High king, prime warrior & priest, Lludd Llaw Ereint, 1st son and heir to the great Beli Mawr, perhaps the most powerful man in Britain in these days travels to CaerUswer in Breged. CaerUswer was built within a bend in the river Ure at Roecliffe near Boroughbridge in North Yorkshire, but nothing remains of it today. It was King Bellnor's capital citadel of Isurium or Isurium; the CaerUswer of his Bregantau/Brigantes.
The hill forts of ancient Britain.
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AucHur the arch-druid of Breged took his place behind the great oak throne of King Bellnor, carved generations ago and vividly painted by a true artisan into an eagle swooping, wings spread, and the muscular legs and talons gripping a mountain hare made the broad seat. This old and sacred throne sat centrally on the raised dais at the back of this great hall, and AucHur nodded carefully to Crown Prince Cartysman ap Bellnor, who sat easily on his own beautifully carved orsedd isaf or ‘lesser throne’ at the furthest side of this broad platform. Cartysman’s narrow face echoed Bellnor’s features but with only a fraction of the character. That young prince’s eyes were those of his late mother’s, and they reflected the same jaded boredom that AucHur had always seen in her eyes when she had still been in this world. That young man’s unfeeling eyes and his harsh, pinched features betrayed the over-indulged, deeply privileged young prince’s inner self. Cartysman was intelligent, immoral and occasionally quite reckless, especially with other people’s feelings and their property. AucHur also knew him to be highly opinionated and deeply ambitious; traits which have never sat well together to produce a healthy outcome in the druid’s lugubrious opinion. He worried about the inevitable and pivotal clash with Bellnor which was yet to come, but he knew it could not be too far ahead in the future. They had already locked horns about his allowance and his frequent hunting trips, but mostly about Cartysman’s continual petitioning for stewardship of their secondary fortress of DunRheadr, situated over twenty miles north and barely five hundred reeds from a fine bend in the powerful afon Ympryd. Nant Ympryd is a hunter’s paradise, being hugely popular by the werrin too, where many travel not only to fish for huge salmon in the wild and rushing cataracts of the Ympryd but to see the cerrig y corlan, the famous and dumbfounding ‘folding stones’ nearby. DunRheadr is a wealthy caer, surrounded by lush pastures, thick forests and rolling hills. Bellnor knew the huge challenges of running such a busy military fort and its surrounding region intimately, and he also knew that his selfish son was not up to the task, sharing this woeful opinion with his arch-druid often. In Bellnor’s sorrowful but private opinion, his son was ill-prepared for overall control of that demanding region. However, AucHur knew the high king was not yet ready to deliver this cataclysmic blow to his son and heir, fearing the certain backlash. In the arch-druid’s equally private opinion, Cartysman was not up to overall control of anything larger than a platoon of men, and even then he would have the impetuous little snake monitored. He knew however that Cartysman was well aware of his opinion of him as he surreptitiously regarded the young prince now, also knowing that the king could only put that inevitable confrontation off for so long. Cartysman tilted his head at the druid, seeming to perceive his covert assessment, and he gave him a bold, arrogant look which then hardened to one of spiteful malice. AucHur tactfully looked away, turning his gaze upwards to the darkly yellowed and lichen encrusted thatching above his tonsured head. The maze of timber roof supports above this tall druid were enormous, fully carved oak trees, and the designs of the Bregantau carved upon them were wondrous and animated, long faded into uniform and amber darkness now from the countless fires below them. AucHur lowered his eyes again and let them sweep the dais behind him, ignoring Cartysman. Long, colourfully woven tapestries hung from the high stone wall at the back of this great hall, covering the doors to the extended chambers beyond, and these heavy woollen drapes bore the great woven talisman of Breged; the swooping spread eagle. Around this main battle banner were stitched the six individual cygils of Bellnor’s vassal princedoms which make up his midland alliance. The leaping-deer of the Carfetau and the stalking-wolf cygil of the Lupocarau shared this huge flag with the ancient bronze-sword of the Paurisau, all woven in around the left of the great eagle of Breged. To its right were sewn the curving war-horn cygil of the Cornafau Calon, the bow and crossed-arrows of the Segantau, and the giant-oak of the people of Gabrantoficau sat alongside the mighty tribe of the Coritanau’s striking viper design, and all these emblems of tribal pride were brightly woven into the very fabric of allied honour. Another large, tall backed and baronial chair sat to the left of Bellnor’s massive oaken orsedd on this dais, but this stout chair was empty. The druid moved to stand to one side of it, his eyes flicking restlessly across the many rugged faces of these assembled combrogi, but he could not pick out the one person he most wanted to see tonight. His frustration was evident as his tonsured brow was speckled with glistening beads of sweat and he could not quite stand still, fidgeting constantly with the heavy looking, moon shaped crescent of gold that hung on a thick chain around his neck. All these expectant people before him awaited something which most knew nothing about but wait they all did. Three beautifully gilded telyn were being strummed in a corner with real virtue, and this soul soothing and melodious harp music was accompanied by three accomplished reed players, each with a different sized flute. These popular musicians entertained these warriors, their great lords and the gŵyrd of Breged here assembled as they drank and gossiped whilst waiting, here in the smoky and beery atmosphere of King Bellnor’s great hall.
