He was in a chair by a roaring log fire, an oil-lamp with a frosted globe casting a soft radiance round the small room, keeping shadows at bay, and making golden-edged patterns on the ceiling.
'I’ve put your horse in the bam, so don’t fret yourself.’
It was a short, stocky man who spoke; a bald-headed fellow, with a strong, pugnacious face, attired in a coarse shirt of unbleached linen, and well-worn corduroy trousers. He blinked down at his unexpected guest and Dunwilliam detected a hint of hostility in the small blue eyes.
'Good of you.' He struggled to sit upright, and was alarmed to find he was weak, trembling like a sere leaf in an autumn wind. 'Lost out there, lucky I stumbled across your cottage.’
'Indeed, you must have been mad, man, to be abroad on a night like this. No more sense than you were born with, I’m thinking, and it’s a wonder you aren’t stark and cold in a blanket of snow - if not worse.’
"What!’ A frown creased Dunwilliam’s brow; no one had spoken to him in such a fashion for twenty years. 'I go where I please, when I please, and damn the insolence of any man who questions that fact. I am Lord Dunwilliam.'
'And I am Evan ap Evans, a prince in my own house, and I’ll damn any man, be he king or commoner, who raises his voice to me.
'Dadda, hush yourself,’ a soft voice interrupted, 'he is tired and speaks without meaning offence. Calm yourself and see to the old fire.’
Evans grunted, then turned in the direction of the fire as Dunwilliam twisted his head to see who had so aptly poured oil on stormy waters, then froze into an attitude of profound astonishment.
She was perhaps eighteen, with the slim grace of a gazelle. A mist of raven hair framed her pale face, and her eyes were dark, without expression, as they gave the burly, but handsome man one swift glance. Her beauty was so vivid and, in some inexplicable way, unearthly, that Dunwilliam experienced a spasm of pain. He was a product of his age and caste; he seduced women of his own class with a certain brutal charm. Those below the salt he just took. But here he knew was an exception; the girl walked and spoke with a gentle naive dignity, and would not be impressed by either his rank or purse; indeed, it soon became apparent she had little interest in him at all.
I will get you something to eat.’ The voice was low, soft, the Welsh lilt barely perceptible. 'Then I’ll make you up some sort of bed before the fire for, to be sure, you’ll not be going out again tonight.’
'I’m obliged to you, Mam.’ Dunwilliam nodded, his eyes ravaging the pale face, vainly trying to find some flaw, some imperfection, so as to subdue the pain, but the skin was smooth and clear; the high cheekbones would not have disgraced Aphrodite herself. 'I’m on my way to Bala, must meet my man of business there tomorrow. I’ve just inherited an estate thereabouts.’
’Indeed.’
She put a large saucepan on the trivet, then went to a dresser and took down plates before proceeding to lay the table.
'Dadda, can you not make yourself useful? We’ll need some more logs if the poor man is not to freeze.’
Evan ap Evans growled, then obediently trudged heavily from the room.
'It must be lonely for you out here.’ Dunwilliam was trying to make conversation, say anything to attract the girl’s attention, and he experienced an unreasoning spasm of anger when she did not even turn her head but continued to lay the table. 'No, I have much to do. Only the idle are lonely.’ 'Damnation, girl! ’ his voice rose, then with an effort he regained self control. 'Surely you crave some kind of social life? People your own age, a bit of gaiety? What the hell do you do with yourself in this God-forsaken place?’
'I walk.’ She moved over to the fireplace so that her slim, but mature, form was silhouetted against the fluttering flames. 'I listen to the voices in the wind.’
'Have you no lover-no sweetheart?’
That, sir, is my affair.’
The rebuke was made in the same cool voice, as though she were snubbing an insolent schoolboy whose ill-manners were the result of ignorance rather than ill-intent, and his anger grew.
'I but asked a civil question.’
'And I replied with a civil answer.’ She walked, or rather glided, to the door. 'Dadda, the food is ready to be served, and you’ll catch your death out there.’
Evan ap Evans appeared, a pile of logs supported by his outstretched arms; his face was like a thunder cloud as he let them fall to the hearth.
'Must you call me as though I were a dog being summoned to its meat? I’m not a servant to come and go as you bid, but your father to respect and obey, and I’m telling you not to forget it.’
