Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  ‘Good decision. Once we clear the mountains, we can head for the coast. Chepstow is as good a crossing place as any. We are sure to find a boatman willing to take us over the channel.’

  Idris swivelled in the saddle, a blacker shadow against the night. ‘We ride until daybreak,’ he said to me. ‘The more distance between us the better. Seisyll will have difficulty following our trail in the dark.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I squinted to make out the path ahead.

  Idris knew what I meant.

  ‘I don’t need your thanks.’ The pain in his voice was clear. ‘I wish I could have done more.’

  He wasn’t the only one. I tried not to think about what might be happening back at Llandarog. Were any of them still alive? If I wasn’t careful, it would crush me. Either I could let it, wallowing like a sow in mud, until it coated me in thick black despair, or I could thank God for sparing me and look to the future.

  My mare ate the miles with the reluctance of a sickly child picking at her food. Unaccustomed to being ridden hard and for long distances, she stumbled more and more frequently, as the interminable night wore on, until her weariness became a danger and I risked being thrown from the saddle.

  The sky lightened before Idris called a halt. He had chosen well. A stream gurgled nearby, a meadow stretched beyond, a rocky bluff shielded our backs, and a bank of scrubby bushes provided protection from the wind and would hide our sleeping bodies from searching eyes.

  Cai helped me dismount, reaching up to catch me about the waist and ease me to the ground, setting me down on stiffened legs. I’d sat so long in the saddle that my legs were moulded to its shape. The skin of my thighs and the sides of my knees stung and burned. I dreaded the next day, and the one after it. One long stint on horseback was more than enough for a body unused to riding.

  He held my arm until I found my balance, then he saw to his own steed, leaving me to mine. I shortened Silver’s stirrups with clumsy, trembling fingers. It took all my strength to undo the mare’s girth and heave the saddle off her back. I didn’t know who was in the worse state, me or the palfrey. She shook with exhaustion, her coat damp with sweat. I patted her neck, leaning against her for support, but she ignored me, too wrapped up in her own misery to take any notice of mine.

  ‘No fire,’ Idris warned. ‘We can’t risk it.’

  I sat down, awkward and ungainly, the earth cold and hard. Idris offered me a wineskin and I took it thirstily. Breakfast yesterday morning was the last meal I remembered, before Rhain and his three bloody pieces turned my world on its head.

  The men unsaddled the horses and, after taking a mouthful of sweet wine, I clambered to my feet and untied the blankets, unfurling them in a row before lugging the saddles to their respective heads. They made uncomfortable pillows, but were better than the cold, hard ground.

  Cai led the horses to the stream and rubbed each one down with a handful of leaves whilst they drank their fill. Silver hung her head, a picture of dejection. Even the two stallions looked weary. He hobbled all three and let them loose to graze the sweet grass. They wouldn’t go far.

  ‘I’ll take first watch,’ Idris said, grabbing a hunk of bread and a sliver of cheese from one of the bags. He tossed some to me and the rest to Cai, before climbing up the rocks, on feet both nimble and sure. His face looked gaunt in the early dawn light. Should I offer to take a turn on watch? I was uncertain whether I could tackle the steep bluff.

  ‘Eat, then rest, my lady,’ Cai said, around a mouthful of bread.

  The food was barely enough to satisfy my hunger, and once I had eaten I spread myself out on the blanket, and wrapped my cloak around me like a chrysalis. Overtired, and with every ache and pain shouting out loud, I was unable to sleep. My mind worried and chewed on the events of the last day. This time yesterday morning I still had a husband. This time yesterday I knew my place in the world. This time yesterday I wasn’t fleeing for my life. Tears welled and pricked behind my eyes.

  After a few sobs, shame gripped me. These two men had lost as much, if not more, than I, and had risked their lives for my safety, yet I wept as though I was the only one suffering.

