The Tricoloured Dragon
Y Ddraig Dri Lliw
Part One: The Gold Dragon
Chapter 1: Arriving in Wales
Spring came early to England that year, making it unseasonally warm as Prince Arthur's twenty strong party travelled west and north with laden horses to negotiate an important alliance for the king. Then it felt as if time had been turned back by a couple of months as the blue sky rapidly turned grey and the rain began to fall; sideways sheets of cold needles flung from the sky and making their faces sting.
"Welcome to Wales," Gaius announced with a wry smile.
"Are we truly there, already?" Arthur asked.
"We are close to the border, certainly," the old man replied, looking around and getting his bearings. "I recommend we make camp soon and ensure we're battle-ready for tomorrow. We have no idea what we'll face when we cross into The Marches."
"The Marches?" Percival asked.
Arthur turned to the large knight, one of the few men that he had to look up to now he had reached his full height. "The disputed territory on the border of England and Wales," he explained. "Sometimes it belongs to us, sometimes to them but it's rarely a safe place to be."
"This prince of Gwynedd knows we're coming though, doesn't he?" Leon asked.
"He does, yes," Gaius confirmed, "but, last I heard, the area we're approaching was controlled by the kingdom of Powys to the south. As I said, we will need be on our guard when we cross into that territory tomorrow."
As they moved further west the following morning, the land continued to rise and the rain continued to pour and Gaius' warning proved prophetic as the afternoon saw the approach of a Powys scouting party who, as it turned out, looked and sounded rather more formidable than they actually were. Then again, this small rabble were facing a group of the very best knights in the whole of England with the most up-to-date armour and weapons that the kingdom had to offer. The Welsh soon realised their disadvantage, and the survivors retreated as quickly as they'd appeared.
The final leg of their journey was less eventful, although the scenery more than made up for any lack of action. The first hills they'd encountered had looked impressive enough, dwarfing anything they'd seen in England but, as they moved even further west, the peaks grew in size; craggy stone knives cutting through sparse, reedy grass, whilst the wider roads dwindled into narrow, stony pathways winding around the mountains and making the knights especially nervous about further attacks.
"We're in Gwynedd now," Gaius reassured them. "It's a stable kingdom these days, the reason Uther chose it for an ally. I doubt we'll have any problems from this point on."
~o~0~o~
They saw their destination long before they reached it. More of a fortress than a castle, the huge structure perched precariously on one of the smaller, rocky hills in the area, with larger mountains framing it dramatically from behind. The path approaching the building quickly became so steep that the party were forced to dismount and lead their horses along it, something they'd had to do rather more frequently in recent days. Arthur winced as the aches of previous walks along mountain paths made themselves felt in his sore calves, and he fought to ascend without slipping on the wet and crumbling stone tracks.
An identically sized party of twenty men were waiting to greet them as they eventually reached the imposing entrance to the fortress; a diplomatic offering, Arthur noted with approval. In many ways the Welsh clothes seemed less rich and impressive than Arthur would have expected from royalty but, nonetheless, he found he had no trouble identifying their king. No, he corrected himself – their prince.
For the Welsh, that was a title of far greater honour and one that was perhaps better translated as warlord than king as they all understood the term. In this country it was not the eldest son that automatically inherited the kingdom, but the strongest; the superior warrior, the most ruthless fighter. Or perhaps it would be a brother or cousin that would take over when a Welsh prince died, or even a lord from a neighbouring kingdom. 'By right of conquest and by right of blood'. That was the Welsh inheritance law, and Arthur shook his head as he realised just how little his lessons with Gaius had prepared him for this visit.
The tall, bearded man in the centre of the welcoming party wore the same dark clothes as the men around him but with the addition of a thick fur-lined cloak; quite fine in its own, modest way. Like the Camelot cloaks, it displayed a dragon as decoration but, unlike the sedate golden dragon of the Pendragon dynasty, this creature was more roughly stitched; all tongue, claws and spikes.
The man stepped forward holding out a hand. "I welcome you all to Dinas Emrys Castle. My name is Balinor ab Ambrosius, Prince of Gwynedd, and I name you as honoured guests to my Hall."
His voice was heavily accented and musical, a stronger version of the mild lilt that Arthur often heard in Gaius' speech. The old man had been born and raised in Wales but had now lived many years in Camelot and had therefore adapted. In more ways than one.
Gaius stepped forward with a deep bow, "Rydym yn eich diolch am ein anrhydeddu fel gwestai a'n croesawu ni i'ch neuadd," he began and Arthur exchanged a confused look with Leon and Percival as the old man continued his greeting in the Welsh tongue. "Byddwch yn sicr ein bod yn dod mewn heddwch, gyda anrhegion a chyfarchion gan Frenin Lloegr."
Balinor beamed at this show of fluency and respect, and his party exchanged looks of surprise and obvious approval. Gaius then switched quickly to English and started the introductions.