She put her arms around this ugly bear of a man, and gently laid her lips on his weather beaten cheek, and Dunwilliam saw the bleak little eyes soften.
‘She rules him with a rod of velvet,’ he told himself. 'He’ll rant and roar, then try to kill the man who looks at her.’
'Be seated at table.’ The words were a command, and Dunwilliam rose to his feet, then seated himself at the rough deal table, determined that he would not look at her, but his eyes seemed unable to remove their burning gaze from that pale, calm face.
The meal was a stew — meat, vegetables, mainly potatoes - all boiled together in one pot, followed by a portion of strong cheese and hard biscuits, but Dunwilliam a,te well, for his journey through the snow had made him ravenous, and he was in no mood to be fastidious. Evan ap Evans was not a silent eater; he smacked his lips, belched, made obscene gurgling sounds, while the girl chewed daintily with closed lips and never once raised her eyes in Dunwilliam’s direction.
You live alone with your daughter?’ He addressed Evans, who did not seem over-pleased at being disturbed while at meat. 'Your good wife, am I to understand...?’
Partaker of glory,’ Evans roared with full mouth.
‘What!’
'She’s been a partaker of glory these past ten years. The cold got her, and she crossed the broad river on a night such as this.’
My condolences.’ Dunwilliam watched the girl and thought of snow on a mountain peak; her face was composed, devoid of expression, a white canvas, and he suddenly wanted to make her angry, hurt her, do anything that would crumble that beautiful mask. He spoke loudly, glaring at her while Evans scraped his plate clean with a spoon.
'But no doubt your daughter has taken her place, and sees to your comforts as is her duty.’
Neither father nor daughter answered him, and Dunwilliam, spurred on by his great pain, allowed the words to come tumbling from his tongue.
'But the time will come when some young fellow will pick your Welsh flower and carry it away to decorate his bed and board, and then you will have only the cold comfort of memories.’
Evan ap Evans raised his head very slowly and stared at his guest with eyes like chips of blue ice; Dunwilliam tensed his muscles, but Evans merely said out of the corner of his mouth:
'Silah, fetch the ale.’
The girl rose, collected the plates together in one pile, then carried them into the kitchen.
'So, that is her name,’ Dunwilliam said. 'Silah. It suits her.’
'I am thinking,’ remarked Evans in a low voice, 'you have been bitten by sharp teeth. The poison is in your blood and soon you will howl like a mad dog.’
'You forget yourself, fellow.’ Dunwilliam clenched his fists, and there was an expression on his face that would have made Coggins tremble. 'I am Lord Dunwilliam, a close friend of the Prince Regent, and I do not howl for a peasant girl.’
Evan ap Evans bared his teeth.
'Look you, man, I care not if you are mad George himself, lay but a hand on her and you’ll live to curse the day your mother cleansed her womb of your presence.’
'You dare to threaten me?’ Lord Dunwilliam half rose from his chair, his face scarlet with anger, and Evans chuckled.
'There’s no need to roar and vomit your rage upon me. But there is another, more stronger than I...’ He began to nod, jerked his head up and down as though emphasising some bitter undeniable truth. 'Indee
d yes, another much stronger, who would have you shrieking out your guts within the hour.’ Who is this bully boy?’ Dunwilliam demanded. 'A lover?’ Evans stared at the snow-curtained window; there was naked fear in his eyes now, and his voice was harsh, barely above a whisper.
'You may say so. A lover.’
'Know you,’ Dunwilliam leant forward, and now he looked dangerous, powerful, his great hands balled up into fists, 'I am well able to give a good account of myself. ’Tis not a, soft band who wait upon his Highness back there in Whitehall. The noble art is much practised, and I laid Jem Turner, champion of all England, upon his back in the eighth round, and won ten thousand guineas into the bargain. Fists, cudgels, swords, I’ll take on any two men at once and come off best, so don’t try to frighten me with her bully lover.’
Evans laughed, a loud, mirthless roar, and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, baring his forearm.
'Look you.’ He pointed to three livid scars that ran the entire length of his arm from wrist to elbow. 'I but took the stick to her, for does not the good book say "the father who loves his child must chastise”? Had she not pleaded for me, I would now be adding my voice to the cry of despair that is borne in on the night storm. But you... Should you do that which lurks in your mind, I would pity you. Aye, I’m a hard man, with little softness, but for you I would weep tears of compassion.’