  No more weeping. No more feeling sorry for my lot. Ashamed, I wiped my eyes on my grimy sleeve and settled to sleep. At least my tears had washed those gimlet eyes from my mind.

  ~~~~~

  ‘Shhh.’ A hand closed on my mouth. I struggled to sit, but a strong arm held me down.

  ‘Rhain?’ I tried to say, then with a sickening lurch, I remembered that my husband would never speak to me again.

  ‘Shush.’ Cai’s voice, more insistent this time.

  I acquiesced, lying still, my heart fluttering and yammering in my chest. Satisfied I was fully awake, Cai released his hold and scuttled to the horses, crouching low. Idris had one hand clamped around each stallion’s soft nose. Trained for battle, they knew to remain silent, but my mare had other ideas. She lifted her muzzle, ears flicking. Cai reached her before she let out a whinny. Silver jerked her head in annoyance and he clung on, forcing her nose to the ground. She laid back her ears but the tactic worked, and her snort was muffled.

  I strained to hear the thud of hooves, the rumble of voices, the chink of chainmail, but all was silent. Not even a bird chirped. I sat up, slow and careful, trying to see through the bushes shielding us.

  A fine mist clung to the fur of my cloak, riming my eyelashes and dampening my hair. Early dawn promise had become the leaden skies of a sunless day. How long had I slept? Though impossible to tell whether it was mid-morning or mid-afternoon, my fatigue fled in the face of my fear. I opened my mouth. Idris shook his head, a muted movement. What had he heard? Had he seen them? Were they Seisyll’s men?

  We waited until long after the stallions stopped flicking their ears, and until the birds resumed their singing and the sense of danger dissipated. Yet still we did not move.

  I studied Idris until the tension left him and he no longer looked as motionless as one of the painted saints in church.

  ‘Did you see them?’ Idris whispered to his son.

  Cai released his grip on the mare, who shot him a reproachful look. ‘No, but I heard them. More than two, less than ten.’

  ‘Welsh or English?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell, but they moved fast,’ Cai said.

  ‘Were they Seisyll’s men?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe, but if they were, they failed to find us.’

  His relief apparent, Idris smiled, the first I had seen since yesterday, when he rode out confident and eager at Rhain’s side, when victory was a very real possibility and all the horror of defeat lay ahead of them. What was it with men, with their wars, and their enthusiasm for battle? Did he smile now because we had evaded capture, or because we had so nearly been caught?

  At the tail end of his fourth decade, Idris exuded strength. He was at the height of his physical capabilities, honed by war and weather, standing nearly six foot tall, shoulders and chest heavily muscled. Wearing a chainmail hood and hauberk, and with a longsword at his hip, every inch of him portrayed a fighting man. A man I trusted with my life.

  Cai was a younger, seventeen-year-old version. More hot-headed than his father perhaps, but the years would soften his temper and give him wisdom, if he had enough of them ahead of him. Too craven, I hadn’t inquired about the fate of Idris’ other son, but Tan had not returned to Llandarog after the battle, and I feared the worst. I still thought of Tan as a child, but at eighteen he had been a man, in spite of the smattering of acne across his forehead. Old enough to fight, old enough to die in battle.

  I didn’t have the spirit to deal with anyone else’s pain; my own weighed too heavily on my soul. Idris’ wife had died long before I came to Llandarog and his two sons were all he had. Only the one son now. With Rhain dead, would Idris find a place with Wulfstan? Probably, but I was under no illusion he would protect me forever, and I wouldn’t ask it of him.

  It didn’t take long to gather our belongings and eat the remainder of the
food, the bread long since gone stale and as hard as boiled leather. Both stallions were stoic when presented with their bridles, but Silver put up such a fuss Cai had to hold her head whilst I forced the bit between her reluctant teeth. She chomped on the metal, green-tinged foam forming at the corners of her mouth, and the whites of her eyes showed when I placed the saddle on her back. Like me, my little mare had eaten her fill of this journey.

  I winced when my backside touched the saddle, and hastily padded my skirt and cloak between the leather and my skin. My rear ached and the muscles in both legs screamed their protest. I gritted my teeth and endured the discomfort, trying not to think of soft cushions, and needlework, and warmed, sweet mead.

