The Prince of Powys (10 page)

and his greatest treasure was the cauldron of eternal life.”

Branda remembered the guard she rode with to Dinas Bran

said the hil fort once held the Holy Grail. “Leri, this cauldron you speak of, do you mean the Grail?”

“One is a Christian belief, the other an ancient Druid tale.

They may be one and the same, or two different treasures. It

depends on whom you speak to.”

“So Elisedd could be the keeper of the Grail?”

“I’ve never thought of it. I don’t know.”

“Yes, but the Druid would know.”

“Neilyn?” Leri arched her eyebrows. “Do you mean to ask

him?”

“Yes, and you are coming with me.”

“Now?” Leri pushed up from the bed into a seated position.

“He’s at his best in the morning, for throughout the day he

grows crankier.”

“He’s a grouchy old man, but, Branda, you should never

criticize a Druid. It could bode il for you. It would be very bad.”

Branda waved at the honking geese in their wooden pen as

she folowed Leri inside the Druid’s temple. With the door flap

pushed aside the morning light struck a silver scrying bowl that

lay in the center of the room. It glistened like a sunlit mountain mere.

Neilyn sat by the scrying bowl with his legs folded beneath

him on a pile of pelts. Dried flowers and herbs hung from the

ceiling, their musky, tangy scents mingling into an aroma so

strong she could taste it on her tongue.

“Royal Druid, we need your assistance.” Branda flashed her

sweetest smile.”In my dream a man named Bran, with no body,

only a head and long red hair, told me I must find the treasure in Dinas Bran.”

“What treasure?” Neilyn’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Leri stepped closer to Neilyn. “Could he mean the Grail or the

cauldron?” She spoke rapidly, her voice raised an octave.

“I know of the legend, but there is no Grail.” He shook his

gray head from side to side. “It’s naught but a Christian version

of the tale of the true cauldron,” he said stressing the word true.

“Could the cauldron be hidden in Dinas Bran?” Branda asked.

“No, Princess. It shattered into as many shards as the stars in

the night sky.” He waved his hand as if pushing that part of the

tale away for later. “What puzzles me is that the man you saw in

your dream can be no other than Bran the Blessed, a god of the

Celts.” Neilyn cupped both his knees and leaned back. “During

his sister Branwen’s wedding feast, Bran gifted her new husband

Matholwch, King of Erin, with a magic cauldron which revived

the dead. Later, Bran and his brothers found out that Matholwch

made Branwen a slave.” He glanced from one Princess to the

other as he continued the tale. “They sailed back to Erin to

rescue her. Bran and his brothers fought Matholwch’s army but

were losing, for each night Matholwch revived his dead soldiers

with the cauldron. Upon discovering this, Bran’s half-brother

Evnissyan hid under the corpses of the dead. Matholwch’s men

unknowingly threw him into the cauldron. In so doing Evnissyan

broke the magic vessel but sacrificed his life, for he had used so much strength that his heart failed.

much strength that his heart failed.

“It was at this battle Bran was mortaly wounded and had his

companions cut off his head.” Neilyn paused a moment to let his

words sink in. “Bran’s severed head stil spoke, and he ordered

his companions to bury him in a mound in London so he could

protect the island from invaders. So it was, until King Arthur dug up his head.”

“Could there be other treasure?” Branda’s body squirmed

with anticipation. “Mayhap his brothers or his men stole

something from Matholwch before they departed?”

“This hil fort is very old. It stood hundreds of years before the

Romans came. Elisedd is from the royal bloodline of Vortigern

himself.” He glared at them with deep, drawing eyes. “Al

manner of treasure could be hidden here but it belongs to our

ancestors.” He tilted his head. “Neither of you should dig it up

and risk disturbing the spirit of Dinas Bran.”

“We wil not disturb anything, but Bran has sent me on this

quest.” Branda shot him a firm glare.

“I cannot waylay you from a god’s quest.” Neilyn leaned

forward and grasped his knees tightly. “Do what you wil.” He

raised his finger. “However, Leri, I am charging you to keep the

Saxon Princess out of harm.”

