by Linda Sole
When the attack came, Kerrin was as surprised as any of Montroy’s knights, because it was much closer to home than their intelligence had suggested. The Welsh came charging at them from out of the woods, yelling like banshees and wielding their huge swords. For a few minutes it seemed that the English knights might be overwhelmed, but Montroy pressed on, cutting his way through until they gained a clearing where he called to his men to make a stand. Turning on their foe, their horses formed a circle so that the rebels could not attack from behind and must fight on all sides.
The rebels had skilled archers and some of their arrows found their marks. Men cried out in agony and fell to the ground writhing as the blood gushed from terrible wounds. Others were engaged in hand to hand fighting. Some knights knocked from their horses fought on, on foot, the clash of metal upon metal resounding loudly through the forest.
‘I think there are too many for us,’ Montroy grunted as all around him men fell victim to the deadly skill of the archers. It seemed now that making a stand in the clearing was not a clever move for the Welsh archers hid in the trees, giving them an advantage. He removed his heaume so that his men might see him and know it was he that gave the order. ‘We should break and try to escape, each man for himself…’
Even as he spoke they heard the sound of a horn and the thunder of hooves and then a troop of English knights burst into the clearing. At the arrival of the reinforcements, the Welsh knights engaging in hand to hand fighting broke and fled into the trees. They were followed by several English knights, intent now on killing as many of the enemy as they could. A few more arrows were shot from the trees, one of them piercing the Earl of Montroy through the throat. He fell to his knees, blood trickling from the side of his mouth, his eyes bulging, staring in disbelief as he looked towards the trees and saw a man with a crossbow smiling at him.
‘Trait…’ he muttered as the blood bubbled from his mouth and he slumped forward onto his face, twitched and then lay still.
Robert finished dispatching one of the few Welsh knights that had not fled as he led his men into the fight. He saw that Montroy had fallen and walked towards him, standing over his enemy to look down at him with a kind of pity. It seemed that he would not have the chance to meet Montroy in a fight to the death. He was dead and his debt died with him. Glancing towards the trees, he saw a knight wearing Montroy’s colours. He was holding a crossbow, which he dropped as he saw Robert look at him accusingly. He walked towards where Montroy lay, bent and turned him over so that his eyes stared up at them, then reached out and closed his eyes.
‘He is dead,’ he said unnecessarily. ‘He has paid for his crimes and your quarrel is settled, my lord.’
‘You served him yet you have no pity for him?’
‘He killed my kinsman, Rhoda’s father. Why should I pity him?’
‘You took service with him.’ Robert was haughty, disdainful. ‘Have you no loyalty?’
‘To such as Montroy? None.’ Kerrin’s mouth was hard, his eyes cold. ‘I served him while he lived but I shall waste no tears now he is dead. He risked the lives of his men foolishly to seek glory. Had you not arrived when you did we should all have died here. He made a mistake and he paid the price.’
‘It was foolish to make a stand here for he gave advantage to his enemy,’ Robert agreed. He looked at the knight, feeling the suspicion turn in his guts. ‘If it was a Welsh bolt that felled him it may have been justice.’
‘From where else would the bolt have come from but a Welsh crossbow? He died fighting on the field of battle, my lord. It was his wish to find glory and he has done in death what he could never have achieved in life.’
Robert gave him a hard look, then turned to others of Montroy’s men who had gathered about them in silence. ‘Let your lord be carried back to Deganwy in honour and buried according with the laws of God and man. He gave no quarter and asked for none. Honour his name.’
There were murmurs of agreement as men bent to lift the earl’s body. He was heavily built and it took several of them to heave his body across his horse. It was the only way he could be returned to the fortress and hardly dignified yet it was all they could do for him now.
Montroy’s men gathered behind the Earl of Devereaux’s train, following in silence as they rode back towards the fortress. Their lord was dead. They must look for service elsewhere, because Montroy had no son to follow him. There might be distant kin but no one knew who or where that kin might be found. In times of war extra men-at-arms were always needed. The Earl of Devereaux would not turn them away, and if he did they could attach themselves to one of the other nobles about the prince.
