The Wild Hunt tor-1

by Elizabeth Chadwick

  'Rhys!' she screamed again and tore free of her captor to run stumbling to where he had fall en face down in the turning crisp leaves. He was dead. She could see the rents in his clothing where a blade had been plunged and his blood was hot and dark on her hands.

  Bent over her son, she did not hear the horrified warning yelled by her escort, nor see the riders of the wild hunt advancing through the trees, the wild hunt advancing through the trees, following the trail of lifeblood to their victim.

  CHAPTER 25

  Soon after Rhosyn had left, Judith fetched her cloak and departed Ravenstow with her own escort, her destination one of Ravenstow's fiefs.

  The lord of the small , beholden keep at Farnden had recently died and she had promised his son, the inheritor of the holding and its military obligations, that she would attend a mass in the church there for the soul of his father before he rode out to rejoin Guyon. Also, there were the customs and rights of the new tenancy to be confirmed and the oath of fealty to be sworn.

  Thomas of Farnden was a pleasant, not particularly bright young man, but he knew his feudal duties and was capable of performing them stoically and well . He lacked imagination and ambition but that was no reason to neglect him. A horseshoe nail was just as important as the horse and Judith gave him her sincere attention for the duration of the visit.

  The mass was performed in the tiny Saxon church and attended by all members of the keep and the villagers of most senior authority. Alms were distributed, and bread. Dinner was eaten outside in the orchard, the trestles spread beneath the lush summer green of the trees. It was so pleasant and a poignant far cry from the war in the south that it brought tears to Judith's eyes, and she had to set about reassuring a worried Sir Thomas that she was really all right.

  Shortly before mid-afternoon, her business completed, she made her farewell s to Sir Thomas and set out for home.

  With his eye on the dwindling height of the sun, de Bec took the short cut across the drovers' road and through the forest to reach the main track.

  The day had been hot and the green forest air was humid, catching earthily in the throat and nostrils as it was breathed. Judith's chemise clung to her body. Beneath her veil her head itched as if it harboured a thicket of fleas. Now and then a rivulet of sweat trickled down between her breasts or tickled her spine, and her thighs were chafed by the constant rubbing of the saddle. She thought with longing of a refreshing, tepid tub, of a clean light robe and a goblet of wine, chill from the keep well .

  Such thoughts set her to bitter-sweet rememberings of a raw November night, of drinking wine in a bathtub, of Guyon's eyes luminous with laughter and desire. Her longing abruptly changed direction. Heat moistened her loins. She shifted in the saddle and tears returned to prickle her eyes. It had been so long since there had been the time or opportunity for that kind of dalliance. The inclination had been swamped - or so she thought - by a combination of worry and sheer physical exhaustion. There had been odd occasions together, but snatched and unsatisfactory because there was no real enjoyment in assuaging a need that intruded inconveniently upon other needs and was tainted with fear.

  Two pigeons clapped past them and a blackbird scolded. When a spotted woodpecker followed, crying alarm, de Bec ceased lounging at ease to reach for his shield. These were not birds immediately startled by their approach, but already alarmed and winging from some earlier disturbance. This band of woodland was within Guyon's jurisdiction but at the north-western edge lay a boggy ditch marking the Welsh border and the standing stones on the south-western side were the boundary between Ravenstow and Thornford. It was for the latter reason in particular that de Bec muttered soft imprecations as he drew his sword and ordered his men to surround Judith.

  A horse flashed through the trees in front of them. Both Judith and de Bec recognised the striking red sorrel immediately, for it was one of Guyon's own crossbreeds, belonging to Eric's younger brother Godric who had been in command of Rhosyn's escort. A cold hand squeezed Judith's heart, for although Godric was in the saddle, he was hunched over, clutching the pommel and did not answer their hail. The horse, however, threw up its white-blazed head and, nickering at sight of its own kind, picked its way towards them.

  De Bec leaned across to grasp the reins. 'Godric, Christ man, what's happened?' His voice was hoarse with shock.