This vast Bregantan fortress was built long ago atop a low hill and in the centre of this broad northern territory, cleverly controlling the river crossing and the main north-south road running through the very heart of Breganta and Breged. Moreover, an extremely ancient and sacred site nearby represented Calon Prydein itself to this nations’ druidry, bestriding the holiest of all crossroads and being the very physical and spiritual heart of this great country of kingdoms. This Bregedian capital citadel also commands the fecund green corridor of fro Uswer in more secular, military fashion, lying as it does between the Derwent Hills of Rhôs y Gogledd to the east and the Hills of Nudd to the west, whilst nestled in a protective, bow shaped curve of Arglwydd afon Uswer. Bellnor’s immense capital had become thronged, and all had answered the call of the Bregantan king without exception as he ruled this huge and powerful federation of Breged with an iron grip. This ancient, sprawling fortress was encircled by three, steep-sided, deep and wide ditches, all surrounding a high earthen wall. These solid battlement walls about CaerUswer were tall and impressive, topped with a fearsome palisade and studded with watch towers. Thirty long, oval thatches of the gŵyrd shared that high enclosure with the king’s great hall within, and all its attendant buildings were spread about the inner maes. Over four hundred more, round thatches of the werrin were huddled on the flatlands around this huge walled caer on the hill and around the great timber bridge over the adjacent river, on which two ox carts could pass each other with ease once through the tollgates. Commanding the north-western corner of the inner courtyard of this impressive caer stood Bellnor’s long and oval great hall with it’s low, curving and heavy thatching, which had blackened and thickened with moss over the years, but inside it was dry, it was warm and it was packed to the wattles.
Two religious stewards appeared from one side of the huge main tapestry and joined the druid on the dais at the back of this great hall. One whispered in AucHur’s ear before taking his place behind him, and whatever news he had received, it did not improve the druid’s frustration one bit. He seemed to be struggling with a great problem as his tonsured brow creased in thought, dislodging several beads of sweat to set them racing down his face, leaving tracks on his cheeks which glistened in the firelight. AucHur’s face relaxed a little then as the feint thunder of approaching horses at the main gates could be heard, causing most of the people in this hall to sit up and to turn to look at the door. The priest turned to the stewards behind him and gave them some quiet instruction, before stepping down from the dais and striding forward to pass between the long tables and benches. These were thronged tonight with hard faced females or long haired, bearded and moustached warriors, all assembled in their finery of new mantles and bracs. Large logs of beer were scattered on the tables in front of them, surrounded by the crumbs and remnants of a recent meal. There was not one empty seat, and even the walls were filled with standing onlookers. The druid approached the great oak door to this hall when it was flung wide open, and the man he had been waiting for all evening finally arrived. AucHur smiled broadly for the first time today as the familiar, unmistakeably large and athletic figure of King Lludd ap Beli Mawr entered the hall, exuding his usual self-confidence and physical prowess. AucHur moved to welcome him as the assembly around him broke into the well-known chant at this man’s clearly unexpected appearance, and Bellnor’s great and ancient hall boomed with the famous salutation and this fearsome warrior’s infamous name; ‘Lludd Llaw Ereint! Lludd Llaw Ereint! Lludd Llaw Ereint!’ These warriors bellowed at the tops of their voices and banged their beer logs on the tables in welcome rhythm and respectful greeting, as Lludd ‘silver hand’; the legendary champion and Gorddofic king-dewin of the Khumry and the famous son and heir to Beli Mawr himself had come amongst them. This unimpeachable man was first issue to Beli Mawr; the late but immortalised Uthr Pendragon of Prydein, named for his Godly ancestors Belenos Hên, Belinus, Bil and ultimately Bel, who with his Queen Sulis on his arm drives the sun across the sky in his war carbad each day. All here were in awe at this warrior’s glorious bri, as no man alive could claim the lineage and the honours of this preeminent king, except of course his three surviving brothers. AucHur clasped this famous royal warrior’s left hand in warm welcome as they were old friends. As Lludd’s three burly Essyllwyr companions found places to stand in this crowded hall, the druid led his guest through the smoke and between the rows of cheering and table-thumping warriors to the dais. The pair of huge Bregantan royal guards came to attention at the front of the dais as the famed King Lludd of the Khumry approached King Bellnor on his marvellous winged throne. Bellnor nodded, smiling broadly from his eagle throne before holding up his hand, and the raucous chanting and laughter in his hall petered out as order was returned. This tall, athletic looking warrior-king paused at the mark of parth y brenin; the white ash and sculpted silver rod which was attached to the ground, and which delineated the limit of this ‘king’s zone’ exactly nine feet from Bellnor’s throne as expected, but the king of Breged waved him forwards.
