by June Francis
Instantly Owain had Jonathan brought before him. At first he had been unusually sullen and uncooperative, but then Owain had sent for Mistress Carver and she had taken him aside and spoken at length to him. Eventually he had confessed that the Lady had bewitched him into acting as messenger for her and pleaded forgiveness. He spoke of names and places that caused Owain to summon those men whom he could rely on at such a time. Armed and mounted, they departed as soon as they were able.
Some six hours had passed since they had left in search of Diccon and Gwendolyn and, if Jonathan was telling the truth, Gwendolyn was riding to Nether Alderley to meet with her uncle and lover.
Kate thought about what Diccon had said of the Comte’s interest in the old religion and of Friar Stephen’s tendency to distort old and new. She feared for her brother’s life. He would have needed to follow Gwendolyn closely if he was not to lose her in the mist that morning. His absence might mean that he had been spotted, recognised and captured. Unable to remain passive any longer, Kate put aside her sewing and rose to her feet. She padded softly over to the window and gazed out. The sky was full of stars and the moon was in her ascent. At least Owain, Hal and the men would have light to guide them. She prayed that they would soon return safely.
She was about to turn away when, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a dark hooded shape creeping along the outer wall. Suddenly, it scuttled across the garden and disappeared through the arched opening into the yard. Icy fingers seemed to skate down her spine. Yet, curiosity aroused, she wondered if there was a connection with that figure and Diccon’s and Gwendolyn’s disappearance.
Kate tiptoed over to the bed and gazed down at her mother’s slumbering face. She could hear her steady breathing and decided it should be safe to leave her for a short time. She left the bedchamber. The whisper of her skirts brushing the floor seemed loud as she hastened along the passage lit by flickering torches. She rounded a corner and saw a small hooded figure limping towards her, muttering as it did so. Kate drew in her breath with a hiss. The low sound caused the figure to stop and lift its head. She recognised Agnes and hurried towards her. On closer inspection she saw that the old woman’s face was bruised with one eye swollen and half-closed.
‘Agnes, what has happened to you?’
The crone held out both hands beseechingly. ‘They’ve taken my Lady and young Harry. They beat me until I almost lost my senses. Otherwise I would have been here earlier.’
Recognising her brother’s pseudonym, trepidation coiled in the pit of Kate’s stomach. ‘Who—who has captured them?’ she stammered. ‘We believed Lady Gwendolyn to have arranged to meet the friar and the Comte at Nether Alderley?’
Agnes trembled. ‘Maybe, maybe…but she did not get that far. Men in dark robes…hidden in the trees they were. The friar was there, too, and in a furious temper, accusing her of betraying him. She denied it, but I could see he did not believe her because he hit her, too.’
Kate paled. ‘Do you know where they took them?’
Agnes looked uncertain and muttered, ‘I couldn’t keep up with them. Perhaps you should fetch the Master—he might know where they’ve gone. It being Samhain, it could be the Devil’s Graveyard.’
Kate’s heart sank. ‘What and where is the Devil’s Graveyard?’
‘It be a cave in the forest. You will fetch him, my Lady? He’s no need to be afeared of Ol’ Nick or the dead. He has power.’
‘Master Owain has already set out in search of them—but I don’t know if he is aware of this cave you speak of. Perhaps you should lead me to it. Unless I rouse Master Davy…but it is his wedding night and I would not disturb him and his bride unless you deemed it necessary.’
Agnes’s mouth worked and her body shook. For a moment Kate thought she was going to swoon, but then the old woman seemed to pull herself together. ‘Best leave him be. He hasn’t the gift. We must save my Lady Gwendolyn. The friar wants a sacrifice. Perhaps two sacrifices.’
Kate fixed her with a stare. ‘I hope you would not trick me, Agnes. It will be the worse for you if you were to try.’
‘Nay, nay! We must make haste.’ She licked her lips. ‘Unless, my Lady, you could fly there?’
Kate had every intention of acting with speed—but fly? She knew there were those who claimed to do so after taking aconite or drinking absinthe, the latter a rarity, but her mother had forsworn such dangerous foolishness. She shook her head. ‘We will go on horseback. I doubt a broomstick could bear us both,’ she said drily.
