‘Pretty, isn’t she, Ned?’ Red nudged him in the ribs, a knowing expression in his eyes.
Ned coloured to the roots of his hair, but he drew himself up. Ignoring Red’s snatching the top trencher was one thing, but he could not let this pass. ‘Sergeant Fletcher to you, Red,’ he said, more sharply than he had intended.
Red raised a russet brow. The wine had made him careless of the fact that he was Ned’s subordinate. ‘Hark at you.’ He grinned familiarly. ‘You’ll be trying for a knighthood next.’
Ned ground his teeth. Red was impertinent, but it was all the more galling because there was a grain of truth in his remark. Ned did dream that perhaps, if he won favour, he might better himself. It flashed in on Ned that his cousin Alan le Bret would not stand for such insolence. Alan would have had a man flogged for less. Aware that he had supped a drop more wine that was wise, and that his command of his temper was slipping, Ned sucked in a breath, and counted to ten. Today was meant to be a celebration, and he was not about to sour it. He moderated his tone. ‘In any case, you’re wrong.’ A white lie might put Red off the scent. ‘I was looking at Lady St Clair. She looks about sixteen.’ This last was no less than the truth. She did look sixteen, her eyes were sparkling every bit as brightly as her daughter’s.
Red crowed. ‘I’m not the clod you take me for, Ned...Sergeant,’ he amended, with the understanding but insensitive smile of a drunk unable to recognise when he was going too far. ‘Come on, we’re none of us blind moles. No one need follow the direction of your eyes when you wear that dreamy expression. Every man in the guard knows who holds your heart in her keeping.’
Feeling his temper heat up, Ned flung Red a look that was all daggers.
A temperate man would have heeded the warning. But Red was not temperate, the wine was flowing freely in his veins and it had driven caution from his head. ‘It is May Day...’ He made a lewd gesture.
Ned could not stomach this. He’d not sit around listening to bawdy suggestions about Mistress Gwenn. Standing precipitately, his bench rocked, and one of his neighbours pitched into the rushes. A chorus of slurred complaints reached his ears, but Ned ignored them. ‘Your tongue wags too freely, soldier,’ he said, using a voice that was a cold copy of one he’d heard his cousin employ. ‘Take care lest it wags once too often.’ Turning on his heels, he stalked out.
Denis the Red’s jaw sagged as he watched the sergeant slam out of the hall. ‘Well, well. I must really have touched him on the raw for him to storm off like that.’ His gaze still on the door, he blinked in astonishment for Ned was not the only one to be leaving the hall. Mistress Gwenn was sailing serenely towards the door. He leered. ‘The dice have finally rolled in Sergeant Fletcher’s favour.’
Ned was not in the yard when Gwenn reached it. All that morning, she had meditated on the conversation she had had with her uncle, and she saw that it would be wicked to let matters drift as they had been doing. She must tell Ned that though she liked him, her liking did not match his.
The churchyard gate was open. Concluding that Ned must have gone that way, she went through the glebeland towards the wood. A few minutes later she found him, sitting on a tree stump in a pool of sunlight a little way from the main path. His head was bowed, he was staring at the ground, a sprig of apple blossom in his hands. ‘Ned?’
Ned started, and the blossom fell to the ground. ‘Mistress Gwenn! I thought you were at the feast.’ He stood up clumsily, and while the too-ready colour flooded his cheeks, the wine Ned had drunk made it easier for him to speak to her. ‘Will you sit and talk with me?’ he asked, halfway between a request and a command.
Gwenn seated herself on the bole of the tree and shook out her sapphire skirts. The sun’s rays streamed through a gap in the leafy canopy. Ned’s corn-flower blue eyes blazed with love. He moved closer. Gwenn held her back stiff as a post. Ned was never devious, but he was not usually so bold. This was going to be more awkward than she had anticipated. She hauled in a breath and launched in. ‘I’m glad I found you, Ned. I wanted to speak with you.’
‘You did?’
Ned’s voice was breathless and so full of hope that her heart contracted. Waldin had made her see that sometimes one had to be cruel to be kind. So, because she realised she must, Gwenn hardened her heart to the pain her words would bring. And in order that Ned might be spared some dignity, she turned her head away from him, so the sun played on her cheeks. She did not want him to think she was willing to witness the hope dying on his face.