“There is no need for the ‘ris y rhi’ formalities between us King Lludd ap Beli Mawr!” Bellnor told him affably, referring to the ancient presentation ceremony of Brythonic monarchs where all must pause at the mark, but where another king was entitled to take one step further than all others. “You honour my hall with your royal presence, and it’s good to see you again after so long. We have awaited your arrival this day so we may deliberate on the latest intelligences we have received and much more.” Bellnor said in a gruff but friendly tone as he stood. “Please take your place of honour at my side Lord Lludd.” He offered, indicating the big and baronial chair beside him.
Lludd stepped lightly onto the platform, inverted his grip and shook his host’s hand in warm greeting. Lludd gave Bellnor’s son Cartysman the briefest of nods before taking his seat and facing the many smiling faces he recognised in this crowd of hairy or sharp faced, beer-swilling soldiers before him. Lludd had known many of them for years and had fought a number of battles alongside some of them, even against a few. Behind him, AucHur nodded to the steward at the back of this dais and the man slipped away, to vanish behind the huge tapestries.
“Wine!” Bellnor yelled, his spirit immeasurably lifted by the arrival of this long travelled but eminently powerful Khumric ally. “Wine for silver-hand!” He roared, and two arwein scampered to compete for the honour. The silver hand in question was a beautifully carved piece of work fashioned from pure Khumric silver, and it took the place of the real hand Lludd had lost many years previously at the age of seventeen. This stunning silver prosthetic had been created as a closed fist with prominent knuckles, which allowed him good use of it. He had even killed with it.
A mercenary had been tasked with cutting off Prince Lludd’s sword hand those years ago with magic and a drowsing potion. The mutilation and reduction of a promising and aristocratic young warrior had been successfully carried out while he had been locked in a drug induced sleep of a vast and black emptiness. However, Lludd’s sword hand had always been his left, an uncommon but accepted trait, and the best sword mentors of the Khumry had encouraged this rather than attempting to change it as it was a natural and unchosen inclination. That treacherous mercenary had paid with his life for his error, as his employer had extracted the ultimate price for the blunder. That same vainglorious, fame hungry commissioner of the black deed had joined his hired mercenary in the Underworld soon after Lludd had discovered his identity. The young Gorddofican prince had taken great pleasure in demonstrating the man’s mistake with his all-powerful left hand, even as the stump of his right arm was still swathed in bloody bandages. Shocked at his undoing by magic and poison, the young Prince Lludd had been determined then to never fall foul of it again, and in this endeavour had travelled immediately to CaerBraint in Môn as soon as he had gained his revenge, where at the Plâs y Dewin in Llanddona, he had remained for nine long and arduous years in training, or so he had thought at the time.
The metal hand now strapped to Lludd’s muscular right forearm had been fashioned by the best aerwyr in Essyllyr so that it could be eased around the handle of most Brythonic shields. That aged but accomplished jeweller had crooked the little finger, allowing a horse’s reins to be hooked securely to it and then wrapped around the cold silver fingers of his new llaw-aes, or ‘shield-hand’. It enabled this fearsome warrior to do mounted battle with very little, if any disability. In single combat on foot Lludd was unmatched still, and the long row of gold and silver, triple-lobed studs in his black leather belt were testament to the champions he had dispatched to the Underworld, the more important of which he still kept the heads in barrels, embalmed in cedar oil. These noble heads he had removed with his fabled blade; Llafn-gweddu, the ancient, silver gilded sword his high king father had personally given him, with its powerful runes and its swirling, sacred symbols was priceless. ‘Widow-blade’ hung now from his right hip, and the famous silver-hammer pommel of this legendary blade glinted with its malevolent promise. This renowned Khumric warrior bore no ink as he was a Gorddofic and one of the ruling class of the otherwise heavily tattooed Essyllwyr. Lludd Llaw Ereint had grown to be a Khumric legend of almost Godlike status, becoming one of the most feared champions in Prydein, second only to the champion of all Prydein with a blade; his younger brother Nynniaw. King Lludd of House Gorddofica was now in his prime, and he sported the huge, bristling and drooping moustaches much loved by the warriors of Khumry. The face above this arch of stiff black hair was hard, weather-beaten and it was full of character. Its focus was a long and aquiline nose framed by high cheekbones, and his tough looking face was favoured by intelligent and sparkling blue eyes which beamed out below bushy black eyebrows. Below his impressive, matching moustaches protruded a lantern jaw and which shaved bulwark gave insight to this man’s inflexible character. Lludd’s hooded mantle was a new and dark, black and damson weave which was clasped by the most beautifully chased silver brooch, cast into the stylised yet infamous war-hammer cygil of his House. Another solid silver Gorddofican war-hammer hung around his neck, and on a silver chain so heavy it would fatigue a mortal man in minutes. His bracs were of the same dark, high-quality weave and were tucked into polished but dusty black riding boots of exceptional quality. His long and plaited, raven-black hair hung over his left shoulder as was fashionable these days, and it was tied with a leather lace, the tips secured by a pair of miniature hammer-shaped silver terminals. The hammer-headed and deeply embossed, white gold torc at his throat glinted richly in the flickering light of this great hall, and Lludd Llaw Ereint relaxed in the big and comfortable chair at its head, beaming his spectacular geniality at the assembly before him. There was no mistaking the aura of danger about this impressive looking man, and his broad smile showed white teeth which competed with his silver right hand, gleaming now in his lap. He was brought a beautiful ox-horn cup with a chased silver lip which was filled from a demi-amphora of fine Galliad wine by a steward, who then stood behind his great sculpted chair in continued service. As Lludd washed the road dust from his throat with the excellent wine, the hubbub of conversations in this great hall had resumed, merging into one murmuring sound, but this too faded to silence as a drum began to beat from some hidden location. It pounded a heartbeat, double rhythm for long minutes, and all conversation died as three small triplet girls then filed out from behind the tapestry, walking around to the front of the dais in a very strange and staccato manner. Two male uati, hidden at the sides of the hall drew back the drapes of their positions at these girls’ appearance so that two shafts of bright, flickering golden light shone onto these renown uati triplets. They blazed from two opposing torches in their alcoves which until that moment had been covered but were still concealed from the audience. A concave dish of highly polished electrum was mounted behind each brightly burning torch, allowing the light to be focused somewhat and directed.
