Lady of Hay (56 page)

Sam shrugged. “She has a twentieth-century brain, Dr. Marshall. The memories she is drawing on include the languages she would have spoken at the time. But they are being relayed through the medium of a twentieth-century woman who, until now, has been instructed to answer in the twentieth-century idiom. Why don’t you address her in old French? Or even Latin. See what happens!”

“
Pan dducpwyt chwedyl o’n orchyfygu vi bydwn yngastell Paen
,”
Jo went on suddenly, completely oblivious of the exchange going on over her head. “
Gwybuum minheu yna ymladd a wnaem ninneu. Nyt oed bryd inni galw cymhorthiaid
…”

“What is she saying now?” Bennet leaned forward urgently.

“Wait! I am trying to understand her,” Wendy snapped. She was frowning intently. “She said she would have to fight. There was no time to summon aid…”

“Where? Where is she?”

“Pain’s Castle is it? She is going to defend Pain’s Castle.”

“
Y glawr mawr
—
Y bu yn drwmm etto
,” Jo went on.

“The heavy rain, it was still heavy…” Wendy echoed under her breath.

“
Oed goed twe ymhob cyfer
—”

“There was thick forest all around—”

“
Y clywssam fleiddyeu pellynnig
—”

“We could hear distant wolves.”

Jo was sitting bolt upright suddenly, and she had begun to talk very fast, growing more fluent by the second as her tongue became accustomed to the unfamiliar sounds she was uttering. Her eyes were wide open, the pupils dilated, and she was becoming more and more excited.

“Tell her to speak English!” Bennet interrupted sharply. “I think we’ve proved our point beyond any doubt. Tell her, quickly…”

“
Dyna igud. Siaradwch Saesneg yn nawr, os fues dim ots gyda chi
.” Wendy leaned forward and touched Jo’s arm almost reluctantly.

Jo drew away. She was staring beyond the people sitting around her in the room, into the far distance, where she could see an untended fire, burning low, the acrid smoke billowing around the castle hall as first one log and then another slipped from the dogs and fell into the ashes.

She was hearing the silence of that cold desolate night, torn by the ugly shouts and screams of men and the angry clash of swords as the first wave of attackers was beaten back from the scaling ladders they had flung up against the walls. She and she alone must take command. The lives of every man and woman in the castle depended on her now that the castellan was dead. Slowly she stood up and drew her cloak around her, then she turned toward the door. Somehow she must find the strength to take up his sword.

“
Seasneg, fyng arglwyddes. Nid ydyn ni ddim i’n eich deall chi
!” Wendy cried. “Speak English. We can’t understand you!”

Jo stopped abruptly in the middle of her flow of words. “
Avynnwch chwi y dywettwyf I Saesneg?
”
she repeated, puzzled. “
Saesneg
…English…I must talk English?” Then, haltingly, she began to speak once more in a language they all understood.

28

Bennet put his hand on Jo’s forehead for a moment. “Quiet now. Lady, rest,” he commanded gently. He looked at Nick. “So now you know about the siege of Painscastle. Your Matilda was a courageous lady, to hold the place until help came. She doesn’t seem too tired. Shall we go on?”

Nick nodded. “Why not? She’s not upset.”

“Does anyone else want to question her?” He glanced at Jim Paxman, who shook his head. “For now I am intrigued. Later, perhaps, I’d like to cross-question her further.” There was a pencil in his hand. “I’m making some notes of things I’ll ask her. So far her detail is uncanny!”

“And accurate?” Sam’s cold voice from the corner made them all glance round uncomfortably.

“I haven’t faulted her on anything yet,” Jim replied cautiously. “But there is so much more there than I or anyone else could verify, even with the minutest study of the chronicles. No, Carl, please get her to carry on. I want to hear more of her family. And more of the campaign. Rhys didn’t leave it at that, you know. No way. He went back!”

Carl nodded. He turned back to Jo. “Matilda,” he said softly. “Tell us what happened next.”

***

It was nearly dark. Matilda sat in the window trying to match some final stitches into her embroidery, in the private solar she used as her own in the castle of Hereford, where William was now the sheriff. Impatiently she selected a length of golden thread and squinted up against the last flaming gold of the western sky to try to thread it. The knock at the door made her bend the thread and she cursed under her breath. She had been treasuring the hour of silence alone in the upper room, with even her daughters and her women chased away, and she longed to prolong the moment if she could. Her head ached a little and her eyes were sore, but as long as she could still see to sew she had the excuse to remain alone.

The knock sounded again, more urgently, and this time the heavy handle turned. “My lady?” Elen put her head round the door.

“Elen, I told you I want to be alone. For a while, just until full dark.”

“I know, my lady.” Elen grinned unrepentantly. “But you’ve a visitor, see, and I thought it was time I lit the sconces and saw about sorting a few things in the garderobe here. And look at you,” she scolded suddenly. “Trying to work in the dark and ruining the sight of your eyes as you sit there, is it?” She pushed open the door and hurried across the room. Behind her, on the threshold, stood Richard de Clare. He was alone.

