Her words made him uneasy. It was not in his character to draw attention to himself.
“I only did what any man would have done.”
“I know many men who would have left him to his fate. As I have already said, I do not believe you are like other men.”
“All men are the same,” he countered.
“No, they are not. Now finish your food. I will tell Idris you are ready to meet him so he can get prepared.”
Prepared? A greeting, a handshake, perhaps a few words of friendship were all that needed to pass between the two men. Unless these villagers had customs he was unfamiliar with. No matter. He would find out soon enough. “I’ll dress while you are gone.”
“You need to wash first,” she answered. “You stink.”
“And you are too kind.”
Rhiannon smiled as she went over to the fire and took the pot outside to fill it with snow, then set it over the flames. She took an old blanket and a misshapen nugget of soap from the dresser. “This will clear away the worst of the stench.”
It was obvious she was teasing him. Then again, he thought, sniffing at his chest and armpits, perhaps not. He had become so used to his own ripe scent while wandering the wintry wilderness that he had not really noticed it until now.
The moment Rhiannon had gone, he stripped and washed away the grime, revealing rubbed-raw flesh beneath. The water that pooled at his feet was dark and scummy, and steamed in the heat of the fire. Once he was as clean as he thought he could be, he used the cloth to dry before pulling on his clothes. It felt good to be in them again. It would feel even better to have his sword at his side.
When Rhiannon returned, she had her son with her, the boy giving Dodinal the same silent look as before. Then he knelt on the floor and reached under his tunic, pulling out a small pouch that hung from his neck by a leather strap. He emptied its contents into his hand, far more interested in them than in Dodinal.
“He seems less pleased to see me,” Dodinal observed.
Rhiannon watched the boy affectionately. “He knows you are well now, that’s why. He was worried you might die.”
The knight said nothing. How strange to think that someone should fear his death when he himself did not.
“You smell much better,” she said, smiling. “But you still look like a wild man. Sit here.”
Dodinal obeyed. There was no point arguing. He sat on the bench while she took a wooden comb from the dresser and attacked his hair; it felt like it was being torn out by the roots. “Keep still,” she chided. “Anyone would swear you were a child.”
Finally she was done. His scalp tingled, yet when Rhiannon started on his beard the pain in his head paled into insignificance. He reached up but she slapped his hand away. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find wildlife in here. Do you want to be presented to Idris harbouring mice?”
Dodinal gritted his teeth and said nothing, not even when Rhiannon produced a small knife and cut away at his hair and beard until clumps of it were scattered on the floor at his feet.
“There,” she said finally, taking a step back and scrutinising the results. “You look almost civilised.”
“Thank you,” Dodinal said dryly, rubbing his aching chin.
“Now I’ll take you to Idris and the village elders.”
“Elders?” Dodinal was immediately wary. He had anticipated sharing a few words and perhaps some food with the chieftain, and him alone. More people meant more questions. As there were some answers he would not be inclined to share, it could become awkward.
“His best hunters, his closest friends. You’ll like them, man of the wild that you are. But be mindful of his son.” Rhiannon’s mouth curled down. “Gerwyn is a difficult one. He insisted that two of his friends should be on the council too. To speak for the young as well as the old, or so he said. He was just causing trouble as always.”
“He won’t give me any trouble, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure, too. You’re twice his size. Don’t worry; Idris tolerates him but keeps him under control. I’m sure you will have much to discuss. Come back when you’re done. You can stay here for as long as you want. I’ll remain in the Great Hall with Owain.”
“No, please. I have caused enough disruption. You stay here with the boy. I will sleep in the hall, if Idris will have me.”
“He will not. You are an honoured guest. You deserve a place of your own. Those were his words.” Her eyes sparkled in the firelight as she handed Dodinal his cloak. “And I’m sure they were honestly spoken. But by coincidence, it also means he can have Owain stay with him a little while longer.”
“Some coincidence,” Dodinal agreed.
They went out into the howling white world. Rhiannon kept pace with the knight who moved slowly and carefully, feeling a twinge in his thigh as he walked. The snowstorm was so ferocious that, even in daylight, he struggled to take in his surroundings.
As they headed towards the Great Hall, hunched over and with their hoods up to escape the worst of the wind, he could see the tall shapes he had taken for trees were the remains of a palisade. It would have been a stout defence at the time it was built, but years of neglect had taken their toll. There were gaps Dodinal could walk through. With Arthur having stemmed the Saxon tide, there would have been no pressing need to keep it in good repair.
They scurried past smaller huts, maybe two score all told. The gale flattened the smoke columns that rose from their roof holes before tearing them to shreds. He imagined villagers huddled behind the doors, wondering how long this weather and their food could last, emerging only to share meagre communal meals in the Great Hall, where they would talk to while away the long, empty hours.
Squinting against the blizzard, Dodinal could see a barn, inside which a pair of oxen and two sheep stood listlessly, while two chickens paced around and pecked at the floor. Next to the barn was a small sty and Dodinal sensed two pigs curled up together for warmth.
By the time they reached their destination, a long rectangular building, the knight’s face and fingers were numb with cold. Rhiannon went in first, pulling the heavy door open and holding it until Dodinal had followed her through. Then she let the door slam shut behind her and the bellowing wind was immediately muted.
Dodinal took stock of his surroundings.
A great fire burned in its pit at the near end of the hut; a mastiff stretched out asleep before it, legs twitching as it pursued whatever dream-prey it had scented. Several smaller fires burned further down the hut, either for cooking or heat. Smoke was drawn through the roof-holes but enough remained inside to sting his eyes. Before him was a table, longer than it was wide, with benches running along both sides and a chair at each end.
On the walls were mounted trophies — deer, boar and bear — the heads gazing down at the room with glassy, unseeing eyes. Skins had been hung roughly halfway along the hall. Presumably the area beyond them was where the chieftain and his family slept.
A dozen men watched him in silence from the benches, most of them older than Dodinal. A younger man with a mane of dark curly hair sat in the chair closest to the knight. At the opposite end from him was seated a stout, older man, his chair high-backed and ornate. It was he who broke the silence, rising and making for Dodinal, one hand outstretched, a grin across his face.
“So this is the man who saved my grandson’s life,” he boomed, taking Dodinal’s hand in his to shake it vigorously, and clapping him repeatedly and forcibly on his shoulder. “It is good to finally meet you!”
Dodinal turned helplessly to Rhiannon.
“Our friend is a man of few words,” she obliged. “And he is not comfortable with grand gestures of thanks. Not when he believes he only did what any man would have done.”
“Nonsense,” Idris exclaimed. The chieftain’s voice was loud enough to rattle the walls, or so it seemed to Dodinal. “I know of no other man who could have fought off three ravenous wolves and then walk almost all the way here with half his leg bitten off!”