Some gasps of superstition and fear were heard from these assembled warriors, and many kissed an iron arm or finger ring almost without thought as these infamous little girls were suddenly bathed in a muted golden light. The atmosphere in this hall had switched in that instant to one of religious awe and spiritual fear, and the tension was suddenly palpable. All eyes were wide and fixed compulsively to those three identical, elfin girls who had appeared in silence and were dressed in the short white gowns of their order. Tiaras of mistletoe sat atop their long, straight hair as black as wet coal and which hung below their waists. All other uati had shaved heads, but these girls were very different. These sacred triplets were identical in every way, but one wore a tiara of red berried mistletoe, one had snow white berries in her crown and the third wore a twisted circlet of the rare and imported, black berried mistletoe. Their every word and action identical, but each delayed in turn by the smallest fraction of a moment. They moved in the same precise way; 1-2-3 in complete silence and with a fluid, unconscious grace. They seemed to glide serenely over the ground as one spirit entity, until they came to stand before Bellnor on his huge throne: 1, 2 and 3.
Cerwen, Corsen and Cragen; the sacred triplet girls of the Bregantau’s druid’s order of Uati seemed to glow in this flickering but focused light, which illuminated the front of the dais and in which the pupils in their vacant eyes were black and enormous, seeing nothing, seeing all. Two hidden hands sprinkled a finely ground mineral onto the two concealed but bright torches in the corners and the light before the dais suddenly turned a vivid blue. This suddenly Gods-struck triad of uati turned to face the audience then, and they began to speak bathed in this unnatural light, and the tension in the hall racked up.
“Brigida! Brigida! Brigida! Draw near and hear our divination!” They spoke in their unnerving, staggered way of talking 1, 2, 3. “All combrogi and cefnder of Breged and Prydein heed this prophecy now, or all you know and all you love will be consumed.” They uttered these prophetic words in their unsettling manner, and the silence in this hall was profound. “The red and silver beast devours our cefndr in Gallia as a wolf devours a crèche, and the wolf of Rhyfain will cross our sacred Môr Udd!” They sang when they spoke, but each started a hairsbreadth after the another, and the sound was so confusing, this powerful magic struck terror into all who witnessed their foretelling. There were a few more secular and less superstitious warriors in this gathering however, and they began to make rumbling noises of protest at this shocking declaration now, including Cadlywydd Cadallan ap Cadall. This was a powerful general and the leader of the fearsome Carfetau, and this huge prime warrior was surrounded by his retinue of green cloaked warrior guards. The warriors of the deer and most in this hall were struck dumb by the portent in these words, but also by their staggered, confusing delivery. Cadallan seemed more angry than confused, however.
The girls continued to prophesise under the glow of those hidden lamps, and although his heart had quickened at the powerful spiritual aspect of these girls, Lludd remained relaxed and aloof in his chair, as he had witnessed the ovates Cerwen, Corsen and Cragen prophesise before and was considered a canny man himself. Lludd knew the trick was to focus on the words of Cragen, the last one to speak. It was a simple matter to discern the smudged and stammered words then, but he had seen many a grown man piss his bracs and quake in his war boots at the sight and sound of these ghostly, Gods-struck triplets.
“The red and silver beast of Rhyfain will subdue all Brythons and will come to rule this sacred land for many centuries to come!” They stuttered this astonishing prophesy, and the Carfetan general stood up then and thumped his fists to the table, his huge, pale and rugged face betraying his blazing fury at this appalling spoken prospect, but he remained silent, clearly struggling to hold his tongue. “The seventh century of Rhyfain marks the beginning of our defeat, and the beast will then rest, but time will pass, and we will be brought low by his issue! Thus, many Brythons will pass over the bridge of swords to the Underworld and all Prydein will kneel before the red beast and pay many long years of harsh and painful tribute!” They sung this dreadful outlook in their tremulous, hesitant way and with their huge eyes blank and bottomless black.