Robert did not turn his head as they returned to the fortress. He suspected that Montroy had been killed by someone other than the Welsh archers but there was no proof; the bolt had come from a Welsh bow, that much he had seen from the start. However, it was not necessarily a Welsh hand that had shot the bolt.
For the moment he would hold his peace. Now was not the time to sow discord and suspicion amongst the men. They must unite to defeat the common enemy and then he would address the problem of Sir Kerrin of Shrewsbury.
He must also decide what to do about his wife Rhoda and continue his search for Melloria’s child.
THIRTY THREE
Anne had been working in her garden all the morning. As she straightened up, admiring the beds of herbs and flowers she had tended, she felt the warmth of the sunshine on her face. Soon the roses would be in flower. She had beds of stately lilies, sunflowers that would open like a golden sun, poppies that could be used for medicines and a variety of sweet smelling herbs.
‘Mama, Iolanthe hurt…’
Anne turned to look at her child. She had left Iolanthe crawling contentedly on the grass but the urgency in the child’s voice made her suddenly anxious. Going to her, she saw the rash spreading over her face and hands and a chill struck deep into her heart. Children were so vulnerable to fevers and disease. If anything were to happen to Iolanthe it would break their hearts.
Sweeping the child into her arms, Anne hurried inside the house. She called to one of the servants she took Iolanthe to her bedchamber.
‘Ask my husband to come to me at once. Iolanthe is ill.’
‘I believe he is out, mistress,’ the servant replied. ‘He was sent for earlier and I have not see him return.’
‘Ask Cedric to look for him. Wherever he is, he must come home at once.’
As the servant ran off to do her bidding, Anne took Iolanthe to her bed. The child was burning up, her hands, arms and body covered with the red rash that was clearly making her feel ill.
Anne removed her child’s clothing. Until Nicholas came there was nothing she could do but bathe Iolanthe in cool water and try to soothe her. She had never seen a rash such as this and did not know what it could be. There were so many terrible diseases and children died easily.
‘Nicholas…’ Anne kept the sob inside. ‘Where are you? Iolanthe needs you now.’
*
Nicholas had finished attending his patient and was riding home when he saw Cedric coming towards him on the heavy horse. Instantly, he understood that something was wrong, because Cedric would not look for him unless it was urgent.
‘What is it?’
‘The child is ill. The mistress sent for you urgently.’
Iolanthe ill! Nicholas’s heart caught with fear. He kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks. Children were so vulnerable and they often died of common illnesses. He felt the sickness inside that every father must when a child was ill. He was a physician and an apothecary, but at this moment he was frightened. Iolanthe must not die! He would do whatever was needed to prevent it.
*
‘You sent for me?’ Nicholas said as he entered the child’s room. ‘What ails her?’ Approaching the bed, he saw the scarlet patches appearing all over her body and for a moment his fear was suffocating. Was it the dread disease that some called the Scarlet Death?’ ‘Let me look at her. Is she ver
y hot?’ His hands moved over her body, feeling for anything that might indicate the cause.’ It was said that every illness was caused by one of the four humours but he believed that there were many different reasons for sickness, not least dirt and poverty – but Iolanthe did not suffer these.
‘Open your mouth for me, sweet Iolanthe. Let Papa see your tongue.’
The child obeyed, whimpering, her cheeks wet with tears.
‘What ails her, Nicholas?’ Anne asked after he had been silent for some minutes. ‘Is it serious?’
‘Where were you when this started?’
‘I had been working in the garden, pulling out weeds. Iolanthe was trying to help me but then she sat in the grass and made chains of wild flowers.’
‘Did you happen to notice if the flowers might be Blue Speedwell? They were not foxgloves?’
