the last incline on the road to the mountain village of Dinas Emrys. One look at the peddler was enough to make anyone wonder if it was really necessary for him to have a guard, as it was questionable that the man had anything worth stealing.