  My stomach rumbled and every part of me throbbed or smarted. I had a stiff neck from sleeping at an awkward angle, I had more dirt underneath my fingernails than was in the vegetable patch, and I longed for garments which didn’t smell of horse and the rank, stale sweat of fear.

  I gave Idris a nod, careful to keep my face blank. He did not need to see just how much I dreaded the rest of this day and the night to come.

  Chapter 4

  Three nights we travelled, lying low during the day. On the morning of the fourth, as the sun peeped over the horizon, we came upon Chepstow, a fortified town on the banks of the River Wye where it joined the mighty River Severn and flowed into the sea.

  The town lay before us as we crested a low ridge. It sprawled along a ribbon of river, and a greater body of water glinted in the distance. The estuary, I presumed. I could not see the famed mudflats nor the deceptive reed beds from this distance, only a mud-grey channel with white-topped waves.

  Idris halted and eased back in the saddle, stretching out his cramped spine and legs. ‘Have you any coin, my lady?’

  ‘No coin, but I do have some trinkets.’ I put a hand on one of the bags and its cloth-wrapped contents.

  ‘Keep them, mistress. You’ll have need of them. I have enough for a bed and a hot meal.’

  ‘For all of us?’

  Idris shrugged. ‘A bed for you, a hot meal for all three of us.’

  ‘Where will you sleep?’

  ‘I intend to take my rest in liquid form. I need no bed today.’

  ‘But you’ve been travelling all night!’

  ‘Aye, it is often the way of it in times of war.’

  He spurred the horses forward and we trotted down the gently sloping road leading to the town. Fields lay on either side, new growth piercing the ploughed soil, and in the distance water sparkled.

  ‘Ahead is the Wye. We’ll cross that river first, then the Severn,’ Idris said.

  ‘Why do we need to cross the Wye at all?’ I asked. The Severn and its estuary lay to the south-east. Surely one crossing would be better than two?

  ‘Fording the Wye will take us onto the peninsula separating the two rivers. It’s the Severn’s narrowest point for miles. Many boats ply for trade there and we’ll be certain to find one willing to carry us. For a price.’

  Everything had a price.

  Smoke from the many fires hung low in the breeze, carrying with it the familiar smell of people and animals. People meant shelter. People meant food, hot food, and a bed. My limbs sang in anticipation, my aching back and shoulders adding their own chorus to the wretchedness my body had become. My stomach growled as a faint waft of roasting meat carried on the wind, and saliva flooded my mouth.

  No one challenged us at the gates, though the guards eyed the war horses with caution as we clattered over the wooden bridge into the town.

  Chepstow was much larger than I anticipated and well defended. Flanked to the north by the River Wye and the south by the mile-wide channel carved by the River Severn and the sea, approaching the settlement by stealth would be no easy feat. A wall of wood surrounded the town, built from the massive trunks of mature felled oaks, and their tops were carved into wicked points, providing a significant defence. A ditch, filled with stagnant water and wider than a horse could leap, encircled the wall. It would take a brave troop of men to tackle a fortress such as Chepstow.

  Though smaller than my father’s seat, Llandarog had been impressive. The village with the wooden hall at its centre, and the stone-built church which was Rhain’s pride, had all seemed so grand and magnificent, symbols of his power. Rhain had commanded as many fighting men as my father, and his horses had been equally well-trained. His hall had been hung with tapestries woven from fine Welsh wool and was filled with well-bred hunting dogs and equally well-bred nobles. His table had been laden with food and ale, his fields had produced more than enough crops to feed us through the harsh winters, and his animals had thrived. I had not imagined anything grander, until now.

  It was the first time I had ridden over cobbles and the clattering of iron-shod hooves on the rounded stones echoed about my ears. The bustle and busyness of the town was overwhelming. On this street alone I counted twenty-seven souls, all to-ing and fro-ing. There were many such streets, and if each one had as many people, then… I tried to work the numbers out, and gave up.

  ‘It is so big,’ I said. ‘How many live here?’

  I was acting like a peasant, and a rather ignorant one at that. Was Chepstow under English rule, and if so, did the rest of England look like this?