The consternation in this hall spread, and more outrage was voiced at these unbelievable, even treasonous words. AucHur had to interrupt them and take a step forward to remind all present that these girls were merely a conduit to the Gods, and the words they heard were the words of the Gods speaking through these children. It had the desired effect as the hubbub died away somewhat, apart from the tables of the Carfetau whose fearsome warriors remained standing, outraged and protesting still. It was they who always protested the loudest, as these northern warriors were the fiercest tribes of all Breged in battle. These cataclysmic words were just too much for them to accept as no force on this earth could command them to kneel and to capitulate. Every man, woman and child of the Carfetau would die in defence of this principle as everyone here knew. The warriors of the leaping-deer began to pound the tables with their fists in support of their general and at the unacceptable words of this heinous prophecy regardless of these uati girls’ reputations, and these three diminutive prophets turned to face them: 1, 2 and 3.
Cerwen, Corsen and Cragen pointed their empty, soulless eyes through the smoke at the Carfetau, clearly targeting the powerful Cadlywydd Cadallan and his men and changing the atmosphere in this packed hall in a flash. The girls held up their hands with the outer fingers extended making the bull and each forming the sacred number eleven, sixty-six being a powerful, irrefutable magic. Their left legs bent then at the knees and the soles of their bare feet came to rest inside their right knees, 1-2-3, and abruptly, these little girls were standing rock still on one thin white leg, making a triad, and their empty eyes were huge. This terrifying, triadic aspect stunned these standing warriors to shut their mouths, and the hair rose visibly on their arms as they were brushed by the Gods into silence. All sat down swallowing nervously including their general, as this spiritual force that pressed heavily down on them now could not be challenged. As the Carfetau retook their seats with wide eyes, this weighty force relented, and the girls gained both their feet once more and turned gracefully away, one, two and three. Facing the nobility on the dais again, they continued with their mesmerising speech and in absolute silence from the chastened masses behind, as the light of the Gods which bathed them had suddenly turned a magical shade of green.
“In seventh triumphant hubris will play, and arrogance will dance great Rhi Bellnor, and treason will be the puppet master. Foreign gold will shine, and eyes will glint, brother will slay brother and Brython will betray Brython as the wolf so desires!”
Another outburst of indignant protest from the Carfetau followed these appalling words and which rose noticeably. This rising objection then faded suddenly, and it died away completely as hidden fingers had sprinkled once more. In a single heartbeat, the triplets were at once bathed in a dread glow of bright, fresh blood crimson and the crowd were again struck dumb behind them. Cerwen, Corsen and Cragen continued without pause in the bloody glare of this shocked silence, and they turned back around now, 1-2-3 to address this stunned audience.
“Undeb Prydein must be achieved with the rites of llwgwaed, as this holy and sacred unity will please the Gods and secure the future of our descendants to come. We must come together as one, join our hips and our thighs, lock shields and raise our glittering swords. We must endure as it is this blessed quality that outweighs all, and lucky it is that the combrogi of Prydein endure like no other people. It is in our blood to endure and to survive, which has come down to us from the countless generations of our cherished ancestors. Without Undeb all will perish!” One two and three, their strange, unnerving speaking stopped, and the ensuing silence was profound. Cerwen, Corsen and Cragen then turned consecutively and slowly to their left then 1-2-3 and filed across the face of the dais, just as the red glow around them faded away in the breathless hush of this hall. As they returned as one to the back wall and the door in the righthand corner with their steps matching precisely and their bare feet hitting exactly the same marks on these flags, you could have heard a beard comb drop to them in the eerie vacuum of silence which followed these three little girls like a swirling vortex. As the final, diminutive and white gowned figure of Cragen passed beyond the tapestry like a ghost, the great hall of King Bellnor ap Capoir erupted into a bellowing clamour of raised voices. Many warriors began shouting and arguing with each other, and as is entirely common and very much expected in any Brythonic quarrel there was much aggressive gesticulating, name-calling and a great belligerent waving of arms in the smoky haze, especially around the tables of the garrulous Carfetau.
“Order, order!” Bellnor bellowed at these jostling and confrontational warriors squabbling between the benches before him, but even his loud voice could not be heard above the din.
Lludd Llaw Ereint stood slowly then, and a vacant expression took hold of his rugged face. As the high king of the Khumry visibly retreated from his angular features, the brif-dewin of Prydein took his place with glittering eyes, opening his mouth. What ushered from below the great black arch of moustaches was at first a sound like a spring rill, which then grew to a babbling brook. He took another great chest full of air then and continued to emanate this fell sound without pause. It swelled to a rushing stream over a pebble-strewn bed, and louder still, until it was a roaring river in full spring flood. Some men and women near to the dais turned to stare agog at this awesome and thunderous sound pouring from that tall, black and silver wizard on the dais, and they stood looking up with their mouths and eyes wide open. The gŵyrd of the Carfetau still argued and yelled at each other however as they were ever warlike and quarrelsome. In the next heartbeat, this great hall was filled with the terrifying sounds of a branch and boulder filled avalanche of water, cracking and crashing loudly over a rocky cliff, and its shocking, booming uproar shook the very air in this hall. All in it became still and awestruck, to turn and to gaze wide-eyed and terrified at the Lord Brif-Dewin of Gorddofica and all Prydein, as in all his black and silver glory he had revealed a small chink of his astonishing powers.