Kate did not wait to see Agnes’s reaction, but went in search of Megan to ask her to sit with Beth. After that, she planned on taking a sharp blade from the kitchen for protection and donning a pair of Diccon’s breeches beneath her skirts so she could ride with speed.
To Kate, the open countryside, all black and silver, looked beautiful in the moonlight. She was riding eastwards with Agnes clinging onto her from behind. When the old crone was not muttering she was squeaking out directions. Every now and again she would glance up at the sky and ask Kate if she could she see that witch on a broomstick, but Kate could only see owls, swooping on silent wings before the squeals of their prey disturbed the peaceful landscape.
They had been riding for some time when Agnes tugged on Kate’s sleeve. ‘We are approaching the great mere of Radnor, whose waters feed the giant watermill of Nether Alderley, my Lady. Now we must take care for there will be some watching this night.’
‘So the caves are close to Nether Alderley?’
‘Aye!’
‘Where exactly?’
‘Amongst the trees that cover the roots of the mighty rock at the edge of Alderley,’ whispered Agnes. ‘We will soon be there.’
‘Then hush,’ said Kate, managing to keep her voice under control. She felt sick with apprehension, hoping to have seen some sign of Owain and his men by now. She could only pray that they had not been taken by surprise and killed.
As they approached the rock, the mare sniffed the air and whinnied. There came a responding horsy snicker from somewhere above them. Kate started. Could that noise have come from one of Owain’s horses or did it belong to the enemy? She hesitated and then dug in her heels and urged the mare into the trees. The moon filtered through branches, almost denuded of leaves, but it was still difficult to see clearly and the horse stumbled over damp roots and leaves. Her heart beating rapidly, she prayed the beast would not break a leg and they be flung from its back. She decided it might be safer to dismount and ordered Agnes to do so.
‘Perhaps it would be wiser to go back, my Lady,’ she said in a tremulous whisper. ‘I should not have brought you here.’
‘Have faith, Agnes. You want to save the Lady Gwendolyn, don’t you?’
The old woman did not answer, but Kate could hear her gulping convulsively. Then came a voice on the air that caused her to stiffen with fear. She pressed her knees against the horse’s flank and prayed that the cave was near. The midnight hour was close and she sensed death in the air.
Chapter Thirteen
Owain lay flat on his stomach, close to the edge of the sandstone rock face overlooking the moonlit Cheshire plain in which lay Nether Alderley. Almost below him in the shadow of the rock was the village of Chorleigh and its neighbouring hall belonging to a kinsman of Sir Thomas Stanley. To his rear his men were concealed behind rocks and trees, awaiting his summons. He had chosen those who performed best at the butts during archery practice on Sunday. They had been there for a number of hours and a short while ago he had watched several men go into the village church, amongst them faces he recognised.
Suddenly he tensed as a hooded figure bearing a torch emerged from the darkened church. He was followed by others. From where he was lying he could not make out whether Diccon or Gwendolyn was with them. He wondered where they were going and, after a short while, decided they were making for the woods at the base of the rock. Soon the column would disappear from sight. His dark brows creased in thought. If they had Diccon and Gwendolyn, th
en he must make his move now. The height of the moon told him that it was not long till midnight.
Owain signalled to Hal and his men and gave orders for two of them to stay with the horses. The rest he led silently towards a track that would take them through the woods at a different level until they plunged on to the path that led to the caves, rumoured to have been created when men had first mined for copper here. One was larger than the other and legend claimed an army of knights lay sleeping there from Arthur’s time, waiting to be called if England was in danger.
The other cave was smaller, its entrance narrower. Some believed that if one walked round the cave seven times whilst reciting the Lord’s Prayer backwards, then the devil would appear. He grinned. By the Holy Trinity, if either the friar or the Comte were of a mind to perform that evil rite, as well as offer a human sacrifice, then they were in for a surprise. On his back he had a pack containing a costume he had not worn for quite a while. Kate came suddenly to mind and he could sense her loving concern and felt warmed. His thoughts reached out to her, attempting to reassure her.