  The young man raised his eyes but remained hunched over. 'De Lacey,' he croaked. 'Hit us out of nowhere ... Too many of them. We never stood a chance ... I managed to save the little lass.' He swayed, his face grey. Against his body, tied within his cloak for security, Heulwen began to cry and push against her confines, her little face as flushed as her tangled fiery crown of curls.

  A knight unfastened the child and lifted her out of Godric's cloak, then uttered an oath of consternation for she was smeared in blood from head to toe.

  'Not hers, mine,' said Godric huskily and tumbled out of the saddle to sprawl unconscious at their feet. Judith dismounted in a flurry of skirts and bent down beside the young soldier to examine his injuries. He had taken a nasty slash to the midriff. Fortunately, as far as she could see, it had not pierced the gut, but it was still deep and it had bled a great deal. She unfastened one of his leg bindings to use as a temporary bandage until they could reach the safety of the keep and she could tend him properly. Two of her escort set about constructing a crude stretcher out of branches and horse blankets.

  Heulwen sobbed and screamed for her mother in broken Welsh. Fortunately the serjeant who held her had five children of his own and was used to dealing with infant tantrums. A borderman, he also spoke fluent Welsh and soothed Heulwen in that language until she calmed into hiccupped sobs and then poked her thumb into her mouth.

  Godric's eyelids fluttered. Judith put her hand on his brow. 'Rest easy now,' she soothed, 'help is here.'

  'Mistress, we could do nothing,' he fretted. She held a wine costrell to his lips and he took a convulsive swallow. 'De Lacey outnumbered us at least four to one. The child was asleep beneath some skins. They missed her and they left me for dead ... Dancer bolted in the fray but he came back when I called him.' He clenched his teeth and groaned.

  De Bec's eyebrows drew together in a worried scowl. 'How far back, son?'

  'No more than a mile ... just off the road. We had stopped to eat and they came out of the trees at us.' He closed his eyes and swallowed. 'I lay for dead and they thought me so. I heard de Lacey say that there was less gain than he had hoped and they had best be on their way ... Thornford they were headed for ... Myself and the child are the only survivors ... The other little maid ... Oh Christ, they took her with them!' He gasped and strove not to retch. Judith fought her own gorge and set a steadying hand to his brow.

  'Lie quiet, Godric,' she said gently and raised her head to meet de Bec's granite stare. There was no way their own troop could pursue, and the attack was more than three hours old. De Lacey would be safe within his keep by now.

  'The bodies will need to be brought back to Ravenstow,' she said. The coldness of shock and fear, the knowledge of what had yet to be done, made her feel queasy and tearful, but she controlled herself. 'We had best bring them away with us now before the wolves and foxes have their chance at them.'

  De Bec shook his head. 'My lady, it will not be a sight to be viewed save by necessity, and Godric and the child should be got to Ravenstow as soon as possible.'

  Judith considered for a moment, then nodded curtly. There was nothing to be gained by going to the scene of the slaughter herself. De Bec could note the details for Guyon and the sheriff. There would be enough trauma in washing the corpses and laying them out decently ... and in sending this news to Guyon. What was she going to say?

  How was she to face and tell him when he returned? It did not bear thinking about and yet, like the laying out, it had to be done and it was her responsibility.

  The reality proved far worse than Judith had imagined. She stitched Godric's wound, poulticed it with mouldy bread, dosed him with poppy
syrup and left him to sleep. Heulwen kept crying for her mother, but, apart from being fractious and bewildered, seemed none the worse for her ordeal.

  Judith's own ordeal began when de Bec rode in, his face waxen and his expression so stiff that he might have been one of the ten corpses bundled in cloaks and roped like game across the backs of some pack ponies borrowed from Thomas of Farnden. The men who rode with de Bec all wore variations of that same look on their faces and, when the bodies were brought to the chapel, Judith understood why. The abomination beneath Rhosyn's cloak bore no resemblance to the woman she had encountered yesterday. The spirit had flown and the mortal body was so mutilated that it was difficult to know if it had once been human at all .

  Her belly heaved. She clapped her hand to her mouth and staggered to the waste shaft where she was sick to the pit of her soul. It was not just murder, it was obscene desecration.

  De Bec gently touched her elbow, handed her a small horn cup of aqua vitae and waited until, choking and spluttering on its unaccustomed strength, she had swallowed it.

