Winter's Blossom: The Seasons of Arthur

Chapter 2

If the first memories of my uncle were both overwhelming and intimidating, then the memories of my new home were equally so. I was brought back to a huge Roman villa that stood upon a hill, surrounded by high stone walls that had been well cared for. Windows that looked out across the rolling hills all around us. Taller mountains were a jagged smudge on the southern horizon.

I was shown to my room by the man called Ector, who was my uncle's steward. As he opened the door and ushered me through, I caught my breath, awestruck, for even as Ector apologised that it was smaller than a member of the household deserved, it was still larger than anything I had seen before. I rushed to the window and leant out, breathing in the cool air into my lungs and the smile split my face from ear to ear.

'It's perfect.' I told him contentedly. 'Thank you.'

Ector grunted gruffly and left.

I was still standing there in awe of everything when two boys swaggered into my room. I was not the biggest child but nor was I the smallest. Still the taller boy towered over me, tall and broad and strong. The second boy followed in his shadow, almost as tall but stick thin and long faced, with a sneer across his face that made his ugly features uglier.

'I am Mordred.' The bigger of the two boys announced importantly, before demanding, 'Who are you?'

I was still at the window, staring out, my wooden sword clutched tightly in my hands. I turned and smiled. 'I am Culhwch.' I replied happily. 'Gerient's son.' I added as I realised that he might not know my name. I walked over, extending my right hand in the courteous manner that my mother and uncle had taught me, but the big boy simply lunged forwards and snatched the wooden sword from my hands. 'Hey!' I yelled my protest, but Mordred held the sword out of my reach, and pushed me away while the other boy laughed.

Sullenly I subsided, but Mordred, who was done with his inspection of the blade, turned, looked over his shoulder disdainfully at me, and then threw it out of the window.

'Wooden swords are for children.' He spat.

'We are children!' I retorted angrily. Mordred went still for a moment, whether it was being called a child or having someone stand up to his bullying authority I did not know, but he gathered himself, turning on me with his eyes flashing.

'What did you call me?' He demanded venomously.

I stared at him in confusion, wondering why stating the fact that we were children was so offensive, and just how I had come to confront these bigger, older boys so soon into arriving. But suddenly these thoughts were knocked from me as I was struck hard by Mordred pushing me.

I flew at him. My thoughts were gone as I clutched and clawed at his face, but bigger and stronger, he hit me hard. I felt myself being dragged backwards by the taller, thinner boy. Twisting, I boxed him hard in the face, but was felled again by a heavier blow from behind and with that the two bigger boys began to kick me as I lay on the ground. I tried not to cry out, but in the end I did. Humiliated by tears wet upon my face, I was left battered, bruised and bleeding upon the floor.

The humiliation was added to not an hour later when I was hauled in front Enniaun Girt. I had expected my uncle to be concerned for me, to apologise for the way his sons had attacked me without provocation. Instead, he pointed a meaty finger at the split lip and crooked nose of the thin boy who turned out to be Mark, Enniaun's middle son. 'You attacked my sons!' He said simply, his tone measured but malevolent. 'I bring you into my house and you attack my sons.'

'They pushed me.' I mumbled feebly in response, fearful of being cast out alone. Suddenly I was struck hard across the face by Enniaun in a blow that sent me flying. My head was groggy, my was lip bleeding and I fought desperately to keep myself from crying, though I could feel my eyes filled with tears.

'Get out of my sight.' My uncle roared at me and I scrambled away.

Ector found me in a corner, lost and unable to find my room and he led me back to it. 'It's not your fault.' He assured me gently as he helped clean my face of blood. 'Mordred is a bully, and Mark is his weedy little sidekick. But Enniaun indulges them because Mordred's his pride and joy.'

He was a kindly old man at heart, for all the reputation he had once had as a sturdy warrior. He left me and I laid on my bed and I cried. I had held back my tears all day but now they came with a vengeance and I cried so that my eyes stung and my throat was raw, until then came a knock at the door.

'Go away.' I called, confident that anyone who would knock would not be in a position of authority to just walk in. No one did walk in, instead there was another knock.

I launched myself from the bed and stormed across the room, trying to wipe away the evidence of my tears as I did so and flung the door open to be confronted with a boy about my own age, mop haired and plain faced, a little taller and a little leaner than me. He was holding a very familiar wooden sword.

He didn't mention my face, the bruises or the split lip. He didn't mention the red eyes or the tracks of the tears on my cheeks, he just proffered the sword and said. 'I believe this is yours.'

'Wooden swords are for children.' I said, bitterly.

'We are children.' The boy replied.

I looked at him curiously for a while, before finally taking the sword and placing it against the wall. The boy smiled at me and held out his hand.

'I'm sorry for my brothers.' He told me as I took his outstretched hands. 'I'm Owain.'

'Cuhlwch.' I answered nervously, hoping that finally I had a friend.

And that was how I met the youngest of my cousins.