Lady of Hay (7 page)

He swung around on the circle of men that had formed around them, listening with open interest to the exchange. His face flushed a degree deeper in color. “What are you staring at?” he bellowed. “See to your horses and get out of my sight!”

Matilda turned, blindly searching for Richard among the men. He was standing immediately behind her. Gently he took her arm. “Let me help you in, Lady Matilda,” he said quietly. “You must be tired.”

William swung around, his head thrust forward, his fists clenched. “Leave her, Lord Clare,” he shouted. “My God, you’d better have a good reason for bringing my wife here.” He swung on his heel and strode toward the flight of steps that led up to the main door of the keep, his spurs clanking on the hollow wood. Halfway up he stopped and turned, looking down on them. “You are not welcome here, either of you.” His face was puce in the flickering torchlight. “Why did you come?”

Matilda followed him, her cloak flying open in the wind to reveal her slim, tall figure in a deep-blue surcoat.

“I came because I wanted to be with my husband,” she said, her voice clear above the hissing of the torch beside her. “My Lord de Clare was only going as far as Gloucester, but he insisted that it was his duty not to let me travel on my own. We owe him much thanks, my lord.”

Her husband snorted. He turned back up the steps, walking into the great hall of the keep and throwing his cloak down on the rushes where a page ran to pick it up.

“His duty, was it?” He stared at Richard as he followed him in, his eyes stony with suspicion. “Then you will perform the double duty of escorting her back to Gloucester at first light.”

Matilda gasped. “You’re not going to let me stay?”

“Indeed I am not, madam.”

“But…why? May we not at least stay for the feast tomorrow?” She had followed him toward the central hearth in the crowded hall. “Why shouldn’t we attend? It is not my right as your wife to be there?”

“No, it is not your right,” he roared. “And how in the name of Christ’s bones did you learn of it anyway?” He turned on her and, catching her arms, gripped her with a sudden ferocity. “Who told you about it?”

“Walter Bloet at Raglan. Stop it, my lord, you’re hurting me!” She struggled to free herself from his hold. “We stopped there to rest the horses and they told us all about it. He was very angry that you had not invited him.”

She glanced around, suddenly conscious of the busy figures all around them. Only those closest to their lord and his lady seemed to realize that there was something amiss between them and had paused to eavesdrop with unashamed curiosity. The rest were too absorbed in their tasks. Smoke from the fire filtered upward to the blackened shadows of the high vaulted ceiling.

“Damn him for an interfering fool! If you had waited only another two days, all might have been well.” He stood for a moment gazing at her. Then he smacked his fist into the palm of his hand. “Go on up.” He turned away. “Go to my bedchamber and rest. You are leaving tomorrow at dawn. That is my last word on the subject.”

Matilda looked around desperately. The evening meal was obviously not long over and the servants had only just started clearing away the trestles to make room for the sleepers around the fire. Two clerks had come forward, hovering with a roll of parchment, trying to catch William’s eye, and the shoemaker, a pair of soft leather boots in his hand, was trying to attract his lord’s attention behind them. Her husband’s knights, men-at-arms, guests, servants, crowded around them. On the dais at the end of the hall a boy sprawled, his back against a pillar, softly playing on a viol.

Richard touched her softly on the arm. “Go up, my lady. You need to rest.”

She nodded sadly. “What about you? Your welcome is as cold as mine.”

“No matter.” He smiled at her. “I’ll take you back to Gloucester as he commands, first thing tomorrow. It is for the best.”

He escorted her toward the flight of steps at the end of the hall that William had indicated, cut into the angle of the new stone wall, and at the bottom of the stair he kissed her hand.

***

A single rush taper burned weakly in the vaulted chamber above. A tapestry hung on one side of the shadowy room, and a fireplace was opposite. Matilda was trying to hold back her tears. “Go and find the women’s quarters, Nell,” she said sharply as the girl dragged in after her, still sniffing. “I suppose I’ll”—she hesitated for only a second—“I’ll be sleeping with Sir William in here tonight. I won’t need you.” She shivered suddenly and bit her lip. “I misjudged our welcome, it seems. I’m sorry.”

She watched as Nell disappeared up the stairs that led to the upper stories of the tower, then with a sigh she turned to the fire. She stood for a long time before the glowing embers, warming her hands. All around her her husband’s clothes spilled from the coffers against the walls, and on a perch set in the stonework a sleepy falcon, hooded against the dim light, shifted its weight from one foot to the other and cocked its head inquiringly in her direction as it heard the sound of her step. Wearily she began to unfasten her mantle.