At last they reached the caves. There was no sign of those robed figures and Owain gave orders to his archers to conceal themselves in the trees. He guessed he had little time to prepare a welcoming party, but decided to make a quick search of the Devil’s Graveyard.
‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Hal, looking uneasy when Owain explained his plan.
‘You just keep a watch out for the enemy,’ ordered Owain.
He found it a bit of a tight fit, squeezing through the entrance of the cave, but once inside it widened out. He stilled, waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness and, in the quietness, he heard the sound of breathing. He glanced round and was able to make out a dark shape on the ground. He took the knife from his belt and walked stealthily over and bent over it. A search with his hand told him that perhaps he had found Diccon. He was gagged and trussed up like a chicken. He pulled the rag from his mouth and immediately his guess was proved right when a voice croaked, ‘Master ap Rowan?’
‘Aye! Have they hurt you, Diccon?’ He cut through the ropes binding the youth’s arms and hands to his sides.
‘A few bruises and scratches. The Comte said that the friar was saving me for later…talked about slicing off my nose and then an ear and a hand before killing me if I didn’t tell him where my father had concealed the chest he’d taken.’ Despite all Diccon’s efforts to keep his voice steady it shook.
‘A truly holy man,’ said Owain lightly, sawing through the ropes that tied his ankles together. ‘What else did you hear?’
Diccon said with a catch in his voice, ‘The Comte boasted of being a high priest and summoning up the devil, but the friar argued with him, saying that it was he who should perform the ritual. Then they began to argue about money. The Comte said that he needed a bigger share of the money so he could pay more mercenaries.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The Comte hates the King, says he’s weak and is not fit to rule, but he has no liking for the Duke of York either. He fears him because he proved in the wars in France that he was a good soldier. If he were to continue as Protectorate, then he believes he would rule with an iron fist.’
‘Was any mention made of the Queen?’ Owain, his eyes sweeping the cave, helped the youth to his feet, steadying him as he stumbled.
‘The Comte seems to think that she would be happy to have the help of his mercenaries. According to him she hates and distrusts York, fearing that if the King does not regain his wits then York will take Prince Edward from her and rule in his stead,’ continued Diccon.
Owain nodded, noticing a spur of rock protruding at the back of the cave. Perhaps there was room there to conceal himself. He walked over to it and disappeared behind it, tripping over something in the dark. He sank on to his haunches and ran his hands over the object. A smile creased his face as he recognised the shape of a money chest, locked and bound with a leather strap. ‘Eureka!’
‘What have you found?’ asked Diccon, limping towards him.
‘A chest. Most likely it contains money which my father handed over to the friar,’ murmured Owain. ‘But it’ll have to stay here for now if I’m to surprise our enemies.’ It was doubtful the friar would bring his followers in here—much too small. Most probably he and the Comte together would perform the ceremony believed to rouse Old Nick himself and then they would go outside with the sacrificial victim, he thought grimly. No doubt as soon as they realised Diccon was missing, a search would be made of the cave. No matter! The element of surprise was on his side.
Swiftly, he told Diccon what he planned and, unfastening his pack, removed a horned mask, a doublet, hose and a long, swirling sleeveless cotehardie. ‘I got the idea for this when I heard about the mummers who visited Merebury.’
The lad chuckled and helped him don the garments and mask before leaving the cave.
Owain did not have long to wait. In no time at all, the reflection from the flickering flame of a torch lit up the sandstone walls of the cave entrance. He heard the shuffle of feet and the sibilant sound of low voices. The Comte and the friar appeared to be arguing, but this dispute was cut short when they realised that Diccon was gone.
‘Where’s the sacrifice?’ demanded Friar Stephen, enraged. ‘You couldn’t have tied him up properly.’ The Comte swore that he had fastened his bonds extremely tightly. There was an uneasy silence. ‘What of the chest?’ asked the friar. ‘Has that vanished, too?’
Owain knew he could wait no longer and his mouth eased into a genuine grin. Depending on how much they believed, the Comte and Gwendolyn’s uncle were in for a shock. He loosened his blade in its scabbard and left his hiding place. Immediately he noticed that a flaming torch had been jammed between two rocks, so lighting the scene as if on a stage. His costume would not have passed muster in the daylight, but here…
He spoke in a booming voice. ‘I have come to claim what is mine. Thou hast displeased me and I will dispatch thee to Hell!’
The friar’s eyes bulged and his chin sagged. It was as good a reaction as any Owain could have planned but, what happened next he did not expect. The cleric suddenly seemed to have trouble breathing and he clutched at the fastenings about his neck, staggered about before falling to the ground. For a moment Owain was too stunned to act. As for the Comte, he was staring at him in wonder. ‘My lord,’ he breathed, going down on one knee. ‘You are most welcome.’
‘Get up, man!’ ordered Owain irascibly. ‘You know as well as I do that the Lord’s Prayer hasn’t been said yet.’
The Comte’s expression changed and he scrambled to his feet. ‘You have erred foolishly in interfering with my plans, Owain ap Rowan,’ he hissed.
‘I’m flattered that you recognise my voice.’
‘You would think to fool me?’
‘I did for a moment.’ Owain smiled behind the mask. ‘As for the friar he appears to have swooned with fright.’
The Comte pulled a dagger from his girdle and lunged at Owain, who managed to seize his wrist and ward off the blade. They grappled a moment before moving back. Owain drew his knife and they circled each other warily. Then the Comte sprang at Owain, who was having some difficulty seeing clearly because his mask had slipped. He felt a sharp pain in his arm and swore beneath his breath. But, instead of retreating, he advanced, forcing the Comte backwards. Suddenly the Frenchman slipped on the sandy floor and his head caught a spur of rock and he slid to the ground.
Owain gazed down at him, alert for any sudden movement, but when the man remained still, he picked up his dagger and thrust it in his own belt. He checked both men for signs of life and discovered that the friar was no longer breathing. Frowning, Owain strode outside.
There was a concerted gasp from those gathered there and then a hush fell on the clearing. Owain’s eyes rested on a smaller robed figure at the centre of the group. Gwendolyn had thrown back her hood and was gazing at him. He pushed up the mask so it rested on his dark curls and she screamed.
‘It is only I,’ said Owain in a mocking voice.
For a moment she did not move and then she seized the knife from the belt of the robed figure beside her and launched herself at him.
Kate could see lights shining through the trees. There came a piercing scream and she was filled with terror. Leaving Agnes and the horse, she ran as if her life depended on it. She burst on to a scene that was pure pandemonium. Arrows whizzed through the air and robed figures scattered in all direction, tossing torches aside as they went. In the moonlight she could see two figures locked in a struggle near the rock face and caught the gleam of a blade. She realised that it was Gwendolyn and Owain. But, before she could move nearer, she was knocked to the ground by one of the robed figures as he sought to escape. She picked herself up and was just in time to see an arrow thud into Gwendolyn’s back. Owain caught her and yelled to his archers to stop loosing their arrows.
Kate ran. She stopped a couple feet away and watched as Owain broke off the shaft at the base of the arrow head before lowering Gwendolyn to the ground. She could not take her eyes from the horned mask that crushed his dark curls. ‘You,’ she said through stiff lips. ‘It was you who rescued me at Merebury.’
Owain lifted his head and stared at her. ‘What are you doing here?’ His voice was ragged.
‘Agnes brought me. Where’s Diccon?’
‘Safe.’ With difficulty he removed the bloodstained cotehardie and covered Gwendolyn with it. ‘Stay with her whilst I fetch the Comte. Perhaps there is time for them to say their farewells.’
Wearily, he went inside the cave. Instead of doing as she was told, Kate followed him. By the light of the torch she saw the friar’s body lying on the ground. Owain swore softly and cautiously crept over to the back of the cave to see if the Comte was concealed behind the spur of rock, but no one was there. He searched with a hand for the chest and was relieved to discover it remained. He knew himself incapable of lifting it; Gwendolyn’s blade had pierced the hollow just beneath his collar bone and the wound was disabling. He searched the friar’s body, aware of Kate’s eyes on him, knowing that sooner or later he would have to give her answers. He removed a key on a chain from about his neck, tried it in the lock of the chest and sighed with satisfaction when it fitted. He left the cave with Kate on his heels.
