Chapter 1 - Loose Strands
Edinburgh, Scotland
Margaret looked out her window on the bleak November landscape. Dark clouds were blowing in from the southwest. Perhaps there would be snow, it was certainly cold enough.
So this is what she had to look forward to. A life in the cold as servant to a Scot. This is certainly not what she had imagined as a young girl. But England was no longer safe for her. This William de Normandie had made that clear. She was not even sure that Scotland would be safe enough. Many of the Dukes who had betrayed her family were just across the border. And who knew how far the ambitions of William the Conqueror might reach?
Soon footsteps and a knock announced someone at her door. She straightened her dress and made herself presentable. Rumour had it that the King wished her to be his eyes and ears about the court. Perhaps at least, Margaret thought, she might find some purpose here.
Sure enough, she was informed by her maidservant that King Malcolm had requested her presence and so it was off to the throne room. The throne room in Edinburgh compared to England left much to be desired. A warmer fire, for one thing, would have been nice. Nevertheless she made her curtsies and presented herself to the King.
“My Lady Margaret, We have dire news.” Margaret was confused. Was she not to be made a Royal Advisor?
“We believe that William de Normandie is not only aware of your presence in Our Court, but means to see that whatever claim you might hold to his new throne is eradicated. For your own protection, We have arranged to send you to a safe location, where he shall have trouble finding you.” Terrifying images of the frozen wastes of Inverness, or Norway flashed through Margaret’s mind.
“We also believe, that we have found you a suitable husband”.
Margaret’s heart sank.
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Thus it was that in 1066, a double wedding occurred in Gwynedd. In the brisk November air, with the wind coming in off the sea, Bleddyn Cynfn of Gwynedd took a new wife, the Lady Cundo of Eu.
To add to the joy of the celebration, his son and advisor, Maredudd Cynfnn married a rather sombre looking Englishwoman, by the name of Margaret.
Chapter 2 - The Makings of a King
Gwynedd, Wales
Bleddyn Cynfn entered the council chamber, where already the clans were assembled. The Cynfns may have been the ruling clan in Gwynedd, but they could not have been so without the support of his late wife’s clan, the Meriadocs. There support and loyalty is what made Clan Cynfn the most powerful clan in Gwynedd, and possibly Wales. In fact, there was only one major obstacle: the Laigins.
The Laigins ruled the south, with the two young Laigin brother’s vying for supremacy. But the emphasis was on their youth. The South was unstable, and with this new English King, it proved dangerous to Wales to have these two children leading the Southern clans. Or, so he had been told.
He could not help but wonder at the change that had come over his son Maredudd. First, Maredudd had informed him that not only would King Malcolm of Scotland be interested in an alliance to defend against the English, but that Malcolm had offered Margaret Aethling to be Maredudd’s bride. Now, here was his son, suddenly the warmonger, looking to claim rulership of the Southern Clans. Something did not seem right to Bleddyn, but it appeared it was too late. Maredudd seemed to have convinced the Meriadocs already. It appeared that war might be inevitable.
“Well gentleman,” Bleddyn began, “I believe we all know why we are here. My son the diplomat seems to want to give you a run for your money Cadwgon.” Cadwgon Meriadoc was the most able warrior among them, and had frequently led the clans into battle. He was also a trusted friend of Bleddyn’s, which is why he’d named his second son after the Meriadoc warrior.
“I do not propose war for my own glory Father,” piped in Maredudd. “I merely feel we should act accordingly to the new threat arising in England.”
“By warring against each other? Making ourselves weaker while this William of Normandie grows stronger?” This came from Maredudd’s namesake, the eldest Meriadoc.
“I do not propose Meriadoc,” Maredudd Cynfn replied, “that we make Wales weaker. I propose that we make Wales stronger by making Gwynedd stronger.”
“He makes sense,” the Old Rhys Meriadoc (not to be confused with the young Rhys Meriadoc, who was studying at the Monastary in Brittany. The Meriadoc’s were overly fond of certain names, and tended to recycle them. It was a habit that Bleddyn had been unable to break in his late wife) “Those boys to the South will only bring trouble. This new English King will surely take advantage of their weakness. The question then becomes, do we strike at the elder or the younger?”
“Cut off the head first, and the body will die with it. We attack Diarmint Laigin in Dehubarth, and we can force his little brother Donnachad to surrender Glamorgan later.” Meriadoc pointed out the areas of the map that the two young boys controlled. Meriadoc’s plan would have them strike first at the more Western of the two. Maredudd shook his head.