In the hall below a Welsh boy slipped unnoticed to the kitchens and collected a cup of red Bordeaux wine from one of the casks that were mounted there. Onto a pewter platter he piled some of the pasties and cakes that were being prepared for the next day’s feasting and, dark as a shadow, he slipped up the stairs to his lord’s chamber. He was sorry for the beautiful girl in the blue dress. He too had been sworn at by de Braose and he too did not like it.

She was standing by the fire, the glowing embers reflecting the red glint in her massed dark hair. Her veil lay discarded on the bed with her wet mantle, and she was fingering an ivory comb.

The boy watched breathlessly from the shadows for a moment, but he must have moved, for she turned and saw him. He was surprised to see that there were no tears in her eyes. He had thought to find her crying.

“What is it, boy?” Her voice was very tired.

He stood still, abashed suddenly at what he had dared to do, forgetting the cup and plate in his hands.

“Have you brought me some food?” She smiled at him kindly.

Still he did not move, and, seeing his ragged clothes and dark face, she wondered suddenly if he had yet learned the tongue of his Norman masters.

“
Beth yw eich enw?
” she asked carefully, groping for the words Meredith, the steward at Raglan, had taught her, laughing at her quick interest. It meant, What is your name?

The boy came forward and shyly went down on one knee, set the wine and cakes on one of the chests beside the bed, then turned and fled back to the hall.

Matilda gazed after him for a moment, perplexed, and then, throwing back her hair, she sat down on the bed and began to eat. She was ravenously hungry and she had to think.

She sat for a long time over her cup of wine, as the rush burned lower. Then in the last flickering light she stood up and began to take off her clothes.

The sound of talk and laughter had begun to lessen in the hall below and now an occasional snore was beginning to echo up the stairs. To her relief there was no sign of William.

She slipped naked under the heavy bed coverings and, her plans quite made up for the morning, was soon asleep.

6

On the sofa Jo stirred uneasily. Beneath her lids her eyes moved rapidly from side to side and her breathing quickened.

“I was tired after the days of endless riding,” she said slowly. “And I slept heavily. It is first light now. The room is gray and shadowy and the fire has sunk to a heap of white ash. I am sleepy…trying to remember where I am…” There was a long pause. “I am not alone anymore…There is someone here with me in the room…”

***

“So you are awake at last!” William leaned over the bed and dragged the covers down to her waist. His breath stank of stale wine. “My beautiful wife, so eager for her husband’s company. I’m flattered, my dear, that you should have missed me so much.” He laughed and Matilda felt herself shudder. She lay still for a moment, afraid to move, as his calloused hands gripped her breasts, then she reached down desperately for the bedcovers, trying to drag them over her once more, remembering the charm she had recited to herself in the dark, the charm that would protect her from him for months to come.

She forced herself to lie still and looked up at him, her clear eyes steady on his. He immediately looked away, as always uncomfortable beneath her gaze.

“You must not touch me, my lord.”

His mouth widened into a sneer. “Oh, no? And why not, pray?” He grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully until she wanted to scream, but she managed to keep her voice calm as she spoke. “Because I am with child. And my nurse Jeanne says if you lie with me again while he is in my belly he will be stillborn.”

She held her breath, watching his face. Cruelty turned to anger, then disbelief, then to superstitious fear. Abruptly he released her and he crossed himself as he straightened, moving away from the bed.

“That witch! If she has put the evil eye on my child…”

“She casts no evil eye, my lord.” Matilda sat up, drawing the fur bedcover over her breasts and clutching it tightly. “She wants to protect him. That is why she sent me to you, while I was still able to travel. Your son must be born in Wales, in your lands in the Border March. You cannot send me back to Bramber.”

She watched him, hugging herself in triumph as he stood with his back to her, staring down at the dead ash in the hearth. Then he swung around. “How does she know all this?”

Matilda shrugged. “She has the gift of seeing.”

“And she sees that I will have a son?”

“A strong, brave son, my lord.” She saw the look of triumph on his face as he stared at her.

“Very well,” he said. “But you may not stay here. I shall order a litter to take you on to Brecknock. You will be safe there.”

She lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes with a sigh. “You are kind, my lord. I will try to obey you. I just pray to the Blessed Virgin that the extra journey will not harm the child. I am so tired.” She put her hand on her stomach dramatically. “Please. May I not rest a day or two more? For your son’s sake?”

She glanced up through her eyelashes to see what reaction her words provoked. William seemed nonplussed. He strode back and forth across the room a couple of times, kicking viciously at the hay that was strewn on the floor, obviously struggling with himself. Seeing his preoccupation, she felt a wave of something that was almost affection for this stocky, broad-shouldered man, still almost a stranger to her. He looked so uncertain.

“Are you pleased, William?” she asked after a moment. “About the baby?”

“Of course I’m pleased.” His voice was gruff. “But I don’t want you here. Not today.”

“But why not? I shan’t be in your way, I promise.” She raised herself on her elbow, her hair cascading about her bare shoulders, dark auburn in the pale sunlight. “You won’t even know I’m here, and in a day or two when I’m rested I shall go to Brecknock if you think that’s really best.”

William straightened his shoulders, frowning reluctantly. “If I allow you to stay,” he blustered, “and I’m only saying if, you would have to promise on no account to leave this room. Not for any reason. It would not be safe. You would have to give me your oath.”

“I promise, my lord.” She crossed her fingers beneath the covers.

“You do understand me. You are not to move from here all day, no matter what happens.” He glared down at her. “In fact, you would have to stay in bed. The feast is not for you. It’s no ordinary Christmas junketing but a gathering of local Welsh princes and dignitaries for political discussions. I have to read them an ordinance from King Henry. That’s why the Bloets weren’t asked. It’s no place for them, and it’s no place for women. Do you understand?”

He turned away from her and strode over to the perch where his falcon sat. Picking up the gauntlet that lay on the coffer nearby, he pulled it over his knuckles. Gently he freed the bird’s jesses and eased it onto his fist, whispering affectionately as he slipped the hood from its head. The creature looked at him with baleful eyes. “If you are going to be here, I’ll take this beauty back to the mews,” he said grudgingly. “Remember, you are not to leave that bed. If you try, I shall have you locked up.” He turned on his heel sharply and left the room.

Matilda waited until his footsteps had died away. Then she slipped triumphantly from the bed and pulled a fur-lined dressing gown around her shoulders. She ran to the high window and peered out, feeling the cold wind lift her hair, listening to the sounds of life that were beginning to stir in the bailey below. It was a gray morning. The watery sun above the hills to the east was so shrouded in mist and cloud that it gave off as little heat as the waning moon.

Shivering a little, she glanced around the room. It did not look so comfortable in the cold light but she hugged herself excitedly. Her plan had worked. She was free of Bertha, was mistress of her own large household, or would be very soon, and had ensured that she was free of her husband’s loathsome attentions until her baby was born. She gave a wistful smile. She had never felt better nor stronger than in the last two months, and she knew there was no risk. She was strong and healthy and had had no premonitions for the baby or for herself. She frowned suddenly as she gazed from the window, for premonitions she had certainly had, strange formless terrors that had plagued her for the last three nights in her dreams. She shrugged away the thought. Whatever they meant, she was not going to let them spoil today’s excitement.

She wondered where Richard was this morning, then abruptly she put him out of her mind. To think about Richard de Clare was dangerous. She must forget him and remember that she was another man’s wife.

She dragged her thoughts back to the day’s feasting. She had no intention of keeping her promise to William and staying in bed. She meant to be there at his side.

There were about five hours to wait until it began, she judged, squinting up at the sun. Many of the guests were probably already at the castle or camped around its walls, others would be riding down from the Welsh hills and from Prince Seisyll’s court, wherever it was, with their attendants and their bards and their entertainers. She felt a tremor of excitement.

At the sound of a step on the stairs she turned from the drafty window and ran back to the bed, shivering. A small woman entered, her hair gray beneath a large white veil. She was bearing a tray and she smiled at Matilda a little shyly. “Good morning, my lady. I’ve brought you some milk and some bread.”

“Milk!” Matilda was disgusted. “I never drink milk. I’d much rather have wine.”

“Milk is better for you, madam.” The older woman’s voice with the gentle lilt of the hills was surprisingly firm. “You try it and see, why don’t you?”

Matilda pulled herself up on the pillows and allowed the woman to feed her broken pieces of the fine wastel bread. She found she was very hungry.

“Did I see you in the hall last night?” she asked between mouthfuls.

The woman smiled, showing rotten teeth. “No, madam, I was in the kitchens most of yesterday, helping to prepare for the feasting.”

Matilda sat up, her eyes shining with excitement. “Do you know how many people are coming? Was there much food being brought in? Are the guests already arriving?”

