Preludes: Penllyn Chronicles #1 Ebook

Near the border between Powys and Mercia

Approx 641 CE

* * *

"I’m hungry, old man," Afon said. 

"That is obvious," Mihangel replied. "I can hear your belly rumble up here." He used his long wooden staff to steady his passage across the rocky ground.

"You think Penda could have spared another loaf or two for us," the man behind him added. "Silver is good and all, but coin won’t fill my belly."

"A short walk yet," Mihangel said. "Just up that slope, near that stand of trees will be a good place to camp. Looks like a spring in the rocks there."

"Always know when we’re back to good ole Cymru," the man behind him said. "Rocky and hilly. Not like the Severn Valley. Penda had us in enough rocks this time didn’t he? Oswald didn’t know what hit him when Penda got done with him."

"Oswald knew nothing, boy," Mihangel breathed. His companion had been non-stop jabber for the last week, and it had worn even his battle-hardened nerves thin. "Once Penda got done with the King of those North Umbrian lands, he was dead. Having your body parts impaled on half-a-dozen waelstengs takes the knowing right of a corpse."

"Those pagans and their rituals," the man behind him prattled on. "I understand you want to celebrate a victory, and Oswald had it coming. But, to chop him up and put his parts on long poles. Superstitions. Parade your enemy about on dead body poles, that's their meaning for waelsteng, isn't it? He should have been given a proper church burial. He should have."

Mihangel glanced back. The young warrior crossed himself, forehead to chest, then touching each shoulder. 

"Everyman has their superstitions, lad," Mihangel said with a chuckle. "Now shush and give an old man his peace for a while."

"You’re not old."

"Over forty winters isn’t old? And you’ve been calling me old the entire campaign" Mihangel shook his head. "Every joint in my body aches after that last battle. Gwent is a long walk from here lad. I'm gonna feel every step. Now shush and let my achy joints enjoy the noise of their creaking."

For once his companion kept his mouth shut. The lad's stomach, however, chose that moment to rumble again. Mihangel smiled and kept his pace brisk through the shallow valley.

All he wanted was to get back home. Time to spend with his kin. His Teulu. Mihangel was just a simple man, with a simple family. His father had passed. His brothers took care of the farm, and his mother. 

"Where have you been?" she'd ask him. His Teulu. His family. That's why he fought, his brothers and their wives and children. His Teulu. His brothers looked after his mother and their land. He never heard the soil call the way his brothers did. Instead, Mihangel knew weapons and war. The swoosh of a sword as it sliced the air. The clack of a wooden shaft as spear and staff collided. He could see where a squad wanted to go, how a warrior would move. Strategy and weapons he understood. Not plants and animals. 

Too many lords had seen his skills and offered to make him part of their Teulu. Their family of warriors.

He shook his head at the memories. Better to be out, fighting for coin against men that weren't his neighbors. Penda, King of Mercia, paid well. Mihangel was one of the first the thegns of western Mercia called on when Penda called his Fyrd forth. With Mihangel's eye for battle, and skill with weapons, Mercia called on him often. 

"Has Penda caught up with that lord of Fadog, yet?" the man behind him asked. Mihangel glanced over his shoulder, just as his companion’s belly issued yet another roar.

"What?" the man behind him shrugged and rubbed his belly. "Oswald and Fadog surely worked together. If you hadn’t seen them coming up behind us, Penda woulda been on those dead body poles instead of Oswald."

"Seen?" Mihangel said. "I smelled them. Traitors always have a reek about them."

"They tried to hide their lord’s name, all right. But Penda got it out of them. I guess seeing Oswald’s legs then arms go buy on those dead body poles will loosen a man’s tongue."

"Penda has a right to vengeance after that," Mihangel said. He glanced ahead. Just a few hundred more paces. Ahead a stream bubbled and cascaded over the rocks as the water tumbled along the valley.

"Still, I hope he leaves the other Powys lords alone," the young man said. "What’s the lord who was at Penda’s side? His men fought well. Helped to flank Oswald’s force."

"How would you know?" Mihangel asked. "We were up to our ears in Fadog’s traitorous war band then."

"That's what I heard. Said they had a skilled swordsman who had no match. I want to test myself against him someday."

"You be talking about Lord Penllyn, lad," Mihangel said. "And his brother. If you ever meet Lord Emlyn, keep your blade in its scabbard and a kind word on your lips."

"I’ve not found my equal yet," Afon said. "It would be fun to cross blades with someone you claim is better than me. I'm happy to fetch and carry, whatever I need to do, to learn from him if he's as good as they say."

"Lad, be sure you have a wooden waster and not steel in your hands if you cross weapons with Lord Emlyn." 

"You think he’s better than me? Have you seen him fight?"

"Penda has lad," Mihangel sighed and kept walking. "If he can impress Penda enough that the high king shares stories about him, he’s a class all unto himself."

"You sat around a fire with the high king himself?" The young man’s voice was incredulous. "Long enough for him to tell stories?"

"And had him fill my cup from his jug of mead," Mihangel said. A large smile drifted across his face. "And cut mutton off the roast for me. Penda isn't pretentious the way most kings are. He values his men. Prove yourself loyal, and worthy of his trust, and he’ll treat you right."

"Unlike that lord of Fadog," his companion laughed behind him. "Do you think Penda left him alive? Or is he on waelstengs too?"

"Cross Penda, lad, and that’s what happens to you."

"Oh, look at that. Food!" the man said and darted off.

"Afon, NO!" Mihangel called after him.