  ‘It depends.’ Idris twisted in the saddle, scanning the narrow street. ‘In winter there are fewer people because fewer ships put in to trade. The Severn flows into the Channel, and from there to the rest of the world. I guess there may be as many as two thousand men, women, and children in the town today.’

  Two thousand. So many people in one place! Rhain had only a tenth of that number to defend us against Seisyll, and the majority of those hadn’t been seasoned warriors, but men conscripted from the fields and farms, armed with pikes and staffs instead of swords and bows.

  ‘This looks as good a place as any.’ Idris reined his horse in outside a door with a yellow-painted board hanging above it. A pair of roe deer antlers were nailed to the wood.

  ‘Is this a tavern?’ I asked. I had heard of such places, but had never seen one.

  ‘Aye. I’ll see if they have a room.’ He dismounted, threw the reins to Cai, and disappeared inside.

  I tried to peep through the door before it swung shut behind him, but had to satisfy myself with examining the crude-painted sign and wondering what was taking place inside. When he returned, he had froth on his beard, a tankard in his fist, and a small boy at his heels.

  ‘The boy will see to the horses, and the innkeeper will see to some food,’ he said, taking a deep draught and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Cai slid from his mount with alacrity, and the child darted forward to lead the animals away.

  ‘Wait, my things,’ I called. Almost everything the men valued was carried about their person – sword, shield, dagger, armour. My possessions were in the saddlebags. Cai shot a look of longing at the half-open door, sighed, and followed the horses’ swaying rumps, around the back of the building.

  I did my own following and stepped smartly after Idris into the gloom of the tavern. The shutters were thrown open, but the weak morning light did little to dispel the murkiness. Soot-blackened beams overhead, scarred tables, dirty rushes on the floor – the murk was inherent and had nothing to do with the quality of light. I itched to call for buckets of water and scrubbing brushes, and a servant or two to wield them.

  The smell of sweat and ale mingled with the aroma of yesterday’s food, and underlying it all was the sour stench emanating from the filthy rushes beneath our feet. Each footstep disturbed them, sending a reeking waft into the air. I dreaded to think what lived in those dried stems.

  ‘Your room is up here, lovey. Come on, I haven’t got all day.’

  I turned to face the speaker and the woman’s brown eyes widened. She gave me a swift, all-encompassing glance, taking in my fine otter-skin cloak and the ornate leather girdle fastened about my waist. My dress, though travel-stained and creased, was dyed
a brilliant shade of cobalt, the wool finely spun.

  ‘Beg pardon, my lady. I thought you was a girl.’ Her mouth lifted up at the corners in a semblance of a smile, showing several blackened teeth.

  Girl or not, guests should be treated with respect, but I said nothing, mindful of my diminished circumstances. No longer a queen or a princess, my status was less than a servant’s. I had no home, no wealth, and few possessions. My family had been slaughtered, I was being hunted, and was now fleeing across the country to throw myself on the mercy of a stranger. This woman fared much better than I.

  I gave her a little smile. She was taller than me and considerably more rotund. Four days of hard riding with limited provisions had burned off what little excess flesh had once covered my bones. My clothes hung on me, and it didn’t help that I stood only a smidge over five foot. No wonder she’d mistaken me for a child.

  ‘Is there any food?’ I asked, knowing however tired I was, an empty belly would not be conducive to sleep.

  ‘There is stew and bread.’ She glanced at the black cauldron hanging over the fire.

  I had owned one of those pots myself, and there had always been something in it, simmering. Once, long ago, this one may have been empty, but someone decided to make a stew and it had probably been half-full ever since. A soup of indiscernible ingredients, whatever came to hand was thrown in, keeping it perpetually topped up and giving it a flavour all its own.

  I nodded. Idris took my elbow and guided me to a bench, sliding in opposite. He waved his empty tankard in the air. A sullen girl filled it from the jug she carried. She bore the same features as her mother, but with whiter teeth and more of them. She kept her eyes down and hurried away when her task was done. Idris stared after her, a calculating glint in his eye, and I wondered how much she charged for her other services.

  Whilst I awaited my stew, Idris drank his supper. It might be morning, but for those who had ridden all night, this was supper-time.