"I bring with me a party of knights, including three young lords who have been personally chosen by King Uther to take part in our talks."
Arthur moved forwards with Leon and Percival trying not to let his nerves show. The planned deception had seemed perfectly sensible within the warm Halls of Camelot, but here in this wet, forbidding place, surrounded by numerous, stern, Welsh warriors, it suddenly felt like a risky move, especially as Balinor's curious gaze seemed to fall instantly on him as they approached.
"This is Sir Leon," Gaius announced, pointing to the tall, bearded man, "The first knight of Camelot."
"An honour," Balinor replied as he quite obviously pulled his attention away from the blond man, a hint of a frown quickly hidden.
"Sir Percival..." the old man continued.
Balinor looked up and his eyes widened before turning towards Arthur yet again. "It appears that you breed tall warriors in England, Lord Gaius. Even the youngest is on a level with me, it seems."
"This is Sir Lancelot," Gaius continued, indicating Arthur, and the young man quickly bowed, to hide any emotion that may be evident on his face.
"Young indeed to be awarded such an honour by your king."
"Yes, Sire," Arthur replied simply.
"'My lord' is the more appropriate title for one in my position, Sir Lancelot," Balinor corrected, but he smiled as he spoke, showing no sign of being insulted. Arthur made certain to apologise, all the same.
"He is young, it's true," Leon continued, "but Lancelot is one of the very best warriors England has to offer and one that I now struggle to beat during our tourneys."
"High praise indeed," Balinor responded, "and, if it is not considered inappropriate, I hope that all three of you will honour us by displaying your prowess at our banquet tonight."
Arthur glanced at Gaius, confused by the request.
"Rather different occasions to the banquets at Camelot, it's true," the old man explained, with a smile, "Although I can assure you that the food is no less splendid."
"Well, we have kept you out in our brisk Welsh weather for far too long," Balinor continued. "Come inside and dry yourselves by our fires." He moved alongside the old man as they all made their way forwards. "Gaius, did I detect a hint of a Powys accent in your greeting earlier?"
"My place of birth, my lord, yes, although I have lived these last twelve years in Camelot."
"No need to look so worried," Balinor said, laughing. "I may currently be at war with your home kingdom, but I have greeted you and your party as honoured guests and you know that no harm can come to any of you whilst you are within my walls."
"You have my thanks."
Arthur found himself closely flanked by Leon and Percival as they walked through the stone gateway and into the dark, imposing courtyard and, for once, the young man felt grateful for his shorter height, despite Balinor's reassurances to Gaius. Percival's firm hand on his right shoulder seemed to suggest that the knight was aware of his unease and he continue to keep his gaze low, still feeling as if all the eyes were on him – as if they all knew exactly who he was.
"I wouldn't worry," Leon muttered under his breath. "I suspect they're just curious about your hair colour. I have not yet spotted a man with a lighter shade than mine here."
The older knight's comment made Arthur curious enough to look up then and notice that he was correct. Everything seemed dark here, including hair and clothing, and so he supposed he could see how their bright red cloaks and his very pale hair must have made quite an impression.
"Which means that you'll probably find yourself even more popular with the girls than you are at home, if that is possible," Percival added with a grin. Arthur found himself smiling back, finally starting to feel a little more relaxed.
"We have food and drink on offer in the Great Hall," Balinor announced then, as servants scurried forwards to take the horses. "But perhaps you would wish to be shown your rooms and rest there for a while?"
"We camped fairly close to your castle last night," Leon said, "and so I believe my knights are more in need of sustenance than anything else, although I cannot speak for Gaius, of course."
"I am feeling well enough rested," the old man reassured him. "Lead the way, my lord."
Again this seemed to be the right thing to say as, yet again, Balinor smiled broadly and his warriors all nodded their approval.
The Great Hall certainly lived up to its name and, although its stone walls were as dark and imposing as the outside of the castle, the rest came as a pleasant surprise.
There were rich, colourful tapestries on the walls and numerous flaming torches burning in their sconces. The Hall was packed full of men and woman, their clothes displaying far brighter shades than any Arthur had seen so far. As the party entered, minstrels started to play on the upper gallery and the music was unlike anything Arthur had heard before; complex and tuneful with vocals that sounded as if they were being sung by angels rather than mortal men. Arthur recalled his father's comments about the pagan Welsh and their unsophisticated ways and found himself confused at the obvious contradiction.
"There is no formality here this afternoon," Balinor announced. "Just eat or drink, whatever takes your fancy. Stand or sit. Stay together or mingle. All here are fluent in English and eager to meet you." He then turned to Arthur. "There are a couple here around your own age that I would introduce you to."
"Of course," Arthur replied politely, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at Gaius. The old man just nodded at him with an encouraging smile, and so he followed the prince to one side of the room where a young man and woman wearing relatively bright and high status clothes were talking in front of an impressive tapestry depicting three dragons, swirling around each other in an artistic knot. On Balinor's approach the pair turned briskly with a bow and curtsey.