“Yes, Arch Druid. I wil watch over her and keep her from

mischief,” Leri said with a smile, in her soft, clear voice.

“Then on with your quest. I ask that you tel me of any prize

you take from the god’s hiding place.” He cocked his head. “I

do wonder why Bran would appear to you, a Saxon.”

“He said the treasure is my fate.”

Neilyn nodded his head as if that explained everything. “I wish

you wel on your quest.” He stood, walked to his worktable,

then began mixing and crushing herbs.

Branda and Leri hiked up their skirts and departed the temple.

As they walked past the sacred white geese, Branda recaled the

bodiless head which spoke to her. She wrung her hands. Neilyn

knew the man was Bran, just as he’d said in the dream. This was

strange indeed, but the quest was fun. She could think of hunting

treasure instead of missing Blaise.

“Leri, we have to find the treasure, but where would a Celtic

god hide his cache?”

“It’s an ancient treasure.” Leri dropped her shoulders a little.

“The oldest section of the fort is the tombs. Let us begin our

“The oldest section of the fort is the tombs. Let us begin our

quest in there.”

“The tombs?” Branda cocked her head. “With the dead?”

She nibbled on her fingernails.

“Come, I’l show you.” Leri walked at a brisk pace while

Branda made every effort to stay right behind her.

Branda took a deep breath as they approached the tombs.

She folowed Leri down a set of stairs hewn from stone ages

ago. As she moved slowly down the steep steps, her chest

vibrated with a mix of zeal and doubt. When they reached the

bottom, Leri pushed aside a thin cobweb wal.

“I hope there are no spiders.” A layer of dust coated

Branda’s tongue and clung to the back of her throat. She

coughed.

Leri puled a piece of flint and a hunk of steel from the pouch

belted to her side. She struck flint with steel until it sparked and lit the torches, set in sconces on the rock wal. They cast light

into the darkness but also caused large, looming shadows. Leri

grabbed one of the torches. Branda placed her hands on Leri’s

shoulders as they moved as one into the dark, damp bowels of

the mountain. Branda’s heart hammered. She peered over Leri’s

shoulder as they walked warily down a long tunnel. Huge

standing stones formed an eerie line at the end of the gloomy

passage.

“The blocking stones,” Leri said. “Come.” She squeezed

through a smal space between two of the tal, hard stones.

Leri held the torch steady as Branda folowed. A dank,

mildew stench seeped through the rocks. Branda craved fresh air

but she had to find this treasure. Leri swung her foot forward but found nothing there because the ground was uneven. She

stumbled forward and Branda let out a sharp scream as she fel

with her. Leri managed to fal so that she held the torch upright.

It stil blazed. Branda, who landed on her rump, slowly puled

herself to her feet and then offered Leri a hand.

As Leri shone the torch upon the floor they saw a step eroded

with time. Leri walked with a limp, having scraped her hip on the

stone floor. Branda’s legs felt shaky but they moved on across

the gravel floor, past long-standing stones. The torch stil burned brightly.

Leri stopped and inhaled deeply. “This is the forecourt.”

Holding the brightly burning torch as Branda gripped her other

Holding the brightly burning torch as Branda gripped her other

hand, she folowed the stone wals to the end of the passage.

The murky hal opened into a long corridor. At a scurrying

sound, Leri squeezed Branda’s hand tightly.

“Rats, I think,” Leri gasped.

Each high-pitched rodent squeak made Branda jump inside,

but she fought her fears. She had to find Bran’s treasure
.
It was her fate. She scanned the tunnel, which housed four large

chambers: one south, east, west and north, with several smaler

tombs in between. Standing stones blocked the entrance to each

chamber.

Leri shone the torch upon one of the long stones etched with

circular carvings. Branda ran her hand across the thin white lines in the hard, gritty rock.