‘No. I would not let her touch those for they are poisonous if the juice gets into the mouth may kill, besides she has not been sick.’
‘There are many plants that will cause a rash if the touch the skin. I think she has touched something that causes the skin to blister – sometimes an ant bite may cause symptoms such as Iolanthe has.’ Nicholas smiled at her. ‘I believe it is nothing some cooling balm will not cure.’
Anne drew a sobbing breath of relief. ‘How foolish I am to send for you. I thought…I thought it might be serious.’
‘I would rather you sent for me than let her suffer. It could have been serious but I believe we are lucky. You must keep her out of the garden for a while and make sure that she does not touch things that may injure her. I shall make her something to take away the itching and you can smooth it on for her.’
Anne felt the tears gather behind her eyes. Nicholas had been so tender when he was examining their daughter. She knew he loved Iolanthe as much as she did. How good he was and how much she needed him. He was her husband and her love, and she was more fortunate than she knew.
A smile touched her mouth as she thought of their loving the previous night. If Nicholas’s passion continued at such frequent intervals Iolanthe might soon not be their only child. It had not happened yet but she was completely recovered from her daughter’s birth and she thought it could not be long before she conceived again.
THIRTY FOUR
Rhoda sighed as she felt the baby kicking inside her. The weeks since she had left Wales had become months. Her time was very close now. It seemed that her child was impatient to be born, but no more impatient than she was to be free of it. She vowed every morning when she rose and felt the ache in her back and the heavy weight that she was forced to carry wherever she went that she would never bear another child.
‘Damn you, Robert Devereaux,’ she muttered as she placed her hands on her belly. ‘Be quiet, child. Give me a little peace. I shall be as glad as you when all this is over.’
Coming into the bedchamber with a clean gown, Joanne smiled at her. ‘How do you feel this morning, my lady?’
‘As bad as I did last night or worse if you wish for the truth,’ Rhoda said and pulled a face. ‘Do not scold me, Joanne. I am sick of being cooped up in this house. I shall go down and walk in the grounds today.’
‘Are you sure you ought?’ Joanne looked anxious. ‘You should rest, my lady. The child cannot be long in coming now.’
‘I do not wish to rest. I feeling like going for a ride…’ She laughed ruefully as she saw the horror in her servant’s face. ‘No, I shall not be that foolish I promise you, but I wish to go out in the air.’
‘Take care then,’ Joanne said, lifting the tunic over her head. ‘If you should turn dizzy on the steps you could fall and kill yourself and the child.’
‘I shall not fall,’ Rhoda said and looked impatiently at her. ‘I feel that I shall die if I have to stay in this place another moment.’ She brushed away her maid’s hands as she attempted to braid her hair in a thick plait. ‘Leave it loose for the moment. I do not think I can bear to sit here while you dress it. I must go for a little walk.’
‘As you wish my lady.’ Joanne stood aside as Rhoda swept by her, looking anxiously after her.
Ignoring her concern, Rhoda went out into the hall. There was no one here to talk to for the men did not cluster in the house when the weather was so mild. She would not stay in the house to die of boredom. It would be so pleasant in the fresh air.
Venturing out to the top of the stairs that led down to the inner bailey, Rhoda closed her eyes for a moment, warding off the dizziness that sometimes came over her these days. She pressed close to the stone walls, one hand flat against them and keeping well away from the edge. It would be easy enough to fall and do herself some harm and she did not want any accidents to damage her chances of giving birth to a healthy child.
She was convinced that her child would be the son Robert wanted so badly. If she gave him what he wanted he would be generous. Rhoda was not certain of the future. She did not love her husband and she had no desire to go on producing more heirs for him. Kerrin had promised to kill Montroy and come for her once the child was born, but that passionate meeting in the chapel had faded from her mind as she coped with the pain and frustration of child bearing.
Kerrin had made her a vow but she doubted he would keep it. He would find it hard to kill the man he served for Montroy must always be surrounded by his retainers. No doubt Kerrin would simply forget her once she was no longer there to remind him of what he had lost.