King Lludd ap Beli Mawr had been brought up as a Gorddofic prince, and that family had been recognised throughout history as a ruling line of sovereigns, but also as kings of the druids. These mountaineers from northern Khumry are today the intellectual aristocracy of that nation, being the motherland of a proud Prydein. The Gorddoficau proudly hold the rheolwr y grym over that nation’s tribes and are now too the military force of the druids across Prydein, known as their ‘aer y derwydd’ since the separation. Lludd and all Prydein knew that his revered and irreplaceable father would be the last to hold the dual role. Beli Mawr would be the last penodiad deuol; both high king of Prydein and king of the druids, as this country’s priesthood had evolved from necessity since that calamity. The Druidry of Prydein had become independent of sovereignty and any secular influence over the intervening years and have become much more powerful. Some of these Gorddofican nobles are chosen to be druid trained themselves and in a truly ancient order, usually the surplus male princes of Gorddofican royal families. This intense and unforgiving training of body, mind and soul takes nineteen years, and to become one of these fabled wizard-warriors the druids called Dewin, the acolytes had to pay a price very few were able or willing to pay. One in a thousand were able to cope with the martial, mental and the spiritual demands that were constant and unending on the students, making eye-watering rates of attrition. Lludd had hammered on the great gates of CaerBraint in Llanddona soon after he had lost his right hand, demanding admission, and he had not just qualified to become one of them, this primary son of Beli Mawr had quickly proved himself to be far superior to any dewin they had ever trained before. Nine long and challenging years he had toiled within that fortress of the dewin, and nine long and hard winters he had endured inside its fearsome walls. He had been a completely changed man when he had eventually passed back out of those great black gates, but in reality it had been just three years later. Ten more years of training had remained, but this done in the real world and in real time. However, this fearsome man had completed his training as a wizard-warrior some years previously, and Lludd Llaw Ereint, as accommodating and as sociable as he was infamous was the most fearsome weapon in and of himself, and none knew his true capabilities, except perhaps his brothers and his life-long mentor and teacher; HênDdu.
As a truly shocked silence gripped the people in this hall and the bedlam died in a heartbeat, it was replaced by a dumbstruck awe reflected on the faces of all. The noise that issued from Lludd’s open mouth began to abate then and was soon a calming, babbling brook once more. The sound then died away completely, leaving a stunned audience in the intense stillness of its wake. The seconds stretched ominously, and rain could be heard dripping from the thatch and splashing into the ring ditch outside, and every eye was locked to this fearsome king-dewin on the dais. Nobody uttered a word, and it seemed as though every soul in this great hall were holding their breath, locked in a kind of terrified anticipation of the utterly unknown. Dewin departed and high king returned, Lludd paled with the effort it had taken, and his left hand found the arm of the chair before he sat breathing deeply. The tension in this hall was suddenly released, and a hubbub of excited gossip burst from these astonished warriors into the shocking silence.
“Who will form this llwgwaed?” Came a low but powerful voice from a dark corner, and in stark contrast to the chattering.
All heads turned to see Queen Morgu in the shadows, the warrior chieftain of the infamous Effwrog stronghold of CaerEbor; capital fortress of the Paurisau on Breged’s wild eastern borderlands. She stepped forward into the light, and her ruined face was the first thing everyone saw. It had been thus since a Jute raider had tried to remove her head many years ago. Her lightning reactions at the time had saved her life and had kept her noble head where it belonged, but the fight had left a huge wound to the left side of her mouth and face. It was still a horror of twisted pink flesh, and her teeth grinned permanently through the folded cicatrices twisting one side of her torn mouth. Queen Morgu wore a weathered, much used armour of a fine old design, and she bore the swirling and now faded blue tattoos and iron arm rings of the warrior. Most looked next at the dazzling cape of peacock feathers she wore over her armour, and the myriad colours were bewitching in the firelight, flashing in rainbow waves like oil on water as she moved. The enormous gold torc around her broad neck was usually the next focus of people’s attention as it was a thing of rare and stunning beauty. It had been carved in the sacred and ancient, flowing style of the honourable Paurisa, second only to the Eceniau in their creative powers over the noble metals. This retired but still ferocious queen clutched a knobbly cane of hazel in her left hand and shifted her weight with an ugly wince, betraying the fact that her fighting days were long over. Her power and influence remained however, and so she had been included in the royal summons which had criss-crossed this huge territory of Breged. With just two burly personal guards in attendance, Queen Morgu had ridden her charger here the twenty or so miles southwest to represent her people, and she was determined to do just that.
“HênDdu and I will form the sacred and required blood-oath honourable Queen Morgu, gwraig Ebor ap Ebrawc!” Lludd answered her, giving her full and respectful title. He stood once more and bowed deeply and respectfully to this matriarch of the formidable Paurisau, who bowed just as deeply in return in her stilted way.