'There is madness in your brain,’ Dunwilliam whispered. 'Living alone in this desolate place has cracked the pitcher and sanity is seeping out.’
Silah came back bearing a large earthenware jug and two pewter mugs; these she placed on the table, then went and seated herself by the fire, where she took up a work basket and began to darn a grey woollen sock. Evans spoke without turning his head.
‘Silah, heed this. It seems we have forgotten our guest is a noble lord, a tosspot of George the Regent no less, and he would have you.’
The faintest suspicion of a smile played round Silah’s lips, but she did not speak, only continued to dam the sock, and Dunwilliam turned savagely on Evans.
'Keep your foul mouth shut, man.’
Evans chuckled, twisting his face into a parody of a leer. 'Goodness, you must be a smooth-talking lot when you sit boozing with fat Prinny. When George the Regent is about to deflower a girl young enough to be his daughter, how does the royal tongue make known his august desire?’ Evans raised his voice to a high-pitched tone. ‘Tis a great honour I be doing her and make no mistake about it, and if she is that lucky, maybe she’ll drop my noble bastard before the leaves fall.’
Dunwilliam was about to leap from his chair and fasten his great hands about the tormentor’s neck,-when from a long way off came the sound of a hunting horn. It was so faint, yet so very clear, and Evans fell back in his chair, the sneer wiped from his face by an expression of abject terror. Dunwilliam looked from father to daughter with growing astonishment. 'What ails you? It’s only someone lost in the snow.’
Evans ignored him, and turned his fear-stricken face towards Silah.
'You’ll not go out tonight, and you’ll not encourage him to come nigh the house.’
Silah did not answer but continued to work, only now there was a distinct smile parting her lips.
'You’ll not go out,’ Evans roared, 'but stay at home and respect your father’s wishes, or I’ll set up a fiery cross on the hillside and the devil take the consequences.’
The horn sounded again, only now it was nearer, and it was followed by the deep baying of hounds. Dunwilliam strode to the door and was about to pull back the great iron bolts when Evans’s fear-hoarse voice reached him.
'Don’t open the door. For pity’s sake, man, don’t open the door.’
Dunwilliam spun round and took in the scene with one swift glance; Evans was slumped in his chair, terror having wiped away the stern lines from his face, while the girl sat darning, still smiling gently as though blissfully aware she had nothing to fear. Dunwilliam addressed her.
Who is it that put the fear of Satan into him, and, more to the point, who rides with the hounds in the midst of a snow storm?’
She rose, put the work basket to one side, then looked down at her father.
'If I do not go out to him, he will come knocking at the door, and the hounds will murder your sleep.’
Evans spoke from between clenched teeth.
'Go out then, and be damned to you. But in the name of heaven don’t let me see his face.’
She took down a long black cloak from a hook by the fireplace, then walked slowly towards the door. Dunwilliam, determined she would recognise his existence, did not move, and she stopped before his great form, which entirely blocked the doorway.
'You shall not go out to him,’ he growled, 'whoever, whatever, he might be.’
Her head came up and he gazed into those wonderful eyes; her voice was soft, as calm as water in moonlight.
'It matters not to me, sir, for if I do not go out, he will surely come in to fetch me, and it might go ill with you.’
'Let him come in,’ Dunwilliam muttered. 'He will find one greater than your father.’
The baying of hounds was growing louder by the minute, and the horn shrieked an ear-splitting call that seemed to wake the wind from its sleep, for it suddenly dealt the house a mighty buffet, making windows rattle. Evan ap Evans slid to the floor.
'You best see to my father,’ the girl said. 'It seems he has fainted.’
'You’re a cold baggage, or are you so hot for the horn- blower there is no warmth left for anyone else?’
The hornblast now seemed but a few feet behind the closed door, and a series of snorting gasps intermingled with low whines were moving round the house, while the wind sang a mournful dirge as it pleaded for entrance at window frames and chimney pots.
'When I open the door,’ Silah said, 'do not, if you value your life, look out, but go to my father and reassure him.’
'If you can look upon he who waits out there,’ Dunwilliam moved with great reluctance to one side, 'why can’t I?’