  Shaking, Judith leaned for a brief moment against his iron-clad solidity. 'He is not a man, he is a devil!' she said and shuddered.

  De Bec folded a mail-clad arm around her quivering shoulders, feeling a wave of paternal protectiveness. 'Have you sent a messenger to Lord Guyon yet?' he rumbled. 'He needs to be here.'

  Judith shook her head. 'I don't know what to write,' she gulped. 'And I don't know if he is still at Arundel.'

  'Tell him naught, only that he is needed swiftly. A messenger will find him sooner or later. I'll get FitzWalter to do it for you.'

  Judith stiffened her spine and pulled away from him. 'No,' she said firmly. 'I'll do it myself.' A wan smile strained her lips. 'You feel like a rock because you are one.'

  De Bec's eyes began to sting and he had to blink. In all but name, he had regarded Judith as his daughter from the day of her birth and to see her struggle with her fears and doubts and force them down beneath her will filled him with a fierce burst of tenderness and pride. He could have crushed her between his two hands - it did not seem possible that she could house such strength.

  He watched her return to the horror in the chapel and murmur to the priest, her face so pale that every freckle stood out as a deep, golden mottle, her manner composed, and knew that if he was a rock, then she was surely as resilient and strong as the best sword steel.

  CHAPTER 26

  Guyon shifted in the high saddle and loosened the reins to let Arian pick his way between the trees. The afternoon light was as golden-green as the best French wine. Coins of sunlight and leaf shadows scattered and sparkled among the troop of men who rode with steady haste towards Ravenstow and preparation for war in the marches.

  Now that Arundell was theirs and de Belleme effectively cut off from his support abroad, the King intended to move upon de Belleme's chain of grim Shropshire strongholds with the purpose of clearing them out one by one and Guyon was returning to Ravenstow to support him in that endeavour.

  As they emerged from the trees on to the waste land, all eyes were drawn to the gleaming limewashed wall s of the keep dominating Ravenstow crag. Guyon's gaze at this, the core of his honour, was both admiring and rueful. It was de Belleme's design and it followed that winkling the Earl of Shrewsbury out of the other strongholds he had also designed, but held in his own hand, was going to prove difficult. God knew, Arundell had been a tough enough nut to crack.

  A cowherd touched his forehead to Guyon and tapped the cattle on their mottled backs with a hazel goad to keep them moving. His dog went wagging to investigate the horsemen and was whistled sharply back to place. At the mill , the mill er was transferring sacks of flour to an ox-drawn wain; he paused to wipe his brow and salute the passing soldiers, cuffing his brawny son into similar respect. His wife ceased beating a smock on a stone at the stream to curtsy, her expression apprehensive. She touched the prayer beads on the belt at her waist and raised them to her lips.

  Guyon eyed the woman curiously and wondered anew at the speed with which news of impending war travelled. He did not believe de Belleme would attack Ravenstow - he was too busy strengthening his own fortifications - but the Welsh were always ready to harry, loot and burn and de Belleme had several Welsh vassals who would be only too pleased to stock their winter larders at Ravenstow's expense.

  The drawbridge was down to admit them and the portcullis up. Guyon shook the reins, urging Arian to a trot and they emerged again into the late sunshine of the shed-crowded bailey. A woman was feeding twigs beneath a giant outdoor cauldron, the girl beside her plucking a wrung chicken to go into the pot. She looked up at the men, nudged her companion and made the sign of the cross upon her breast. The older woman straightened and crossed herself too, her eyes full of pity before she turned to stare at the forebuilding from which Judith was running.

  Cadi barked and sprang joyously to greet her, tail swishing like a whip. Guyon dismounted and threw the reins to a groom. The young man said nothing but, with a look over his broad shoulder at Judith, dipped his head and led the grey away to his stall .

  Guyon watched his wife hurry towards him and felt his spirit lighten. Her braids trapped the sunlight and glowed like molten bronze and her face was becomingly flushed from the effort of running down several flights of twisting stairs and across the ward.

  And then she was facing him and his admiration fell away as he saw the look in her eyes and the set of her mouth.

