A Moment in Time

'She looks like Father,' he noted dryly.

'Aye,' Wynne answered in dulcet tones, but she was pleased. It was the closest Caddaric would ever come to acknowledging his half sister's legitimacy, but having done so, Wynne knew he would never deny Averel, for Caddaric possessed a strange sense of honor and a strong sense of blood ties.

'She should have been my child,' he growled at her.

'You would not have wanted a daughter, Caddaric,' Wynne said quietly.

'I would have given you a son,' he said bitterly. 'My father is old, and his seed is weak. I would have spawned a son on you had my father not stolen you away from me.'

'When will you remember that it is your father who is lord here and not you, Caddaric? Your father did not steal me from you, for you never had me to begin with, and you know it to be so. Why do you persist in this fantasy?'

'I could get sons on you, Welsh woman,' he said stubbornly. 'My father did not need more children. He has two healthy sons and a host of grandchildren, thanks to my brother. He did not need a young wife and additional children. I, however, need sons, and the useless creatures I have shackled and surrounded myself with cannot produce even a feeble daughter! I need you! You are magic!'

She doubted that her stepson would ever like her, but Wynne realized that she had to make him face the reality of his situation, and now was as good a time as any. 'Caddaric, answer me a question,' she probed gently. 'Have you ever in your life been seriously ill?'

He thought long, his broad brow puckering with his concentration, and then he said, 'Once. Only once.'

'Tell me about it,' she pressed him.

'The year before I married Eadgyth,' he said, 'my cheeks became all swollen and ached. I looked like a frog when he courts his lady. I ran a great fever for several days. Afterward it was said that my mother feared for my life.' He chuckled with his memory. 'My cock became all swollen too, and God knows I have been more than well- endowed. Better than many, I am assured, but it was twice its size during my illness. I quite admit to being disappointed when it returned to normal,' Caddaric finished with a leer.

'It is unlikely that you will ever produce children,' Wynne told him bluntly.

'What?'

'I am a healer, Caddaric, as was my grandmother and my mother before me. The illness you have described to me is the swelling sickness. When.a child becomes ill of it, there is little difficulty. The same is true of a young girl or young boy; but a man or an older boy can suffer greatly from the swelling sickness, especially if it affects their male organs, as the illness obviously did yours. The sickness burns the life from the male seed. I know this, for it is part of my healer's wisdom.'

'You lie, Welsh witch!' he raged at her. His cheeks were scarlet above his beard.

'Nay, Caddaric, I do not lie, nor do I mean to be cruel to you,' Wynne told him sympathetically. She could almost feel sorry for him, and she could certainly feel his pain. 'It is a well-known fact among healers that the seed of men and young men is rendered virtually lifeless by the swelling sickness. It has always been thus, though we know not why.'

'My childlessness cannot be my fault,' he said stubbornly. 'It is Eadgyth's fault, for she is frail and unable to conceive; but that loss is as much hers as mine. I do not blame Eadgyth. She is a good wife.'

'What of the others?' Wynne asked him. 'What of Berangari, Dagian, Aelf, and little Haesel? They are strong and healthy girls, yet they do not conceive, Caddaric. The fault lies with you, and yet it is not really a fault but a cruel mischance of fate that sent the swelling sickness to afflict you when it did. You are unlikely to give a child to any woman, even me.'

'You are a healer, Welsh woman,' he said grimly. 'Can you concoct no potion or brew that would help me, if indeed you are correct in your assumptions?'

'There is nothing,' Wynne told him bluntly. It was long past time someone was honest with this man. He had to make peace with himself for all their sakes.

'Nothing? I think you lie! No man with my appetite for female flesh could possess lifeless seed! It is the women who are responsible for my lack! It cannot be me!' Yet behind the open anger in his voice, Wynne could see the desperation and fear lurking in his eyes.

'Rarely, but only rarely,' she told him, not wanting to arouse any hope in his heart, 'a man who has suffered the swelling sickness does conceive a child. Perhaps some remedies that I know of for arousing the senses can help you to achieve the impossible, Caddaric. When I have recovered from Averel's birth, I will put my mind to it. I will dose your women as well; but now leave me. I am weary and would sleep.'

He departed the Great Chamber without another word or even a backward glance at her or her baby. Wynne sighed deeply, feeling both sorrow and irritation toward Caddaric Aethelmaere. Men like Caddaric always measured their manhood by the number of men they killed; women they raped or seduced; and children, sons in particular, that they spawned. Caddaric's reputation was strong where killing, raping, and seduction were concerned. His complete inability to produce children of either sex was a glaring public failure that left, at least in his eyes, his personal stature in grave question. Still, she would see what she could do to help him, despite all his virulent unkindness to her. They would never be friends, but she knew it would please Eadwine if his wife and his elder son were not enemies.

Aye, she thought, sleepily. She did want to please Eadwine. He strove to make her happy. Did she truly love him? Aye, not as she had loved Madoc, but then she doubted that she would ever love anyone as she had loved her prince. Madoc, she wondered as she slid into sleep, why have you not come?

Wynne. She was never out of his thoughts. It had been a year and a half since she had disappeared. Sometimes in moments of dark discouragement he wondered if she was even still alive. If she had ever really existed. Wynne of Gwernach, with her long, black hair and her green, green eyes. It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed her.

For over a year they had combed the countryside back and forth, over and over again seeking any word of her. Madoc had finally decided that his wife could not possibly be in England. Ruari Ban had obviously hidden her from public sight and taken her with him into Brittany. He called his men home and went about the painful business of waiting for Einion, who had personally followed after the Irish slaver, to return home to Raven's Rock. When he did, his news was discouraging.

'I followed Ruari Ban, my lord, first to Brittany, then to Italy, where I finally caught up with him about to take passage with his cargo of slaves to Byzantium.'

'Did he tell you where Wynne was?' Madoc demanded eagerly. He had grown thin in the months that Einion had been away.

'She is not with him, my lord,' Einion said gently. 'At first he pretended to not even know what I was talking about. He would accept no bribe from me. It was only when I pressed the matter more strongly in a, ah, physical way, that he would admit to having had possession of my lady.'

'Where is she?' There were great purple circles beneath Madoc's dark blue eyes. He hardly slept at all now.

'There was nothing I could do to make him tell me where, my lord. He lives in utter, total terror of your brother, Brys of Cai. He believes that should he betray him, the bishop can reach out and find him wherever he may be. He believes that your brother will kill him should he dare to break faith with him. I could have torn this Ruari Ban apart limb by limb and he still would not tell me what I wished to know. His fear is that complete, my lord.