‘Ned...I must tell you–’ He took her hand. She tried to pull free. ‘No, Ned. No.’ He held her hand gently, but firmly, and without an unseemly struggle, which Gwenn was not prepared for, she was unable to free herself. A cloud threw a chilly shadow over her shoulders. Strange, one part of her mind found time to think, she never would have guessed that so fine a day would turn dull.
‘Gwenn... May I call you that? Gwenn...’
To add to her confusion, he dropped to his knees, and for the second time that day she had a man kneeling at her feet. Only this time it was no jest. This time she did not laugh.
‘No, Ned. Please. Listen to me.’ But Ned shook his head and gripped her fingers fiercer than ever. He touched her cheek. His hand was trembling. Gwenn felt tears prick behind her eyes. ‘Oh, Ned,’ she said, despairingly. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The shadow was growing longer. Everywhere as far as she could see, the dappled sunspots winked out one by one. She shivered. The birds fell silent. The leaves stopped rustling. It was eerie. It was as though all life in the wood was suspended, and everything – birds, animals, trees, shrubs – had stopped breathing. The hairs rose on the back of her neck. ‘Ned,’ she whispered, urgently. ‘Ned, something’s wrong.’
Reluctantly, Ned tore his eyes from her face. The bright colour ebbed from his face. ‘You’re right.’ He jumped up, pulling her to her feet. ‘Something is wrong.’
The light had taken on a dusk-like quality, and it was growing darker and more like night by the second.
‘A storm?’ Gwenn asked optimistically, though in her heart she knew it was no such thing.
‘No. Not a storm.’ Ned’s hand crept to the reassuring solidity of his swordhilt.
The darkness was still thickening, it hung like a pitchy awning over the glade.
Vainly Gwenn tried to see beyond the gloom gathering in the gaps between the trees. It was like twilight. ‘Ned, I’m scared. I’ve never heard such a silence in the forest.’
Ned was scared too, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He should protect Gwenn, but he was damned if he knew what he was meant to be protecting her from. Valiantly trying for lightness, he threw a swift grin over his shoulder. ‘You can’t hear silence, Gwenn.’ His witticism was ignored. He heard her move closer; he felt her fingers curl round his belt. Her breath fanned the back of his neck. He shut his eyes and steeled himself from turning and taking her in his arms.
‘Ned?’ She was clinging to him as though he were a lifeline. ‘Holy Mother, it’s the end of the world!’
He whirled about. Gwenn’s head was tipped upwards, her eyes so dilated with terror, they were solid black. She was staring through a gap in the leaves.
‘Look,’ she pointed, ‘look at the sun!’
Ned looked and wished he hadn’t. One moment he could see its brightness, and the next he could not. The sun was snuffed out. Gwenn’s panic fuelled his, and the boundaries of his world tilted. God and His Angels must be at war with the forces of the Devil. Order was fighting chaos, and chaos had triumphed. They were enclosed in a dark, quiet world and the only sound was the sound of their heartbeats and their flurried, frightened breathing. Then, because Gwenn’s slight body pressed trembling to his, and because he had pledged himself to her and wanted to comfort her, Ned pulled her into his arms
It felt the way it did in his dreams. She was warm, and soft, and clinging to him. He held her tenderly, as though she might break. He was afraid that if he held her too tightly, she would melt into
the air as she did in his dreams.
‘Ned?’ Brown eyes looked at him, and they were no longer afraid. ‘Don’t worry, Ned. It’s an eclipse.’
‘Eclipse? Will the sun come back?’ His voice shook, but whether from fear or emotion, he could not have said.
‘It will come back quite soon.’
Ned rested his cheek against her head and wondered how long eclipses lasted. How soft her hair was. How slim her waist. However long it lasted, it would not be long enough. Marshalling his dazed senses, he reminded himself that he came of peasant stock while the blood which coursed through her veins was finer, purer stuff.