"This is Sir Lancelot, a knight from Camelot in England," the prince announced immediately. "Lancelot, this is Myrddin ap Balinor o Wynedd a Guinevere ferch Thomas ap Leodegrance o Benllyn." He rattled their names off so quickly and with such a strong accent that Arthur was quite unable to hide his confusion.
"In other words, I'm Merlin and this is Guinevere," the young man said with a laugh. Balinor sighed loudly at such casual talk, shook his head and then left them alone. Merlin seemed not at all concerned about the prince's reaction, apparently finding it amusing. The young man was tall with pale skin and dark hair and was remarkably slightly built compared to the burly Welsh warriors that made up the majority of the men in the room. The girl was small and dark haired with a complexion that hinted at some Roman ancestry within her blood. She looked up at Arthur nervously with large dark brown eyes and he felt his heart suddenly pound in his chest, stunned at her beauty and quite unable to take his eyes off her.
Merlin suddenly moved closer, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder and manoeuvring him towards one of the tables. Arthur felt a strange jolt run through his body at the contact and briefly wondered at it, but Merlin gave him such a relaxed open smile that Arthur began to think he'd imagined it.
"You must be cold and hungry, Lancelot?" he suggested.
"Ah yes, I admit that I am."
"And soaked through," the girl said, "Here, have some mulled wine, you'll not taste it's like in any other kingdom."
"Thank you … Guinevere?"
"Oh, just call me Gwen, everyone does."
"Dinas Emrys is not as formal as some Courts," Merlin continued with a grin, "and the two of us are even less formal than that, as my father is keen to point out on a regular basis."
"Was your journey here trouble free?" Gwen asked him then.
"Remarkably so," Arthur replied, not thinking it even worth mentioning the one and only skirmish they'd been involved in.
"I doubt many would want to take on nineteen knights of Camelot," Merlin commented. "All here know of their prowess."
"You do not seem to strike me as the warrior type though, Merlin," Arthur said, fairly confident now that he could ask such a question. He hadn't meant it to come out in quite such a teasing tone but, luckily, the young man seemed more amused than offended by the comment.
"To my family's shame," he replied, still grinning broadly, despite his words.
"Merlin has other talents," Gwen said, throwing the young man a scolding look for being so self-depreciating.
"I prefer to fight my battles with words," Merlin announced with another open smile.
"You're a scholar?" Arthur guessed. "You should meet Gaius then. He's the older man that came here with our party and was also born in Wales."
"Really? Then I would certain be honoured to make his acquaintance. How's the drink?"
"Good. I'm feeling warmer already."
"You must eat something too and then you should go to your rooms and change out of your wet clothes and heavy armour," Merlin insisted.
"I admit that I wouldn't complain about that now."
"My lord," Merlin called out in a clear, commanding voice that easily carried across the noisy Hall, "Don't you think we should let our guests rest now? Time a plenty for food and talk tonight." Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise at the lack of propriety, but none of the Welsh seemed at all surprised.
"He is quite right," Balinor agreed, also apparently unconcerned about some young noble telling the prince what to do. "Forgive my thoughtlessness."
"Not at all, my Lord," Gaius disagreed.
"Merlin, would you show the knights to their quarters and I'll escort our four honoured guests to theirs."
"Of course, my lord," the boy replied, bowing deeply.
Again the bleak castle held a number of surprises for Arthur. Seeing that the Great Hall was an isolated structure, he'd assumed that they'd have to go back outside to reach their accommodation but, in fact, Balinor lead them downstairs through what was obviously an underground tunnel, before another set of stairs began to wind back upwards and they found themselves in a completely different building. Like everything else in Dinas Emrys, the walls and corridors seemed bleak and uninviting, but the large bed chambers were decorated by incredibly beautiful tapestries on the walls, rich rugs on the floors, enormous hearths burning brightly and four poster beds that would keep out the very worst of night-time drafts, even in a country such as this. Placed in front of each raging fire was a large bath tub, full of steaming water. Arthur almost groaned out loud at the wonderful sight.
"I'm sure all this seems very basic compared to what you're used to," Balinor apologised, "but I hope that it is acceptable all the same."
"I admit that I am most impressed," Leon said, his eyes also fixed firmly on the bath tub, "but, even if I wasn't, any indoor room with a fire would be welcome after the time we've spent on the road recently."
"Of course and, talking of which, I shall let you get clean and dry. These servants are all at your command for anything you require and are also available to escort you back downstairs to the Hall in time for our banquet in a few hours."
~o~0~o~
A/N: This is a seventeen chapter fanfiction inspired by my holiday to North Wales last year and this history of the Welsh Princes. Special thanks to Wil1969 for the book cover and to Shadowkat101 for her Welsh language advice and translations.
See my PP for more details and a list of names.
1/8/13