The Welshman's Way. Margaret Moore

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      Prologue

      Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, Dafydd adjusted the girth of the saddle on the roan horse. His injured shoulder ached from the effort, but he ignored the pain. He had to get away before he was discovered in the stables of the monastery of St. Christopher.

      Although most of the monks were sleeping, Father Gabriel often chose to keep a vigil in the chapel, and Dafydd had seen the pale, thin light of a candle shining from the window of the infirmary.

      He was nearly healed and to stay longer would be foolishness. He had been relatively safe while Abbot Peter was alive and in charge of the Dominican monastery; unfortunately, the new abbot was an ambitious man who made no secret of his interest in worldly affairs of state. If Abbot Absalom realized they were harboring a Welsh rebel, he would not hesitate to turn the man over to the nearest Norman overlord.

      Abbot Absalom had left that morning to attend a wedding that would unite two Norman families, apparently planning to pay visits to certain important lords and clergy along the way. No one would dare to enter the abbot’s cell during his absence, except perhaps a thief who needed to get back his sword, acquire some money for a long and difficult journey, and some clothing. If his luck held, it wouldn’t be until the abbot’s return that anyone would realize anything was missing.

      The good brothers had saved his life, and he regretted rewarding them with thievery, but there was no help for it.

      Nearby, one of the monastery’s placid donkeys shifted and a horse stamped its foot. Overhead, a mouse scampered through the hay, reminding Dafydd that he must not tarry.

      Dafydd finished tying his meager pack to the back of the roan and led the beast from the stall. It was not an impressive animal, but he had chosen it more for stamina and strength than beauty, for he intended to ride north and west into Wales, to where the roads were not good and the way not easy, avoiding towns or villages or fellow travelers. He would also take care to skirt the land of Lord Trevelyan and his son-in-law, Morgan, who had good cause to remember Dafydd’s face.

      Dafydd ap Iolo was going to get as far as he could into the most remote part of Wales. He would find a quiet, simple Welshwoman and have lots of children. He wanted no more of fighting and death and deprivation.

      He simply wished to be left alone.