“We are deeply honoured lord King Lludd ap Beli Mawr.” Morgu replied neutrally but with equal respect. “But we may not be in need of such a sacred oath so soon if what was just prophesised by the uati is accurate!” She added with a horrific scowl and in her strange, musical accent, causing confusion to show on many of the surrounding faces. “The Roman’s seventh century is not until next year, as this is the six hundred and ninety ninth year since the founding of that great and foul citadel!” She grimaced, pointing out the inherent problem in the uati’s divinations, and the queen of the Paurisau stirred up a swell of consternation in this hall with her wet and slightly slurred words. Lludd seemed to have recovered quickly, and he turned to AucHur behind the king’s throne in respect, and the druid nodded his tonsured head in invitation and assent. Lludd turned back to the queen in that dark corner and to the assembled chieftains and gŵyrd of this Bregedian alliance before him, and he raised his chin.
“I cannot speak for the Gods honourable Queen Morgu as none here can, and maybe their reckoning to the foundation of Rome is different from our own or even the Romans’, who knows. But, however we humans count these years, the Gods, our spies and our own common sense all tell us that General Gaius Julius Caesar is coming this year whatever its number! I can speak for myself and for my people however when I give you my unbroken word, that all the signs point to Caesar coming this autumn. I am sure he will launch his invasion close on the heels of this coming Lughnas, and my people are preparing for his arrival.” He answered Morgu’s question as truthfully as he could and bowed again in finality to the Paurisian matriarch. This seemed to placate many people in the hall and to many appreciative nods. “Clearly we cannot leave our fate to chance, and so you must all swear the sacred oath of unity before all our Gods.” He added quickly, returning his focus to the massed warriors on the benches and around these painted walls. “I will take your promises to HênDdu myself, and together we will form this great national blood-oath that must be sworn. As the future prophecy you all heard tonight from the uati triplets is perhaps the worst imaginable and our worst nightmare, yet it is just one such future we may have to face if we do nothing. There are many possible outcomes, all of them uncertain, but we must take action to strive toward the future of our own choosing!” He stated boldly, exuding a supreme self-confidence that was entirely infectious. He was forced to take a modest pause here as the beer logs began crashing on the tables again, and they gave a somewhat erratic tempo to his chanted name this time. When the din had subsided enough, Lludd straightened and continued to address these once violently disparate tribesmen and women, bowing his head in acknowledgement of the Carfetau and their infamous general at the centre of this agitated crowd. “Above all, you, the families and the combrogi of Breged must come together as one people as you have never done before, and more; you must join with Galedon and Albion in this most sacred triad!” He demanded of them all, continuing his cold scrutiny of the rows of rapt faces before him. “I meet with HênDdu at Beltain, and we will have the sacred words of our llwgwaed ready for the taking of your great blood-oath, at Lug’s own sacred festival three months later. Whether it is this year or the next, no commander of sane mind would attempt invasion in winter, and we believe the Roman braggart will be kept busy by the Germanic and Galliad tribes throughout this coming spring and most of the summer. But from this moment onwards we must put aside our petty squabbles, our feuds and our ancient land disputes, and we must open our hearts to those who were once deadly enemy. We must put the reckoning of lost comrades away and behind us for this unifying imperative to succeed. But know this combrogi; the llwgwaed must be taken with a pure heart, or the bridge of swords to the Underworld will be closed forever to any fool who breaks it or takes it with a false heart.” He informed all in this hall bleakly, and his cold blue eyes glittered their ferocious challenge in explicit support of this oath. Cadallan caught his eye at that fraught moment, nodding his support almost imperceptibly, and Lludd honoured him in return with a cursory nod of his own. Satisfied that the most onerous demand had been made of these powerful people and received by them without open rebellion, Lludd took another deep breath. There was some head nodding and a low muttering of agreement from many sage heads following these wise but portentous words including the influential Carfetau, and so Lludd ploughed on, knowing that he had their undivided attention. He began to speak more softly now, forcing them to listen, and yet his quiet words carried clearly to the very front of this great hall. The atmosphere had changed again too, and it was now charged with an electric and vital energy that grew as the import of tonight’s gathering began to sink in for the majority. “I truly believe these Roman conquerors are coming to Prydein, precisely when is another matter, but we have all heard the harrowing tales of our cefnder in Gallia and elsewhere, and how they have been butchered without mercy or let.” Lludd’s voice began to rise again now. “Many ancient and noble bloodlines were lost forever in that slaughter, as those Roman king-killers think that they are Gods put on this earth to do as they please, and there is not a grain of mercy in any of them!” He told them these well-known facts simply, and all were now nodding and rumbling in agreement. “We Brythons also know that they are corrupt to the core, and that the primary motive of Caesar the wolf of Rome is to rescue his own ruined political career and to pay off his massive debts!” A swell of ribald abuse and lurid scorn rose from these gathered warriors at these base motives, and Lludd nodded in support of their condemnation. “We Prydeinig know from long experience and bitter history that the pursuit of greatness always courts failure, and above all things these Romans are men, and men as we all know are fallible!” He said this with feeling and in his penetrating voice. The gŵyrd of Breged began to beat the tabletops with their logs again. He let them bang and shout for a minute before lifting his silver hand, and the silence was almost immediate.