  'Rhosyn's dead,' she said without preamble. 'I have been wondering how to tell you, but there is no way to make it any easier.' He looked at her blankly. The sun was warm on the back of his neck but suddenly he felt frozen from crown to toe. 'They were attacked on our land, on the Llangoll en drovers' road yestereve. I gave her the escort she requested but they were all cut down. Father Jerome is in the chapel attending to what needs to be done ...' Her words stumbled to a halt.

  He stared at her while everything slowed down and ground to a halt. 'Dead?' he repeated in a blank voice.

  She grasped hold of his sleeve like a sighted person taking hold of someone blind. 'Guyon, come within and I will try to tell you what I know. Heulwen is safe. Eric's brother Godric saved her. They were the only two to survive ...'

  He all owed her to lead him. Most of her words washed over him like an incoming tide, leaving only a residue of scouring grit and the words 'Rhosyn's dead' indelibly printed on his mind.

  Judith gave him wine, lacing it liberally with aqua vitae. He sat down mechanically, looked at the cup, set it aside and raised disbelieving eyes to her.

  'Tell me again,' he commanded. 'I don't know what you said.'

  She repeated her words. His face never changed but, as she finished, he covered it with his hands. 'I am sorry, Guy,' Judith whispered. 'Truly I am.' He did not respond. 'At least you have Heulwen.'

  He looked up at that. 'Yes,' he agreed tonelessly, 'at least I have Heulwen.' And then he laughed and shook his head and buried his face again.

  Judith knelt beside him, her arm across his mail-clad shoulder. 'I wish I knew what to say, or how to ease the pain, but I don't ...'

  'Then don't say anything,' he muttered and, after a moment, withdrawing from her grasp, he stood up and moved towards the door.

  'Where are you going?'

  'To the chapel, where else?'

  'No, Guy!' She sprang after him. 'Wait at least until you have rested. I'll have a tub prepared and see to your comfort.'

  'Do you think I care about that?'

  'No, but I do.' She took hold of his sleeve.

  'Let me go.' Shrugging her off, he continued on his way.

  'Guyon, no ... It's not ... I mean ...' She drew a shuddering breath and momentarily closed her eyes. 'She did not die cleanly.'

  'Stop treating me like a nursling!' he snarled and lengthened his stride.

  Judith caught up her cloak and went after him. He might not be a nursling but he was inadequately prepared for what would greet him in the chapel. />
  Guyon looked at the row of shrouded pallets laid out before the altar, ten in all , white mounds of recent humanity.

  Father Jerome fussed anxiously in the background. 'A terrible business,' he ventured, 'but they are at peace now.'

  Guyon drew back one of the sheets to look upon the face of Herluin FitzSimon, a promising young man who had served with him during the Welsh campaign and who would one day, in his middle years, have captained a keep garrison. All wasted now on the edge of a sword. The linen shift in which he had been clothed did not cover the gaping wound in his throat or the sword slash that had laid his face open to the bone.

  'At peace, are they?' Guyon enquired icily, replacing the sheet.

  Father Jerome blenched. 'You must not doubt it, my son,' he said, putting out his hand to comfort.

  Guyon stepped aside. 'I would rather you left me alone.'

  The priest hesitated. Judith lightly touched his arm. 'Go to,' she said. 'It may be that he will need you later. I will stand surety for now.'

  Relieved, the priest pressed her arm and quietly left her alone with Guyon. Judith squared her shoulders and went to her husband. He was staring down at Rhys.

  'If Godric had not survived, the bodies would not have been discovered for some time. I was not expecting the escort back for at least three days and no search party would have been sent out before five.'

  'You are telling me that this is fortunate?' he said huskily, as he drew the sheet back over Rhys's face.

  'It could have been much worse. At least they were saved being despoiled by foxes and crows. Heulwen owes her life to Godric.'

  'Sensible Judith,' he snarled. 'Guyon, stop it!'

  'Do you interfere for pleasure or because you cannot help yourself?' he demanded savagely. 'In Christ's name, Judith, leave me alone!'

  'In Christ's name, no!' she retorted with equal vehemence. 'I'll not be your scapegoat!' Going to the last pall et, she drew back the cover herself.