“No,” he stated simply. “The threat is in the East, and we must first move in the East. Donnachad has no loyalty to his brother, he’s controlled anyways by the local clan leaders who are of age. He will not surrender just because we depose his brother.”
“So then we strike at Glamorgan,” pointed Cadwgon. “If the English want any further into Wales, they have to deal with us first.”
“Or sale their troops from Bristol, or Cornwall,” pointed out Meriadoc.
“Regardless, it will make an English invasion more difficult,” retoreted Maredudd. Bleddyn had heard enough.
“It’s settled then. We move against Glamorgan. But not until we are properly prepared.” It was obvious Maredudd was about to protest.
“You have a new wife to look to Maredudd, and so do I. And if you do not see that, then perhaps you will realize that it takes money to pay soldiers, and right now we have very little. We will build our resources in secret, and when we are fully prepared, we will move against Glamorgan.” Maredudd was silenced but clearly not appeased.
“Master Meriadoc,” Bleddyn continued, turning to the wily clan leader, “you will keep your ears and eyes open both to the South, and across the Marches into England, will you not?”
“I always do”.
“Excellent,” said Bleddyn, rising with the other men and proceeding towards the exit. “Now if you men will excuse me, I have a honeymoon to see too.”
Chapter 3 - Tidy Endings
Gwynedd, Wales (July 29, 1069)
Two years had passed in relative peace. Bleddyn and Cundo had just welcomed their first daughteer together, the young Lady Gwerfyl. Young Rhys had returned, having completed his education in Brittany, and assumed the duties of Bishop for all of Gwynedd. Most importantly, Bleddyn’s son Maredudd and his wife had been blessed with two children, one a boy and heir Aethelthryth.. Also they had a daughter, named Susanna, plus a third grandchild was also on the way for Bleddyn. Were it not tipping down rain and were he not about to go to war, he might have been happier.
Over a thousand brave warriors had answered the call. The host stood before him armed, and ready, their blue war paint making them look even more ferocious in the light of the coming storm. Bleddyn looked to Cadwgon to see that all was prepared. Gwynedd was marching south and to war.
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The three men stood in the storm looking down on the passing army of Welsh.
The weave grows stronger. So many new threads to pull.
This newest thread brings trouble. It threatens to ruin the whole tapestry.
Lightning crashes, thunder echoes. The sky grows darker still.
Cut it.
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Four days after the men had marched south to Glamorgan, Margaret felt a familiar pain in her stomach. Though it was only her third child, she knew all too well what this would mean. More hours of pain to bring another Welsh savage into the world. She still had Susanna suckling at her breast, and now she was about to bring forth another one. She almost wished that William of Normandie would find her, and put her out of her misery.
Life had been more bleak here in Wales then it had in her short stay in Scotland. The winters were still bitterly cold, and the castle (if it could be called even that) made the Castle of Edinburgh look like a palace fit for a Roman Emperor.
Lightning flashed outside her window, accompanied by a loud burst of thunder. Margaret doubled over in pain as a particularly violent contraction took hold of her. Would this wretched storm never end?
She called for her chambermaid to bring the midwife. She realized her water must have already broken, because she could tell that her undergarments were wet. Rather then wait for her chambermaid to return, as these Welsh were impossibly slow in more way then one, she began to remove her garments. They were hardly unmanageable, as it was useless to wear high fashion in Wales: it would be filthy before the day was half over not matter what you did.
The storm seemed to be growing closer outside, but she left the window open to air out the room. Another contraction took her, more painful then before and she fell to her knees. Something wasn’t right.
She got down to her nightdress and began to realize the severity of her situation. Her nightdress was soaked in blood. Her blood. Something was very wrong.
Thus died Margaret Aethling, former Princess, alone in her bedroom in a dark, sodden, corner of Wales.
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Dublin, Eire (September, 1070)
Bleddyn looked down from the keep at Dublin onto the Irish countryside. He had never meant to come this far. When word came that the Duke of Meath was supporting Donnachad of Laigin, Bleddyn had been unconcerned. He hoped that with a quick strike into Glamorgan, the Southern Clans would fall and the Irish clans would accept peace. But no such luck.
Cadwgon and Maredudd had insisted that we take the fight to the Irish, before they could bring it to Wales. And when Glamorgan fell, and Donnachad fled to Dyfed, but the Duke of Meath would not accept peace, Bleddyn had been forced to agree.
Now he stood, with one foot in his holdings in his homeland of Wales, and another across the sea in Eire. Strange times indeed.
Another welsh AAR :rofl:
