‘My lord king, how is it that you are here? And my women … I thought you dead and yet here you be, too.’
Edmond glanced at my women, who left it to him to answer.
‘If truth be told, Maeb,’ Edmond said, ‘I think none of us here truly know. I think it is a tale that will be told about fires for many years to come. And we will tell it to you, but not here, not now.’
Edmond had his men construct a litter for me and the baby, as well as one for Henry’s body, and we slowly made our way back through the mountains. The wolves had long gone and I thought I must have imagined them. The company who had ridden with Edmond into that clearing where Madog had been about to kill me numbered among them many nobles that I knew from court, and who had travelled with Edmond on his funeral procession from Elesberie to Hereford. Robert de Lacy, Lord of Bouland and Alianor’s husband, was here, as was Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Pembroke. Saint-Valery had come, too, and fought with the best of them.
They took turns riding by my litter, exchanging conversation, telling me how Adelaide’s funeral went, and, in Saint-Valery’s case, reciting great lengths of poetry, all of which was meant to entertain me and keep my mind from the uncomfortable jolting of the litter. They did not press me for details of what had happened to me, or to Prince Henry, and did not mind if, as often happened, I slipped into sleep.
I wanted to sleep.
Eventually, we came on the clearing where Gilbert had been tied to the stake.
The stake was still there, and the ground about soaked with blood, but his body was gone.
I thought the bears must have dragged it away to eat.
Edmond asked who had been tied here, and I told him.
‘Ghent? Are you sure?’ he said.
Was I sure? ‘It was Ghent!’ I said, a trifle tersely.
‘Who else?’
Edmond exchanged a look with de Lacy and Pembroke, riding close by, then just nodded to me. He sent soldiers to scour the nearby forests for any evidence of Ghent’s body, but they found nothing, and in time we moved on.
It took a day to reach the area where Madog had abandoned the carts. We stopped here for a night’s rest, Isouda, Ella and Gytha collecting what could be salvaged of our clothing and belongings. I was overjoyed to see the carts, thinking that, if nothing else, I could at least travel more comfortably with my new son from now on.
My women bedded me and the baby in the cart in which I had travelled earlier, and I luxuriated in the cushions and coverlets. Here, also, we had access to a good stream, and Isouda and Gytha heated water and washed me completely, even my hair, removing from me the sweat of fear, Madog’s blood, and that of the birthing.
Our company did not have much food with them, but from what little we did have (mostly taken from the Teulu’s supplies), Edmond made sure that I had a good meal.
As I was settling down after the meal, Isouda, who was making sure the baby and I were comfortable, looked up and suddenly grinned.
‘My lady, look what my lord king has found!’
I raised myself on an elbow and looked over the side of the cart.
Edmond was walking over to us, leading Dulcette.
I couldn’t believe it. The last I had seen of her she had been tied to one of the carts as Ghent led our company toward Bergeveny. Then we had been attacked, and I was bound and blindfolded into the cart under thick covers.
Dulcette must have travelled all this way with us and then wandered off when the Teulu abandoned the carts. I was astounded. Dulcette was a costly horse, and that no one, not even the Teulu, had made off with her was astonishing.
‘One of the soldiers found her wandering nearby,’ Edmond said.
‘He brought her in, and I remembered you riding her from the day of the hunt in the forest beyond the Tower.’
I burst into tears. Of all the things that had happened in the past day or so, the relief of seeing Dulcette safe was one of the most memorable.
Edmond tied her once more to the cart, then signalled Isouda to leave us. Once she had gone, Edmond climbed into the cart and sat by me.
‘How is the child?’ he said, making an effort to be interested.
‘He is well,’ I said, folding the cloth back from the boy’s face so Edmond could see.
‘And you?’
‘And I, too. I am tired and sore and bruised, and I have lost a tooth from being struck in the jaw, but from all of these I should recover. My lord, please tell me, how did you and this company come to find me? And my women? I do not understand.’
Edmond breathed in deeply, looked for a moment at the campsite, and then began to speak. What he said I later had confirmed from my women, as many others among the company.
It was a most remarkable tale.
‘We had buried Adelaide, as she had wanted,’ Edmond began, ‘in the cathedral at Hereford. We thought to tarry there a week, then return toward London, or however close the plague allowed us to come to that city.
‘One night there came a clamour at the gates of the priory where we stayed. There was a knight outside, riding a most remarkable white horse, and he demanded to speak with me. One of my valets woke me, and I stumbled outside, cursing whoever it was.
‘Maeb … I know I spoke with this knight, but I cannot remember any of the conversation. All I can recall was that somehow the knight convinced me that there was a terrible battle to be fought and that I must rouse my court, my knights, my soldiers, and ride with him as fast as I might.
‘I did not doubt him, not for a moment.’
Edmond paused, his face introspective. ‘How can that be possible, Maeb? A strange knight arrives, he convinces me within moments to command all the knights and soldiers of my company forth, and I do just that.’
‘I have met this knight, too,’ I said. ‘I can understand. Go on, if you please, my lord.’
‘We rode out as soon as we could. No one complained. Everyone, as I had, simply rose, arrayed themselves in fighting manner, and mounted their horses.
‘We followed the knight. We rode through territory I had not seen before and our horses never wearied. At times packs of silver and black wolves rode with us, beside us, among us, weaving in and out of the trees. It was always night, and always full moonlight even though the moon is dark now. Daylight never came.
‘We rode on. Suddenly we came on a place were there had been a battle. Bodies littered the ground, the track was churned as if something large had laid across it, and had then been dragged away. We stopped and buried the bodies, thinking we would come back and retrieve them for Christian burial later. While we were there, three women came from out of the trees.
‘They told us an extraordinary tale. They were Isouda, Ella and Gytha, your attending women. They told us of the attack on your company. They told us how you had been stolen away. They told us how twelve or more of the attackers had dragged them into the forest, there to defile them and later kill them.
‘But no sooner were they deep in the woods, and the men, laughing and jesting, had turned to the women, than great wolves burst out of the trees and devoured the men.
‘Yet the wolves did not touch the women, nor threaten them in any way. The wolves sat with the women until our company happened along, and then they melted back into the forest as strangely as they had arrived.
‘Your women’s horses were discovered, and, thus mounted, we once more followed after the knight, who brought us through Bergeveny. We travelled through that town, again at night, and what a strange silent ride that was, through streets whose inhabitants seemed so deeply asleep they never noticed our passing — and then into these hills and mountains.
‘Here the knight said he would leave us, for he was tired, but that another would lead us the final distance.’
Edmond again paused, studying me thoughtfully. ‘Maeb, this final knight was Gilbert Ghent. I would have known him in an instant: it was his horse, his blue surcoat, his devices, his voice. I know him well, damn it, and this was Ghent.’
I had tears in my eyes. No wonder Edmond had not believed me when I’d said it was Ghent who died at that stake.
‘I do not doubt it, my lord. And I will tell you why shortly, but finish now, please.’
He sighed. ‘Ghent kept urging us forward, saying that you were in danger. We burst into that clearing on all sides, Maeb. I know not how, for we had approached it in a single column, but so we did, and I found myself unhorsed and standing behind Madog as he made to cut your throat.’
Now my tears flowed freely. ‘For the rest of my life,’ I said, ‘however much God grants to me, I shall never forget that moment when you dropped to your knees before me, having smote Madog’s head from his shoulders. My lord … nothing I can ever say can thank you enough, or communicate to you my gratitude. I was dead and you resurrected me.’
I think emotion overcame Edmond for a moment, for he took some time to reply, only grasping my hand as I lifted it to him.
‘Maeb,’ he said, finally, ‘we burst into that clearing in time to save your life, yet not my son’s. Ghent did not lead us there in time to save Henry.’
‘My lord, I grieve with you that you have lost a son, and that your first-born.’
‘What was Henry doing there, Maeb? Was he also a captive of Madog?’
‘No.’ I briefly told Edmond of Henry’s part in the days leading up to his death and of the final argument with Madog.
‘They were in an alliance, my lord,’ I finished, ‘and it dissolved about them.’
‘Who did this to your face, Maeb?’ Edmond said, touching my face gently with his hand.
I did not answer.
‘Ah,’ Edmond murmured. Again he sighed. ‘He was a foolish boy, Maeb, and greatly unsuited, perhaps, to the role in which fate placed him. I am glad Adelaide did not live to know of his death, for it would have grieved her terribly.’
‘I am sorry, my lord,’ I said, and Edmond nodded.
‘Tell me about Ghent, and this knight,’ he said, and so I did. I spoke of the meeting between the knight and Ghent and how, so now I believed, the knight had told Ghent of his forthcoming death and, possibly, of what would come after.
‘Ghent told me there was blood ahead, and that I must not grieve,’ I said. I hesitated. ‘But this was not the first time I have seen this knight.’
I told Edmond of the time the knight had led me through the forest on the day of the hunt, but not of the knight’s role in my ordeal.
‘I think you travelled the same path the knight led me onto,’ I said, ‘one of the ancient falloways of the Old People. What else can explain how swiftly you and your company made the journey from Hereford to this point?’
‘Who is this knight, do you think, Maeb?’
‘I do not know.’ But here I lied, for by now I was almost certain of his identity.
Chapter Seven
The next day we travelled to Pengraic Castle. It was a long day’s journey, but Edmond was anxious to reach there both for my sake and for the sake of his hungry company. He had the foresight to send riders ahead to forewarn d’Avranches, who, by the time of our arrival in the evening, had the gates open and hot food ready from both keep and garrison kitchens.
Owain was waiting at the gate and was at the side of my litter immediately I came through.
‘My lady!’ he said, his face a wreath of worry lines.
‘Oh, Owain,’ I said, so glad to see him I could not express it.
I reached out a hand to him and he pressed it.
‘I will come see you in the morning, eh?’ he said, and I was stunned to see tears in his eyes. ‘Give you time to rest.’
I gripped his hand, then let it go.
I was home, and safe.
Owain came to see me the next day as soon as he thought it polite. I was ensconced back in the privy chamber off the solar, although I had offered it to Edmond. He’d refused, saying he would find a mattress in the men’s dormitory.
‘My lady,’ Owain said as he sat on the bed, taking my hand and patting it.
‘Maeb.’
He smiled, and I embarrassed myself by beginning to weep.
‘This is why I joined the church,’ he said. ‘I do nothing for the ladies but make them weep.’
I tried to laugh and ended up only weeping the harder. I waved my women out of the chamber, gesturing them to leave the door open, and then just lay there, tears falling down my cheeks, holding Owain’s hand in both mine.
Once I managed to dry my eyes, we talked. I told Owain about how I’d been seized and how Edmond had saved me. How he’d sat there as I grasped his hand and watched as I gave birth to my son. This tale led to the falloways, and from there to the strange knight and what had become of Gilbert Ghent.
As with Edmond, I did not tell Owain about how the knight had aided me in the ordeal.
‘What is this diadem Henry and Madog spoke of ?’ said Owain.
Thus, breaking the promise of the privy council meeting, I told Owain about the diadem and the Devil’s efforts to get it back.
‘The plague,’ I said, ‘it is the Devil’s hound pack, sent to sniff it out.’
Owain made a sign against evil spirits, which was less a sign of the cross than it was a local gesture handed down from generations past.
‘And the Templars suspect you of harbouring the diadem?’ Owain said. ‘They think your father stole it and gave it to you?’
I nodded. ‘I am so weary, Owain, of saying that I do not have this diadem in my possession, nor do I know anything about it or where it might be. I don’t think my father had it. He certainly did not give it to me. I do not deserve this mystery or the constant suspicious eyes.’
‘My lady,’ Owain said, ‘I do not understand why my lord Pengraic allowed you to come all this way home to Pengraic Castle when you were so near your confinement. Particularly when knowledge of this diadem, and of your possible connection to it, has been noised about the realm. Sweet Lord Jesu, my lady, how many other brigands are there on the roads seeking to claim it from you?’
I did not immediately answer. I looked to the door, and saw that no one in the solar was close to it. I licked my lips, stalling for time, thinking.
‘My lady?’
‘Listen, Owain, what I tell you now you must treat as a confession. You must not tell anyone else. No one. Promise.’
His eyes narrowed in concern. ‘As a confession, then. I promise not to gossip this about.’
‘On your life, Owain. Tell no one!’
‘On my life, Maeb. Sweet God, what is happening?’
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes briefly, and told Owain about the imps that I had seen at Edmond’s Oxeneford palace and at our house in Cornhill.
Now Owain crossed himself in the manner of the Church, muttering a prayer under his breath.
‘Maeb, you must mention this to a higher ecclesiastic. He will be able to —’
‘Owain, listen.’
Haltingly, and in a very quiet voice lest I be overheard from the solar, I told him about the night I’d found my husband with the imp and what he had told me afterward.
‘That is why I hurried back here, Owain,’ I finished.
‘I could not stay with my husband. I could not.’
Owain was shocked to the core, as I had been. He sat on the bed, still holding one of my hands, his face pale, rocking slightly back and forth, back and forth, as if to comfort himself.
Eventually he gave his head a little shake, perhaps to clear it of his fugue.
‘I find this so hard,’ he said, ‘so hard.’
‘I speak the truth, Owain!’
‘I do not doubt it, my lady. I do not. But that my lord, who I have loved and respected all my life, should truly be this foul creature. I find it hard, Maeb.’
I was crying again. ‘And you think I do not, Owain?’
Owain still struggled with what I had told him.
‘All my life I thought there was something different about Pengraic,’ he said. ‘I had thought it a touch of th
e fairy, but instead it was the taint of hell? Oh, sweet God, Maeb. Sweet, sweet God.’
‘What am I to do?’ I whispered.
‘What, Owain?’
‘Who do you trust absolutely at court, my lady?’
I thought. Alianor de Lacy? Almost, but not enough, and I do not think she would be of any help even if I did trust her completely.
Who?
‘Edmond,’ I whispered.
‘Aye,’ Owain said, ‘I had wondered. He was picked to save you from Madog, and he was taken along the falloways in order to do so. That would not have happened unless he was of true and good spirit.’
‘More of your tales of the Old People, Owain?’ I said, trying to smile.
Owain tipped his head, acknowledging his love of folklore. ‘You should tell Edmond,’ he said, ‘if for no other reason than this is his realm that the Devil tramples over, and he should know. But also because I think he will help you, and perhaps show you the way free.’
Oh, fateful words. But I nodded, and thought on it.
Later that morning, Sewenna came to see me. I had missed her cheerful, uncomplicated disposition, and I handed her the baby.
‘Are you still feeding, Sewenna?’ I asked.
She nodded, cooing over my son.
‘Then can you take this child, as well? I do not wish to nurse him.’
Again she nodded and, folding back her chemise, put my son to the breast.
He suckled immediately, and I leaned back on my pillows, relieved.
I felt entirely disconnected from this child. I had longed for him and carried him cheerfully, but from the moment I knew what had fathered him …
I wished him no harm, but neither did I want to nurse him. Sewenna could mother him. I didn’t think I could manage it.
After Sewenna had gone I asked my women to help me wash and dress. I would sit out. I’d had enough of bed. A servant brought my meal just after midday, setting it on a small table before me and I was surprised at its size.
Did the kitchen think I should eat for a company?
But as I was enquiring, Edmond appeared, and said he would eat with me.