The girl’s smile was now mocking, taunting him, so that he had great difficulty in keeping his hands idle.
'He will not love you’
She opened the door, and with a shriek of triumph the wind rushed in, tore across the room and made the fire dance a mad reel of terror. Evans groaned and tried to sit up as Dunwilliam slammed the door and moved over to him, looking down with contempt at the white face and trembling hands of the prostrate Welshman. In his world a man did not, whatever his innermost feeling might be, admit to, or display signs of fear. He nudged Evans with his foot.
'Get up, and try to behave like a man.’
The scorn in his voice acted like a whiplash. Evans scrambled to his feet, and pointed a finger that was not yet steady at the Englishman.
'Indeed, it is easy to be brave before you have tasted the acid fruit of terror. Had you gone out there, man, aye, if you had come face to face with — him — and his pack, I’ve no doubt you’d be singing a different song now.’
'Damnation hell, who is out there?’
'Arawn,’ Evans whispered the name; seemed to spit it out as though it were some foul taste. 'Arawn and his pack - the Cwn Annwn.’
'What gibberish is this?’ Dunwilliam was aware that a chill had entered his bloodstream, and the knowledge made his anger grow. 'Who is Arawn and the Cwn...?’
'Cwn Annwn - the Dogs of Hell, and he rides behind them. ’Tis said he was once king of all the southern regions, but whatever he was once, one thing is sure now, he does not breathe air.’
'A ghost! ’ Dunwilliam’s roar of derision was louder than he intended, for there was a veritable bedlam of sound from behind the closed door; an almost obscene whimpering and howling, a, snuffling and padding of great paws. Once the door shook as though some vast body had been hurled against it. 'A ghost king and his phantom hounds? Do you believe that, man?’
'Phantoms!’ Evan ap Evans glared at the door, his teeth bared in a maniac grin. 'Mentioned I phantom
s? ’Tis no ghosts that go streaking across the moors, ’tis no phantoms that tear a man limb from limb, pull out his windpipe, then chase his soul into the underworld. Demons maybe, half fleshed, half -something, I know not what. Merciful God, if they were only wraiths that go howling through the night, I would sleep peacefully in my bed and smile in the morning.’
'But the girl, your own daughter?’ Dunwilliam shook his head, clinging desperately to his disbelief. 'Why is she out there if what you say is true?’
You must be blind, or stupid,’ Evans began, when suddenly, as though a, switch had been turned off, the sounds ceased. The silence was broken only by the spluttering fire, and the muffled crash as a pile of snow slid down from the roof.
The weather is on the turn,’ remarked Evans in a matter- of-fact tone of voice.
Dunwilliam rushed to the door and flung it open; outside it had ceased to snow, and there was a vast carpet of whiteness that stretched out under a full moon to the distant mountains. Silah turned as he came out, and for a full minute they stood looking at each other. The girl’s eyes were bright and for the first time she seemed to be alive.
So you are not made of ice. You have a lover who cleverly disguises himself as a bogyman to frighten the wits out of that poor fool in there. How does he do it? Eh? Bang a fir branch against door and windows, howl like a dog on heat, snuffle like a pig in labour? No doubt he has a first-hand knowledge of these things.’
'As you can see, sir,’ the girl said quietly, 'there is no one here.’
'Aye, he made a smooth getaway, I’ll say that for him.’
He looked around; the snow, apart from his own footprints and the girl’s, was smooth and untrampled.
'Or was there anyone at all?’
He reached out and pulled her towards him; he was trembling, found difficulty in breathing.
'What game are you playing? Does he blow his horn out there as a signal for you to come out and put on your performance for Master Bumpkin, your father? Aye, is that it?’
'I must go in, sir,’ she murmured softly, 'for there is much to be done, and I would be up early tomorrow.’
'And I would pluck you from this rude earth.’ He pressed her slender form to his body, and she was as light as a snowflake, and when he brutally clamped his mouth to hers it was as though he had embraced a statue. With surprising strength she twisted, then ducked under his encircling arms and ran into the house. When he followed a few minutes later, Dunwilliam found her clearing the table; Evan ap Evans was smiling, a sly, almost triumphant smirk.
Collected Stories (4.1) Page 8