She was watching the sun, angling her head towards that dark slash in the leaves. Ned wasn’t interested in the eclipse, he was too busy observing the play of expression on her face. He wanted to watch her while he could still hold her. He might have a minute or two longer. He let his eyes drink their fill. He loved the delicate line of her nose, and the freckles which the spring sunshine had scattered across her cheekbones. He loved the curve of her cheeks, the shape of her mouth, the small, white, even teeth. Hoping she was too absorbed to notice, he pressed a swift kiss on her temple. He loved the scent of her. A heady mixture of rosemary and Gwenn.
‘Gwenn.’ He bit his lip, foolishly he’d spoken aloud. She stirred in his arms and instinctively, for he wanted to prolong the moment, Ned tightened his hold.
Fortunately, Gwenn was oblivious of him and conscious only of the wonder she was witnessing. ‘It’s getting brighter. Look, Ned, it’s as though God’s drawing back a curtain. Ned?’
He would have a second or two...
‘You’re not looking!’ she said, and understanding that his taste of heaven was over, Ned slackened his hold and obediently tipped his head back to follow her pointing finger.
The first shaft of sunlight slanted through the trees, and as the rays strengthened, the spots of light jumped back into place. A breeze rattled the leaves, and the sunspots shimmered and twirled about the clearing. A blackbird flung back its head, opened its orange bill, and a phrase of song floated out. The bird hesitated, but only for an instant, and the song was completed on a confident ripple of sound. A bluetit flew to a perch on an overhanging branch, and blinked at them with eyes like shiny glass beads.
‘It’s over,’ Ned said, regretfully.
Gwenn’s eyes were as bright as the bluetit’s. ‘It was incredible. I’ve never seen an eclipse before.’
‘Incredible.’ Ned swallowed. It was all he could manage. He wondered miserably if he’d ever have Gwenn in his arms again. She was looking down the path to Kermaria.
‘Ned, you don’t think it was an ill omen, do you?’
‘An ill omen?’
Pearly teeth worried an almond-shaped nail. ‘You don’t think God is angry with my father?’
‘Why should God be angry?’
‘Because...because of the wedding.’
‘I should think God would be pleased, wouldn’t you?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s too late to make amends. Perhaps He does not approve of Mama.’
Gwenn’s expression was unhappy, and Ned’s arms ached to hold her, for her comfort and for his. ‘I don’t believe that,’ he said stoutly. ‘Your mother’s a fine lady.’
‘I agree with you. But does God? Remember what happened in Vannes?’ Recalling his involvement in that, Ned felt sick. ‘Remember what the townsfolk said about her? Perhaps God will not forgive someone like my mother. Do you think God forgives great sins?’
‘He must.’ Ned moved closer, pinning his arms to his sides to prevent himself from taking her hands. ‘Gw...Mistress Gwenn,’ now the eclipse was over he must remember to address her formally, ‘we cannot be the only people who witnessed the eclipse. Why should such a phenomenon be directed solely at your parents? If God had a message for your parents, wouldn’t He find a more personal way of delivering it? And now, Mistress Gwenn, we should be getting back. Your parents will be wondering where you are.’ He waved her ahead of him.
She could only have proceeded ten paces when she halted. ‘Ned, I...I... There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.’
‘Mistress?’
Gwenn twisted her hands together, and her cheeks went the colour of a dark rose. ‘Ned, I...I wanted to tell you how much I like you, and how much I value your friendship, b...but...’ She stammered to a halt, and her brown eyes gazed helplessly up at him. Her flush deepened.
She was embarrassed, and Ned thought he knew why. He swallowed, and tried to ease her mind. ‘It’s alright, mistress. You don’t need to worry. I know I shouldn’t have held you. It won’t happen again. I know my place.’
‘No. No, Ned, it’s nothing to do with place. It’s just that I don’t feel that way about you. Do you understand?’
‘I do.’ The hollow feeling in the pit of Ned’s stomach told him he understood only too well. But that didn’t mean he would have to stop dreaming. Perhaps, one day...
She smiled her bright smile. ‘Thank you, Ned. I knew you’d not make difficulties.’ She straightened her veil and circlet of flowers and walked on.
‘Mistress Gwenn?’
‘Aye?’
‘You won’t forget your father’s orders, will you?’
‘Orders?’
‘Concerning your mode of addressing me.’