Jonathan was here. He was kind and attentive, always finding new ways of amusing her and making her forget her discomfort. Sometimes he would bring mummers into the house to entertain them, sometimes a minstrel or a jongleur to tell them a story.
Rhoda could not dance for the moment, but she remembered dancing with Jonathan as a great pleasure. He had done all he could to please her. Robert had written to her only once and his letter had been full of the fighting and the wrangling between the various lords who followed the King and the prince. Even at such a time the haughty barons were making impossible demands from their king.
She negotiated the stairs and gained the ground without accident, standing for a moment in the sunshine, letting it warm her face and head. It was so pleasant to be out again now that it was summer. She would take a little walk in the grounds before she went back to her chamber.
*
Rhoda had been walking for some minutes when she felt the first pain in her back. It struck her sharply like the blade of a knife, making her cry out and put a hand to her back. For a moment the ache was so bad that she could scarcely catch her breath, but then it waned and she could breathe easily again.
Perhaps Joanne had been right. She might have done better to lie on her bed but it was such a lovely morning. The thought of being indoors when she wanted to be here made her frown. Why did women have to suffer like this to bring a child into the world? It was so unfair.
She sat down on a block of stone used for mounting the great war-horses that many of the knights rode, lifting her face to the sun to feel its warmth.
‘I am glad to see you out on such a day.’
Jonathan’s voice made her open her eyes. She smiled and took the hand he offered to help her to her feet. ‘It was so lovely that I had to…’ She broke off with a gasp as the pain swathed through her. This time it was so bad that she swayed, feeling she would fall. She might have fallen if Jonathan had not caught her, steadying her and holding her as the pain came again, making her scream out in terror.
‘You are ill,’ he said, and bent to catch her up in his arms. ‘The baby is coming. I must take you to your women.’
‘Do not leave me with them,’ Rhoda begged, clutching at him, her eyes wide with fear. ‘I am afraid I shall die when the child comes. I do not want to die, Jonathan.’
‘You will not,’ he told her and his face was set determinedly. ‘I shall not leave you, my beloved. I shall be with you – and I shall not let you die.’
‘You care for me,’ Rhoda wept, her face turned into his chest. ‘You alone in a
ll the world care what becomes of me.’
‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Trust me, Rhoda. I shall not fail you.’
Jonathan hardly realised what he had said. All thought of betrayal or loyalty had fled from his mind in the face of her distress. She was in trouble and she was the woman he loved. For the moment he could think only of her.
Carrying her up the steep steps that led to the hall and through into her bedchamber, his face was set like stone. Robert was wrong to leave her all this time. Even if the war still raged on, he could have found time to visit his wife so near to her time.
Rhoda would not face childbirth alone. She would not die giving birth to Robert’s child. Jonathan would stay with her until the last.
‘Oh, my lady,’ Joanne cried fluttering about them as he carried her into her chamber and placed her carefully amongst the sheets. ‘I knew you should not go walking.’
‘Stop scolding her, woman,’ Jonathan commanded. ‘She needs your help not your words or condemnation.’
‘You should not be here,’ Joanne protested. ‘It is not fitting that a man should be in the birthing chamber at a time like this.’
‘Still your tongue, woman. I have promised I shall stay with her until her ordeal is done and your clacking will not drive me away. Fetch the old crone to her for I think her waters have broken.’
As Joanne hurried away, Jonathan sat on the edge of the bed. He took Rhoda’s hand in his left and stroked her forehead with his right, gazing down at her tenderly.
‘I am with you, sweeting. The woman who sees to these things will be here soon but I do not think it can be long for your waters have broken and the child will soon come. Walking must have brought the birth on sooner and it may be easier for you this way.’
Rhoda shook her head as the pain make her buck and grip his hand so tightly that he almost cried out, but he held her, smiling down and encouraging her as she began to push.