Laughing, the woman spread her strong, work-worn hands. Her nails were badly broken. “Oh, enough for two armies, madam, at least. They seem to have been at work for days, ever since Sir William even hinted at a feast. But yesterday and the day before, I have been helping too with a lot of the women, to see that all is ready in time.”

Matilda lay back, stretching luxuriously beneath the rugs. “I wish I were coming,” she commented cautiously. “Sir William feels that I should rest because of my condition, and not attend.” She glanced at the other woman and saw with satisfaction that she looked astonished.

“Surely you’ll feel better by then, madam, if you rest now.” The woman smiled kindly and twitched one of the coverlets straight. “It would never do to miss such a fine occasion as this one, indeed.”

Matilda smiled. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. I feel much better already.” She noticed that the plate was empty and smiled. It was no use pretending that she felt too ill to eat. She tried to compose her face. “Where’s Nell, the lady I brought with me?” she demanded, suddenly remembering. “She should have come to look after me. I want her to arrange some maids. I brought no other attendants.”

The woman concealed a smile. “Your lady, madam, is talking to Sybella, the constable’s wife. I felt you needed food first, attendants later. I’m thinking you’d have waited all day indeed if it had been up to those two.” Without comment she took the plate and cup and put them aside, then bent to pick up the mantle that Matilda had left trailing from the end of the bed.

“Tell me your name.” Matilda was watching closely out of half-shut eyes.

“Megan, madam. My husband is one of Sir William’s stewards.”

“Well, Megan, I want you to see that my clothes chests are brought up here and then later, if I do feel better, will you help me to dress for the feast?”

“Of course I will, gladly indeed.” Megan’s face lit up with pleasure.

“And listen.” Matilda raised herself on an elbow and put her finger to her lips. “We won’t let Sir William know that I might be coming. I don’t want him to forbid me, thinking I am more tired than I am.”

She lay back on her pillows again after Megan had gone, well pleased with the little Welshwoman’s conspiratorial smile of understanding.

Below in the courtyard the morning sounds were reaching a crescendo of excitement and down the winding stairs to the hall she could hear a hubbub of shouting and laughter and the crashing of the boards onto the trestles as the tables were set up. It was hard to lie idle with so much going on about her but she was content to rest for the moment. The time to get up would come later.

She watched as a boy staggered in with a basket of logs and proceeded to light a new fire, and then a man humped in her boxes of clothes. There was still no sign of Nell, but Megan was close on his heels. After throwing back the lids under Matilda’s instructions, she began to pull out the gowns and surcoats, crying out with delight as she fingered the scarlets and greens of silks, fine linens and soft-dyed wools, laying them on the bed one by one.

Matilda looked at each garment critically, considering which she should wear. Ever since she had heard about the feast she had thought about the gold-embroidered surcoat brought to her from London by William for her name day. It had come from the east and smelled of sandalwood and allspice.

“Oh, my lady, you must wear this.” Megan held up her green velvet gown trimmed with silver. “This is perfect for you. It is beautiful, so it is.”

Matilda took it from her and rubbed her face in the soft stuff. “William thinks that green is unlucky,” she said wistfully. She loved that dress and she knew it suited her coloring. It would go well below the gold.

Nell appeared at last, fully recovered from the journey and in high spirits, as Megan was hanging up the last of the gowns in the garderobe. She had brought a message.

“From one of Lord Clare’s knights,” she whispered, full of importance. “He wants to see you in the solar, now, while Sir William is out in the mews with his hawks.”

She helped Megan dress Matilda hastily in a blue wool gown and wrapped her in a thick mantle against the drafts. Then, her finger to her lips, she led the way out of the bedchamber.

Richard was waiting in the deep window embrasure, half hidden behind a screen. He was dressed for traveling.

“Richard?” Matilda stared at him as Nell withdrew.

“I am leaving. Your husband demands it.” He put out his hand toward her, then let it fall. He shrugged. “My men are waiting. I return to Gloucester.”

“No,” she whispered in anguish. “I thought he would change his mind and let you stay…I thought you would be here…”

He reached out and touched her hand. “This is your household, lady,” he said sadly. “This is where you wished to be, at your husband’s side. There is no place for me here. Better I go now.”

“But I thought it would be different—I thought it would be all right.” She looked away from him, her bravery and excitement forgotten. “I had forgotten what he is like.” She put her hands to her face, trying not to cry. “And I have to stay with him for the rest of my life!”

Richard felt the sweat start on the palms of his hands. “You are his wife,” he said harshly. “In God’s eyes you belong to him.”