‘I won’t forget, Sergeant Fletcher.’
Ned intercepted her smile and sent her one from his heart. He could smell apple blossom. They had reached the orchard.
‘Gwenn! Gwenn!’ Raymond Herevi was striding towards them. ‘Did you see it?’
Gwenn hastened towards her brother, while Ned turned towards the iron gateway which led to the yard.
‘The eclipse?’ Gwenn said. ‘Yes, we saw it.’
Raymond took his sister’s arm in a purposeful grip and marched her into the chapel porch, and out of Ned’s sight.
‘Gwenn, come with me, will you?’ Raymond said. ‘I want your views on something.’
‘You want my views, Raymond?’ Gwenn asked, as they stood in the calm, cool of Kermaria chapel. ‘It must be serious, you never normally ask my opinion on anything. What is it?’
‘It’s Mama,’ Raymond said abruptly. ‘And dear Father, of course.’
‘You sound cross, Raymond. What’s the problem?’
‘The problem is our parents’ wedding.’
‘That’s a problem? I rejoice for them.’
‘You might well. I don’t,’ Raymond said baldly. ‘Why do they have to marry?’
‘Mama’s having a baby, you know that.’
‘Aye. I do know. But she’s had babies before and they never saw fit to marry.’
Gwenn bent her head. ‘They think to legitimise the child, Raymond, so it will not have to bear the burden we do.’
‘Quite.’ Raymond’s green eyes glittered with a fierce anger. ‘The child will be legitimate, but we, dear sister, will remain bastards.’
‘Don’t be bitter, Raymond. They can’t undo the past. But they can help this babe.’
‘Holy Christ!’ Raymond bit out. ‘You haven’t seen it, have you? You haven’t thought about the implications.’
‘Implications?’
‘For years our dear father wouldn’t acknowledge us openly, and then we come here and he does acknowledge us. At last, poor Raymond thinks he has a chance of an inheritance. Then this sham of a wedding ruins everything. If the child Mama is carrying is a boy, Gwenn, I’ll lose all I’ve gained since coming here. I’ll be of no account, and I’ll have to bow down to some snivelling little brat who’s no better than me, but who happens to be born in wedlock.’
‘Oh, Raymond. I’m sorry.’ She had not considered the wedding from his point of view. Being a girl, with no inheritance to worry about, she had not thought what would happen to her brother if the baby was male. ‘Do you remember how lovely Katarin was when she was a babe?’ she said.
To her relief, Raymond’s face softened. ‘Aye, but she’s a gir
l.’
‘This new baby could well be a girl. And then you will have got yourself stewed up over nothing.’ She gave him a straight look. ‘Don’t spoil today, Raymond. Mother has longed for this for years.’ She took his hand. ‘Think. You’ll gain nothing but Papa’s anger. Try to calm down, Raymond, please. For Mama’s sake.’
‘I’ve put a lot into Kermaria,’ he said, and Gwenn sensed he was weakening.
‘You have. I know that, and don’t you think Papa appreciates your efforts? He’s a fair man, Raymond, he’ll see you’re looked after. Don’t spoil the wedding, please.’
A dubious smile lifted a corner of his mouth.
‘Come on, Raymond, let that smile break through. And then we can go in and dance at our parents’ wedding.’
The smile broadened. ‘You’re a witch, Gwenn, but you’re right. I’ll try and smile today, and I’ll bite my tongue.’
Gwenn looked warmly at him. ‘And pray for a girl?’
He shot her a sharp look. ‘And pray for a girl.’
Chapter Fifteen
By the time August was almost over in that same year of 1185, three months of strong sunshine had baked the earth as hard as fired clay. The sun’s harsh rays had been beating relentlessly on the marshy waters around Kermaria so that the pools dwindled, shrinking almost out of existence; and the waterfowl that lived in the wetlands were forced to congregate on shrinking and ever more crowded patches of water. Fish swam sluggishly in the stagnant waters, easy prey for the herons and divers who gorged themselves till their bloated bodies could hardly take off from the water. Against all predictions, the heatwave continued. The lakelets began to smell, and the time came when the gasping fish could no longer survive in the murky shallows. When this happened the herons and divers left.
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