After many days on the trail we came to Yr Widdfa, a bleak and forsaken land when compared to the rich south. But even here summer had worked its manifold miracles and the flocks had swelled their numbers, and men were content. We camped one star-filled night in a high mountain pass and awakened to frost on the mountain heather. We saddled our snorting mounts and started down that morning into the stepped lowlands falling away towards the Wall.

The day was dazzling clear and I could see Celyddon's dark mass spreading on the far horizon. A few more days and we would reach its outermost fringe. A few days after that and I would sleep once more in Ganieda's arms.

When we reached the forest I sent scouts on ahead to announce our arrival. Custennin would welcome the news, I knew, and so would Ganieda.

Oh, my soul was restlessness itself. Our long separation had been harder on me than I knew, for the thought of holding her again filled me with an exquisite ache. My saddle became a prison and time could not pass quickly enough. I slept little; thoughts of Ganieda and our child made me fretful in my desire to be with her. I had so much to tell her about all that had happened in her absence. I believe I would have ridden through the night, if that were possible in tangled Celyddon.

My torment was sweet, but it was torment all the same.

At last, however, at last the day of arrival dawned and I was awake before anyone else, knowing that if we rode hard we could reach Custennin's palace by midday. The scouts would have reached them the night before, I reckoned, and Ganieda would be waiting. I meant to make her wait as short as possible.

The wood awakened around us as we rode through the night-quiet forest along the narrow track. We stopped a little after sunrise and broke fast – I allowed the men to dismount, but only while they ate and then it was back in the saddle and hurrying on.

At midday we reached the crest of the last hill where the track widened somewhat as it wound down through the forest towards Goddeu. We could not see Custennin's stronghold of course, but we were close.

The first warning came a little while later.

We had stopped at a stream to rest and water the horses before continuing on the last stretch of the journey. A few of my men had crossed the stream to give more room to those behind; and they had spread out along the bank.

I heard a shout as I knelt, scooping water to my mouth.

'Lord Myrddin!' My name echoed in the close wood. 'Lord Myrddin!'

'Here I am,' I answered. 'What is it?'

One of my fourth-year warriors came running to me. 'Lord Myrddin, I have found something you should see.'

'What is it, Balach?' I read nothing, save concern, from the look on his face.

'Mantracks in the mud, lord.' He raised his arm to point downstream from us. 'Just there.'

'How many?'

'I would not like to say. My lord should see for himself.'

'Show me where they are.'

He led me downstream to the place he had indicated. I splashed my way through the water to the other side of the stream and there on the muddy bank I saw the footprints of a score or more men. There were no footprints on the opposite bank – the group had not crossed the stream, they had come out of it…

Saecsens!

It was something Saecsens did when travelling in heavily forested country: follow the natural pathway of the stream. This is how they traversed difficult country unknown to them…

And now they had come to Celyddon.

What is more, they were ahead of us – how far ahead I could only guess. The tracks were still fairly fresh, not more than a few hours old. Unfamiliar with the land, they would go slowly. We might overtake them on horseback. Great Light, help us catch them!

I gave the order to mount up at once, and told my warriors to ready their arms and to remain alert to an ambush. Then we rode.

Our precautions seemed unnecessary. We saw no more tracks and, if I had not seen them myself, I would have thought Balach had imagined them. Although we stopped from time to time simply to listen, we heard nothing but the light chatter of squirrels and the scolding of crows.

We rode on towards Goddeu, and despite die apparent peace of the wood, deep foreboding drew over me – a dread to make my heart leaden in my chest. Fear came at me from out of the sunfilled forest – whispers of disquiet, of hushed alarm.

I raced ahead.

Then the horses grew nervous. I believe they can smell blood at a fair distance.

Well in front of the warband now, I crested a knoll and came into view of Goddeu, quiet beside the mirror-smooth lake. The sun shone full on the trail ahead and I saw the bodies there.

I spurred my horse forward to the place and flung myself from my saddle. It was a party of women…

Oh, Good God, no!

Ganieda!

I knelt and turned over the first one. A maid with dark braids. Her throat had been severed.

The next had been pierced through the heart and the front of her white mantle was stained deepest crimson. The body was still warm.

Ganieda, my soul, where are you?

I stumbled unseeing to a knot of tumbled corpses. What the brutal Saecsen axes had done to those once-beautiful bodies made me weep and gnash my teeth. Some had been ravaged before being murdered, and their clothing had been torn from their limbs. For the love of God – the ugly wounds between their legs! All had died horribly.

May heaven shut me out for ever, I wish that I had died that day!

There were seven young women in that group. But Ganieda was not among them. Oh, please, Loving Father! My heart grasped that tiny hope as I lurched on. Behind me the first of the warband were thundering up.

I do not know what made me turn from the track. Perhaps the soft shimmer of pale blue among the shadows…

I walked towards the fallen tree, an old stump long dead. There, on the far side were two more women slumped across the body of a third. I lifted them aside, gently, gently…

Ganieda's women had died protecting their lady with their own bodies.

But the barbarians had seen Ganieda was pregnant. Oh, they had made great sport of killing her.

Great Light, I cannot bear it!

Oh, Annwas, I see her body before me… I feel its fleeting warmth in my hands… I taste again her blood on my lips as I kiss her cold cheek… I cannot bear it… Please, do not make me tell it!

But you want to hear. You want to hear me say the thing most hateful to me of all I know… Very well, I will tell it all, so that all may know my anguish and my shame.

Ganieda had taken many wounds. Her mantle was sodden with thickening blood, and rent in several places as they had tried to strip her naked. One lovely breast had been carved from her body, and her proud, swelling stomach had been run through with the point of a sword… Loving God, please, no! Stabbed – not once but again, and again, and yet again.

My legs would not hold me. I fell across the body of my beloved, a great cry of grief tearing from my throat. I raised myself and held Ganieda's beautiful face in my hands. It was not beautiful any more, but twisted in horrific agony, bespattered with blood, her clear eyes cloudy and unseeing.

Beasts! Barbarians!

And then I saw it: protruding from one of the stomach wounds… Dearest God!… reaching for life it would never know was a tiny, unborn hand. Blue and still, minutely veined, its tiny wrist extending from the wall of the dead womb… the hand of my babe, my darling child…