In spite of herself Matilda felt her heart give a lurch at the sight of him.

Seeing her, he bowed, his old grin unmistakable, lighting his face. He held out his hands.

Matilda glanced at Elen, who was fussing about with a lighted spill, going from sconce to sconce, but the woman kept her back ostentatiously turned and after a moment she disappeared behind the curtain into the garderobe.

“Richard!” She could hold back no longer. Her hands outstretched, Matilda ran to him and felt for a moment his strong arms around her, the touch of his lips on hers. Then gently, too soon, he was pushing her away with another light kiss on her forehead. “Oh, Richard, my dear, my love! It’s been so long.”

“It has indeed.” He stood back, still holding her hands, and looked her up and down slowly, his eyes taking in every detail of her slender upright figure. Her hair seemed as burnished as ever beneath her headdress. His own, as he saw ruefully that she had noticed, was nearly white.

“Richard, what happened?” She reached to touch it with longing, wistful fingers.

He grinned. “Married life, sweetheart, and premature old age, combined with our East Anglian weather and the ministrations of your son. He is with me, by the way.”

Behind them Elen cleared her throat loudly before appearing in the doorway. “My lady, Sir William has finished with the sheriff court sessions for the day. His brother-in-law Adam Porter is here and he is with him at present, but I’m thinking he was about to come up here.” She was carrying an embroidered surcoat over her arm. “I’d best be here when he comes.”

Matilda glanced helplessly at Richard, who merely smiled and shrugged. “He never forgave you, you know, for supporting William Longchamp against Prince John,” she whispered. Then with her voice politely social again: “Are you pleased with Reginald? I was so glad when he became your esquire. You should have brought him up with you to see me, Richard. I suppose he’s grown so large I’ll not recognize him, like my other boys.” She sighed. “It’s hard to think of myself as mother to so many enormous children, Richard. I don’t feel old.”

He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “No one else would believe it either, sweetheart. Your waist isn’t an inch wider than when I first saw you. Do you remember? Just after your wedding, when you came to Bramber and I saw you riding across the saltings with William. So tall and stiff you were on your horse, with your hair newly put up beneath your veil and wanting to tumble down again, like a maiden’s.” He raised his hand gently to her temple and then almost guiltily let it fall. They had both heard the firm step on the stairs and they drew slightly apart.

William, when he appeared, was in jovial mood and seemed content to forget his political differences with Richard. He had never over the years by so much as a hint betrayed whether or not he had ever heard any of the rumors that she knew had abounded about her love for Richard, and now as always when she saw the two men together she could not help wondering, comparing, and guiltily moving to her husband’s side. William, for his part, flung out his arms expansively at the sight of his visitor and embraced him.

“I heard you’d arrived. How is Reginald behaving in your service? Moll, help me with my tunic. Where are the pages?” He started to shrug the heavy garment off his shoulders. “My God, I’ll be glad when this spell at Hereford is over. Being sheriff is all very well, but dispensing the king’s justice becomes wearisome after a while, I can tell you. I need some fighting to loosen up my bones again.”

Richard grinned. “I heard about your extra duties, William. My congratulations. I see you are a man to be reckoned with now throughout the land.”

William beamed, holding his arms out for the new tunic that Elen had brought to him. “I think you might say so,” he agreed. “I think you might say so.”

When William returned to his duties in the court room the following morning, Matilda and Richard ordered their horses and their hawks and rode out of Hereford toward the southeast into the great forest of Aconbury. The leaves were everywhere turning to russet and gold and the horses’ hooves brushed through the rustling carpet, stirring the bitter scents that teased the nostrils and caught at the back of Matilda’s throat. Richard rode slightly ahead of her, his eyes screwed up in the frosty glare, but after a while he reined back alongside her.

“Tell me, how have things been, my dear?” he said quietly. “Have you heard any news of your little Tilda?”

Matilda’s heart lurched. Did Richard know? Had he ever guessed that her strange silver-haired daughter was his? She swallowed the lump in her throat with an effort and, summoning a smile, she managed to nod. “Gerald saw her in the spring. I am a grandmother, Richard.” Her eyes sparkled suspiciously for a moment and Richard found himself fighting the urge to touch her hand. “She has a little son,” she went on. “Rhys Ieuanc, young Rhys, after his grandfather, God rot him!”

Richard searched her face for a moment. “Rhys took Mallt’s castle in the end, of course.”

Her face tightened with anger. “As you say, he returned after the last of the snow with no warning and with such a strong force there was no time for the constable to summon aid. William had gone to fight in Aberteifi with Will—Rhys agreed to spare the castle only if they abandoned the campaign in his lands and came back to Hay.”