“We have also heard with heavy hearts, how the arch-druids and a few of the leading royal Houses of Gallia called to unite the many kingdoms in that great land, to enjoin and together repel Caesar’s red and silver machine of conquest. The call came from HênDdu himself with Gallia and Prydein’s great council of arch-druids in complete support, but that great and august body of holy men and women could not turn that bloodthirsty Roman maniac with their powers as his foreign Gods were too powerful. Yet, they failed too to inspire and gain the vital and crucial Galliad undeb they so desperately needed!” Lludd admitted morosely and with a shake of his head. AucHur behind him looked uncomfortable at this infamous knowledge as he had been present at that huge assembly and the sacred call to arms and unity in Gallia, but he kept his eyes lowered and his mouth shut as Lludd continued without a glance his way.
“The fault lies not in our religion but perhaps in our greed, as many kings and princes in both Gallia and Prydein believed wrongly that Caesar would return to Rome when he had won enough plunder and enough reputation. Sadly, the truth of the matter is old habits die hard, and so most of Gallia’s kings, princes and their nobles used the chaos to manoeuvre for more power, position or land.” Lludd told these people this with a vehement condemnation in his tone, allowing a blaze to flash in his eyes. “Had they achieved the unity demanded by ours and their own priesthood, no force on this earth could have conquered the countless warriors of our Galliad combrogi, but they squandered the opportunity to unite and to organise themselves properly, leaving the ruling families to do all the fighting, and all the dying! And as we have come to learn, they paid the ultimate price for their selfish ambitions, and those vassal rulers through their greed and their cowardice condemned their own werrin to servitude and death.” He finished darkly, looking sharply at his audience, conveying the import of his words by his indomitable will and the implacable look on his hard face. He knew he had them in the palm of his hand now, and every person in this great hall hung on each word as if they were links of pure silver dropping from the thatch.
“This will not happen in Prydein!” Lludd Llaw Ereint declared sternly, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. “THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN IN PRYDEIN!” He repeated with an amplified roar, allowing more power for these six words, and they echoed around this hall as if imbued with a life and a demanding voice of their own. The warriors of Breged roared back, hammering the tables once more in shared covenant and with their faces flushed with the hot emotions building in them all now. “This land is the sacred birthplace of our culture and the crucible of our religion, as we all know.” He continued as the noise abated. “Countless centuries and countless generations, all piled one on top of another, and we must honour the memory of our innumerable ancestors, those who gave their lives so that we can live ours today.” Lludd told them more sombrely, but then he stood more erect as he looked around at these warriors, catching again the eyes of Cadallan and many other familiar veterans before him. “We will make this sacred triad of the three great federations of northern Prydein! We will honour our ancestors, and we will show them that their powerful blood still runs red and hot in these veins!” He shook his muscular sword arm at them, his voice rising again now and with the volume increasing once more as his warrior spirit awakened fully. “Your esteemed Houses will come together, and then you will join my sacred host of Khumric Houses, as we have already signed our llwgwaed in our own hot blood. Then, together my fine combrogi, we will ally with the Lloegrian Houses and take ourselves south to their coast, and there, we will await the arrival of a vainglorious Roman fool and his doomed men. The war drums in the mountains and in the valleys are beating loud, and our druids are dancing wildly in their groves as the Khumry are going to war!” He boomed at them, and the raucous hammering of logs erupted once more, many wooden vessels being smashed in the celebration of these soaring spirits and the unstoppable outpouring of emotional synchronicity; beer, suds and pieces of wet timber flying everywhere.
Bellnor placed his hand on Lludd’s right shoulder amid this uproar and nodded in encouragement, both wisely giving pause for these demonstrations. The two kings embraced again, and both drank deep from their cups, their faces animated. Lludd turned back to the hall when some order had been restored, and he took another deep breath before continuing seriously. “Every man, woman and child will be bound to this great national llwgwaed we are forming for the first time ever in our history, and if the flashing, killing blades of Prydein join as one, we will offer this bold Caesar such a dread butchery, he nor any other Roman braggart will ever have the audacity to test the steel of undeb Prydein again! The world will know that the Prydeinig have come together and that we are ‘united’ at last. We, the mighty Brythons will merge to become one unbeatable army, and we will without question gain our glorious victory over Rome and any other enemy, and we will endure unto the end of days; may the Gods allow!” He ended powerfully with this ubiquitous plea, and the great hall erupted with the bellowed response.
‘May the Gods allow!’
Pandemonium broke out then among them, and all hope of order was lost for some time as the conversations and discourses in this great hall were suddenly electrifying; their import and possible consequence now intimately understood by all present. The overall atmosphere between these once disparate tribes was finally one of accord, and experienced, wise heads which had at one time plotted tribal, internecine massacre were now bent in allied discussion about the most portentous possible events in all Prydein’s long and ancient history.
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