He nodded, understanding. He would have to look. "Has the rain stopped yet, Rhonwyn?"
"Aye."
"I'll go and 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 cottage nearest 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 these two little ones. Even bastards had their relevance. 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 pleased him like this descendant of the Fair Folk had.
The earth was soft with the rain, and he was quickly able to 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 palm, but it was perfectly 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."
A sister, Rhonwyn thought sadly. She had wanted a sister. Mam had talked about names. Huw after her father if a boy. Gwynllian for a girl. Rhonwyn dipped the bucket into the water barrel by the corner of the cottage and then filled the iron kettle, swinging it over the fire to warm. Then she went to the cupboard and took out a pristine length of cloth, bringing it to her father and handing it to him wordlessly.
Ap Gruffydd smiled almost imperceptibly. There was a grim look in his eyes. He remembered how Vala had begged him for the cloth, how many years back? If she or the children died, she had explained to him, they would have a clean shroud to be buried in. He had laughed at her macabre request, but then he had assented and brought her the cloth. She was alone here on this green hill with her children because she had chosen to belong to him, thus eschewing respectability and the company of her neighbors. No one would help her in a time of trouble. She understood that and accepted her fate because she truly loved him. He should have married her, he thought again. Her father had held a small bit of land and was free. Oh, he would make a dynastic marriage eventually, but it was Vala he had loved. Would always love.
Ap Gruffydd spent the next hour bathing the body of the woman he had adored. He washed the barely born infant Vala's body had pushed forth. The bloody bedclothes on which she had died he burned. Then he tenderly wrapped the cold body in the immaculate shroud, tucking the baby into her embrace. Her limbs were so stiff it had been difficult to do so, but he knew that was how she would have wanted to be buried.
"Come and say farewell to your mam." He beckoned his children.
He saw Rhonwyn hesitate just a fraction of a moment, but then she took Glynn by the hand and came to him. He kissed his lover's icy lips a final time, and the children followed suit. Rhonwyn reached out and gently touched the baby's tiny head. He would have sworn for a moment that there were tears in her green eyes, but then she turned her hard gaze on him.
" Tis all your fault, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd," she told him. "Now what is to happen to Glynn and to me with our mam gone? Who will care for us?"
"You are my children," he replied. "I will not desert you. Your mother trusted me. Why can you not trust me? I am your father."
"You sired us on our mam's body, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd," she returned coldly, "but when have you ever been a father? When you came here it was to see her and to pleasure yourself. Because of you I have never seen another living being in all my life but for you, my brother, our mam, and that old crone who helped birth Glynn."
"1 saw you did not starve or go unclad," he defended himself. "What more is a lather needed for, lass? A man must fight and strive to gain his position and keep it. There are enemies to be defeated. New lands to gain. That is a man's world. A woman's is her children. Everything was as it should he between your mother and me. Now, let us bury her and your wee sister. Then I will take you with me to a place of safety."
Vala and her infant were placed with care in the wet grave. Her shroud had been laid over her face. The earth was filled in as Glynn sobbed his little heart out, cradled in his sister's protective embrace. The setting sun, in a burst of red and gold glory, lit the skies to the west. Ap Gruffydd raised a small mound over the grave and then replaced the strips of greenery he had first removed from the site. This way the grave was not likely to draw attention of either wild beasts or anyone who might pass by this remote place.
"We must remain the night here," he told his children. "Rhonwyn, you will gather up what you wish to take for both you and your brother. We will depart tomorrow at first light. Go inside now while 1 see what I can hunt up for dinner for you. Keep the fire going."
When he returned, two skinned coneys in his possession, he found the cottage swept and neat again. The bed he had so often shared with Vala, however, was stripped of its straw mattress. He said nothing, broiling the rabbits over the open fire and dividing them among himself, his children, and the dogs. Rhonwyn had set the little table, adding some of his bread and cheese. The rest, he knew, she had saved for the morning. He watched as she carefully pulled the meat from the bones of the rabbit, feeding it along with bits of bread and cheese to her little brother. Only when he was satisfied did she, herself, eat. She had learned well from her mam, he thought sadly. She'll be a good mother some day. I must make an advantageous marriage for her. She's a pretty lass.
The children slept together on their pallet, wrapped in their sheepskins. He made certain the fire did not die in the night. When the dawn came Llywelyn ap Gruffydd arose and stood in the doorway of the cottage. It would be the last time he would ever come here, he knew. He had not expected Vala to die before he did. She had been so strong and healthy. She had been just fourteen when he had first seen her in his uncle's house. He had taken her away with him, and his seed had planted itself in her womb the first time he breached her. She had been a virgin. Nine months later she had borne Rhonwyn as easily as a cat having her kittens. Then two years later, Glynn. That she should begin her travail two months before she should have, and die of it, surprised him. He would go to a priest and acknowledge these two offspring of his body.
The sun was now just about over the horizon. He turned back into the cottage and roused his children. They finished what was left of the rabbit, the bread, and the cheese. He gave them each a sip of wine from his flask. Glynn coughed as it slid down his throat, but Rhonwyn swallowed the liquid facilely.
"So you like wine," he chuckled.
"It is good," she replied.
"Do you have everything you wish to take?" he asked her.
"There isn't much," she answered, "but I've put it in our mam's shawl." She handed him the small bundle, its corners tied together, if not neatly, tightly.
"Go outside, and take the lad," he told her. "I will be there in a moment."
"What are you going to do?" she demanded of him.
He looked directly at her, his dark eyes meeting her green ones. "I'm going to burn the cot," he said, but she did not, to his surprise, object. Instead she nodded, and taking her brother in her charge, exited the dwelling. Ap Gruffydd emitted a small bark of laughter. Vala had been all softness and spicy sweet. This daughter of theirs was as hard as flint. Even as I am, he smiled to himself grimly. He took the reed torch he had made earlier and thrust it into the fireplace to catch the flame. When it was burning well he walked about the small cottage, setting it ablaze as he worked his way toward the open door.