“And he agreed,” Richard said quietly. “I could not understand why. It seemed unlike William.”

She smiled ruefully. “Whoever understands William, my dear? He is a law unto himself.”

There was a long silence as the horses walked slowly on, then Richard spoke again.

“I came to Hereford with a proposition which I hope will please you. I must put it to William, but I should like your views. It touches us very closely.” His eyes were fixed on the gilded leather of the rein in his hand. She followed his gaze, noting absentmindedly how thin his hands had become, the joints slightly accentuated. “I should like my daughter, little Mattie, to marry one of your sons. If you agree I think William might find the match acceptable.”

She didn’t answer for a moment. The sun’s rays breaking through the thick treetops of the copse into which they had ridden fell across the party, throwing a gold veneer onto the horses’ coats. At the heels of her mare an excited dog suddenly began to bark, and was at once silenced by an angry command from a huntsman behind them. There was a lump in her throat when at last she spoke.

“I should like that, Richard. Above all I should like that.” She paused again. “You were thinking of Reginald, I suppose? Have they formed an attachment to one another? That is good. Giles anyway plans to take Holy Orders after Oxford and then Paris. But Reginald—oh, yes, I am sure that William would approve of a link with the house of Clare for Reginald.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Yes, it’s what I had hoped for, Richard. We have plans for the two girls, of course. Margaret is to marry Walter de Lacy and William is hoping for an alliance with the Mortimers for little Isobel, but marriages for the other two boys have not yet presented themselves. I think”—she dropped her eyes, almost embarrassed—“I think William is becoming very ambitious, Richard. I think he has set his sights very high for the future.”

Two days later Richard left. Matilda was standing in her solar, giving orders to her steward, when Elen brought him in. He was already dressed for the road.

“My lady,” he said formally. “I come to take my leave.”

Her hand clutched involuntarily at the quill with which she had been checking the lists before her. It was a moment before she could look up. “Must you leave so soon, Lord de Clare?” Behind her the steward bowed and left the room and she was conscious of Elen rounding up the ladies who had been at work with their sewing near the fire. In moments the place was empty but for themselves.

As the heavy door closed behind the last of them he caught her hands in his. The pen fell to the rushes as he raised them to his lips. “I don’t know how long it will be before we see each other again.”

“Richard!” she whispered in anguish. She clung to him blindly, raising her lips to find his as her eyes filled with tears. “I thought growing older would teach me sense,” she murmured. “I thought at least it would be easier to bear as time went on.”

He held her so tightly she could hardly breathe. “It will never grow easier, my darling, never. That is our punishment for a forbidden love.” His lips touched her eyelids gently. “If two of our children can find love with one another, perhaps that will ease our own pain. At least William has agreed in principle to the idea.”

She nodded, unable to speak, clinging to him desperately.

“I have to go,” he said at last. Gently he tried to release himself from her arms.

“I know.” She clung to him even harder. “Oh, Richard, take care of yourself, my dear.” She reached up for a final kiss. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, then at last Richard straightened and firmly pushed her away.

“We will meet again.” He forced himself to smile. “Who knows, maybe at Mattie and Reginald’s wedding, God willing!” He caught her hand and kissed it quickly, then he turned and swung out of the tall, vaulted chamber and disappeared, his spurs ringing on the stone of the staircase as he ran down toward the entrance to the keep. Behind him Matilda began to cry.

***

“That’s enough!” Nick crossed the room in two strides. His eyes were blazing. “Wake her up. Quickly!”

Tears were pouring down Jo’s face as she spoke, her words almost unintelligible through the violence of her sobs.

He sat down beside her, his arm around her shoulders. “Wake her up, man. She’s had enough!”

Sam pushed himself away from the wall against which he had been leaning. “Don’t interfere, Nick. Grief is all part of life’s rich pattern. She sinned. She has to suffer.” His voice was heavy with irony. “Surely you of all people would agree with that.”

Nick glared at him and, as Bennet and his colleagues watched, the concern and anguish vanished from his face to be replaced by cold anger. “She is weeping for Richard de Clare!” he said through clenched teeth. “One of John’s advisers and even his friend! Dear God! She mocks me, even now! Flaunting her love of the man and rejecting me. Me! As if I were no one.”

They stared in astonishment at the arrogant fury of his expression, so unlike anything that anyone who knew Nick had ever seen, and they saw the color run up his neck to suffuse his face.

Bennet stood up hastily. “Steady, my friend,” he said, laying his hand on Nick’s arm. “Jo was mocking no one. Couldn’t you see how she was being torn?”

Nick shook off the hand and dragged his eyes away from Jo’s face, visibly struggling within himself, his jaws clenched as he stared at Bennet. He was looking straight through him as if he weren’t there, oblivious of the presence of anyone else in the room. The sweat was standing out on his forehead.

Bennet glanced at Sam. “What is wrong with him?” he said sharply. “This man is possessed in some way!”