A Memory of Love

Part One: Rhonwyn 1258-1270....Chapter 1

The little boy crept form the pallet and came to stand by his father, watching fascinated as ap Gruffydd gathered a bit of kindling together and drew a flint from his purse. Using the blade of his knife, the prince stroked the flint until it sparked, and the kindling caught light. Glynn's eyes were wide with amazement, and the pronce smiled, reaching out to ruffle the boy's dark hair. Ap Gruffydd added wood to the fire until it was blazing merrily, and the chill begain to dissipate.

The man stood and handed the flint to his son. " 'Tis yours, Glynn ap Llywelyn. Now you know how to make a fire, but only in a fireplace for now,eh, lad?"

"Aye, Tad" came the reply, and the prince smiled again. It was the first time the child had called him father.

"So, you know I am your sire," He said

"Mam said," The child answered simply.

"She did not lie, God assoil her sweet soul." Now the prince's attention was drawn back to his dead lover. She must be buried, although no priest would say the proper words over her. It ididn't matter. God would have Vala Uerch Huw because she was a good woman. He would not condemn her to a fiery hell because she had been Llywelyn ap Gruffydd'd leman. He wished now he had married her, even though she had neither wealth no powerful family ties to reccommend her. At least his children would have been legitimate. Well, he would formally ackowledge them. That would please Vala. He should egin to consider marriage, he thought. He was well past thirty and had naught but his two wee bastards to carry on his name. Rhonwyn had reentered the cottage. She took bread and cheese, making small peices for her little brother. Seeing the flint , she said, "What's that?" She picked it up and rolled the quartz in her hand gently.

"Give it back!" Glynn shouted at her. "Our tad gave it to me. It makes fire."

Rhonwyn shrugged and handed him back his prize.

"Was the baby born?" ap Gruffydd asked his daughter.

She shrugged. "I don't know," she replied, shoving bread and chees into her mouth. "I didn't look."

He nodded, understanding. He would have to look.

"Has the rain stopped yet, Rhonwyn?"

"Aye."

"I'll go dig a grave for yer mam," he said.

"Put it where she can see the sunset," the little girl said. "Mam always liked to watch the sunset."

He nodded and went outside. Taking the shovel from the side of the cottagenearest Vala's garden, he sought for a westerly direction. The storm had gone and the skies were clearing now. Finding the right spot he began to dig. What was he to do with his children? he considered as he worked. While there was a truce between him and the English for now, there was still no place he really called home. Besides, it would be far better if as few people as possible knew of theses two little ones. Even bastards had their relevence. They could be exploited by his enemies or used to cement treaties. Particularly as he had no other children. He had been faithful to Vala, for he had little time for his own amusement. Besides, there had never been a woman who had pleased him like this descendant of the Fair Folk had.

The earth was soft with the rain, and he was able to quickly dig the grave. Setting the shovel aside, he went in to fetch the body. Vala's face was at peace, although her body was stiff and contorted. Between her outstretched legs amid the black and thickened blood, he saw the child. It would fit neatly into his plam, but it was oerfectly formed. "You would have had a sister," he told Rhonwyn and Glynn. "Get me a basin, lad, and you, lass, put on a kettle of water to warm. Your mam and your sister will go to their grave clean."