The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

slowly north along the line of the ditch, both concentrating on the work going on around them. The third time they were alone together they turned south towards the sun, drawing further away from their escort, talking of inconsequential things, once or twice laughing at nothing at all. The next time, heading alone towards the site, she told him it was almost time to say goodbye.

‘My father plans to move the household north after Easter. We are to spend a few days at our palace at Lichfield while he holds meetings with his archbishop, then we go on to Tamworth.’ She had meant it as a way of breaking the almost tangible silence between them but her voice carried a desperation she had not intended. This strange foreign prince with his silver eyes and his dark wild hair had become fixed in her thoughts in the day and in her dreams at night. Without realising it, she found ways of talking about him to her sisters and to her mother as they worked with the herb-wife in the stillroom, enjoying the sound of his name, wanting to hear them say how handsome he was, how charming. Her mother had begun to frown at the all too frequent mention of the young man’s name. Eadburh had flown off into a rage when her sisters had teased her that he might be a potential husband. Perhaps she had protested too much. Cynefryth glanced across at Nesta, the herb-wife, and saw she too was watching the girl with a speculative frown between her eyes as if seeing danger there. Thoughtfully she turned back to the parchment on which she had copied a charm she wished to use to bring a favourite mare into season. Next time she saw the king she would mention her suspicion. This youngest child of theirs was a strong-minded young woman given to outbursts of temper when she didn’t get her own way. He needed to have a stern word with her.

‘Why did your father choose you and not one of your elder brothers to come to see this stage of the work through?’ Eadburh pulled her horse alongside the prince’s mount and turned to face him at last. Behind them their attendants huddled back out of the wind as another shower of rain rattled out of the west.

‘I’m the only one who speaks your language.’ He had strong white teeth, she realised. His smile was warm in the handsome face, a contrast to the grim expressions of the men who followed him everywhere. Like her own escort, they were constantly watchful and suspicious.

‘Is your father’s kingdom large?’ It had not occurred to her to be interested up until now in the land he came from. All she knew was that Powys stretched out beyond the hills to the west and north into the misty distances.

He nodded. ‘I can show you.’ There was mischief in his eyes now. ‘Ride with me to the top of that ridge.’ He pointed across the ditch that was forming at their feet. ‘In a few days we won’t be able to cross this any more. We would have to travel to one of the guarded crossing points. From the top of the ridge we can see for miles.’

‘You’ve been up there?’ She looked at him curiously.

‘Of course. I need to see that all is well at home.’

‘And you can see that all is well from there?’ She didn’t hide her disbelief.

‘Come, and I’ll show you.’

It was too exciting a thought to resist. ‘We have secret matters to discuss as emissaries of our respective fathers,’ she bade Burgred sternly. She saw the suspicion and even rebellion in his face as he realised she was ordering him to stay behind, but already she was on her horse and following the prince down the steep, slippery side of the ditch and up its western flank.

It was further than it looked. As the two horses galloped through the woodland, she felt a moment of fear. They were on the far side of the ditch now, in the kingdom of Powys, where the people spoke the strange language they called Cymraeg, still believed in fearsome ancient gods, and fought like demons, swooping down from their mountains and disappearing again as suddenly, wrapped in mist. She gave a delicious shiver of excitement as she looked round. But there were no people here. The woods appeared deserted and already the trees were thinning as the track began to climb.

The open hillside rose high above the surrounding country. As they pulled the horses up, blowing heavily, Eadburh looked round. She could see in every direction, back the way they had come down into the flatlands of Mercia with the Malvern Hills in the far distance. In front she could see mile upon mile of mountains, stretching as far as she could see. As the clouds raced across the land from the west she saw dark shadows skimming the hillsides, and then the sunlight illuminating first one spot then another. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘But very wild. Where are your cities?’

He laughed. ‘We have no cities. You are looking at the land of dragons. Over there,’ he pointed northwest, ‘the dragons sleep, guarded by the saints. And over here,’ he pointed away towards the southwest, ‘you can see the peaks of the snowy beacons and the land of eagles.’ He slipped from his horse and looped its rein over his arm, then he came over to help her dismount. ‘So, what do you think of my father’s kingdom?’

‘I can see why he would want to raid the rich lands of Mercia!’ she commented crisply. She was trying to ignore the wild beating of her heart as he stood so close beside her. She had never felt this way about a man before. The power of the attraction was overwhelming her.

He laughed. ‘I suspect there is truth in that. But we have rich lands too, verdant valleys, rivers full of salmon, forests teeming