“Branda, beware; standing stones often fal.” Leri pointed to

one of the chambers where a huge falen stone blocked the lower

part of the entrance. Branda stepped back. She screamed at a

noise which sounded like the roar of a gust of wind.

She looked up. “Leri!”

“Blessed Bran! Duck!”

A storm of smal black-winged creatures swooped over their

heads as they huddled together. The flock of bats thundered

forth from an upper crack in one of the smaler tombs. Branda’s

entire body shuddered.

“Let’s go back! The chambers are blocked. We cannot enter

them.”

Leri arched her brows and widened her eyes. “Yes, come.”

She grabbed Branda’s hand and held the torch high as they

hurried as fast as they could back down the tunnel to the

graveled forecourt.

Cautiously, they made their way across the gravel floor. Leri

stepped up to the unleveled ground and helped Branda up. She

clutched the torch and clung tightly to Branda as they squeezed

through the smal space between the blocking stones. They

moved as fast as they could through the dank, dusty tombs.

Branda was overcome with a horrible feeling of something

furry upon her foot. She glanced down in time to see the long tail of a huge rat brush across her shoe then scurry off. She squirmed

and screamed. Leri jumped.

They rushed on and finaly came to the steps. Branda stuck

They rushed on and finaly came to the steps. Branda stuck

the torch back into the sconce on the stone wal and they

climbed up the steep steps, making their way back into the

center yard of Dinas Bran.

Her lungs were starved for fresh air. As she inhaled, her chest

filed with a warm, glowing energy. Leri was overcome with a

choking cough. Branda grabbed Leri’s arm and puled her

toward the old wel where she released her and wrapped her

fingers around the hemp rope. She puled up a wooden pail of

cool water and together they drank half the bucket.

She looked down at her once blue dress. Covered with

ancient dirt, it was now a murky gray and ripped at the hem. She

glanced at Leri’s hair coated with dust and her brocaded Celtic

gown which looked like that of a beggar woman’s from where

she fel, and she was stil limping.

“Leri!” She stepped back and pointed. “A spider. There’s a

spider in your braid.”

“Get it out, Branda! I detest the creatures!”

She took a deep breath and swatted the spider out of Leri’s

hair. They both screamed and jumped back.

“It’s gone.” Branda heard the shaky tone in her voice. “I want

a hot bath.”

“I as wel,” Leri said, stil shuddering from the spider.

* * * *

They entered and dropped down onto cushioned chairs. At

Leri’s order, a servant filed the wooden tub with heated water.

Branda sensed she was close to discovering the treasure. The

memory of the falen stone Leri had pointed out to her kept

teasing her mind. There was something odd but she couldn’t

figure it out. She had to go back and look at that stone again, but not now. She had enough of the tombs for today.

Branda shed her torn, smely clothes, climbed into the tub and

sat down. She washed the soot and muck off her skin and lay

back in the soothing bath.

“My turn.” Leri sat in the chair, examining her leg to make

sure there were no cuts or sweling other than her skinned knee.

“You’ve been there a good while.”

Branda rose and dried herself off as Leri sent servants to bring

Branda rose and dried herself off as Leri sent servants to bring

two more buckets of clean, heated water.

She walked to the bed and looked down at Leri’s leg. “Are

you al right?”

“Yes. It’s just scrapes and bruises.” Leri pushed herself off

the bed, hobbled over to the tub, and gingerly climbed in.

A servant helped Branda dress into a red Celtic gown and

plaited her hair into four long braids. The other serving girl

returned with the additional buckets of clean, hot water and

poured it in the tub. Leri managed to keep her skinned knees out

of the water, but as this downpour splashed on her scrapes, she

cringed from the sting.

Branda lay down on the bed. Warm and relaxed, she drifted

off into a peaceful nap. In her dream she caled out to Blaise. He

appeared before her, handsome as ever, with his fluffy red hair,

bright-blue eyes, brawny shoulders and muscular thighs. The

image roused a warm, tingling sensation through her body.

She caled to him in her dream. “Do not worry about my sire